_THE SUPERFLUOUS MANSION_
Mr. Paul Somerset was a young gentleman of a lively and fiery
imagination, with very small capacity for action. He was one who lived
exclusively in dreams and in the future: the creature of his own
theories, and an actor in his own romances. From the cigar divan he
proceeded to parade the streets, still heated with the fire of his
eloquence, and scouting upon every side for the offer of some fortunate
adventure. In the continual stream of passers-by, on the sealed fronts
of houses, on the posters that covered the hoardings, and in every
lineament and throb of the great city, he saw a mysterious and hopeful
hieroglyph. But although the elements of adventure were streaming by him
as thick as drops of water in the Thames, it was in vain that, now with a
beseeching, now with something of a braggadocio air, he courted and
provoked the notice of the passengers; in vain that, putting fortune to
the touch, he even thrust himself into the way and came into direct
collision with those of the more promising demeanour. Persons brimful of
secrets, persons pining for affection, persons perishing for lack of help
or counsel, he was sure he could perceive on every side; but by some
contrariety of fortune, each passed upon his way without remarking the
young gentleman, and went farther (surely to fare worse!) in quest of the
confidant, the friend, or the adviser. To thousands he must have turned
an appealing countenance, and yet not one regarded him.
A light dinner, eaten to the accompaniment of his impetuous aspirations,
broke in upon the series of his attempts on fortune; and when he returned
to the task, the lamps were already lighted, and the nocturnal crowd was
dense upon the pavement. Before a certain restaurant, whose name will
readily occur to any student of our Babylon, people were already packed
so closely that passage had grown difficult; and Somerset, standing in
the kennel, watched, with a hope that was beginning to grow somewhat
weary, the faces and the manners of the crowd. Suddenly he was startled
by a gentle touch upon the shoulder, and facing about, he was aware of a
very plain and elegant brougham, drawn by a pair of powerful horses, and
driven by a man in sober livery. There were no arms upon the panel; the
window was open, but the interior was obscure; the driver yawned behind
his palm; and the young man was already beginning to suppose himself the
dupe of his own fancy, when a hand, no larger than a child’s and smoothly
gloved in white, appeared in a corner of the window and privily beckoned
him to approach. He did so, and looked in. The carriage was occupied by
a single small and very dainty figure, swathed head and shoulders in
impenetrable folds of white lace; and a voice, speaking low and silvery,
addressed him in these words—
‘Open the door and get in.’
‘It must be,’ thought the young man with an almost unbearable thrill, ‘it
must be that duchess at last!’ Yet, although the moment was one to which
he had long looked forward, it was with a certain share of alarm that he
opened the door, and, mounting into the brougham, took his seat beside
the lady of the lace. Whether or no she had touched a spring, or given
some other signal, the young man had hardly closed the door before the
carriage, with considerable swiftness, and with a very luxurious and easy
movement on its springs, turned and began to drive towards the west.
Somerset, as I have written, was not unprepared; it had long been his
particular pleasure to rehearse his conduct in the most unlikely
situations; and this, among others, of the patrician ravisher, was one he
had familiarly studied. Strange as it may seem, however, he could find
no apposite remark; and as the lady, on her side, vouchsafed no further
sign, they continued to drive in silence through the streets. Except for
alternate flashes from the passing lamps, the carriage was plunged in
obscurity; and beyond the fact that the fittings were luxurious, and that
the lady was singularly small and slender in person, and, all but one
gloved hand, still swathed in her costly veil, the young man could
decipher no detail of an inspiring nature. The suspense began to grow
unbearable. Twice he cleared his throat, and twice the whole resources
of the language failed him. In similar scenes, when he had forecast them
on the theatre of fancy, his presence of mind had always been complete,
his eloquence remarkable; and at this disparity between the rehearsal and
the performance, he began to be seized with a panic of apprehension.
Here, on the very threshold of adventure, suppose him ignominiously to
fail; suppose that after ten, twenty, or sixty seconds of still
uninterrupted silence, the lady should touch the check-string and
re-deposit him, weighed and found wanting, on the common street!
Thousands of persons of no mind at all, he reasoned, would be found more
equal to the part; could, that very instant, by some decisive step, prove
the lady’s choice to have been well inspired, and put a stop to this
intolerable silence.
His eye, at this point, lighted on the hand. It was better to fall by
desperate councils than to continue as he was; and with one tremulous
swoop he pounced on the gloved fingers and drew them to himself. One
overt step, it had appeared to him, would dissolve the spell of his
embarrassment; in act, he found it otherwise: he found himself no less
incapable of speech or further progress; and with the lady’s hand in his,
sat helpless. But worse was in store. A peculiar quivering began to
agitate the form of his companion; the hand that lay unresistingly in
Somerset’s trembled as with ague; and presently there broke forth, in the
shadow of the carriage, the bubbling and musical sound of laughter,
resisted but triumphant. The young man dropped his prize; had it been
possible, he would have bounded from the carriage. The lady, meanwhile,
lying back upon the cushions, passed on from trill to trill of the most
heartfelt, high-pitched, clear and fairy-sounding merriment.
‘You must not be offended,’ she said at last, catching an opportunity
between two paroxysms. ‘If you have been mistaken in the warmth of your
attentions, the fault is solely mine; it does not flow from your
presumption, but from my eccentric manner of recruiting friends; and,
believe me, I am the last person in the world to think the worse of a
young man for showing spirit. As for to-night, it is my intention to
entertain you to a little supper; and if I shall continue to be as much
pleased with your manners as I was taken with your face, I may perhaps
end by making you an advantageous offer.’
Somerset sought in vain to find some form of answer, but his discomfiture
had been too recent and complete.
‘Come,’ returned the lady, ‘we must have no display of temper; that is
for me the one disqualifying fault; and as I perceive we are drawing near
our destination, I shall ask you to descend and offer me your arm.’
Indeed, at that very moment the carriage drew up before a stately and
severe mansion in a spacious square; and Somerset, who was possessed of
an excellent temper, with the best grace in the world assisted the lady
to alight. The door was opened by an old woman of a grim appearance, who
ushered the pair into a dining-room somewhat dimly lighted, but already
laid for supper, and occupied by a prodigious company of large and
valuable cats. Here, as soon as they were alone, the lady divested
herself of the lace in which she was enfolded; and Somerset was relieved
to find, that although still bearing the traces of great beauty, and
still distinguished by the fire and colour of her eye, her hair was of a
silvery whiteness and her face lined with years.
‘And now, _mon preux_,’ said the old lady, nodding at him with a quaint
gaiety, ‘you perceive that I am no longer in my first youth. You will
soon find that I am all the better company for that.’
As she spoke, the maid re-entered the apartment with a light but tasteful
supper. They sat down, accordingly, to table, the cats with savage
pantomime surrounding the old lady’s chair; and what with the excellence
of the meal and the gaiety of his entertainer, Somerset was soon
completely at his ease. When they had well eaten and drunk, the old lady
leaned back in her chair, and taking a cat upon her lap, subjected her
guest to a prolonged but evidently mirthful scrutiny.
‘I fear, madam,’ said Somerset, ‘that my manners have not risen to the
height of your preconceived opinion.’
‘My dear young man,’ she replied, ‘you were never more mistaken in your
life. I find you charming, and you may very well have lighted on a fairy
godmother. I am not one of those who are given to change their opinions,
and short of substantial demerit, those who have once gained my favour
continue to enjoy it; but I have a singular swiftness of decision, read
my fellow men and women with a glance, and have acted throughout life on
first impressions. Yours, as I tell you, has been favourable; and if, as
I suppose, you are a young fellow of somewhat idle habits, I think it not
improbable that we may strike a bargain.’
‘Ah, madam,’ returned Somerset, ‘you have divined my situation. I am a
man of birth, parts, and breeding; excellent company, or at least so I
find myself; but by a peculiar iniquity of fate, destitute alike of trade
or money. I was, indeed, this evening upon the quest of an adventure,
resolved to close with any offer of interest, emolument, or pleasure; and
your summons, which I profess I am still at some loss to understand,
jumped naturally with the inclination of my mind. Call it, if you will,
impudence; I am here, at least, prepared for any proposition you can find
it in your heart to make, and resolutely determined to accept.’
