Sir Jasper Carew: His Life and Experience

MacNaghten, therefore, contented himself with some commonplace remarks about the country around and the road they were walking, when Curtis came to a sudden halt, and said, —

“You would n’t take the offer, I ‘ll be sworn. You ‘d say at once: ‘Show me what rights I ‘m surrendering; let me know the terms of the agreement.’ But what signifies all that at my age? – the last of the stock besides! If I lay by what will pay the undertaker, it’s all the world has a right to demand at my hands.”

“Here’s ‘The Friar,’ – this is our inn,” said MacNaghten. “Shall I be the caterer, eh? What say you to some fried fish and a glass of Madeira, to begin with?”

“I ‘ll have a breakfast, sir, that suits my condition,” said Curtis, haughtily. “Send the landlord here for my orders.”

“Here’s our man, then,” said MacNaghten, humoring the whim, as he pushed the innkeeper towards him.

“What’s your name, my good fellow?” asked Curtis, with a supercilious look at the short but well-conditioned figure before him.

“Billy Mathews, sir,” said the other, with difficulty restraining a smile at the dilapidated look of his interrogator.

“Well, Mathews, keep the Billy for your equals, my good friend. Mathews, I say, let us have the best your house affords, served in your best room and in your best manner. If I ate prison fare for nine weeks, sir, it is no reason that I am not accustomed to something different. My name is Joseph Curtis, of Meagh-valley House; I sat in Parliament for eight-and-twenty years, for the borough of Kilternon; and I was tried for a murder at the last commission. There, sir! it’s not every day you have a guest who can say as much.”

As the landlord was moving away to give his orders, Curtis called out once more: —

“Stay, sir; hear me out. There are spies of the Castle wherever I go. Who have you here just now? Who’s in this house?”

“There’s but one gentleman here at present, sir. I’ve known him these twenty years, and I ‘ll vouch for it he’s neither a Government spy nor an informer.”

“And who will be satisfied with your guarantee, sir?” cried Curtis, insolently. “It’s not a fellow in your position that can assure the scruples of a man in mine. Who is he? What’s his name?”

“He’s a respectable man, sir, well known in Dublin, and the son of one that held a good position once.”

“His name, – his name!” cried Curtis, imperiously.

“It’s no matter about his name!” replied the host, sulkily. “He has come to eat his breakfast here, as he does once or twice a week, and that’s all that I have to say to him.”

“But I ‘ll have his name, – I ‘ll insist upon it,” shouted out Curtis, in a voice of high excitement; “persecuted and hunted down as I am, I’ll defend myself. Your Castle bloodhounds shall see that Joe Curtis will not run from them. This gentleman here is the son of MacNaghten of Greenan. What signifies it to you if he be ruined! What affair is it of yours, I ask, if he has n’t a sixpence in the world? – I’ll pay for what he takes here. I’m responsible for everything. I have two thousand a year secured on my life,” – he stopped, and seemed to reflect for a moment, then added, – “that is, I may have it if I please.”

MacNaghten made a signal for the innkeeper to serve the breakfast, and not notice any of the extravagances of his strange companion. Mathews was about to obey, when Curtis, recurring to his former thought, cried out, —

“Well, sir, this fellow’s name?”

“Tell him who it is,” whispered Dan, secretly; and the host said, —

“The gentleman is one Mr. Raper, sir, head clerk to Mr. Fagan, of Mary’s Abbey.”

“Leave the room – close the door,” said Curtis, with an air of caution. “I saw the signal you gave the innkeeper a moment ago, MacNaghten,” said he, in the same low and guarded tone. “I read its meaning perfectly. You would imply: The old fellow is not right – a crack in the upper story – humor him a bit. Don’t deny it, man; you acted for the best; you thought, as many think, that my misfortunes had affected my intellect and sapped my understanding; and so they had done this many a day,” added he, fiercely, “but for one thing. I had one grand security against madness, Dan; one great barrier, my boy: shall I tell it you? It was this, then: that if my head wandered sometimes, my heart never did – never! I hated the English and their party in this country with a hate that never slept, never relaxed! I knew well that I was the only man in Ireland that they could not put down. Some they bought – some they ruined – some they intimidated – some they destroyed by calumny. They tried all these with me, and at last were driven to a false accusation, and had me up for a murder! and that failed them, too! Here I stand, their opponent, just as I did fifty-two years ago, and the only man in all Ireland that dares to brave and defy them. They ‘d make me a peer to-morrow, Dan; they ‘d give me a colonial government; they ‘d take me into the Cabinet; there is not a demand of mine they ‘d say ‘No’ to, if I ‘d join them; but my answer is, ‘Never! never!’ Go down to your grave, Joe Curtis, ruined, ragged, half-famished, mayhap. Let men call you a fool, and worse! but the time will come, and the people will say: There was once a man in Ireland that never truckled to the Castle, nor fawned on the Viceroy; and that when he stood in the dock, with his life on the venture, told them that he despised their vengeance, though he knew that they were covering it with all the solemnity of a law-court; and that man his contemporaries – ay, even his friends – were pleased to call Mad!”

