Confessions Of Con Cregan, the Irish Gil Blas

The company chorused assent, and I continued: “The party had somehow not gone off well; the accustomed spirit aud animation of the scene were wanting. Perhaps Lady Blanche’s illness had some share in this; in any case, every one seemed low aud out of sorts, and the pleasant people talked of taking leave, when his Royal Highness proposed, by way of doing something, that they should have a raffle for this wonderful fiddle, of which, though only seen by the host and another, every one was talking.

“Even this much of stir was hailed with enthusiasm, the secrecy and mystery increasing the interest to a high degree.

The tickets were two guineas each; and Lord E – , dying to possess ‘a real Pizzichetoni,’ took twenty of them. The number was limited to a hundred; but such was the judicious management of those who directed the proceedings that the shares were at a ‘high premium’ on the day of drawing, his Royal Highness actually buying up several at five guineas apiece. The excitement, too, was immense; encyclopedias were ransacked for histories of the violin, and its great professors and proficients. The ‘Conversations Lexicon’ opened of itself at the letter P., and Pizzichetoni’s name turned up in every corner and on every theme, fifty times a day. What a time I have heard that was! nothing talked of but bow-action, shifting, bridging, double fingering, and the like, from morning to night. Lord E – became, in consequence of this run about a favorite subject, a personage of more than ordinary importance; instead of being deemed, what he was commonly called at the clubs, the Great ‘Borassus,’ he was listened to with interest and attention; and, in fact, from the extent of his knowledge of the subject, and his acquaintance with every detail of its history, each felt that to his Lordship ought by right to fall the fortunate ticket.

“So did it, in fact, turn out. After much vacillation, with the last two numbers remained the final decision. One belonged to the Royal Duke, the other to Lord E – .

“‘You shall have a hundred guineas for your chance, E – ,’ said the Duke; ‘what say you?’

“‘Your Ruyal Highness’s wish is a command,’ said he, bowing and blushing; ‘but were it otherwise, and to any other than your Royal Highness, I should as certainly say nay.’

“‘Then “nay” must be the answer to me also; I cannot accept of such a sacrifice: and, after all, you are much more worthy of such a treasure than I am, – I really only meant it for a present to Mori.’

“‘A present, your Royal Highness!’ cried he, horrified; ‘I would n’t give such a jewel to anything short of St. Cecilia, – the violin, you are aware, was her instrument.’

“‘Now, then, for our fortunes!’ cried the Duke, as he drew forth his ticket. ‘I believe I ‘m the lucky one: this is number 2000.’

“‘Two thousand and one!’ exclaimed Lord E – , holding up his, and, in an ecstasy of triumph, sat down to recover himself.

“‘Here is the key, my Lord,’ said one of the party, advancing towards him.

“He sprang up, and thrust it into the lock; in his agitation he shook the box, and a slight, soft cadence, like a faint cry, was heard.

“‘The soul of music hovers o’er it still,’ he exclaimed theatrically, and, flinging back the lid, discovered – Me! Yes, ladies and gentlemen, in a very smart white robe, with very tasty embroidery, and a lace cap which I am assured was pure Valenciennes, there I lay! I am not aware whether my infantine movements were peculiarly seductive or not; but I have been told that I went through my gamut at a key that even overtopped the laughter around me.

“‘A very bad jest – a mauvaise plaisanterie of the worst taste, I must say,’ said Lord E – turning away, and leaving the room.

“I never rightly knew how the matter was afterwards made up, but certainly it was by his lordship’s directions, and at his charge, that I was nursed, reared, and educated. My expenses at Eton and Oxford, as well as the cost of my commission, came from him; and it was only a few days ago, on learning his death, that I also learned the termination of my good fortune in life. He bequeathed me what he styled my ‘family mansio,’ – the fiddle-case; thus repaying by this cruel jest the practical joke passed upon himself so many years before.”

“What name did they give you, sir?”

“‘I was called after the celebrated violinist of Cremona who lived in the seventh century, who was named Cornelius Crejanus, or, as some spell, Creganus; and, in compliance with modern usages, they anglicized me into Con Cregan.”

“I have the honor to propose Con Cregan’s health,” said the president; “and may he see many happy years ere he next goes to sleep in a wooden box!”

This very gratifying toast was drunk with the most flattering acclamations, and I descended from the tribune the “man of the evening.”

