Buch lesen: «Confessions Of Con Cregan, the Irish Gil Blas», Seite 36

Scarcely were we arrived at Leghorn, and installed at the San Marco, than I began to prepare for my emancipation, – a bold step, considering that all the available resources I possessed was a ruby ring set round with brilliants, which I had concealed in my cap along with my papers. I was admonished to lose no time in my departure, by remarking that another packet from Malaga was expected within a week, which probably would convey the rightful courier, in search of his missing baggage, and I was by no means desirous of being confronted with the real Simon Pure.

I am not sure that this latter consideration did not weigh most with me in the matter, since the novelty of my situation and the sense of its creature-comforts might have induced me to linger a little longer in a capacity even as humble. With such people as the Grimes’s, the courier was supreme, and his rule despotic. From the hour at which they were to dine, to what they were to eat, – how they were to spend the day, what to see, and what to avoid, – were all at his dictation; while from the landlord came a perfect volley of civilities that plainly showed who was the real personage to whom adulation was due. If my masters dined on a chicken, I fed upon ortolans; while they made wry faces over their “Chianté,” I luxuriated on Château La Rose or Chambertin. For my table were reserved the oysters of Venice, the fresh “sardines” of Gorgona, the delicate mutton of Pistoja, the delicious Becafica of the Vai d’Arno, while Piscia was ransacked for my dessert, till I saw myself surrounded with rarities that even in my great days I scarcely dreamed of.

There was a kind of “abandon,” too, in this mode of life that pleased me well, – a delightful sense of irresponsibility pervaded everything I did or imagined.

The courier knows nothing of that hesitation which besets his master at the thought of some costly indulgence. He neither doubts nor denies himself. The Emperor of Russia may have bespoke the post-horses, but he knows how to bribe even against the Czar himself, and would intrigue for the fish intended for a cardinal’s Friday dinner. He is perhaps the only traveller who is indifferent to the bill, – nay, he even glories in its extravagance, as increasing his own percentage. I was beginning to see and appreciate all these advantages when caution admonished me to escape. The real Raflfaello was doubtless already at sea, and might arrive ere I had evacuated the territory.

I only waited, then, to see “my family” snugly housed at Pisa, when I proceeded to tender my resignation. It was very flattering to my vanity to see the distress my announcement created; they evidently felt like a crew about to be deserted by the pilot in a difficult navigation. They were but indifferent linguists, and worse travellers; and I almost repented of my resolve as I perceived the dismay it occasioned, the full measure of which I was admitted to witness, since – from my supposed ignorance of English – they discussed the question very freely in my presence.

“Does he say he ‘s dissatisfied with his situation?” asked the old lady.

“It is difficult to make out what he means, Mamma,” replied a daughter.

“These fellows are always intriguing for higher wages,” observed the subaltern.

“Or to engage with people of greater consequence,” remarked the second son.

“We had better send for the tutor, Mamma; he speaks French better than we do.”

This proposition – albeit not accepted as a compliment to themselves by the two brothers – was at last acceded to, and, after a brief delay, the individual in question made his appearance. To avoid any semblance of understanding what went forward, I stood in patient silence, not even turning my head in the direction where the family were now grouped around the “Dragoman.”

“You are to find out what he wants,” said the old lady, eagerly. “Say that we are perfectly satisfied with him; and if it be an increase – ”

“That he ‘ll not get a sou more with my consent,” broke in the sub. “He receives already more than a captain in the line.”

“I only know that I never had as much to spend at Cambridge,” echoed the other.

“They are always extravagantly paid,” said the elder daughter.

“The creatures give themselves such airs,” observed number two.

“And when they are at all well-looking they’re intolerable,” broke in number three, who had been coolly scanning me through her eyeglass.

The tutor by this time had evidently received his instructions in full, and beckoned me to follow him into a small room adjoining the saloon. I obeyed; and scarcely had the door closed upon us than I started, and broke out into an involuntary exclamation of surprise. The individual before me was no other than my first friend, the kind youth who had taken me by the hand at the very outset of my career, the student of Trinity, Dublin, named Lyndsay.

As I perceived that he did not recognize me, I had time enough to observe him well, and mark the change which more than twelve years had wrought upon him. Though still young, anxiety and mental exertion had worn him into premature age. His eye was dulled, his cheeks pale and sunken, and in his manner there was that timid hesitation that stood abashed in the presence of my own cool effrontery. I could see easily that the man of thought and reflection was succumbing before the man of action and of the world, and I was selfish enough to revel in the triumph.

In a low, diffident voice he proceeded to ask me if there was anything in the nature of my situation that induced me to quit a service where I had given the fullest satisfaction.

