Buch lesen: «Confessions Of Con Cregan, the Irish Gil Blas», Seite 33

What wonderful speculations did I revel in as I pictured to myself Don Lopez’s ineffectual rage, and his fair wife’s satisfaction, when I should first make my appearance on deck, – an appearance which I artfully devised should not take place until we were some days at sea! What agonies of jealousy should I not inflict upon the old Castilian! what delicate flatteries should I not offer up to the Donna! I had laid in a store of moss-rose plants, to present her with a fresh bouquet every morning; and then I would serenade her each night beneath the very window of her cabin. So perfectly had I arranged all these details to my own satisfaction that the voyage began to appear a mere pleasure excursion, every portion of whose enjoyment originated with me, and all whose blanks and disappointments owed their paternity to Don Lopez; so that, following up these self-created convictions in my usual sanguine manner, I firmly persuaded myself that the worthy husband would either go mad or jump overboard before we landed at Malaga. Let not the reader fall into the error of supposing that hatred to Don Lopez was uppermost in my thoughts, – far from it; I wished him in heaven every hour of the twenty-four, and would willingly have devoted one-half of my fortune to make a saint of him in the next world, rather than make a martyr in this.

I was walking one evening in my banker’s garden, chatting pleasantly on indifferent topics, when, on ascending a little eminence, we came in view of the sea. It was a calm and lovely evening, a very light land breeze was just rippling the waters of the bay, fringing the blue with white, when we saw the graceful spars of a small sloop of war emerge from beneath the shadow of the tall cliffs and stand out to sea.

“The ‘Moschetta,’” said he, “has got a fair wind, and will be out of sight of land by daybreak.”

“Whither is she bound?” asked I, carelessly.

“For Cadiz,” said he; “she came into port only this morning, and is already off again.”

“With despatches, perhaps?” I remarked, with the same tone of indifference.

“No, Señhor; she came to convey Don Lopez y Geloso, the Spanish ambassador, back to Madrid.”

“And is he on board of her now?” screamed I, in a perfect paroxysm of terror. “Is she too?”

“He embarked about an hour ago, with his bride and suite,” said the astonished banker, who evidently was not quite sure of his guest’s sanity.

Overwhelmed by these tidings, which gave at once the death-blow to all my plans, I could not speak, but sat down upon a seat, my gaze fixed upon the vessel which carried all my dearest hopes.

“You probably desired to see his Excellency before he sailed?” said the banker, timidly, after waiting a long time in the expectation that I would speak.

“Most anxiously did I desire it,” said I, shrouding my sorrow under an affectation of important state solicitude.

“What a misfortune,” exclaimed he, “that you should have missed him! In all likelihood, had you seen him, he would have agreed to our terms.”

“You are right,” said I, shaking my head sententiously, and neither guessing nor caring what he alluded to.

“So that he would have accepted the guarantee,” exclaimed the banker, with increased excitement.

“He would have accepted the guarantee,” echoed I, without the remotest idea of what the words could mean.

“Oh, Madré de Dios, what an unhappy mischance is this! Is it yet too late? Alas! the breeze is freshening, – the sloop is already sinking beyond the horizon; to overtake her would be impossible! And you say that the guarantee would have been accepted?”

“You may rely upon it,” said I, the more confidently as I saw that the ship was far beyond the chance of pursuit.

“What a benefactor to this country you might have been, Señhor, had you done us this service!” cried the banker, with enthusiasm.

“Well, it is too late to think of it now,” said I, rather captiously; for I began to be worried with the mystification.

“Of course, for the present it is too late; but when you arrive in Europe, Señhor Condé, when you are once more in the land where your natural influence holds sway, may we entertain the hope that you will regard our case with the same favorable eyes?”

“Yes, yes,” said I, with impatience, “if I see no reason to change my opinions.”

“Upon the subject of the original loan there can be no doubt, Señhor Condé.”

“Perhaps not,” said I; “but these are questions I must decline entering upon. You will yourself perceive that any discussion of them would be inconvenient and indiscreet.”

The diplomatic reserve of this answer checked the warmth of his importunity, and he bashfully withdrew, leaving me to the undisturbed consideration of my own thoughts.

I sat till it was already near midnight, gazing on the sea, my eyes still turned to the track by which the vessel had disappeared, and at last rose to retire, when, to my amazement, I perceived my friend the banker, accompanied by another person, approaching towards me.