‘You express yourself very well,’ replied the old lady, ‘and are
certainly a droll and curious young man. I should not care to affirm
that you were sane, for I have never found any one entirely so besides
myself; but at least the nature of your madness entertains me, and I will
reward you with some description of my character and life.’
Thereupon the old lady, still fondling the cat upon her lap, proceeded to
narrate the following particulars.
_NARRATIVE OF THE SPIRITED OLD LADY_
I was the eldest daughter of the Reverend Bernard Fanshawe, who held a
valuable living in the diocese of Bath and Wells. Our family, a very
large one, was noted for a sprightly and incisive wit, and came of a good
old stock where beauty was an heirloom. In Christian grace of character
we were unhappily deficient. From my earliest years I saw and deplored
the defects of those relatives whose age and position should have enabled
them to conquer my esteem; and while I was yet a child, my father married
a second wife, in whom (strange to say) the Fanshawe failings were
exaggerated to a monstrous and almost laughable degree. Whatever may be
said against me, it cannot be denied I was a pattern daughter; but it was
in vain that, with the most touching patience, I submitted to my
stepmother’s demands; and from the hour she entered my father’s house, I
may say that I met with nothing but injustice and ingratitude.
I stood not alone, however, in the sweetness of my disposition; for one
other of the family besides myself was free from any violence of
character. Before I had reached the age of sixteen, this cousin, John by
name, had conceived for me a sincere but silent passion; and although the
poor lad was too timid to hint at the nature of his feelings, I had soon
divined and begun to share them. For some days I pondered on the odd
situation created for me by the bashfulness of my admirer; and at length,
perceiving that he began, in his distress, rather to avoid than seek my
company, I determined to take the matter into my own hands. Finding him
alone in a retired part of the rectory garden, I told him that I had
divined his amiable secret, that I knew with what disfavour our union was
sure to be regarded; and that, under the circumstances, I was prepared to
flee with him at once. Poor John was literally paralysed with joy; such
was the force of his emotions, that he could find no words in which to
thank me; and that I, seeing him thus helpless, was obliged to arrange,
myself, the details of our flight, and of the stolen marriage which was
immediately to crown it. John had been at that time projecting a visit
to the metropolis. In this I bade him persevere, and promised on the
following day to join him at the Tavistock Hotel.
True, on my side, to every detail of our arrangement, I arose, on the day
in question, before the servants, packed a few necessaries in a bag, took
with me the little money I possessed, and bade farewell for ever to the
rectory. I walked with good spirits to a town some thirty miles from
home, and was set down the next morning in this great city of London. As
I walked from the coach-office to the hotel, I could not help exulting in
the pleasant change that had befallen me; beholding, meanwhile, with
innocent delight, the traffic of the streets, and depicting, in all the
colours of fancy, the reception that awaited me from John. But alas!
when I inquired for Mr. Fanshawe, the porter assured me there was no such
gentleman among the guests. By what channel our secret had leaked out,
or what pressure had been brought to bear on the too facile John, I could
never fathom. Enough that my family had triumphed; that I found myself
alone in London, tender in years, smarting under the most sensible
mortification, and by every sentiment of pride and self-respect debarred
for ever from my father’s house.
I rose under the blow, and found lodgings in the neighbourhood of Euston
Road, where, for the first time in my life, I tasted the joys of
independence. Three days afterwards, an advertisement in the _Times_
directed me to the office of a solicitor whom I knew to be in my father’s
confidence. There I was given the promise of a very moderate allowance,
and a distinct intimation that I must never look to be received at home.
I could not but resent so cruel a desertion, and I told the lawyer it was
a meeting I desired as little as themselves. He smiled at my courageous
spirit, paid me the first quarter of my income, and gave me the remainder
of my personal effects, which had been sent to me, under his care, in a
couple of rather ponderous boxes. With these I returned in triumph to my
lodgings, more content with my position than I should have thought
possible a week before, and fully determined to make the best of the
future.
All went well for several months; and, indeed, it was my own fault alone
that ended this pleasant and secluded episode of life. I have, I must
confess, the fatal trick of spoiling my inferiors. My landlady, to whom
I had as usual been overkind, impertinently called me in fault for some
particular too small to mention; and I, annoyed that I had allowed her
the freedom upon which she thus presumed, ordered her to leave my
presence. She stood a moment dumb, and then, recalling her
self-possession, ‘Your bill,’ said she, ‘shall be ready this evening, and
to-morrow, madam, you shall leave my house. See,’ she added, ‘that you
are able to pay what you owe me; for if I do not receive the uttermost
farthing, no box of yours shall pass my threshold.’
I was confounded at her audacity, but as a whole quarter’s income was due
to me, not otherwise affected by the threat. That afternoon, as I left
the solicitor’s door, carrying in one hand, and done up in a paper
parcel, the whole amount of my fortune, there befell me one of those
decisive incidents that sometimes shape a life. The lawyer’s office was
situate in a street that opened at the upper end upon the Strand, and was
closed at the lower, at the time of which I speak, by a row of iron
railings looking on the Thames. Down this street, then, I beheld my
stepmother advancing to meet me, and doubtless bound to the very house I
had just left. She was attended by a maid whose face was new to me, but
her own was too clearly printed on my memory; and the sight of it, even
from a distance, filled me with generous indignation. Flight was
impossible. There was nothing left but to retreat against the railing,
and with my back turned to the street, pretend to be admiring the barges
on the river or the chimneys of transpontine London.
I was still so standing, and had not yet fully mastered the turbulence of
my emotions, when a voice at my elbow addressed me with a trivial
question. It was the maid whom my stepmother, with characteristic
hardness, had left to await her on the street, while she transacted her
business with the family solicitor. The girl did not know who I was; the
opportunity too golden to be lost; and I was soon hearing the latest news
of my father’s rectory and parish. It did not surprise me to find that
she detested her employers; and yet the terms in which she spoke of them
were hard to bear, hard to let pass unchallenged. I heard them, however,
without dissent, for my self-command is wonderful; and we might have
parted as we met, had she not proceeded, in an evil hour, to criticise
the rector’s missing daughter, and with the most shocking perversions, to
narrate the story of her flight. My nature is so essentially generous
that I can never pause to reason. I flung up my hand sharply, by way, as
well as I remember, of indignant protest; and, in the act, the packet
slipped from my fingers, glanced between the railings, and fell and sunk
in the river. I stood a moment petrified, and then, struck by the
drollery of the incident, gave way to peals of laughter. I was still
laughing when my stepmother reappeared, and the maid, who doubtless
considered me insane, ran off to join her; nor had I yet recovered my
gravity when I presented myself before the lawyer to solicit a fresh
advance. His answer made me serious enough, for it was a flat refusal;
and it was not until I had besought him even with tears, that he
consented to lend me ten pounds from his own pocket. ‘I am a poor man,’
said he, ‘and you must look for nothing farther at my hands.’
The landlady met me at the door. ‘Here, madam,’ said she, with a curtsey
insolently low, ‘here is my bill. Would it inconvenience you to settle
it at once?’
‘You shall be paid, madam,’ said I, ‘in the morning, in the proper
course.’ And I took the paper with a very high air, but inwardly
quaking.
I had no sooner looked at it than I perceived myself to be lost. I had
been short of money and had allowed my debt to mount; and it had now
reached the sum, which I shall never forget, of twelve pounds thirteen
and fourpence halfpenny. All evening I sat by the fire considering my
situation. I could not pay the bill; my landlady would not suffer me to
remove my boxes; and without either baggage or money, how was I to find
another lodging? For three months, unless I could invent some remedy, I
was condemned to be without a roof and without a penny. It can surprise
no one that I decided on immediate flight; but even here I was confronted
by a difficulty, for I had no sooner packed my boxes than I found I was
not strong enough to move, far less to carry them.