I replied by an easy caress of my long black moustache, and a certain expressive gesture of the shoulders, meant to convey that my objections were of a nature that did not admit exactly of discussion, – rather questions of delicate personal feeling than of actual difficulty. Hinted that I had rarely served anything less than a royal highness, and feared that I should be likely to injure myself, – of degenerating into an easy and familiar manner, by associating with those so nearly of my own level.

I saw the blood mantle in the pale cheek of the student as he listened to this impertinence, and thought that I could mark the struggle that was passing within him, while, in a calm, collected tone, he said that those were questions on which he could not give any opinion, and that if I desired to leave, of course no further objections would be offered. “Might I ask,” added he, with a manner where a most courteous politeness prevailed, – “might I ask what are the qualifications of a person in your condition of life?”

“I think,” replied I, “that I appreciate the meaning of your question. You would ask by what right a man humbly born, educated to mere menial duties, can aspire to the position and the pay a courier claims. I am willing to tell you. To begin, then: He must be familiar with the geography of Europe, – I speak here of the merely Continental courier, – he must know the boundaries, the high roads, the coinage, the customs, the privileges of every petty State, from the smallest principality of Germany to the greatest sovereignty of a Czar. He must know the languages, not as scholars and grammarians know them, but in all their dialects and ‘patois.’ It is not enough that he has learned the tongue in which Dante wrote, or Metastasio sung, he must speak Venetian and Milanese, Neapolitan and Piedmontese. He should know the Low German of the Black Forest, the Wiener dialect of the Austrian, and talk every gradation of French, from the frontiers of Flanders to the vine-groves of Provence and Auvergne. He must be as familiar with every city of Europe as though it were his birthplace; with the churches, the galleries, their monuments, and their history. He must know the delicacies of each land, and every rarity it can produce for the palate of the epicure. He must be a connoisseur in wine, pictures, china, cuisine, statuary, engravings, armor, ancient furniture, manuscripts, horseflesh, the drama, and Bohemian glass; able to pack a trunk, or expatiate upon a Titian; to illustrate a fresco, to cheat a custom-house, to bully a prefect, make an omelette, ride postilion. These, with a running knowledge of international law and the Code Napoléon, and some skill in all the minor operations of surgery, – these are a brief summary of a courier’s qualifications.”

“And do you tell me, friend,” said he, earnestly, “that you can do all this?”

“Indifferent well,” said I, carelessly. “There are, doubtless, others who have gained a higher proficiency in the craft; but as I am still young, I’ll not despair of future eminence.”

He heaved a deep sigh, and leaned his head upon his hand.

I fancied I could read what was passing in his mind, and, at a haphazard, said, “You are contrasting the catalogue with that of your own acquirements, and perhaps asking yourself, to what end all the midnight toil of scholarship? Why have I labored hard, with aching brow and fevered heart, when one with vulgar attainments like these, – the scattered fragments, the crumbs that fall from the table of real knowledge, – can secure a better livelihood and more real independence than myself; and the reason is, mine are marketable wares that find purchasers in every class, and among every gradation of society. ‘My lord’ must have his courier; so must the rich cotton-spinner or the barrister on his wedding-tour. The wealthy dowager, the blooming widow, the ex-minister travelling for ‘distraction’ the young heir journeying for dissipation, the prelate, the banker, the ruined duke, the newly enriched mill-owner, – all, however differing in other points, agree in this one want, and must have one who will think for them and speak for them, bargain and bully for them, assert their rank and importance wherever they appear; so that of the obstacles of travel, its difficulties and contrarieties, they should know as little as though their road lay between London and Croydon.”

“Still, it is a puzzle to me,” sighed the young man, “how these people achieve the attainments you speak of. Even a smattering of such knowledge would seem to require both time and study.”

“They have but a smattering,” said I; “yet it is gained exactly in the very school where such small proficiency goes farthest, – ‘the world’ – and which you will one day discover has its sources of knowledge, its tests of ability, ay, and its degrees of honor, marked out as palpably as Oxford and Cambridge. There is this advantage, too, sir, over the university, – the track in which you are to travel is marked out for you; you must not stray to the right or to the left, – while in ‘the world’ the field of direction is wide, open, and expanded; there’s a path for every one, if they ‘ll only look for it.”

He started as I said these words; and as his cheeks flushed up, he said, “I remember once upon a time hearing those very words from a poor friendless boy in my own country. He was setting out, as he said, to seek his fortune, and his whole stock in life was the hope inspired by that sentiment.”

“And what became of him?”

“I never could learn. He disappeared suddenly; and whether he enlisted into some regiment abroad, or died at home, I never ascertained.”

“Then I can tell you, sir, – he now stands before you, the same whom once you so kindly succored! the houseless, friendless child whom you protected and sheltered. I am Con Cregan.”

It would be difficult to describe the bewilderment of poor Lyndsay as I said this; he sat down, closed his eyes, opened them again, rubbed them, stared at me, tried to speak, and at last, rising up, grasped my hand warmly, and cried, “Then, of course, you remember my name?”

