The Martins Of Cro' Martin, Vol. II (of II)

“As to your offer of a seat in Parliament, I can only say,” continued he, “that as the Member of Oughterard I should always feel as though I were seated over a barrel of gunpowder; while the very idea of meeting my constituency makes me shudder. I am, however, quite sensible of the honor intended me, both upon that score and in your proposal of my taking up my residence at Cro’ Martin. The social elevation, and so forth, to ensue from such a course of proceeding would have this disadvantage, – it would not pay! No, Captain Martin, the settlement between us must stand upon another basis, – the very simple and matter-of-fact one called £ s. d. I shall leave this to-morrow, and be in town, I hope, by Wednesday; you can, therefore, give your man of business, Mr. Saunders, his instructions to meet me at Wimpole’s, and state what terms of liquidation he is prepared to offer. Suffice it for the present to say that I decline any arrangement which should transfer to me any portion of the estate. I declare to you, frankly, I’d not accept the whole of it on the condition of retaining the proprietorship.”

When Mr. Merl had just penned the last sentence, the door slowly and cautiously was opened behind him, and a very much carbuncled face protruded into the room. “Yes, that’s himself,” muttered a voice; and ere Merl had been able to detect the speaker, the door was closed. These casual interruptions to his privacy had so frequently occurred since the commencement of his tour, that he only included them amongst his other Irish “disagreeables;” and so he was preparing to enter on another paragraph, when a very decisive knock at the door startled him, and before he could say “Come in,” a tall, red-faced, vulgar-looking man, somewhat stooped in the shoulders, and with that blear-eyed watery expression so distinctive in hard drinkers, slowly entered, and shutting the door behind him, advanced to the fire.

“My name, sir, is Brierley,” said he, with a full, rich brogue.

“Brierley – Brierley – never heard of Brierley before,” said Mr. Merl, affecting a flippant ease that was very remote from his heart.

“Better late than never, sir,” rejoined the other, coolly seating himself, and crossing his arms on his breast. “I have come here on the part of my friend Tom, – Mr. Magennis, I mean, – of Barnagheela, who told me to track you out.”

“Much obliged, I’m sure, for the attention,” said Merl, with an assumed smartness.

“That ‘s all right; so you should,” continued Brierley. “Tom told me that you were present at Cro’ Martin when he was outraged and insulted, – by a female of course, or he wouldn’t be making a complaint of it now, – and as he is not the man that ever lay under a thing of the kind, or ever will, he sent me here to you, to arrange where you ‘d like to have it, and when.”

“To have what?” asked Merl, with a look of unfeigned terror.

“Baythershin! how dull we are!” said Mr. Brierley, with a finger to his very red nose. “Sure it’s not thinking of the King’s Bench you are, that you want me to speak clearer.”

“I want to know your meaning, sir, – if you have a meaning.”

“Be cool, honey; keep yourself cool. Without you happen to find that warmth raises your heart, I ‘d say again, be cool. I’ve one simple question to ask you,” – here he dropped his voice to a low, cautious whisper, – “Will ye blaze?”

“Will I what?” cried Merl.

Mr. Brierley arose, and drawing himself up to his full height, extended his arm in the attitude of one taking aim with a pistol. “Eh!” cried he, “you comprehend me now, don’t you?”

“Fight – fight a duel!” exclaimed Merl, aloud.

“Whisht! whisht! speak lower,” said Brierley; “there’s maybe a chap listening at the door this minute!”

Accepting the intimation in a very different spirit from that in which it was offered, Merl rushed to the door, and threw it wide open. “Waiter! – landlord! – house! – waiter!” screamed he, at the top of his voice. And in an instant three or four slovenly-looking fellows, with dirty napkins in dirtier hands, surrounded him.

“What is it, your honer? – what is it?” asked they, in a breath.

“Don’t you hear what the gentleman’s asking for?” said Brierley, with a half-serious face. “He wants a chaise-to the door as quick as lightning. He ‘s off this minute.”

“Yes, by Jupiter! that I am,” said Merl, wiping the perspiration from his forehead.

“Take your last look at the West, dear, as you pass the Shannon, for I don’t think you ‘ll ever come so far again,” said Brierley, with a grin, as he moved by him to descend the stairs.