In this strait I did not hesitate a moment, but throwing on a shawl and
bonnet, and covering my face with a thick veil, I betook myself to that
great bazaar of dangerous and smiling chances, the pavement of the city.
It was already late at night, and the weather being wet and windy, there
were few abroad besides policemen. These, on my present mission, I had
wit enough to know for enemies; and wherever I perceived their moving
lanterns, I made haste to turn aside and choose another thoroughfare. A
few miserable women still walked the pavement; here and there were young
fellows returning drunk, or ruffians of the lowest class lurking in the
mouths of alleys; but of any one to whom I might appeal in my distress, I
began almost to despair.
At last, at the corner of a street, I ran into the arms of one who was
evidently a gentleman, and who, in all his appointments, from his furred
great-coat to the fine cigar which he was smoking, comfortably breathed
of wealth. Much as my face has changed from its original beauty, I still
retain (or so I tell myself) some traces of the youthful lightness of my
figure. Even veiled as I then was, I could perceive the gentleman was
struck by my appearance: and this emboldened me for my adventure.
‘Sir,’ said I, with a quickly beating heart, ‘sir, are you one in whom a
lady can confide?’
‘Why, my dear,’ said he, removing his cigar, ‘that depends on
circumstances. If you will raise your veil—’
‘Sir,’ I interrupted, ‘let there be no mistake. I ask you, as a
gentleman, to serve me, but I offer no reward.’
‘That is frank,’ said he; ‘but hardly tempting. And what, may I inquire,
is the nature of the service?’
But I knew well enough it was not my interest to tell him on so short an
interview. ‘If you will accompany me,’ said I, ‘to a house not far from
here, you can see for yourself.’
He looked at me awhile with hesitating eyes; and then, tossing away his
cigar, which was not yet a quarter smoked, ‘Here goes!’ said he, and with
perfect politeness offered me his arm. I was wise enough to take it; to
prolong our walk as far as possible, by more than one excursion from the
shortest line; and to beguile the way with that sort of conversation
which should prove to him indubitably from what station in society I
sprang. By the time we reached the door of my lodging, I felt sure I had
confirmed his interest, and might venture, before I turned the pass-key,
to beseech him to moderate his voice and to tread softly. He promised to
obey me: and I admitted him into the passage and thence into my
sitting-room, which was fortunately next the door.
‘And now,’ said he, when with trembling fingers I had lighted a candle,
‘what is the meaning of all this?’
‘I wish you,’ said I, speaking with great difficulty, ‘to help me out
with these boxes—and I wish nobody to know.’
He took up the candle. ‘And I wish to see your face,’ said he.
I turned back my veil without a word, and looked at him with every
appearance of resolve that I could summon up. For some time he gazed
into my face, still holding up the candle. ‘Well,’ said he at last, ‘and
where do you wish them taken?’
I knew that I had gained my point; and it was with a tremor in my voice
that I replied. ‘I had thought we might carry them between us to the
corner of Euston Road,’ said I, ‘where, even at this late hour, we may
still find a cab.’
‘Very good,’ was his reply; and he immediately hoisted the heavier of my
trunks upon his shoulder, and taking one handle of the second, signed to
me to help him at the other end. In this order we made good our retreat
from the house, and without the least adventure, drew pretty near to the
corner of Euston Road. Before a house, where there was a light still
burning, my companion paused. ‘Let us here,’ said he, ‘set down our
boxes, while we go forward to the end of the street in quest of a cab.
By doing so, we can still keep an eye upon their safety, and we avoid the
very extraordinary figure we should otherwise present—a young man, a
young lady, and a mass of baggage, standing castaway at midnight on the
streets of London.’ So it was done, and the event proved him to be wise;
for long before there was any word of a cab, a policeman appeared upon
the scene, turned upon us the full glare of his lantern, and hung
suspiciously behind us in a doorway.
‘There seem to be no cabs about, policeman,’ said my champion, with
affected cheerfulness. But the constable’s answer was ungracious; and as
for the offer of a cigar, with which this rebuff was most unwisely
followed up, he refused it point-blank, and without the least civility.
The young gentleman looked at me with a warning grimace, and there we
continued to stand, on the edge of the pavement, in the beating rain, and
with the policeman still silently watching our movements from the
doorway.
At last, and after a delay that seemed interminable, a four-wheeler
appeared lumbering along in the mud, and was instantly hailed by my
companion. ‘Just pull up here, will you?’ he cried. ‘We have some
baggage up the street.’
And now came the hitch of our adventure; for when the policeman, still
closely following us, beheld my two boxes lying in the rain, he arose
from mere suspicion to a kind of certitude of something evil. The light
in the house had been extinguished; the whole frontage of the street was
dark; there was nothing to explain the presence of these unguarded
trunks; and no two innocent people were ever, I believe, detected in such
questionable circumstances.
‘Where have these things come from?’ asked the policeman, flashing his
light full into my champion’s face.
‘Why, from that house, of course,’ replied the young gentleman, hastily
shouldering a trunk.
The policeman whistled and turned to look at the dark windows; he then
took a step towards the door, as though to knock, a course which had
infallibly proved our ruin; but seeing us already hurrying down the
street under our double burthen, thought better or worse of it, and
followed in our wake.
‘For God’s sake,’ whispered my companion, ‘tell me where to drive to.’
‘Anywhere,’ I replied with anguish. ‘I have no idea. Anywhere you
like.’
Thus it befell that, when the boxes had been stowed, and I had already
entered the cab, my deliverer called out in clear tones the address of
the house in which we are now seated. The policeman, I could see, was
staggered. This neighbourhood, so retired, so aristocratic, was far from
what he had expected. For all that, he took the number of the cab, and
spoke for a few seconds and with a decided manner in the cabman’s ear.
‘What can he have said?’ I gasped, as soon as the cab had rolled away.
‘I can very well imagine,’ replied my champion; ‘and I can assure you
that you are now condemned to go where I have said; for, should we
attempt to change our destination by the way, the jarvey will drive us
straight to a police-office. Let me compliment you on your nerves,’ he
added. ‘I have had, I believe, the most horrible fright of my
existence.’
But my nerves, which he so much misjudged, were in so strange a disarray
that speech was now become impossible; and we made the drive
thenceforward in unbroken silence. When we arrived before the door of
our destination, the young gentleman alighted, opened it with a pass-key
like one who was at home, bade the driver carry the trunks into the hall,
and dismissed him with a handsome fee. He then led me into this
dining-room, looking nearly as you behold it, but with certain marks of
bachelor occupancy, and hastened to pour out a glass of wine, which he
insisted on my drinking. As soon as I could find my voice, ‘In God’s
name,’ I cried, ‘where am I?’
He told me I was in his house, where I was very welcome, and had no more
urgent business than to rest myself and recover my spirits. As he spoke
he offered me another glass of wine, of which, indeed, I stood in great
want, for I was faint, and inclined to be hysterical. Then he sat down
beside the fire, lit another cigar, and for some time observed me
curiously in silence.
‘And now,’ said he, ‘that you have somewhat restored yourself, will you
be kind enough to tell me in what sort of crime I have become a partner?
Are you murderer, smuggler, thief, or only the harmless and domestic
moonlight flitter?’
I had been already shocked by his lighting a cigar without permission,
for I had not forgotten the one he threw away on our first meeting; and
now, at these explicit insults, I resolved at once to reconquer his
esteem. The judgment of the world I have consistently despised, but I
had already begun to set a certain value on the good opinion of my
entertainer. Beginning with a note of pathos, but soon brightening into
my habitual vivacity and humour, I rapidly narrated the circumstances of
my birth, my flight, and subsequent misfortunes. He heard me to an end
in silence, gravely smoking. ‘Miss Fanshawe,’ said he, when I had done,
‘you are a very comical and most enchanting creature; and I can see
nothing for it but that I should return to-morrow morning and satisfy
your landlady’s demands.’