If some of the company who put credence in my story did not hesitate to ascribe a strong interest in me to the Royal Duke himself, others, who put less faith in my narrative, thought less of my parentage, and more of myself; so that what I lost on one hand, I gained on the other.

There was a discretion, a certain shadowy prudery about certain portions of my story, of which I have not attempted to convey any notion here, but which I saw had “told” with the fair part of my audience, who, possibly not over rigid in many of their opinions, were well pleased with the delicate reserve in which I shrouded my direct allusion to my parentage. A rough, red-whiskered skipper, indeed, seemed disposed to pour a broadside into this mystery, by asking “If his Royal Highness never took any notice of me?” but the refined taste of the company concurred in the diplomatic refusal to answer a question of which the “hon. gentleman on the straw chair” had given “no notice.”

The pleasures of the table, – a very luscious bowl of the liquid which bore the mysterious epithet of “Thumbo-rig,” and which was a concoction of the genus punch, spiced, sugared, and iced to a degree that concealed its awful tendency to anti-Mathewism; bright eyes that were no churls of their glances; merry converse; and that wondrous “magnetism of the board” which we call good fellowship, – made the time pass rapidly. Toasts and sentiments of every fashion went round, and we were political, literary, arbitrary, amatory, sentimental, and satiric by turns. They were pleasant varlets! and in their very diversity of humors there was that clash and collision of mind and metal that tell more effectively than the best packed party of choice wits who ever sat and watched each other.

Then, there was a jolly jumbling up of bad English, bad Dutch, bad French, Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese, that would drive a sober listener clean mad. Stories begun in one tongue merged into another; and so into a third; while explanations, mistakes, and corrections ran alongside of the narrative, often far more amusing than the story to which they were attached. Personalities, too, abounded, but with a most unqualified good temper; and, on the whole, I never beheld a merrier set.

M. Palamede alone did not relish the scene. He himself was nobody at such a moment, and he longed for the ballroom and the dance; and it was only after repeated summonses of his bell that we at last arose and entered the saloon, where we found him standing, fiddle in hand, while, rapping smartly a couple of times with his bow, he called out, —

“Places! places! Monsieur le Duc de Gubbins, to your place. Ladies, I beg attention. Madame la Marquise, dans la bonne société on ne donne jamais un soufflet.”

“Ah, here’s old Rosin again!” cried several of the party, who, with all this familiarity, appeared to view him with no small respect.

“Shall I find you a partner, Monsieur de Congreganne?” said he to me.

“Thanks,” said I; “but, with your permission, I’ll not dance just yet.”

“As you please, it is but a contre-danse,” said he shrugging his shoulders, while he moved away to arrange the figures.

I had not perceived before that a kind of orchestra, consisting of two fiddles, a flute, and a tambourine, was stationed in a long gallery over the door by which we entered; Monsieur Palamede being, however, director, not alone of the music, but of the entire entertainment. The band now struck up a well-known English country-dance, and away went the couples, flying down the room to the merry measure; Monsieur de Rosanne arranging the figures, beating the time, preserving order, and restraining irregularities, with the energy of one possessed.

“Ah, Monsieur le Capitaine de Cocks, c’en est trop. Mademoiselle de Spicer, pas si haut! de arms graceful! Ladies, no keep your hands under * your – what ye call him – jupe – apron – ha! ha! Black man – negro – no talk so loud when you make punch!”

“Chassez – balancez! La grace! Madame la Marquise, la grace!” Then, as he passed me, he muttered with a voice guttural from anger, “Quel supplice!”