“If I do, may – ” But the slam of his room-door, and the rattle of the key as he locked it, cut short Mr. Merl’s denunciation.

In less than half an hour afterwards a yellow post-chaise left the “Martin Arms” at full speed, a wild yell of insult and derision greeting it as it swept by, showing how the Oughterard public appreciated its inmate!

CHAPTER XX. SOMETHING NOT EXACTLY FLIRTATION

Most travelled reader, have you ever stood upon the plateau at the foot of the Alten-Schloss in Baden, just before sunset, and seen the golden glory spread out like a sheen over the vast plain beneath you, with waving forests, the meandering Rhine, and the blue Vosges mountains beyond all? It is a noble landscape, where every feature is bold, and throughout which light and shade alternate in broad, effective masses, showing that you are gazing on a scene of great extent, and taking in miles of country with your eye. It is essentially German, too, in its characteristics. The swelling undulations of the soil, the deep, dark forests, the picturesque homesteads, with shadowy eaves and carved quaint balconies, the great gigantic wagons slowly toiling through the narrow lanes, over which the “Lindens” spread a leafy canopy, – all are of the Vaterland.

Some fancied resemblance – it was in reality no more – to a view from a window at Cro’ Martin had especially endeared this spot to Martin, who regularly was carried up each evening to pass an hour or so, dreaming away in that half-unconsciousness to which his malady had reduced him. There he sat, scarcely a remnant of his former self, a leaden dulness in his eye, and a massive immobility in the features which once were plastic with every passing mood that stirred him. The clasped hands and slightly bent-down head gave a character of patient, unresisting meaning to his figure, which the few words he dropped from time to time seemed to confirm.

At a little distance off, and on the very verge of the cliff, Kate Henderson was seated sketching; and behind her, occasionally turning to walk up and down the terraced space, was Massingbred, once more in full health, and bearing in appearance the signs of his old, impatient humor. Throwing away his half-smoked cigar, and with a face whose expression betokened the very opposite of all calm and ease of mind, he drew nigh to where she sat, and watched her over her shoulder. For a while she worked away without noticing his presence. At last she turned slightly about, and looking up at him, said, “You see, it’s very nearly finished.”

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“Well, and what then?” asked he, bluntly.

“Do you forget that I gave you until that time to change your opinion? that when I was shadowing in this foreground I said, ‘Wait ‘till I have done this sketch, and see if you be of the same mind,’ and you agreed?”

“This might be very pleasant trifling if nothing were at stake, Miss Henderson,” said he; “but remember that I cannot hold all my worldly chances as cheaply as you seem to do them.”

“Light another cigar, and sit down here beside me, – I don’t dislike smoke, and it may, perchance, be a peace calumet between us; and let us talk, if possible, reasonably and calmly.”

He obeyed like one who seemed to feel that her word was a command, and sat down on the cliff at her side.

“There, now,” said she, “be useful; hold that color-case for me, and give me your most critical counsel. Do you like my sketch?”

“Very much indeed.”

“Where do you find fault with it? There must be a fault, or your criticism is worth nothing.”

“Its greatest blemish in my eyes is the time it has occupied you. Since you began it you have very rarely condescended to speak of anything else.”

“A most unjust speech, and an ungrateful one. It was when throwing in those trees yonder, I persuaded you to recall your farewell address to your borough friends; it was the same day that I sketched that figure there, that I showed you the great mistake of your present life. There is no greater error, believe me, than supposing that a Parliamentary success, like a social one, can be achieved by mere brilliancy. Party is an army, and you must serve in the ranks before you can wear your epaulets.”

“I have told you already, – I tell you again, – I ‘m tired of the theme that has myself alone for its object.”

“Of whom would you speak, then?” said she, still intently busied with her drawing.

“You ask me when you know well of whom,” said he, hurriedly. “Nay, no menaces; I could not if I would be silent. It is impossible for me any longer to continue this struggle with myself. Here now, before I leave this spot, you shall answer me – ” He stopped suddenly, as though he had said more than he intended, or more than he well knew how to continue.

“Go on,” said she, calmly. And her fingers never trembled as they held the brush.