‘You strangely misinterpret my confidence,’ was my reply; ‘and if you had
at all appreciated my character, you would understand that I can take no
money at your hands.’
‘Your landlady will doubtless not be so particular,’ he returned; ‘nor do
I at all despair of persuading even your unconquerable self. I desire
you to examine me with critical indulgence. My name is Henry Luxmore,
Lord Southwark’s second son. I possess nine thousand a year, the house
in which we are now sitting, and seven others in the best neighbourhoods
in town. I do not believe I am repulsive to the eye, and as for my
character, you have seen me under trial. I think you simply the most
original of created beings; I need not tell you what you know very well,
that you are ravishingly pretty; and I have nothing more to add, except
that, foolish as it may appear, I am already head over heels in love with
you.’
‘Sir,’ said I, ‘I am prepared to be misjudged; but while I continue to
accept your hospitality that fact alone should be enough to protect me
from insult.’
‘Pardon me,’ said he: ‘I offer you marriage.’ And leaning back in his
chair he replaced his cigar between his lips.
I own I was confounded by an offer, not only so unprepared, but couched
in terms so singular. But he knew very well how to obtain his purposes,
for he was not only handsome in person, but his very coolness had a
charm; and to make a long story short, a fortnight later I became the
wife of the Honourable Henry Luxmore.
For nearly twenty years I now led a life of almost perfect quiet. My
Henry had his weaknesses; I was twice driven to flee from his roof, but
not for long; for though he was easily over-excited, his nature was
placable below the surface, and with all his faults, I loved him
tenderly. At last he was taken from me; and such is the power of
self-deception, and so strange are the whims of the dying, he actually
assured me, with his latest breath, that he forgave the violence of my
temper!
There was but one pledge of the marriage, my daughter Clara. She had,
indeed, inherited a shadow of her father’s failing; but in all things
else, unless my partial eyes deceived me, she derived her qualities from
me, and might be called my moral image. On my side, whatever else I may
have done amiss, as a mother I was above reproach. Here, then, was
surely every promise for the future; here, at last, was a relation in
which I might hope to taste repose. But it was not to be. You will
hardly credit me when I inform you that she ran away from home; yet such
was the case. Some whim about oppressed nationalities—Ireland, Poland,
and the like—has turned her brain; and if you should anywhere encounter a
young lady (I must say, of remarkable attractions) answering to the name
of Luxmore, Lake, or Fonblanque (for I am told she uses these
indifferently, as well as many others), tell her, from me, that I forgive
her cruelty, and though I will never more behold her face, I am at any
time prepared to make her a liberal allowance.
On the death of Mr. Luxmore, I sought oblivion in the details of
business. I believe I have mentioned that seven mansions, besides this,
formed part of Mr. Luxmore’s property: I have found them seven white
elephants. The greed of tenants, the dishonesty of solicitors, and the
incapacity that sits upon the bench, have combined together to make these
houses the burthen of my life. I had no sooner, indeed, begun to look
into these matters for myself, than I discovered so many injustices and
met with so much studied incivility, that I was plunged into a long
series of lawsuits, some of which are pending to this day. You must have
heard my name already; I am the Mrs. Luxmore of the Law Reports: a
strange destiny, indeed, for one born with an almost cowardly desire for
peace! But I am of the stamp of those who, when they have once begun a
task, will rather die than leave their duty unfulfilled. I have met with
every obstacle: insolence and ingratitude from my own lawyers; in my
adversaries, that fault of obstinacy which is to me perhaps the most
distasteful in the calendar; from the bench, civility indeed—always, I
must allow, civility—but never a spark of independence, never that
knowledge of the law and love of justice which we have a right to look
for in a judge, the most august of human officers. And still, against
all these odds, I have undissuadably persevered.
It was after the loss of one of my innumerable cases (a subject on which
I will not dwell) that it occurred to me to make a melancholy pilgrimage
to my various houses. Four were at that time tenantless and closed, like
pillars of salt, commemorating the corruption of the age and the decline
of private virtue. Three were occupied by persons who had wearied me by
every conceivable unjust demand and legal subterfuge—persons whom, at
that very hour, I was moving heaven and earth to turn into the street.
This was perhaps the sadder spectacle of the two; and my heart grew hot
within me to behold them occupying, in my very teeth, and with an
insolent ostentation, these handsome structures which were as much mine
as the flesh upon my body.
One more house remained for me to visit, that in which we now are. I had
let it (for at that period I lodged in a hotel, the life that I have
always preferred) to a Colonel Geraldine, a gentleman attached to Prince
Florizel of Bohemia, whom you must certainly have heard of; and I had
supposed, from the character and position of my tenant, that here, at
least, I was safe against annoyance. What was my surprise to find this
house also shuttered and apparently deserted! I will not deny that I was
offended; I conceived that a house, like a yacht, was better to be kept
in commission; and I promised myself to bring the matter before my
solicitor the following morning. Meanwhile the sight recalled my fancy
naturally to the past; and yielding to the tender influence of sentiment,
I sat down opposite the door upon the garden parapet. It was August, and
a sultry afternoon, but that spot is sheltered, as you may observe by
daylight, under the branches of a spreading chestnut; the square, too,
was deserted; there was a sound of distant music in the air; and all
combined to plunge me into that most agreeable of states, which is
neither happiness nor sorrow, but shares the poignancy of both.
From this I was recalled by the arrival of a large van, very handsomely
appointed, drawn by valuable horses, mounted by several men of an
appearance more than decent, and bearing on its panels, instead of a
trader’s name, a coat-of-arms too modest to be deciphered from where I
sat. It drew up before my house, the door of which was immediately
opened by one of the men. His companions—I counted seven of them in
all—proceeded, with disciplined activity, to take from the van and carry
into the house a variety of hampers, bottle-baskets, and boxes, such as
are designed for plate and napery. The windows of the dining-room were
thrown widely open, as though to air it; and I saw some of those within
laying the table for a meal. Plainly, I concluded, my tenant was about
to return; and while still determined to submit to no aggression on my
rights, I was gratified by the number and discipline of his attendants,
and the quiet profusion that appeared to reign in his establishment. I
was still so thinking when, to my extreme surprise, the windows and
shutters of the dining-room were once more closed; the men began to
reappear from the interior and resume their stations on the van; the last
closed the door behind his exit; the van drove away; and the house was
once more left to itself, looking blindly on the square with shuttered
windows, as though the whole affair had been a vision.
It was no vision, however; for, as I rose to my feet, and thus brought my
eyes a little nearer to the level of the fanlight over the door, I saw
that, though the day had still some hours to run, the hall lamps had been
lighted and left burning. Plainly, then, guests were expected, and were
not expected before night. For whom, I asked myself with indignation,
were such secret preparations likely to be made? Although no prude, I am
a woman of decided views upon morality; if my house, to which my husband
had brought me, was to serve in the character of a _petite maison_, I saw
myself forced, however unwillingly, into a new course of litigation; and,
determined to return and know the worst, I hastened to my hotel for
dinner.
I was at my post by ten. The night was clear and quiet; the moon rode
very high and put the lamps to shame; and the shadow below the chestnut
was black as ink. Here, then, I ensconced myself on the low parapet,
with my back against the railings, face to face with the moonlit front of
my old home, and ruminating gently on the past. Time fled; eleven struck
on all the city clocks; and presently after I was aware of the approach
of a gentleman of stately and agreeable demeanour. He was smoking as he
walked; his light paletôt, which was open, did not conceal his evening
clothes; and he bore himself with a serious grace that immediately
awakened my attention. Before the door of this house he took a pass-key
from his pocket, quietly admitted himself, and disappeared into the
lamplit hall.
He was scarcely gone when I observed another and a much younger man
approaching hastily from the opposite side of the square. Considering
the season of the year and the genial mildness of the night, he was
somewhat closely muffled up; and as he came, for all his hurry, he kept
looking nervously behind him. Arrived before my door, he halted and set
one foot upon the step, as though about to enter; then, with a sudden
change, he turned and began to hurry away; halted a second time, as if in
painful indecision; and lastly, with a violent gesture, wheeled about,
returned straight to the door, and rapped upon the knocker. He was
almost immediately admitted by the first arrival.