As I continued to gaze on the scene, I could not help being struck with the extreme diversity of look and expression; for while there were some faces on which iniquity had laid its indelible stamp, there were others singularly pleasing, and some actually beautiful. Among the men, the same character prevailed throughout, – a rude, coarse good-humor, – the sailor-type everywhere; but a few seemed persons of a higher class, and on these a life of vice and debauchery had produced the most marked change, and you could still see, amid the traces of nights of riot and abandonment, the remnant of finer features, the expression they had worn before their “fall.” If I was surprised at the good looks of many of the women, still more was I by a gracefuluess of carriage and an air of deportment that seemed as much out of place as they were unsuited to such companionship. One young fellow appeared to be a general favorite with the company. He was tall, well-made, and had that indescribably rakish character about his very gesture that is rarely a bad indication of the possessor’s mode of life. I had no difficulty in learning his name, for every one called him by it at each instant, and “Fred Falkoner” was heard on all sides. It was he who selected the music for the dance; his partner, for the time being, was the belle of the room, and he lounged about supreme. Nor was his title a bad one, – he was the great entertainer of the whole assembly. The refreshments were almost entirely of his ordering, and the clink of his dollars might be heard keeping merry time with the strains of the violins. I watched him with some interest; I thought I could see that, in descending to such companionship, there was a secret combat between his self-respect and a strange passion for seeing life in low places, which, when added to the flattery such a man invariably obtains from his inferiors, is a dangerous and subtle temptation. The more I studied him, the stronger grew this conviction, – nay, at times, the expression of scorn upon his handsome features was legible even to the least remarking. It was while I still continued to watch him that he passed me, with a dark, Spanish-looking girl upon his arm, When he turned round suddenly, and, staring at me fixedly a few seconds, said, “We met once before, to-day.”

“I am not aware of it,” said I, doubtingly.

“Yes, yes. I never forget a face, least of all when it resembles yours. I saw you this morning at the ‘Picayune.’”

“True, I was there.”

“What a precious set of rascals those fellows were! You supposed that they were going to join the expedition. Not a bit of it. Some were gamblers; the greater number thieves and pickpockets. I know them all; and, indeed, I was going to warn you about them, for I saw you were a stranger, but I lost sight of you in the crowd. But there’s the music. Will you have a partner?”

“With all my heart,” said I, glad to encourage our further acquaintance.

“You speak Spanish?”

“Not a word.”

“Well, no matter. If you did, you should have mine here. But what say you to Mademoiselle Héloïse, yonder? – a bit faded or so; but I remember her second ‘Ballarina’ at the Havana, only two years back.”

I made the suitable acknowledgment; and the next moment saw me whirling away in a waltz, at least in such an approximation to that measure as my Quebec experience suggested, with a very highly rouged and black-eyebrowed “danseuse.” My French was better than my dancing; and so Mademoiselle Héloïse was satisfied to accept my arm, while we paraded the room, discussing the company after the most approved fashion.

The French have a proverb, “Bête comme une danseuse;” and I must say that my fair friend did not prove an exception. Her whole idea of life was limited to what takes place in rehearsal of a morning, or on the night of representation. She recounted to me her history from the time she had been a “Rat,” – such is the technical term at the Grand Opera of Paris, – flying through the air on a wire, or sitting perilously perched upon a pasteboard cloud. Thence she had advanced to the state of Fairy Queen, or some winged messenger of those celestials who wear muslin trousers with gold stars, and always stand in the “fifth position.” Passing through the grade of Swiss peasant, Turkish slave, and Neapolitan market-girl, she had at last arrived at the legitimate drama of “legs,” yclept “ballet d’action;” and although neither her beauty nor abilities had been sufficient to achieve celebrity in Paris, she was accounted a Taglioni in the “provinces,” and deemed worthy of exportation to the colonies.

“Non contingit cuique ad ire Corinthum!” we cannot all have our “loges” at the “Grand Opéra;” and happy for us it is so, or what would become of the pleasure we derive from third, fourth, and fifth rate performances elsewhere? True, indeed, if truffles were a necessary of life, there would be a vast amount of inconvenience and suffering. Now, Mademoiselle Héloïse, whose pirouettes were no more minded in Paris, nor singled out for peculiar favor, than one of the lamps in the row of footlights, was a kind of small idol in the Havana. She had the good fortune to live in an age when the heels take precedence of the head, and she shared in the enthusiasm by which certain people in our day would bring back the heathen mythology for the benefit of the corps de ballet.

Alas for fame! in the very climax of her glory she grew fat! Now, flesh to a danseuse is like cowardice to a soldier, or shame to a lawyer, – it is the irreconcilable quality. The gauzy natures who float to soft music must not sup. Every cutlet costs an “entrechat”! Hard and terrible condition of existence, and proving how difficult and self-denying a thing it is to be an angel, even in this world!

So much for Mademoiselle Héloise; and if the reader be weary of her, so was I.

“You’ll have to treat her to a supper,” whispered Falkoner, as he passed me.

“I’ve not a cent in my purse,” said I, thinking it better to tell the truth than incur the reproach of stinginess.

“Never mind, take mine,” said he, as he dropped a very weighty purse into my coat-pocket, and moved away before I could make any answer.