“Come, come, Curtis, you know well this is not my impression of you; you only say so jestingly.”

“It’s a sorry theme to crack jokes upon,” said the other, sadly. He paused, and seemed to reflect deeply for some minutes, and then, in a voice of peculiar meaning, and with a look of intense cunning in his small gray eyes, said, “We heard the name he mentioned, – Raper, Fagan’s man of business. Let ‘s have him in, MacNaghten; the fellow is a half simpleton in many things. Let’s talk to him.”

“Would you ask Mr. Raper to join our breakfast?” asked Dan of the innkeeper.

“He has just finished his own, sir; some bread and watercresses, with a cup of milk, are all that he takes.”

“Poor fellow!” said Dan, “I see him yonder in the summer-house; he appears to be in hard study, for he has not raised his head since we entered the room. I ‘ll go and ask him how he is.”

MacNaghten had not only time to approach the little table where Raper was seated unobserved, but even to look over the object of his study, before his presence was recognized.

“German, Mr. Raper; reading German?” cried MacNaghten. “I know the characters, at least.”

“Yes, sir, it is German; an odd volume of Richter that I picked up a few days ago. A difficult author at first, somewhat involved and intricate in construction: here, for instance is a passage – ”

“My dear friend, it is all a Greek chorus to me, or anything else you can fancy equally unintelligible.”

“It is the story of an humble man, a village cobbler, who becomes by an accident of fortune suddenly rich. Now, the author, instead of describing the incidents of life and the vicissitudes that encounter him, leaves us only to guess, or rather to supply them for ourselves, by simply dwelling upon all the ‘Gedänkskriege,’ or mental conflicts, that are the consequences of his altered position. The notion is ingenious, and if not overlayed with a certain dreamy mysticism, would be very interesting.”

“I,” said Dan, “would far rather hear of his acts than his reflections. What he did would amuse me more to know than to learn why.”

“But how easy to imagine the one!” exclaimed Raper. “Wealth has its habits all stereotyped: from Dives to our own days the catalogue has been ever the same, ‘purple and fine linen.’ And if some have added to the mere sensual pleasures the higher enjoyments derivable from objects of art and the cultivation of letters, has it not been because their own natures were more elevated, and required such refinements as daily necessaries? The humble man, suddenly enriched, lives no longer in the sphere of his former associates, but ascends into one of whose habits he knows nothing; and Jean Paul condemns him for this, and reminds him that when a river is swollen by autumn rains it does not desert its ancient channel, but enlarges the sphere of its utility, by spreading fertilization on each side of it, seeming to think: I may, by the accidents of life, grow small and humble again; it is as well that I should not quit the tiny course I have followed in my humble fortunes.”

“And do you agree with him?” asked Dan, more amazed by the enthusiasm of his companion than by the theme that suggested it.

“I do so in everything; I speak, of course, as one who knows nothing of those ambitions by which wealthy men are encompassed; I am not in the position of one who has seen and felt these fascinations, and who emerges from his poverty to re-assume a former station. Take the case of Mr. Curtis, for instance.”

“What! old Curtis – Joe Curtis?” asked Dan, eagerly.

“Yes, Curtis, formerly of Meagh-valley. Well, if his claim be as good as they suppose, he ‘ll not only inherit the great Wicklow estates, but the Western property so long in Chancery.”

MacNaghten saw that Raper was pouring forth this knowledge without being conscious that he was making an important revelation, and gave a dry, commonplace assent.

“Who can say what may not be his income?” exclaimed Raper, thoughtfully; “twenty thousand a-year, at the least.”