My curiosity was now broad awake. I made myself as small as I could in
the very densest of the shadow, and waited for the sequel. Nor had I
long to wait. From the same side of the square a second young man made
his appearance, walking slowly and softly, and like the first, muffled to
the nose. Before the house he paused, looked all about him with a swift
and comprehensive glance; and seeing the square lie empty in the moon and
lamplight, leaned far across the area railings and appeared to listen to
what was passing in the house. From the dining-room there came the
report of a champagne cork, and following upon that, the sound of rich
and manly laughter. The listener took heart of grace, produced a key,
unlocked the area gate, shut it noiselessly behind him, and descended the
stair. Just when his head had reached the level of the pavement, he
turned half round and once more raked the square with a suspicious
eyeshot. The mufflings had fallen lower round his neck; the moon shone
full upon him; and I was startled to observe the pallor and passionate
agitation of his face.
I could remain no longer passive. Persuaded that something deadly was
afoot, I crossed the roadway and drew near the area railings. There was
no one below; the man must therefore have entered the house, with what
purpose I dreaded to imagine. I have at no part of my career lacked
courage; and now, finding the area gate was merely laid to, I pushed it
gently open and descended the stairs. The kitchen door of the house,
like the area gate, was closed but not fastened. It flashed upon me that
the criminal was thus preparing his escape; and the thought, as it
confirmed the worst of my suspicions, lent me new resolve. I entered the
house; and being now quite reckless of my life, I shut and locked the
door.
From the dining-room above I could hear the pleasant tones of a voice in
easy conversation. On the ground floor all was not only profoundly
silent, but the darkness seemed to weigh upon my eyes. Here, then, I
stood for some time, having thrust myself uncalled into the utmost peril,
and being destitute of any power to help or interfere. Nor will I deny
that fear had begun already to assail me, when I became aware, all at
once and as though by some immediate but silent incandescence, of a
certain glimmering of light upon the passage floor. Towards this I
groped my way with infinite precaution; and having come at length as far
as the angle of the corridor, beheld the door of the butler’s pantry
standing just ajar and a narrow thread of brightness falling from the
chink. Creeping still closer, I put my eye to the aperture. The man sat
within upon a chair, listening, I could see, with the most rapt
attention. On a table before him he had laid a watch, a pair of steel
revolvers, and a bull’s-eye lantern. For one second many contradictory
theories and projects whirled together in my head; the next, I had
slammed the door and turned the key upon the malefactor. Surprised at my
own decision, I stood and panted, leaning on the wall. From within the
pantry not a sound was to be heard; the man, whatever he was, had
accepted his fate without a struggle, and now, as I hugged myself to
fancy, sat frozen with terror and looking for the worst to follow. I
promised myself that he should not be disappointed; and the better to
complete my task, I turned to ascend the stairs.
The situation, as I groped my way to the first floor, appealed to me
suddenly by my strong sense of humour. Here was I, the owner of the
house, burglariously present in its walls; and there, in the dining-room,
were two gentlemen, unknown to me, seated complacently at supper, and
only saved by my promptitude from some surprising or deadly interruption.
It were strange if I could not manage to extract the matter of amusement
from so unusual a situation.
Behind this dining-room, there is a small apartment intended for a
library. It was to this that I cautiously groped my way; and you will
see how fortune had exactly served me. The weather, I have said, was
sultry; in order to ventilate the dining-room and yet preserve the
uninhabited appearance of the mansion to the front, the window of the
library had been widely opened, and the door of communication between the
two apartments left ajar. To this interval I now applied my eye.
Wax tapers, set in silver candlesticks, shed their chastened brightness
on the damask of the tablecloth and the remains of a cold collation of
the rarest delicacy. The two gentlemen had finished supper, and were now
trifling with cigars and maraschino; while in a silver spirit lamp,
coffee of the most captivating fragrance was preparing in the fashion of
the East. The elder of the two, he who had first arrived, was placed
directly facing me; the other was set on his left hand. Both, like the
man in the butler’s pantry, seemed to be intently listening; and on the
face of the second I thought I could perceive the marks of fear. Oddly
enough, however, when they came to speak, the parts were found to be
reversed.
‘I assure you,’ said the elder gentleman, ‘I not only heard the slamming
of a door, but the sound of very guarded footsteps.’
‘Your highness was certainly deceived,’ replied the other. ‘I am endowed
with the acutest hearing, and I can swear that not a mouse has rustled.’
Yet the pallor and contraction of his features were in total discord with
the tenor of his words.
His highness (whom, of course, I readily divined to be Prince Florizel)
looked at his companion for the least fraction of a second; and though
nothing shook the easy quiet of his attitude, I could see that he was far
from being duped. ‘It is well,’ said he; ‘let us dismiss the topic. And
now, sir, that I have very freely explained the sentiments by which I am
directed, let me ask you, according to your promise, to imitate my
frankness.’
‘I have heard you,’ replied the other, ‘with great interest.’
‘With singular patience,’ said the prince politely.
‘Ay, your highness, and with unlooked-for sympathy,’ returned the young
man. ‘I know not how to tell the change that has befallen me. You have,
I must suppose, a charm, to which even your enemies are subject.’ He
looked at the clock on the mantelpiece and visibly blanched. ‘So late!’
he cried. ‘Your highness—God knows I am now speaking from the
heart—before it be too late, leave this house!’
The prince glanced once more at his companion, and then very deliberately
shook the ash from his cigar. ‘That is a strange remark,’ said he; ‘and
_á propos de bottes_, I never continue a cigar when once the ash is
fallen; the spell breaks, the soul of the flavour flies away, and there
remains but the dead body of tobacco; and I make it a rule to throw away
that husk and choose another.’ He suited the action to the words.
‘Do not trifle with my appeal,’ resumed the young man, in tones that
trembled with emotion. ‘It is made at the price of my honour and to the
peril of my life. Go—go now! lose not a moment; and if you have any
kindness for a young man, miserably deceived indeed, but not devoid of
better sentiments, look not behind you as you leave.’
‘Sir,’ said the prince, ‘I am here upon your honour; assure you upon mine
that I shall continue to rely upon that safeguard. The coffee is ready;
I must again trouble you, I fear.’ And with a courteous movement of the
hand, he seemed to invite his companion to pour out the coffee.
The unhappy young man rose from his seat. ‘I appeal to you,’ he cried,
‘by every holy sentiment, in mercy to me, if not in pity to yourself,
begone before it is too late.’
‘Sir,’ replied the prince, ‘I am not readily accessible to fear; and if
there is one defect to which I must plead guilty, it is that of a curious
disposition. You go the wrong way about to make me leave this house, in
which I play the part of your entertainer; and, suffer me to add, young
man, if any peril threaten us, it was of your contriving, not of mine.’
‘Alas, you do not know to what you condemn me,’ cried the other. ‘But I
at least will have no hand in it.’ With these words he carried his hand
to his pocket, hastily swallowed the contents of a phial, and, with the
very act, reeled back and fell across his chair upon the floor. The
prince left his place and came and stood above him, where he lay
convulsed upon the carpet. ‘Poor moth!’ I heard his highness murmur.
‘Alas, poor moth! must we again inquire which is the more fatal—weakness
or wickedness? And can a sympathy with ideas, surely not ignoble in
themselves, conduct a man to this dishonourable death?’
By this time I had pushed the door open and walked into the room. ‘Your
highness,’ said I, ‘this is no time for moralising; with a little
promptness we may save this creature’s life; and as for the other, he
need cause you no concern, for I have him safely under lock and key.’
The prince had turned about upon my entrance, and regarded me certainly
with no alarm, but with a profundity of wonder which almost robbed me of
my self-possession. ‘My dear madam,’ he cried at last, ‘and who the
devil are you?’