Perhaps the greatest flattery an individual can receive is to win some acknowledgment of confidence from an utter stranger. To know that by the chance intercourse of a few minutes you have so impressed another, who never saw you before, that he is impelled at once to befriend you, your self-esteem, so pleasantly gratified, immediately re-acts upon the cause, and you are at a loss whether most to applaud your own good gifts, or the ready wittedness of him who appreciated them so instantaneously.

I was still hesitating, revolving, doubtless, the pleasant sense of flattery aforesaid, when Falkoner came flying past with his partner. “Order supper for four,” cried he, as he whizzed by.

“What does he say, mon cher Comte?” said my partner.

I translated his command, and found that the notion pleased her vastly.

The dining-room by this time had been metamorphosed into a kind of coffee-room, with small supper-tables, at which parties were already assembling; and here we now took our places, to con over the bill of fare, and discuss scalloped oysters, cold lobster, devilled haddock, and other like delicacies.

Falkoner soon joined us, and we sat down, the merriest knot in the room. I must have been brilliant! I feel it so, this hour; a kind of warm glow rushes to my cheeks as I think over that evening, and how the guests from the different parts of the room drew gradually nearer and nearer to listen to the converse at our table, and hear the smart things that came pattering down like hail! What pressing invitations came pouring in upon me! The great Mastodon himself could not have eaten a tithe of the breakfasts to which I was asked, nor would the grog-tub of a seventy-four contain all the rum-and-water I was proffered by skippers lying “in dock.”

Falkoner, however, pleased me more than the rest. There was something in his cordiality that did not seem like a passing fancy; and I could not help feeling that however corrupted and run to waste by dissipation, there was good stuff about him. He interested me, too, on another score: he had formerly made one of a Texan excursion that had penetrated even to the Rio del Norte, and his escapes and adventures amused me highly. The ladies, I believe, at last found us very ungallant cavaliers; for they arose, and left us talking over prairie life and the wild habits of the chase, till day began to shine through the windows.

“The ‘Christobal’ sails to-morrow,” said he, “for Galveston; but even she, smart sailer that she is, will scarce arrive in time to catch these fellows. Here we are at the fifth of the month: the eighth was to be the start; then that, supposing you to reach Galveston by the seventh, gives you no time to get your kit ready, look after arms, and buy a nag. What say you, then, if we make a party of our own, – charter one of these small craft? – a hundred dollars or so will do it. We can then take our time to pick up good cattle, look out for a couple of mules for our baggage, and a spare mustang or so, if a horse should knock up.”

I concurred at once; the plan was fascination itself. Adventure, liberty, novelty, enterprise, and a dash of danger to heighten all! Falkoner talked of dollars as if they macadamized the road to St. Louis; and I, glowing with punch and pride together, spoke of the expense as a mere trifle. To this hour, I cannot say whether I had really mystified myself into the notion that I possessed ample means, or was merely indulging the passing pleasure of a delightful vision. So was it, however; I smiled at the cheapness of everything, could scarcely fancy such a thing as a Mexican pony for eighty dollars, and laughed – actually laughed – at the price of the rifle, when all my worldly substance, at the moment, would not have purchased copper caps for it.

“Don’t go too expensively to work, Cregan,” cried he, “and, above all, bring no European servant. A Mexican fellow – or, better still, a half-breed – is the thing for the prairies. You have to forget your Old World habits, and rough it.”

“So I can,” said I, laughing good-humoredly; “I ‘m in a capital mind for a bit of sharp work too. Just before I left the 90th, we made a forced march from St. John’s through the forest country, and I feel up to anything.”

“You’ll not like the cattle at first, I’m afraid,” said he. “They have that racking action the Yankees are fond of. There is a capital mare at Galveston, if we could get her. These fellows will snap her up, most likely.”

“Butcher’s mare,” said I, hazarding a guess.

“Ah, you ‘ve been looking after her already,” said he, surprised. “Well, to tell you the truth, that was one of my objects in coming here to-night. I heard that some of these skipper fellows had got the winning ticket: I paid twenty dollars to the office-clerk to see the number, and determine to buy it up. Here it is. Can you read these figures? for, hang me if the punch, or the heat, or the dancing, has not made me quite dizzy.”

“Let me see: Number 438,” said I, repeating it a couple of times over.