“Señhor Condé,” said he, in a mysterious whisper, “this is his Excellency the Governor;” and with these words, uttered in all the reverence of awe, he retired, leaving me face to face with a tall, dignified-looking personage, whose figure was concealed in the folds of a great cloak.

In all the formal politeness of his rank and country, the Governor begged I would be seated, and took his place beside me. He explained how the banker, one of the richest and most respected men in the Havannah, had informed him of my gracious intentions respecting them, and the sad mishap by which my mediation was foiled. He entered at length into the question of the debt, and all its financial difficulties, – which, even had they been far less intricate and complicated, would have puzzled a head which never had the bump arithmetical. How he himself saw his way through the labyrinth, I know not; but had the sum been a moderate one, I vow I would rather have paid it myself than investigate it any farther, such an inextricable mass of complications, doubles, and difficulties did it involve.

“Thus, you perceive,” said he, at the close of a formidable sum of figures, “that these eighteen millions made no part of the old loan, but were, in fact, the first deposit of what is called the ‘Cuba debt;’ not that it ever should have had that name, which more properly belonged to the original Poyais three-and-a-half – You understand me?”

“Perfectly; proceed.”

“That being the case, our liability is reduced to the sum of twenty-seven millions on the old four-and-a-quarters.”

“Clearly so.”

“Now we approach the difficult part of the matter,” said he, “and I must entreat your most marked attention; for here lies the point which has hitherto proved the stumbling-block in the way of every negotiation.”

I promised the strictest attention, and kept my word till I found myself in a maze of figures where compound interest and decimal fractions danced a reel together, whose evolutions would have driven Mr. Babbage distracted; while the Governor, now grown “warm in the harness,” kept exclaiming at every instant, “Do you see how the ‘Ladrones’ want to cheat us here? Do you perceive what the Picaros intend by that?”

If I could not follow his arithmetic, I could at least sympathize in his enthusiasm; and I praised the honor of the Mexicans, while I denounced “the cause of roguery” over the face of the globe, to his heart’s content.

“You are satisfied about the original debt, Señhor Condé?” at last said he, after a “four-mile heat” of explanation.

“Most thoroughly,” said I, bowing.

“You’d not wish for anything farther on that head?”

“Not a syllable.”

“And as to the Cuba instalment, you see the way in which the first scrip became entangled in the Chihuahua ‘fives,’ don’t you?”

“Plain as my hand before me.”

“Then, of course, you acknowledge our right to the reserve fund?”

“I don’t see how it can be disputed,” said I.

“And yet that is precisely what the Madrid Government contest!”

“What injustice!” exclaimed I.

“Evident as it is to your enlightened understanding, Señhor Condé, you are, nevertheless, the first man I have ever found to take the right view of this transaction. It is a real pleasure to discuss a state question with a great man.”

Hereupon we both burst forth into an animated duet of compliments, in which, I am bound to confess, the Governor was the victor.

“And now, Señhor Condé,” said he, after a long volley of panegyric, “may we reckon upon your support in this affair?”

“You must understand, first of all, Excellenza,” replied I, “that I am not in any way an official personage. I am,” – here I smiled with a most fascinating air of mock humility, – “I am, so to speak, a humble – a very humble – individual, of unpretending rank and small fortune.”

“Ah, Señhor Condé,” sighed the Governor, for he had heard of my ingots from the banker.

“Being as I say,” resumed I, “my influence is naturally small. If I am listened to in a matter of political importance, I owe the courtesy rather to the memory of my family’s services than to any insignificant merits I may possess. The cause of justice is, however, never weak, no matter how humble the means of him who asserts it. Such as I am, rely upon me.”

We embraced here, and the Governor shed a few official tears at the thought of so soon separating from one he regarded as more than his brother.

“We feel, Señhor Condé,” said he, “how inadequate any recognition of ours must be for services such as yours. We are a young country and a Republic; honors we have none to bestow, – wealth is already your own; we have nothing to offer, therefore, but our gratitude.”

“Be it so,” thought I; “the burden will not increase my luggage.”

“This box will remind you, however, of an interview, and recall one who deems this the happiest, as it is the proudest, hour of his life;” here he presented me with a splendid gold snuff-box containing a miniature of the President, surrounded by enormous diamonds.