I was already on the floor beside the dying man. I had, of course, no
idea with what drug he had attempted his life, and I was forced to try
him with a variety of antidotes. Here were both oil and vinegar, for the
prince had done the young man the honour of compounding for him one of
his celebrated salads; and of each of these I administered from a quarter
to half a pint, with no apparent efficacy. I next plied him with the hot
coffee, of which there may have been near upon a quart.
‘Have you no milk?’ I inquired.
‘I fear, madam, that milk has been omitted,’ returned the prince.
‘Salt, then,’ said I; ‘salt is a revulsive. Pass the salt.’
‘And possibly the mustard?’ asked his highness, as he offered me the
contents of the various salt-cellars poured together on a plate.
‘Ah,’ cried I, ‘the thought is excellent! Mix me about half a pint of
mustard, drinkably dilute.’
Whether it was the salt or the mustard, or the mere combination of so
many subversive agents, as soon as the last had been poured over his
throat, the young sufferer obtained relief.
‘There!’ I exclaimed, with natural triumph, ‘I have saved a life!’
‘And yet, madam,’ returned the prince, ‘your mercy may be cruelty
disguised. Where the honour is lost, it is, at least, superfluous to
prolong the life.’
‘If you had led a life as changeable as mine, your highness,’ I replied,
‘you would hold a very different opinion. For my part, and after
whatever extremity of misfortune or disgrace, I should still count
to-morrow worth a trial.’
‘You speak as a lady, madam,’ said the prince; ‘and for such you speak
the truth. But to men there is permitted such a field of license, and
the good behaviour asked of them is at once so easy and so little, that
to fail in that is to fall beyond the reach of pardon. But will you
suffer me to repeat a question, put to you at first, I am afraid, with
some defect of courtesy; and to ask you once more, who you are and how I
have the honour of your company?’
‘I am the proprietor of the house in which we stand,’ said I.
‘And still I am at fault,’ returned the prince.
But at that moment the timepiece on the mantel-shelf began to strike the
hour of twelve; and the young man, raising himself upon one elbow, with
an expression of despair and horror that I have never seen excelled,
cried lamentably, ‘Midnight! oh, just God!’ We stood frozen to our
places, while the tingling hammer of the timepiece measured the remaining
strokes; nor had we yet stirred, so tragic had been the tones of the
young man, when the various bells of London began in turn to declare the
hour. The timepiece was inaudible beyond the walls of the chamber where
we stood; but the second pulsation of Big Ben had scarcely throbbed into
the night, before a sharp detonation rang about the house. The prince
sprang for the door by which I had entered; but quick as he was, I yet
contrived to intercept him.
‘Are you armed?’ I cried.
‘No, madam,’ replied he. ‘You remind me appositely; I will take the
poker.’
‘The man below,’ said I, ‘has two revolvers. Would you confront him at
such odds?’
He paused, as though staggered in his purpose.
‘And yet, madam,’ said he, ‘we cannot continue to remain in ignorance of
what has passed.’
‘No!’ cried I. ‘And who proposes it? I am as curious as yourself, but
let us rather send for the police; or, if your highness dreads a scandal,
for some of your own servants.’
‘Nay, madam,’ he replied, smiling, ‘for so brave a lady, you surprise me.
Would you have me, then, send others where I fear to go myself?’
‘You are perfectly right,’ said I, ‘and I was entirely wrong. Go, in
God’s name, and I will hold the candle!’
Together, therefore, we descended to the lower story, he carrying the
poker, I the light; and together we approached and opened the door of the
butler’s pantry. In some sort, I believe, I was prepared for the
spectacle that met our eyes; I was prepared, that is, to find the villain
dead, but the rude details of such a violent suicide I was unable to
endure. The prince, unshaken by horror as he had remained unshaken by
alarm, assisted me with the most respectful gallantry to regain the
dining-room.
There we found our patient, still, indeed, deadly pale, but vastly
recovered and already seated on a chair. He held out both his hands with
a most pitiful gesture of interrogation.
‘He is dead,’ said the prince.
‘Alas!’ cried the young man, ‘and it should be I! What do I do, thus
lingering on the stage I have disgraced, while he, my sure comrade,
blameworthy indeed for much, but yet the soul of fidelity, has judged and
slain himself for an involuntary fault? Ah, sir,’ said he, ‘and you too,
madam, without whose cruel help I should be now beyond the reach of my
accusing conscience, you behold in me the victim equally of my own faults
and virtues. I was born a hater of injustice; from my most tender years
my blood boiled against heaven when I beheld the sick, and against men
when I witnessed the sorrows of the poor; the pauper’s crust stuck in my
throat when I sat down to eat my dainties, and the cripple child has set
me weeping. What was there in that but what was noble? and yet observe
to what a fall these thoughts have led me! Year after year this passion
for the lost besieged me closer. What hope was there in kings? what hope
in these well-feathered classes that now roll in money? I had observed
the course of history; I knew the burgess, our ruler of to-day, to be
base, cowardly, and dull; I saw him, in every age, combine to pull down
that which was immediately above and to prey upon those that were below;
his dulness, I knew, would ultimately bring about his ruin; I knew his
days were numbered, and yet how was I to wait? how was I to let the poor
child shiver in the rain? The better days, indeed, were coming, but the
child would die before that. Alas, your highness, in surely no
ungenerous impatience I enrolled myself among the enemies of this unjust
and doomed society; in surely no unnatural desire to keep the fires of my
philanthropy alight, I bound myself by an irrevocable oath.
‘That oath is all my history. To give freedom to posterity I had
forsworn my own. I must attend upon every signal; and soon my father
complained of my irregular hours and turned me from his house. I was
engaged in betrothal to an honest girl; from her also I had to part, for
she was too shrewd to credit my inventions and too innocent to be
entrusted with the truth. Behold me, then, alone with conspirators!
Alas! as the years went on, my illusions left me. Surrounded as I was by
the fervent disciples and apologists of revolution, I beheld them daily
advance in confidence and desperation; I beheld myself, upon the other
hand, and with an almost equal regularity, decline in faith. I had
sacrificed all to further that cause in which I still believed; and daily
I began to grow in doubts if we were advancing it indeed. Horrible was
the society with which we warred, but our own means were not less
horrible.
‘I will not dwell upon my sufferings; I will not pause to tell you how,
when I beheld young men still free and happy, married, fathers of
children, cheerfully toiling at their work, my heart reproached me with
the greatness and vanity of my unhappy sacrifice. I will not describe to
you how, worn by poverty, poor lodging, scanty food, and an unquiet
conscience, my health began to fail, and in the long nights, as I
wandered bedless in the rainy streets, the most cruel sufferings of the
body were added to the tortures of my mind. These things are not
personal to me; they are common to all unfortunates in my position. An
oath, so light a thing to swear, so grave a thing to break: an oath,
taken in the heat of youth, repented with what sobbings of the heart, but
yet in vain repented, as the years go on: an oath, that was once the very
utterance of the truth of God, but that falls to be the symbol of a
meaningless and empty slavery; such is the yoke that many young men
joyfully assume, and under whose dead weight they live to suffer worse
than death.
‘It is not that I was patient. I have begged to be released; but I knew
too much, and I was still refused. I have fled; ay, and for the time
successfully. I reached Paris. I found a lodging in the Rue St.
Jacques, almost opposite the Val de Grâce. My room was mean and bare,
but the sun looked into it towards evening; it commanded a peep of a
green garden; a bird hung by a neighbour’s window and made the morning
beautiful; and I, who was sick, might lie in bed and rest myself: I, who
was in full revolt against the principles that I had served, was now no
longer at the beck of the council, and was no longer charged with
shameful and revolting tasks. Oh! what an interval of peace was that! I
still dream, at times, that I can hear the note of my neighbour’s bird.