“And his prospects are good, you say, – his chances of success?”

“The marriage certificate of Noah Curtis and Eleanor Carew has been discovered, sir, and if the will of Fownes Carew be authentic, the case, I believe, is clear.”

“What Carews were these?”

“The ancestors of Walter Carew, sir, whose estates now descend to the heirs of the female branch.”

“And Curtis will inherit these?”

The tone in which Dan uttered these words so startled Raper that he suddenly recovered his self-possession, and remembered how unguardedly he had related this mysterious piece of intelligence.

“When was this discovery made? – who chanced to trace this relationship between Curtis and the Carew family?” cried MacNaghten, in intense anxiety.

A signal from Raper suddenly suggested caution and reserve; but Dan, too much excited to attend it, went on:

“Sir, never believe it! It is some infernal scheme concocted between Fagan and the lawyers. They have put forward this wretched old man, half-witted as he is – ”

A hand grasped Dan’s arm as he said this; he turned, and there stood Curtis beside him!

“I ‘ve heard you both!” said the old man, dryly. “To you, sir,” said he to Raper, “I owe my thanks for a piece of welcome news; to you, MacNaghten, I feel grateful for all your candor!”

“Come, come, Curtis; be angry with me, if you will; but for Heaven’s sake do not lend yourself to these base plots and schemes. If there be a conspiracy to rob poor Walter’s widow and her child, let not one of his oldest, best friends have any share in it.”

“I ‘ll maintain my rights, sir, be assured of that!” said Curtis, with a degree of resolution strangely different from his former manner. “Mr. MacNaghten’s impression of my competence to conduct my own affairs may possibly be disparaging, but, happily, there is another tribunal which shall decide on that question. Raper, I ‘m going into town, – will you accompany me? Mr. MacNaghten, I wish you a good morning.” And with these words he took Raper’s arm, and retired, leaving Dan still standing, mute, overwhelmed, and thunderstruck.

CHAPTER XX. PROSPERITY AND ADVERSITY

What I have heretofore mentioned of the events which followed immediately on my father’s death were all related circumstantially to me by MacNaghtan himself, who used to dwell upon them with a most painfully accurate memory. There was not an incident, however slight, there was not a scene of passing interest, that did not leave its deep impression on him; and, amid all the trials of his own precarious life, these were the events which he recurred to most frequently.

Poor fellow, how severely did he reproach himself for calamities that no effort of his could avert! How often has he deplored mistakes and errors which, though they perhaps hastened, by no means caused, the ruin that imperilled us. The simple fact was, that in his dread of litigation, from which almost all his own misfortunes had sprung, he endeavored to conduct affairs which required the most acute and subtle intelligence to guide. He believed that good sense and good intentions would be amply sufficient to divest my father’s circumstances of all embarrassment; and when, at last, he saw two claimants in the field for the property – immense, almost fabulous, demands from Fagan – and heard, besides, that no provision was made for my mother, whose marriage was utterly denied and disbelieved, – then he appears to have lost all self-control altogether, and in his despair to have grasped at any expedient that presented itself; one day addressing a confidential letter to Sir Carew O’Moore, whom he regarded as the rightful heir to the property; the next, adventuring to open relations with Curtis, through the mediation of Fagan. Every weak point in my mother’s position became, of course, exposed by these fruitless communications; while, by his own change of purpose, he grew to be distrusted by each in turn.

It was a theme that he avoided speaking on; but when questioned closely by me, he has owned that Curtis exercised a kind of sway, a species of terror-like influence, over him that totally overcame him.

“That old, besotted, crazy intellect,” said he, “appeared to have recovered freshness and energy with prosperity; and, animated with almost diabolical acuteness, to profit by every weakness of my own nature. Even Fagan, with all his practised craft, had to succumb to the shrewd and keenwitted powers of the old man; and Crowther owned that all his experience of life had not shown him his equal in point of intelligence.”

A misanthropic, bitter spirit gave him a vigor and energy that his years might have denied him; and there was a kind of vindictive power about him that withstood all the effects of fatigue and exhaustion.