“I confess I do envy that tranquil spirit of yours,” said he, bitterly. “It is such a triumph to be calm, cold, and impassive at a moment when others feel their reason tottering and their brain a chaos.”

“There is nothing so easy, sir,” said she, proudly. “All that I can boast of is not to have indulged in illusions which seem to have a charm for you. You say you want explicit-ness. You shall have it. There was one condition on which I offered you my friendship and my advice. You accepted the bargain, and we were friends. After a while you came and said that you rued your compact; that you discovered your feelings for me went further; that mere friendship, as you phrased it, would not suffice – ”

“I told you, rather,” broke he in, “that I wished to put that feeling to the last test, by linking your fortune with my own forever.”

“Very well, I accept that version. You offered to make me your wife, and in return, I asked you to retract your words, – to suffer our relations to continue on their old footing, nor subject me to the necessity of an explanation painful to both of us. For a while you consented; now you seem impatient at your concession, and ask me to resume the subject. Be it so, but for the last time.”

Massingbred’s cheeks grew deadly pale, but he never uttered a word.

After a second’s pause, she resumed: “Your affections are less engaged in this case than you think. You would make me your wife just as you would do anything else that gave a bold defiance to the world, to show a consciousness of your own power, to break down any obstacle, and make the prejudices or opinions of society give way before you. You have energy and self-esteem enough to make this succeed. Your wife – albeit the steward’s daughter – the governess! would be received, invited, visited, and the rest of it; and so far as you were concerned the triumph would be complete. Now, however, turn a little attention to the other side of the medal. What is to requite me for all this courtesy on sufferance, all this mockery of consideration? Where am I to find my friendships, where even discover my duties? You only know of one kind of pride, that of station and social eminence. I can tell you there is another, loftier far, – the consciousness that no inequality of position can obliterate, what I feel and know in myself of superiority to those fine ladies whose favorable notice you would entreat for me. Smile at the vanity of this declaration if you like, sir, but, at least, own that I am consistent; for I am prouder in the independence of my present dependence than I should be in all the state of Mr. Massingbred’s wife. You can see, therefore, that I could not accept this change as the great elevation you would deem it. You would be stooping to raise one who could never persuade herself that she was exalted. I am well aware that inequality of one sort or another is the condition of most marriages. The rank of one compensates for the wealth of the other. Here it is affluence and age, there it is beauty and poverty. People treat the question in a good commercial spirit, and balance the profit and loss like tradesfolk; but even in this sense our compact would be impossible, since you would endow me with what has no value in my eyes, and I, worse off still, have absolutely nothing to give in return.”

“Give me your love, dearest Kate,” cried he, “and, supported by that, you shall see that I deserve it. Believe me, it is your own proud spirit that exaggerates the difficulties that would await us in society.”

“I should scorn myself if I thought of them,” broke she in, haughtily; “and remember, sir, these are not the words of one who speaks in ignorance. I, too, have seen that great world, on which your affections are so fixed. I have mixed with it, and know it. Notwithstanding all the cant of moralists, I do not believe it to be more hollow or more heartless than other classes. Its great besetting sin is not of self-growth, for it comes of the slavish adulation offered by those beneath it, – the grovelling worship of the would-be fine folk, who would leave friends and home and hearth to be admitted even to the antechambers of the great. They who offer up this incense are in my eyes far more despicable than they who accept the sacrifice; but I would not cast my lot with either. Do not smile, sir, as if these were high-flown sentiments; they are the veriest commonplaces of one who loves commonplace, who neither seeks affections with coronets nor friendships in gold coaches, but who would still less be of that herd – mute, astonished, and awe-struck – who worship them!”

“You deem me, then, deficient in this same independence of spirit?” cried Massingbred, half indignantly.

“I certainly do not accept your intention of marrying beneath you as a proof of it. Must I again tell you, sir, that in such cases it is the poor, weak, patient, forgotten woman pays all the penalty, and that, in the very conflict with the world the man has his reward?”

“If you loved me, Kate,” said he, in a tone of deep sorrow, “it is not thus you would discuss this question.”

She made no reply, but bending down lower over her drawing, worked away with increased rapidity.