Resolving not to be outdone in generosity, and at least not to be guilty of dishonesty before my own conscience, I insisted upon the Governor’s acceptance of my watch, – a very costly repeater, studded with precious stones.

“The arms of my family – the Cregans are Irish – will bring me to your recollection,” said I, pointing to a very magnificent heraldic display on the timepiece, wherein figured the ancient crown of Ireland over a shield, in one compartment of which was an “eye winking,” the motto being the Gaelic word “Nabocklish,” signifying “Maybe not,” ironically.

I will not dwell upon the other particulars of an interview which lasted till nigh morning. It will be sufficient to mention that I was presented with letters of introduction and recommendation to the Mexican Ministers at Paris and Madrid, instructing them to show me every attention, and desiring them to extend to me their entire confidence, particularly to furnish me with introductions to any official personages with whom I desired to be acquainted. This was all that I wanted; for I was immensely rich, and only needed permission to pass the door of the “great world,” to mingle in that society for which my heart yearned and longed unceasingly.

Some of my readers will smile at the simplicity which believed these passports necessary, and was ignorant that wealth alone is wanting to attain any position, to frequent any society, to be the intimate of any set in Europe, and that the rich man is other than he was in classic days, – “Honoratus, pulcher, rex denique regum.”

I have lived to be wiser, and to see vulgarity, coarseness, meanness, knavery, nay, even convicted guilt, the favored guests of royal saloons. The moral indictments against crime have to the full as many flaws as the legal ones; and we see, in every society, men, and women too, as notoriously criminal as though they wore the red-and-yellow livery of the galleys. Physicians tell us that every drug whose sanitary properties are acknowledged in medicine, contains some ingredients of a noxious or poisonous nature. May not something similar exist in the moral world? and even in the very healthiest mixture, may not some “bitter principle” be found to lurk?

CHAPTER XXVIII. THE VOYAGE OF THE ‘ACADIE’

I was not sorry to leave the Havannah on the following day. I did not desire another interview with my “friend” the Governor, but rather felt impatient to escape a repetition of his arithmetic and the story of the “original debt.”

Desirous of supporting my character as a great personage, and at the same time to secure for myself the pleasure of being unmolested during the voyage, I obtained the sole right to the entire cabin accommodation of the “Acadie” for myself and suite; my equipages, baggage, and some eight or ten Mexican horses occupying the deck.

A salute of honor was fired as I ascended the ladder, and replied to by the forts, – a recognition of my dignity at which I took occasion to seem offended; assuring the captain that I was travelling in the strictest incognito; leaving it to his powers of calculation to compute what amount of retinue and followers I should have when journeying in the full blaze of acknowledged identity.

I sat upon the poop-deck as they weighed the anchor, contrasting in my mind my present condition with that of my first marine experiences on board the “Firefly.” I am richer, thought I. Am I better? Have I become more generous, more truthful, more considerate, more forgiving?

Has my knowledge of the world developed more of good in me, or of evil; have my own successes ministered rather to my self-esteem than to my gratefulness; and have I learned to think meanly of all who have been beaten in the race of fortune? Alas! there was not a count of this indictment to which I dared plead “Not guilty.” I had seen knavery thrive too often, not to feel a kind of respect for its ability; I saw honesty too often worsted, not to feel something like contempt for its meekness. It was difficult to feel a reverence for poverty, whose traits were frequently ridiculous; and it was hard to censure wealth, which dispensed its abundance in splendid hospitalities. Oh, the cunning sophistries by which we cover up our real feelings in this life, smothering every healthy impulse and every generous aspiration, under the guise of some “conventionality.”

My conscience was less lenient than I expected. I cut but a sorry figure “in the dock,” and was obliged to throw myself upon the mercy of the court. I will be more considerate in future, said I to myself; I will be less exacting with my servants, and more forgiving to their delinquencies; I will try and remember that there is an acid property in poverty that sours even the sweetest “milk of human kindness.” I will be trustful, too, – a “gentleman” ought not to be suspicious; it is eminently becoming a Bow Street officer, but suits not the atmosphere of good society. These excellent resolutions were to a certain extent “à propos;” for just as “the foresail began to draw,” a boat came alongside and hailed the ship. I did not deign any attention to a circumstance so trivial to “one of my condition,” and never noticed the conversation which in very animated tones was kept up between the captain and the stranger, until the former, approaching me with the most profound humility, and asking forgiveness for the great liberty he was about to take, said that a gentleman whom urgent business recalled to Europe humbly entreated permission to take his passage on board the “Acadie.”