The law had now begun its campaign in right earnest. There were two great issues to be tried at bar, and a grand question, involving any amount of intricacy, for the Chancery Court. The subject was the possession of a large estate, and every legal celebrity of the day was engaged by one side or the other. Of course such an event became the general topic of discussion in all circles, but more particularly in those wherein my father had once moved. Alas for the popularity of personal qualities, – how short-lived is it ever! Of the many who used to partake of his generous hospitality, and who benefited by his friendship, how few could now speak even charitably of his acts! Indeed, it would appear, from the tone in which they spoke, that each, even the least observant or farseeing, had long anticipated his ruin. Such absurd extravagance, such pretension! A house fit for a sovereign prince, and a retinue like that of royalty! And then the daily style of living, – endless profusion and waste! The “French connection” – none would say marriage – also had its share of reprobation. The kindly disposed only affected to deplore and grieve over the unhappy mistake. The rigidly right seemed to read in his own downfall a justice for a crime committed; while another section, as large as either, “took out” their indignation at his insolence in having dared to present her to the world as his wife!

And yet his once warm heart was scarcely cold when they said these things of him. And so it is to this day and to this hour: the same code of morality exists, and the same set of moralizers are to be met with everywhere. Far be it from me to say that faults and follies should pass unnoticed and unstigmatized; but, at least, let the truth-teller of to-day not have been the tuft-hunter of yesterday, – let the grave monitor who rebukes extravagance, not once have been the Sybarite guest who provoked excess; but least of all let us hear predictions of ruin from the lips that only promised long years of happiness and enjoyment.

Events moved rapidly. The Chancellor appointed a receivership over the property, and an order from the Court required that immediate possession should be taken of the house and demesne. My father’s balance at his bankers’ amounted to some thousand pounds. This, too, was sequestered by a judge’s order, “awaiting proceedings.” An inventory of everything, even to the personal effects of my mother, the jewellery she had brought with her from France, her very wardrobe, was taken. The law has a most microscopic eye for detail. Carriages, horses, servants’ liveries, were numbered, the very cradle in which lay her baby was declared to belong to some unknown owner; and a kind of mystical proprietorship seemed to float unseen through the chambers and corridors of that devoted dwelling.

My poor mother! – removed from room to room, with good-natured care, to spare her the shock of proceedings which even her ignorance of the world might have taken alarm at; weak, scarcely able to walk; only half conscious of the movement around her; asking every moment for explanations which none had courage to give her; agitated with vague terror; a sense of some misfortune lowering over her, and each moment nearer; catching at a chance word dropped here; eagerly watching at every look there, – what misery, what suffering was yours, poor, friendless, forsaken widow!

Where was MacNaghten, her one faithful friend and counsellor? He had gone to town early that morning, and had not yet returned. One last but fruitless effort to induce Curtis to come to terms had led him again to seek an interview. Her cousin De Gabriac, who had been ill for several days, had by a mere accident, from expressions picked up by his valet in the household, learned the nature of the allegation against my mother, – that her marriage was denied, and my illegitimacy declared. Almost driven to madness by what sounded like an outrage to his pride, he had set out for Dublin to fasten upon some one – any one – a personal quarrel in the vindication of my mother’s honor. Fagan’s address was known to him, by frequent mention of his name, and thither he accordingly hastened. The Grinder was from home; but to await his return, De Gabriac was ushered upstairs into the drawing-room, where an elderly man was seated writing at a table. The old man lifted his head and slightly saluted the stranger, but continued his occupation without any further notice, and De Gabriac threw himself into a chair to wait, with what patience he could, for Fagan’s coming.

There was a newspaper on the table, and De Gabriac took it up to spell as he could the intelligence of the day. Almost the very first lines which caught his eye were an announcement of an “Extensive sale of valuable furniture, plate, and household effects, late the property of Walter Carew, Esq.” Certain enigmatical words that headed the advertisement puzzled the foreigner, and, unable to restrain his eagerness to unravel their meaning, he advanced to the table where the old man was writing, and in a polite tone asked him to explain what meant such phrases as “In re Joseph Curtis, Esq., of Meagh-valley House, and others, petitioners.”