“Still,” cried he, passionately, “I am not to be deterred by a defeat. Tell me, at least, how I can win that love, which is to me the great prize of life. You read my faults, you see my shortcomings clearly enough; be equally just, then, to anything there is of good or hopeful about me. Do this, Kate, and I will put my fate upon the issue.”

“In plain words,” said she, calmly, “you ask me what manner of man I would consent to marry. I ‘ll tell you. One who with ability enough to attain any station, and talents to gain any eminence, has lived satisfied with that in which he was born; one who has made the independence of his character so felt by the world that his actions have been regarded as standards, a man of honor and of his word; employing his knowledge of life, not for the purposes of overreaching, but for self-correction and improvement; well bred enough to be a peer, simple as a peasant; such a man, in fact, as could afford to marry a governess, and, while elevating her to his station, never compromise his own with his equals. I don’t flatter myself,” said she, smiling, “that I ‘m likely to draw this prize; but I console myself by thinking that I could not accept aught beneath it as great fortune. I see, sir, the humility of my pretensions amuses you, and it is all the better for both of us if we can treat these things jestingly.”

“Nay, Kate, you are unfair – unjust,” broke in Mas-singbred.

“Mr. Martin begins to feel it chilly, Miss Henderson,” said a servant at this moment. “Shall we return to the hotel?”

“Yes, by all means,” said she, rising hastily. The next instant she was busily engaged shawling and muffling the sick man, who accepted her attentions with the submissive-ness of a child.

“That will do, Molly, thank you, darling,” said he, in a feeble voice; “you are so kind, so good to me.”

“The evening is fresh, sir, almost cold,” said she.

“Yes, dear, the climate is not what it used to be. We have cut down too many of those trees, Molly, yonder.” And he pointed with his thin fingers towards the Rhine. “We have thinned the wood overmuch, but they’ll grow again, dear, though I shall not be here to see them.”

“He thinks I am his niece,” whispered Kate, “and fancies himself at Cro’ Martin.”

“I suppose they’ll advise my trying a warm country, Molly, a milder air,” muttered he, as they slowly carried him along. “But home, after all, is home; one likes to see the old faces and the old objects around them, – all the more when about to leave them forever!” And as the last words came, two heavy tears stole slowly along his cheeks, and his pale lips quivered with emotion. Now speaking in a low, weak voice to himself, now sighing heavily, as though in deep depression, he was borne along towards the hotel. Nor did the gay and noisy groups which thronged the thoroughfares arouse him. He saw them, but seemed not to heed them. His dreary gaze wandered over the brilliant panorama without interest or speculation. Some painful and difficult thoughts, perhaps, did all these unaccustomed sights and sounds bring across his mind, embarrassing him to reconcile their presence with the scene he fancied himself beholding; but even these impressions were faint and fleeting.

As they turned to cross the little rustic bridge in front of the hotel, a knot of persons moved off the path to make way for them, one of whom fixed his eyes steadily on the sick man, gazing with the keen scrutiny of intense interest; then suddenly recalling himself to recollection, he hastily retreated within the group.

“You are right,” muttered he to one near him, “he is ‘booked;’ my bond will come due before the month ends.”

“And you’ll be an estated gent, Herman, eh?” said a very dark-eyed, hook-nosed man at his side.

“Well, I hope I shall act the part as well as my neighbors,” said Mr. Merl, with that mingled assurance and humility that made up his manner.

“Was n’t that Massingbred that followed them, – he that made the famous speech the other day in Parliament?”

“Yes,” said Merl. “I ‘ve got a bit of ‘stiff’ with his endorsement in my pocket this minute for one hundred and fifty.”

“What’s it worth, Merl?”

“Perhaps ten shillings; but I ‘d not part with it quite so cheaply. He’ll not always be an M.P., and we shall see if he can afford to swagger by an old acquaintance without so much as a ‘How d’ ye do?’”

“There, he is coming back again,” said the other. And at the same moment Massingbred walked slowly up to the spot, his easy smile upon his face, and his whole expression that of a careless, unburdened nature.

“I just caught a glimpse of you as I passed, Merl,” said he, with a familiar nod; “and you were exactly the man I wanted to see.”

“Too much honor, sir,” said Merl, affecting a degree of haughty distance at the familiarity of this address.