“Are you not aware it is impossible, my good friend?” said I, listlessly. “The accommodation is lamentably restricted, as it is; my secretary’s cabin is like a dog-kennel, and my second cook has actually to lie round a corner, like a snake.”

The captain reddened, and bit his lip in silence.

“As for myself,” said I, heroically, “I never complain. Let me have any little cabin for my bed, a small bath-room, a place to lounge in during the day, with a few easy sofas, and a snug crib for a dinner-room, and I can always rough it. It was part of my father’s system never to make Sybarites of his boys.” This I asserted with all the sturdy vehemence of truth.

“We will do everything to make your Excellency comfortable,” said the captain, who clearly could not see the reasons for my self-praise. “And as to the Consul, what shall we say to him?”

“Consul, did you say?” said I.

“Yes, Señhor Condé, he is the French Consul for the Republic of ‘Campecho.’” That this was a State I had never heard of before, was quite true; yet it was clearly one which the French Government were better informed upon, and deigned to recognize by an official agent.

“Hold on there a bit!” shouted out the captain to the boat’s crew. “What shall I say, Señhor Condé? The Chevalier de la Boutonerie is very anxious on the subject.”

“Let this man have his passage,” said I, indolently, and lighted a cigar, as if to turn my thoughts in another direction, not even noticing the new arrival, who was hoisted up the side with his portmanteau in a very undignified fashion for an official character. He soon, however, baffled this indifference on my part, by advancing towards me, and, in a manner where considerable ease and tact were evident, thanked me for my polite consideration regarding him, and expressed a hope that he might not in any way inconvenience me during the voyage.

Now, the Chevalier was not in himself a very prepossessing personage, while his dress was of the very shabbiest, being a worn-out suit of black, covered by a coarse brown Mexican mantle; and yet his fluency, his quiet assurance, his seeming self-satisfaction, gained an ascendancy over me at once. I saw that he was a master in a walk in which I myself had so long been a student, and that he was a consummate adept in the “art of impudence.”

And how mistaken is the world at large in the meaning of that art! How prone to call the unblushing effrontery of every underbred man impudence! The rudeness that dares any speech, or adventures upon any familiarity; the soulless, heartless, selfish intrusiveness that scruples not to invade any society, – these are not impudence, or they are such specimens of the quality as men only possess in common with inferior animals. I speak of that educated, cultivated “impudence” which, never abashed by an inferiority, felt acutely, is resolved to overbear worldly prejudices by the exercise of gifts that assert a mastery over others, – a power of rising, by the expansive force of self-esteem, into something almost estimable. Ordinary mortals tell lies at intervals, per saltum, as the doctors say; but these people’s whole life is a lie. The Chevalier was a fine specimen of the class, and seemed as indifferent to a hundred little adverse circumstances as though everything around him went well and pleasantly.

There was a suave dignity in the way he moved a very dubious hand over his unshaven chin, in the graceful negligence he exhibited when disposing the folds of his threadbare cloak, in the jaunty lightness with which, after saluting, he replaced his miserable hat on the favored side of his head, that conveyed the whole story of the man.

What a model for my imitation had he been, thought I, if I had seen him in the outset of life! what a study he had presented! And yet there he was, evidently in needy circumstances, pressed on by even urgent want, and I, Con Cregan, the outcast, the poor, friendless street-runner, had become a “millionnaire.”

I don’t know how it was, but certainly I felt marvellously ill at ease with my new friend. A real aristocrat, with all the airs of assumption and haughtiness, would have been a blessing compared with the submissive softness of the “Chevalier.” Through all his flattery there seemed a sly consciousness that his honeyed words were a snare, and his smile a delusion; and I could never divest myself of the feeling that he saw into the very secret of my heart, and knew me thoroughly.

I must become his dupe, thought I, or it is all over with me. The fellow will detect me for a “parvenu” long before we reach Malaga!