“Yes, that is it. If I could have chanced on it, I ‘d have run down to-morrow by the ‘Christobal.’ She lies about a mile out, and will weigh with the ebb, at eight o’clock. That mare – she killed Butcher by a down leap over a rock, but never scratched herself – is worth at least a thousand dollars.”

“I offered eight hundred for her on mere character,” said I, sitting back, and sipping my liquid with a most profound quietude.

Falkoner was evidently surprised with this announcement; but more so from the rakish indifference it betrayed about money, than as bespeaking me rich and affluent. And thus we chatted away till the black waiter made his appearance to open the windows and prepare for the work of the day.

“Where are you stopping?” said Falkoner, as we arose from the table.

“At Condor House,” said I, boldly giving the name of a very flash hotel. “But it’s too noisy; I don’t like it.”

“Nor do I. It’s confoundedly expensive, too. I wish you would come to Herrick’s; it is not quite so stylish, perhaps, but I think the cookery is better, and you ‘d not pay five dollars a bottle for Madeira, and eight for Champagne.”

“That is smart,” said I. “They ‘ve not let me have my bill yet; but I fancied they were costly folk.”

“Well, come and dine with me at Herrick’s to-morrow, and decide for yourself.”

“Why not try the Condor with me?” said I.

“Another day, with all my heart; but I have a friend to-morrow, so come and meet him at six o’clock.”

I agreed; and then we chatted on about London and town folks in a way that, even with all I had drunk, amazed me for the cool impudence in which I indulged.

“You knew De Courcy, of course,” said he, after a long run of mutual friends had been disposed of.

“Jack?” cried I, – “Jack De Courcy, of the Cold-streams, – yes, I think I did. Jack and I were like brothers. The last steeplechase I rode in Ireland was for poor Jack De Courcy: a little chestnut mare with a good deal of the Arab about her.”

“I remember her well, – an active devil, but she could n’t go for more than half a mile.”

“Well, I managed to screw a race out of her.”

“You must tell me all about that to-morrow; for I find my unfortunate head is like a bell with the vibration of the last stroke of the hammer on it. Don’t forget, – to-morrow, sharp six. You ‘ll meet nobody but Broughton.”

“Dudley, – Sir Dudley Broughton?”

“The same. You know him, then, already? Poor fellow! he’s terribly cut up; but he ‘ll be glad to see an old friend. Have you been much together?”

“A great deal. I made a cruise with him in his yacht, the ‘Firefly.’”

“What a rare piece of fortune to have met you!” cried Falkoner, as he shook my hand once more. And so, with the most fervent assurances of meeting on the morrow, we parted, – he, to saunter slowly towards his hotel; and I, to stand in the middle of the street, and, as I wiped the perspiration from my brow, to ask myself, had I gone clean mad.

I was so overwhelmed by the shock of my own impudence that I stood where Falkoner left me, for full five minutes, motionless and spell-bound. To have boasted of my intimacy with Captain De Courcy, although the Atlantic rolled between us, was bad enough, in all conscience; but to have talked of Sir Dudley – the haughty, insolent, overbearing Sir Dudley Broughton – as “my old friend,” was something that actually appalled me. How could my vain boastfulness have so far got the better of my natural keenness; how could my silly self-sufficiency have carried me so far? “Ah,” thought I, “it was not the real Con Cregan who spoke such ineffable folly; these were the outpourings of that diabolical ‘Thumbo-rig.’”

While, therefore, I entered into a bond with myself to eschew that insidious compound in future, I also adopted the far more imminent and important resolve, to run away from New Orleans. Another sun must not set upon me in that city, come what might. With a shudder, I called to mind Sir Dudley’s own avowal of his passion as a hater, and I could not venture to confront such danger.

I accordingly hastened to my miserable lodging, and, packing up my few clothes, now reduced to the compass of a bundle in a handkerchief, I paid my bill, and, on a minute calculation of various pieces of strange coinage, found myself the possessor of four dollars and a quarter, – a small sum, and something less than a cent for every ten miles I was removed from my native land. What meant the term “country,” after all, to such as me? He has a country who possesses property in it, whose interests tie him to the soil, where his name is known and his presence recognized; but what country belongs to him where no resting-place is found for his weary feet, whose home is an inn, whose friends are the fellow-travellers with whom he has journeyed? The ties of country, like those of kindred, are superstitions, – high and holy ones sometimes, but still superstitions. Believe in them if you can, and so much the better for you; but in some hour the conviction will come that man is of every land.