‘My money was running out, and it became necessary that I should find
employment. Scarcely had I been three days upon the search, ere I
thought that I was being followed. I made certain of the features of the
man, which were quite strange to me, and turned into a small café, where
I whiled away an hour, pretending to read the papers, but inwardly
convulsed with terror. When I came forth again into the street, it was
quite empty, and I breathed again; but alas, I had not turned three
corners, when I once more observed the human hound pursuing me. Not an
hour was to be lost; timely submission might yet preserve a life which
otherwise was forfeit and dishonoured; and I fled, with what speed you
may conceive, to the Paris agency of the society I served.
‘My submission was accepted. I took up once more the hated burthen of
that life; once more I was at the call of men whom I despised and hated,
while yet I envied and admired them. They at least were wholehearted in
the things they purposed; but I, who had once been such as they, had
fallen from the brightness of my faith, and now laboured, like a
hireling, for the wages of a loathed existence. Ay, sir, to that I was
condemned; I obeyed to continue to live, and lived but to obey.
‘The last charge that was laid upon me was the one which has to-night so
tragically ended. Boldly telling who I was, I was to request from your
highness, on behalf of my society, a private audience, where it was
designed to murder you. If one thing remained to me of my old
convictions, it was the hate of kings; and when this task was offered me,
I took it gladly. Alas, sir, you triumphed. As we supped, you gained
upon my heart. Your character, your talents, your designs for our
unhappy country, all had been misrepresented. I began to forget you were
a prince; I began, all too feelingly, to remember that you were a man.
As I saw the hour approach, I suffered agonies untold; and when, at last,
we heard the slamming of the door which announced in my unwilling ears
the arrival of the partner of my crime, you will bear me out with what
instancy I besought you to depart. You would not, alas! and what could
I? Kill you, I could not; my heart revolted, my hand turned back from
such a deed. Yet it was impossible that I should suffer you to stay; for
when the hour struck and my companion came, true to his appointment, and
he, at least, true to our design, I could neither suffer you to be killed
nor yet him to be arrested. From such a tragic passage, death, and death
alone, could save me; and it is no fault of mine if I continue to exist.
‘But you, madam,’ continued the young man, addressing himself more
directly to myself, ‘were doubtless born to save the prince and to
confound our purposes. My life you have prolonged; and by turning the
key on my companion, you have made me the author of his death. He heard
the hour strike; he was impotent to help; and thinking himself forfeit to
honour, thinking that I should fall alone upon his highness and perish
for lack of his support, he has turned his pistol on himself.’
‘You are right,’ said Prince Florizel: ‘it was in no ungenerous spirit
that you brought these burthens on yourself; and when I see you so nobly
to blame, so tragically punished, I stand like one reproved. For is it
not strange, madam, that you and I, by practising accepted and
inconsiderable virtues, and commonplace but still unpardonable faults,
should stand here, in the sight of God, with what we call clean hands and
quiet consciences; while this poor youth, for an error that I could
almost envy him, should be sunk beyond the reach of hope?
‘Sir,’ resumed the prince, turning to the young man, ‘I cannot help you;
my help would but unchain the thunderbolt that overhangs you; and I can
but leave you free.’
‘And, sir,’ said I, ‘as this house belongs to me, I will ask you to have
the kindness to remove the body. You and your conspirators, it appears
to me, can hardly in civility do less.’
‘It shall be done,’ said the young man, with a dismal accent.
‘And you, dear madam,’ said the prince, ‘you, to whom I owe my life, how
can I serve you?’
‘Your highness,’ I said, ‘to be very plain, this is my favourite house,
being not only a valuable property, but endeared to me by various
associations. I have endless troubles with tenants of the ordinary
class: and at first applauded my good fortune when I found one of the
station of your Master of the Horse. I now begin to think otherwise:
dangers set a siege about great personages; and I do not wish my tenement
to share these risks. Procure me the resiliation of the lease, and I
shall feel myself your debtor.’
‘I must tell you, madam,’ replied his highness, ‘that Colonel Geraldine
is but a cloak for myself; and I should be sorry indeed to think myself
so unacceptable a tenant.’
‘Your highness,’ said I, ‘I have conceived a sincere admiration for your
character; but on the subject of house property, I cannot allow the
interference of my feelings. I will, however, to prove to you that there
is nothing personal in my request, here solemnly engage my word that I
will never put another tenant in this house.’
‘Madam,’ said Florizel, ‘you plead your cause too charmingly to be
refused.’
Thereupon we all three withdrew. The young man, still reeling in his
walk, departed by himself to seek the assistance of his
fellow-conspirators; and the prince, with the most attentive gallantry,
lent me his escort to the door of my hotel. The next day, the lease was
cancelled; nor from that hour to this, though sometimes regretting my
engagement, have I suffered a tenant in this house.
_THE SUPERFLUOUS MANSION_
(_Continued_).
As soon as the old lady had finished her relation, Somerset made haste to
offer her his compliments.
‘Madam,’ said he, ‘your story is not only entertaining but instructive;
and you have told it with infinite vivacity. I was much affected towards
the end, as I held at one time very liberal opinions, and should
certainly have joined a secret society if I had been able to find one.
But the whole tale came home to me; and I was the better able to feel for
you in your various perplexities, as I am myself of somewhat hasty
temper.’
‘I do not understand you,’ said Mrs. Luxmore, with some marks of
irritation. ‘You must have strangely misinterpreted what I have told
you. You fill me with surprise.’
Somerset, alarmed by the old lady’s change of tone and manner, hurried to
recant.
‘Dear Mrs. Luxmore,’ said he, ‘you certainly misconstrue my remark. As a
man of somewhat fiery humour, my conscience repeatedly pricked me when I
heard what you had suffered at the hands of persons similarly
constituted.’
‘Oh, very well indeed,’ replied the old lady; ‘and a very proper spirit.
I regret that I have met with it so rarely.’
‘But in all this,’ resumed the young man, ‘I perceive nothing that
concerns myself.’
‘I am about to come to that,’ she returned. ‘And you have already before
you, in the pledge I gave Prince Florizel, one of the elements of the
affair. I am a woman of the nomadic sort, and when I have no case before
the courts I make it a habit to visit continental spas: not that I have
ever been ill; but then I am no longer young, and I am always happy in a
crowd. Well, to come more shortly to the point, I am now on the wing for
Evian; this incubus of a house, which I must leave behind and dare not
let, hangs heavily upon my hands; and I propose to rid myself of that
concern, and do you a very good turn into the bargain, by lending you the
mansion, with all its fittings, as it stands. The idea was sudden; it
appealed to me as humorous: and I am sure it will cause my relatives, if
they should ever hear of it, the keenest possible chagrin. Here, then,
is the key; and when you return at two to-morrow afternoon, you will find
neither me nor my cats to disturb you in your new possession.’
So saying, the old lady arose, as if to dismiss her visitor; but
Somerset, looking somewhat blankly on the key, began to protest.
‘Dear Mrs. Luxmore,’ said he, ‘this is a most unusual proposal. You know
nothing of me, beyond the fact that I displayed both impudence and
timidity. I may be the worst kind of scoundrel; I may sell your
furniture—’
‘You may blow up the house with gunpowder, for what I care!’ cried Mrs.
Luxmore. ‘It is in vain to reason. Such is the force of my character
that, when I have one idea clearly in my head, I do not care two straws
for any side consideration. It amuses me to do it, and let that suffice.
On your side, you may do what you please—let apartments, or keep a
private hotel; on mine, I promise you a full month’s warning before I
return, and I never fail religiously to keep my promises.’
The young man was about to renew his protest, when he observed a sudden
and significant change in the old lady’s countenance.
‘If I thought you capable of disrespect!’ she cried.
‘Madam,’ said Somerset, with the extreme fervour of asseveration, ‘madam,
I accept. I beg you to understand that I accept with joy and gratitude.’
‘Ah well,’ returned Mrs. Luxmore, ‘if I am mistaken, let it pass. And
now, since all is comfortably settled, I wish you a good-night.’
Thereupon, as if to leave him no room for repentance, she hurried
Somerset out of the front door, and left him standing, key in hand, upon
the pavement.