No man born and bred to affluence could have acquired the keen insight into life that I possessed. I must mask this knowledge, then, if I would still be thought a “born gentleman.” This was a wise resolve, – at least, its effects were immediately such as I hoped for. The Chevalier’s little sly sarcasms, his half-insinuated “équivoques,” were changed for a tone of wonder and admiration for all I said. How one so young could have seen and learned so much! – what natural gifts I must possess! – how remarkably just my views were! – how striking the force of my observations! – and all this while I was discoursing what certainly does not usually pass for “consummate wisdom.” I soon saw that the Chevalier set me down for a fool; and from that moment we changed places, —he became the dupe versus me. To be sure, the contrivance cost me something, as we usually spent the evenings at piquet or écarté, and the consul was the luckiest of men; to use his own phrase, applied to one he once spoke of, “savait corriger la fortune.”

Although he spoke freely of the fashionable world of Paris and London, with all whose celebrities he affected a near intimacy, he rarely touched upon his New World experiences, and blinked all allusion whatever to the republic of “Campecho.” His own history was comprised in the brief fact that he was the cadet of a great family of Provence, – all your French rogues, I remark, come from the South of France, – that he had once held a high diplomatic rank, from which, in consequence of the fall of a ministry, he was degraded, and, after many vicissitudes of fortune, he had become Consul-General at Campecho. “My friends,” continued he, “are now looking up again in the world, so that I entertain hopes of something better than perpetual banishment.”

Of English people, their habits, modes of life, and thought, the Chevalier spoke to me with a freedom he never would have used if he had not believed me to be a Spaniard, and only connected with Ireland through the remote chain of ancestry. This deceit of mine was one he never penetrated, and I often thought over the fact with satisfaction. To encourage his frankness on the subject of my country, I affected to know nothing, or next to nothing, of England; and gradually he grew to be more communicative, and at last spoke with an unguarded freedom which soon opened to me a clew of his real history.

It was one day as we walked the deck together that, after discussing the tastes and pursuits of the wealthy English, he began to talk of their passion for sport, and especially horse-racing. The character of this national pastime he appeared to understand perfectly, not as a mere foreigner who had witnessed a Derby or a Doncaster, but as one conversant with the traditions of the turf or the private life of the jockey and the trainer.

I saw that he colored all his descriptions with a tint meant to excite an interest within me for these sports. He drew a picture of an “Ascot meeting,” wherein were assembled all the ingredients that could excite the curiosity and gratify the ambition of a wealthy, high-spirited youth; and he dilated with enthusiasm upon his own first impressions of these scenes, mingled with half-regrets of how many of his once friends had quitted the “Turf” since he last saw it!

He spoke familiarly of those whose names I had often read in newspapers as the great leaders of the “sporting world,” and affected to have known them all on terms of intimacy and friendship. Even had the theme been less attractive to me, I would have encouraged it for other reasons, a strange glimmering suspicion ever haunting my mind that I had heard of the worthy Chevalier before, and under another title; and so completely had this idea gained possession of me that I could think of nothing else.

At length, after we had been some weeks at sea, the welcome cry of “Land!” was given from the mast-head; but as the weather was hazy and thick, we were compelled to shorten sail, and made comparatively little way through the water; so that at nightfall we saw that another day must elapse ere we touched mother earth again.

The Chevalier and the Captain both dined with me; the latter, however, soon repaired to the deck, leaving us in tête-à-tête. It was in all likelihood the last evening we should ever pass together, and I felt a most eager longing to ascertain the truth of my vague suspicions. Chance gave me the opportunity. We had been playing cards, and luck – contrary to custom, and in part owing to my always shuffling the cards after my adversary – had deserted him and taken my side. At first this seemed to amuse him, and he merely complimented me upon my fortune, and smiled blandly at my success. After a while, however, his continued losses began to irritate him, and I could see that his habitual command of temper was yielding to a peevish, captious spirit he had never exhibited previously.

“Shall we double our stake?” said he, after a long run of ill-luck.

“If you prefer it, of course,” said I. And we played on, but ever with the same result.

“Come,” cried he, at last, “I ‘ll wager fifty Napoleons on this game.” The bet was made, and he lost it! With the like fortune he played on and on, till at last, as day was dawning, he had not only lost all that he had won from me during the voyage, but a considerable sum besides, and for which he gave me his check upon a well-known banker at Paris.