Massingbred smiled at the mock dignity, and went on; “I have something to say to you. Will you give me a call this evening at the Cour de Bade, say about nine or half-past?”

“I have an engagement this evening.”

“Put it off, then, that’s all, Master Merl, for mine is an important matter, and very nearly concerns yourself.”

Merl was silent. He would have liked much to display before his friends a little of the easy dash and swagger that he had just been exhibiting, to have shown them how cavalierly he could treat a rising statesman and a young Parliamentary star of the first order; but the question crossed him, Was it safe? what might the luxury cost him? “Am I to bring that little acceptance of yours along with me?” said he, in a half whisper, while a malicious sparkle twinkled in his eye.

“Why not, man? Certainly, if it gives you the least pleasure in life; only don’t be later than half-past nine.” And with one of his sauciest laughs Massingbred moved away, leaving the Jew very far from content with “the situation.”

Merl, however, soon rallied. He had been amusing his friends, just before this interruption, with a narrative of his Irish journey: he now resumed the theme. All that he found faulty, all even that he deemed new or strange or unintelligible in that unhappy country, he had dressed up in the charming colors of his cockney vocabulary, and his hearers were worthy of him! There is but little temptation, however, to linger in their company, and so we leave them.

CHAPTER XXI. LADY DOROTHEA

The Cour de Bade, at which excellent hotel the Martins were installed, received on the day we have just chronicled a new arrival. He had come by the diligence, one of that undistinguishable ten thousand England sends off every week from her shores to represent her virtues or her vices, her oddities, vulgarities, and pretensions, to the critical eyes of continental Europe.

Perfectly innocent of any foreign language, and with a delightful ambiguity as to the precise geography of where he stood, he succeeded, after some few failures, in finding out where the Martins stopped, and had now sent up his name to Lady Dorothea, that name being “Mr. Maurice Scanlan.”

Lady Dorothea Martin had given positive orders that except in the particular case of this individual she was not to be interrupted by any visitor. She glanced her eye at the card, and then handed it across the table to her son, who coolly read it, and threw it from him with the air of one saying to himself, “Here’s more of it! more complication, more investigation, deeper research into my miserable difficulties, and consequently more unhappiness.” The table at which they were seated was thickly covered with parchments, papers, documents, and letters of every shape and size. There were deeds, and bonds, and leases, rent-rolls, and valuations, and powers of attorney, and all the other imposing accessories of estated property. There were also voluminous bills of costs, formidable long columns of figures, “carried over” and “carried over” till the very eye of the reader wearied of the dread numerals and turned recklessly to meet the awful total at the bottom! Terrified by the menacing applications addressed to Mr. Martin on his son’s account, and which arrived by every post, Lady Dorothea had resolved upon herself entering upon the whole state of the Captain’s liabilities, as well as the complicated questions of the property generally.

Distrust of her own powers was not in the number of her Ladyship’s defects. Sufficiently affluent to be always able to surround herself with competent subordinates, she fancied – a not very uncommon error, by the way – that she individually accomplished all that she had obtained through another. Her taste in the fine arts, her skill in music, her excellence as a letter-writer, were all accomplishments in this wise; and it is not improbable that, had she been satisfied to accept her success in finance through a similar channel, the result might have proved just as fortunate. A shrinking dislike, however, to expose the moneyed circumstances of the family, and a feeling of dread as to the possible disclosures which should come out, prevented her from accepting such co-operation. She had, therefore, addressed herself to the task with no other aid than that of her son, – a partnership, it must be owned, which relieved her very little of her burden.

Had the Captain been called away from the pleasures and amusements of life to investigate the dry records of some far-away cousin’s embarrassments, – to dive into the wearisome narrative of money-borrowing, bill-renewing, and the rest of it, by one whom he had scarcely known or seen, – his manner and bearing could not possibly have betrayed stronger signs of utter weariness and apathy than he now exhibited. Smoking his cigar, and trimming his nails with a very magnificent penknife, he gave short and listless replies to her Ladyship’s queries, and did but glance at the papers which from time to time she handed to him for explanation or inquiry.

“So he is come at last!” exclaimed she, as the Captain threw down the visiting-card. “Shall we see him at once?”