The other, thus addressed, looked from the newspaper to the inquirer, and back again to the paper, and then to the astonished face of the Frenchman, without a word. “I have to hope,” said De Gabriac, “that nothing in my question may appear rude or uncivil. I merely wished to know – ”

“To know who Joseph Curtis is!” broke in the old man, quickly. “Then I ‘ll tell you, sir. He is the only surviving son of Robert Harrison Curtis and Eleanor Anne, his wife, born at Meagh-valley House, in the parish of Cappagh, barony of Ivrone, Anno Domini 1704. Served in Parliament for twenty-eight years, and commanded the militia of his native county till deprived of that honor by a rascally Government and a perjured Viceroy.” Here his voice grew loud, and his manner violent and excited. “Since when, sir, harassed, persecuted, and tortured, he has been robbed of his estates, stripped of his property, and left houseless and friendless, – ay, sir, friendless, I say; for poverty and want attract no friendship, – and who would still be the victim of knavery and scoundrelism if Providence had not blessed him with a clear head as well as a strong heart. Such he is, and such he stands before you. And now, sir, that I have answered your question, will you favor me with a reply to mine: what are you called?”

“I am the Count Emile de Gabriac,” said the Frenchman, smiling; “I will spare you the pedigree and the birthplace.”

“Wisely done, I’ve no doubt, sir,” said Curtis, “if, as I surmise, you are the relative of that French lady whom I met at Castle Carew.”

“You speak of my cousin, sir, – Madame de Carew.”

“I do not recognize her as such, sir, nor does the law of this country.”

“How do you mean, sir, – not married? Is it such you would imply?” cried De Gabriac, fiercely.

“Never imagine that your foreign airs can terrify me, young gentleman,” said Curtis, insolently. “I ‘ve seen you in your own country, and know well the braggadocio style you can assume. If you ask me for information, do so with the manner that beseems inquiry. If you are for a quarrel, it’s not Joe Curtis will balk your good intentions.”

“Poor old fool,” said De Gabriac, contemptuously. “If you had a grandson or a nephew to answer for your insolence – ”

“But I have neither, I want neither; I am ready, willing, and able to defend my own honor; and this is exactly what I suspect you are unable to say.”

“But you do not suppose that I can cross a weapon with the like of you!” said De Gabriac, with an insolent laugh.

“You would n’t be a Frenchman if you had n’t a subterfuge to escape a meeting!” cried Curtis, with a most taunting impertinence of manner.

“This is pushing insolence too far, old man,” said De Gabriac, barely able to restrain himself.

“And yet not far enough, it would seem, to prompt you to an act of manhood. Now hear me, Monsieur Count. I am no admirer of your country, nor its ways; but this I will say, that a French gentleman, so far as I have seen of them, was always ready to resent an insult; and whenever a slight was passed by unnoticed, the presumption ever was that he who endured it was not a gentleman. Is it to some such explanation you wish to conduct me in the present case?”

A contemptuous exclamation and a glance of ineffable disdain was all the reply the Count vouchsafed to this outrageous appeal; and probably by no means could he so effectually have raised the old man’s anger. Any allusion to his age, to the infirmities that pertained to it, he bore always with the greatest impatience; but to suppose that his time of life placed him beyond self-vindication was an insult too great to be endured, and he would have braved any peril to avenge it. His sudden access to wealth, far from allaying the irritabilities of his nature, had increased and exaggerated them all. The insolence of prosperity was now added to the querulous temperament that narrow fortune had engendered, and the excitement of his brain was little short of actual frenzy. To what extent of outrage passion might have carried him there is no saying, for he was already hurriedly advancing towards the Count, when the door opened, and Polly Fagan entered. She had overheard from an adjoining room the words of high altercation, and recognizing Curtis as one of the speakers, determined, at any cost, to interfere.

“I am sure, sir,” said she, addressing the old man, while she courtesied deeply to the stranger, “that you will forgive my intrusion; but I only this moment learned that you were here writing, and I thought that probably the quiet seclusion of my room would suit you better: may I make bold to offer it to you?”

“Thanks, madam; but, with your leave, this is quite to my taste,” said he, stiffly.

“It is so comfortable, sir, and looks out upon our little garden!” said Polly, coaxingly.

“I am certain, madam, that it has every attraction, and only needs your presence there to be incomparable.”

“Nay, sir,” said she, laughing, “I’ll not take your innuendo, save in its flattering sense.”

“I never flatter, madam, for I would n’t try to pass on another the base coinage I ‘d reject myself. Others, however,” and here he glanced towards the Frenchman, “may not have these scruples; and I am sure the charms of your apartment will be fully appreciated elsewhere.”