“Shall I tell you your fortune, Monsieur le Comte?” said he, in a tone of bitterness that almost startled me.

“With all my heart,” said I, laughing. “Are you skilful as a necromancer?”

“I can at least decipher what the cards indicate,” said he. “There is no great skill in reading, where the print is legible.” With these words, he shuffled the cards, dividing them into two or three packets; the first card of each he turned on the face. “Let me premise, Count,” said he, “before I begin, that you will not take anything in bad part which I may reveal to you, otherwise I’ll be silent. You are free to believe, or not to believe, what I tell you; but you cannot reasonably be angry if unpleasant discoveries await you.”

“Go on fearlessly,” said I; “I’ll not promise implicit faith in everything, but I ‘ll pledge myself to keep my temper.”

He began at once drawing forth every third card of each heap, and disposing them in a circle, side by side. When they were so arranged, he bent over, as if to study them, concealing his eyes from me by his hand; but at the same time, as I could perceive, keenly watching my face between his fingers. “There is some great mistake here,” said he at length, in a voice of irritation. “I have drawn the cards wrong, somehow; it must be so, since the interpretation is clear as print. What an absurd blunder, too!” and he seemed as if about to dash the cards up in a heap, from a sense of angry disappointment.

“Nay, nay,” cried I, interposing. “Let us hear what they say, even though we may dispute the testimony.”

“If it were less ridiculous it might be offensive,” said he, smiling; “but being as it is, it is really good laughing-matter.”

“I am quite impatient, – pray read on.”

“Of course it is too absurd for anything but ridicule,” said he, smiling, but, as I thought, with a most malicious expression. “You perceive here this four of clubs, which, as the first card we turn, assumes to indicate your commencement in life. Now, only fancy, Monsieur le Comte, what this most insolent little demon would insinuate. Really, I cannot continue. Well, well, be it so. This card would say that you were not only born without rank or title, but actually in a condition of the very meanest and most humble poverty. Isn’t that excellent?” said he, bursting out into a fit of immoderate laughter, in which the spiteful glance of his keen eyes seemed to pierce through and through me.

As for me, I laughed too; but what a laugh it was! Never was a burst of natural sorrow so poignant in suffering as that forced laugh, when, covered with shame, I sat there, beneath the sarcastic insolence of the wretch, who seemed to gloat over the tortures he was inflicting.

“I can scarcely expect that this opening will inspire you with much confidence in the oracle,” said he; “the first step a falsehood, promises ill for the remainder of the journey.”

“If not very veracious,” said I, “it is at least very amusing. Pray continue.”

“What would the old counts of your ancestry have said to such a profanation?” cried the Chevalier. “By Saint Denis, I would not have been the man to asperse their blood thus, in their old halls at Grenada!”

“We live in a less haughty age,” said I, affecting a smile of indifference, and motioning to him to proceed.

“What follows is the very commonest of that nonsense which is revealed in all lowly fortunes. You are, as usual, the victim of cold and hunger, suffering from destitution and want. Then there are indications of a bold spirit, ambitious and energetic, bursting out through all the gloom of your dark condition, and a small whispered word in your ear, tells you to hope!” While the Chevalier rattled out this “rodomontade” at a much greater length than I have time or patience to repeat, his eyes never quitted me, but seemed to sparkle with a fiend-like intelligence of what was passing within me. As he concluded, he mixed up the cards together, merely muttering, half aloud, “adventures and escapes by land and sea. Abundance of hard luck, to be all compensated for one day, when wealth in all its richest profusion is showered upon you.” Then, dashing the cards from him in affected anger, he said, “It is enough to make men despise themselves, the way in which they yield credence to such rank tomfoolery! but I assure you, Count, however contemptible the oracle has shown herself to-day, I have on more than one occasion been present at the most startling revelations, – not alone as regarded the past, but the future also.”

“I can easily believe it, Chevalier,” replied I, with a great effort to seem philosophically calm. “One must not reject everything that has not the stamp of reason upon it; and even what I have listened to to-day, absurd as it is, has not shaken my faith in the divination of the cards. Perhaps this fancy of mine is the remnant of a childish superstition, which I owe in great part to my old nurse. She was a Moor by birth, and imbued with all the traditions and superstitions of her own romantic land.”