The next day, about the hour appointed, the young man found his way to
the square, which I will here call Golden Square, though that was not its
name. What to expect, he knew not; for a man may live in dreams, and yet
be unprepared for their realisation. It was already with a certain pang
of surprise that he beheld the mansion, standing in the eye of day, a
solid among solids. The key, upon trial, readily opened the front door;
he entered that great house, a privileged burglar; and, escorted by the
echoes of desertion, rapidly reviewed the empty chambers. Cats, servant,
old lady, the very marks of habitation, like writing on a slate, had been
in these few hours obliterated. He wandered from floor to floor, and
found the house of great extent; the kitchen offices commodious and well
appointed; the rooms many and large; and the drawing-room, in particular,
an apartment of princely size and tasteful decoration. Although the day
without was warm, genial, and sunny, with a ruffling wind from the
quarter of Torquay, a chill, as it were, of suspended animation inhabited
the house. Dust and shadows met the eye; and but for the ominous
procession of the echoes, and the rumour of the wind among the garden
trees, the ear of the young man was stretched in vain.
Behind the dining-room, that pleasant library, referred to by the old
lady in her tale, looked upon the flat roofs and netted cupolas of the
kitchen quarters; and on a second visit, this room appeared to greet him
with a smiling countenance. He might as well, he thought, avoid the
expense of lodging: the library, fitted with an iron bedstead which he
had remarked, in one of the upper chambers, would serve his purpose for
the night; while in the dining-room, which was large, airy, and
lightsome, looking on the square and garden, he might very agreeably pass
his days, cook his meals, and study to bring himself to some proficiency
in that art of painting which he had recently determined to adopt. It
did not take him long to make the change: he had soon returned to the
mansion with his modest kit; and the cabman who brought him was readily
induced, by the young man’s pleasant manner and a small gratuity, to
assist him in the installation of the iron bed. By six in the evening,
when Somerset went forth to dine, he was able to look back upon the
mansion with a sense of pride and property. Four-square it stood, of an
imposing frontage, and flanked on either side by family hatchments. His
eye, from where he stood whistling in the key, with his back to the
garden railings, reposed on every feature of reality; and yet his own
possession seemed as flimsy as a dream.
In the course of a few days, the genteel inhabitants of the square began
to remark the customs of their neighbour. The sight of a young gentleman
discussing a clay pipe, about four o’clock of the afternoon, in the
drawing-room balcony of so discreet a mansion; and perhaps still more,
his periodical excursion to a decent tavern in the neighbourhood, and his
unabashed return, nursing the full tankard: had presently raised to a
high pitch the interest and indignation of the liveried servants of the
square. The disfavour of some of these gentlemen at first proceeded to
the length of insult; but Somerset knew how to be affable with any class
of men; and a few rude words merrily accepted, and a few glasses amicably
shared, gained for him the right of toleration.
The young man had embraced the art of Raphael, partly from a notion of
its ease, partly from an inborn distrust of offices. He scorned to bear
the yoke of any regular schooling; and proceeded to turn one half of the
dining-room into a studio for the reproduction of still life. There he
amassed a variety of objects, indiscriminately chosen from the kitchen,
the drawing-room, and the back garden; and there spent his days in
smiling assiduity. Meantime, the great bulk of empty building overhead
lay, like a load, upon his imagination. To hold so great a stake and to
do nothing, argued some defect of energy; and he at length determined to
act upon the hint given by Mrs. Luxmore herself, and to stick, with
wafers, in the window of the dining-room, a small handbill announcing
furnished lodgings. At half-past six of a fine July morning, he affixed
the bill, and went forth into the square to study the result. It seemed,
to his eye, promising and unpretentious; and he returned to the
drawing-room balcony, to consider, over a studious pipe, the knotty
problem of how much he was to charge.
Thereupon he somewhat relaxed in his devotion to the art of painting.
Indeed, from that time forth, he would spend the best part of the day in
the front balcony, like the attentive angler poring on his float; and the
better to support the tedium, he would frequently console himself with
his clay pipe. On several occasions, passers-by appeared to be arrested
by the ticket, and on several others ladies and gentlemen drove to the
very doorstep by the carriageful; but it appeared there was something
repulsive in the appearance of the house; for with one accord, they would
cast but one look upward, and hastily resume their onward progress or
direct the driver to proceed. Somerset had thus the mortification of
actually meeting the eye of a large number of lodging-seekers; and though
he hastened to withdraw his pipe, and to compose his features to an air
of invitation, he was never rewarded by so much as an inquiry. ‘Can
there,’ he thought, ‘be anything repellent in myself?’ But a candid
examination in one of the pier-glasses of the drawing-room led him to
dismiss the fear.
Something, however, was amiss. His vast and accurate calculations on the
fly-leaves of books, or on the backs of playbills, appeared to have been
an idle sacrifice of time. By these, he had variously computed the
weekly takings of the house, from sums as modest as five-and-twenty
shillings, up to the more majestic figure of a hundred pounds; and yet,
in despite of the very elements of arithmetic, here he was making
literally nothing.
This incongruity impressed him deeply and occupied his thoughtful leisure
on the balcony; and at last it seemed to him that he had detected the
error of his method. ‘This,’ he reflected, ‘is an age of generous
display: the age of the sandwich-man, of Griffiths, of Pears’ legendary
soap, and of Eno’s fruit salt, which, by sheer brass and notoriety, and
the most disgusting pictures I ever remember to have seen, has overlaid
that comforter of my childhood, Lamplough’s pyretic saline. Lamplough
was genteel, Eno was omnipresent; Lamplough was trite, Eno original and
abominably vulgar; and here have I, a man of some pretensions to
knowledge of the world, contented myself with half a sheet of note-paper,
a few cold words which do not directly address the imagination, and the
adornment (if adornment it may be called) of four red wafers! Am I,
then, to sink with Lamplough, or to soar with Eno? Am I to adopt that
modesty which is doubtless becoming in a duke? or to take hold of the red
facts of life with the emphasis of the tradesman and the poet?’
Pursuant upon these meditations, he procured several sheets of the very
largest size of drawing-paper; and laying forth his paints, proceeded to
compose an ensign that might attract the eye, and at the same time, in
his own phrase, directly address the imagination of the passenger.
Something taking in the way of colour, a good, savoury choice of words,
and a realistic design setting forth the life a lodger might expect to
lead within the walls of that palace of delight: these, he perceived,
must be the elements of his advertisement. It was possible, upon the one
hand, to depict the sober pleasures of domestic life, the evening fire,
blond-headed urchins and the hissing urn; but on the other, it was
possible (and he almost felt as if it were more suited to his muse) to
set forth the charms of an existence somewhat wider in its range or,
boldly say, the paradise of the Mohammedan. So long did the artist waver
between these two views, that, before he arrived at a conclusion, he had
finally conceived and completed both designs. With the proverbially
tender heart of the parent, he found himself unable to sacrifice either
of these offsprings of his art; and decided to expose them on alternate
days. ‘In this way,’ he thought, ‘I shall address myself indifferently
to all classes of the world.’
The tossing of a penny decided the only remaining point; and the more
imaginative canvas received the suffrages of fortune, and appeared first
in the window of the mansion. It was of a high fancy, the legend
eloquently writ, the scheme of colour taking and bold; and but for the
imperfection of the artist’s drawing, it might have been taken for a
model of its kind. As it was, however, when viewed from his favourite
point against the garden railings, and with some touch of distance, it
caused a pleasurable rising of the artist’s heart. ‘I have thrown away,’
he ejaculated, ‘an invaluable motive; and this shall be the subject of my
first academy picture.’
The fate of neither of these works was equal to its merit. A crowd would
certainly, from time to time, collect before the area-railings; but they
came to jeer and not to speculate; and those who pushed their inquiries
further, were too plainly animated by the spirit of derision. The racier
of the two cartoons displayed, indeed, no symptom of attractive merit;
and though it had a certain share of that success called scandalous,
failed utterly of its effect. On the day, however, of the second
appearance of the companion work, a real inquirer did actually present
himself before the eyes of Somerset.