“I could never forget it, Mr. Lyndsay,” said I, affectionately.

This was enough, and he now shook me by both hands with all the warmth of old friendship.

As he was madly eager to learn the story of my life, and as I was bent on my departure by the morning mail for Genoa, we agreed to meet at an hour when the household had retired to bed; meanwhile, he was to charge himself with the office of making an explanation to the family, and informing them that matters of urgency required my presence at Paris without delay. This agreed upon, we separated.

The entire night we passed in talking, for he insisted upon hearing my adventures from the very hour we had parted company in Dublin, down to the moment we were then seated together. It was evident, at times, from the tone of questioning, that he accepted several of my statements at least as doubtful; but gradually, as he discovered my acquaintance with various languages, the knowledge I possessed of different remote countries, their habits and natural productions, this incredulity gave way; and when finally I produced the letters of the Havannah banker, with the receipts for my instalments, he showed that every shade of hesitation had vanished, and that he no longer entertained a doubt of my veracity.

As the hour of separating drew nigh, he turned the subject to my own immediate requirements; and although I assured him that my ring, which I had already disposed of, was sufficient for all immediate wants, he insisted upon my accepting a loan of one hundred dollars, to be repaid, as he himself said, “when I resumed my countship.” These were his parting words as I ascended to the roof of the diligence.

CHAPTER XXXI A NEW WALK IN PROGRESSIVE LIFE

I will not trespass on my reader’s patience with the details of my journey, nor ask him to form acquaintance with any of those pleasant travelling companions whose whims, caprices, and merry fancies lightened the road. The company of a diligence is a little world in all its features of selfishness, apathy, trustfulness, credulity, and unbelief. It has its mock humilities and absurd pretensions even more glaringly displayed than every-day life exhibits them. Enough, then, if I say ours were fair specimens of the class; and when, on arriving at the Messageries Royales, the heavy “conveniency” deposited us in the court, we shook hands all round ere separating, like people who were well pleased when together, but yet not broken-hearted at the thought of parting.

And now I found myself at Paris, that glorious capital, whose very air is the champagne of atmospheres, and where, amid the brilliant objects so lavishly thrown on every side, even the poor man forgets his poverty, and actually thinks he has some share in the gorgeous scene around him. I heaved one heavy sigh from the very bottom of my heart as I thought what might have been the condition in which I could once have rolled along these same streets; and with this brief tribute to the past, I trudged along towards the Embassy. All my hope lay in the prospect of an interference on the part of the English Government, and the demand of an indemnification for my loss.

After some little delay, and a slight catechizing on the part of a bulky porter in scarlet livery, I was admitted to a room where a number of people, chiefly couriers and “Laquais de Place,” were assembled, to obtain signatures or passports, and who were summoned from time to time to enter an inner chamber where the official sat. My turn came at length, and, with a heart almost swelling to suffocation, I entered.

“For England, I suppose,” said a pale young gentleman, with black moustaches, not looking up from the table, where he sat reading his “Galignaui.”

“No, sir, mine is not a passport case. I am here to make a charge against the Spanish Government for false imprisonment and spoliation.”

The young gentleman raised his head, and stared at me fixedly for a couple of seconds, and then, in the most silvery of accents, said, “Be good enough to repeat what you have said.”

I did so; adding, “As my case has occupied the attention of the Foreign Office for some time back, you may possibly have heard of my name, – Count Cregan.”

The youth sprang up from his chair, and hastened into another room, whence I could hear loud shouts of laughter immediately proceeding.

“No, no, Barrington,” said a deeper and an older voice; “I don’t want to see the fellow, and I advise you to get rid of him at once. He ‘ll be a bore to us every day of the week, if you give him the slightest encouragement.”

“But is there really nothing in his case?”

“Nothing whatever; he is a downright impostor.”

“But Puzzleton certainly corresponded with him.‘’

“Of course he did, to prevent the Opposition making a handle of his case in ‘the House;’ but he soon saw the whole thing was a trumped-up charge, and as we want to go on smoothly with the Madrid Government, it would be absurd to disturb our relations for the sake of a fellow like this.”

“Oh, that’s it,” said the attaché, catching a faint glimmering of the secret machinery of diplomacy.

“To be sure,” added the other; “if we wanted a grievance, that man’s would do as well as another; but there is no need to hold him over, we can always catch the Spaniards tripping when we want it. My advice is, therefore, get rid of him. Say that he must embody his statement in the form of a memorial, supported by whatever he can adduce in the way of evidence; that a personal interview can lead to nothing; and, in fact, dismiss him in the usual way.”

And with these lucid instructions, – given in a tone far too loud to be diplomatic, – the attaché returned to the room where I waited.

“You ‘ll have to reduce this to writing, Count Cregan,” said he, standing with his back to the fire, and assuming an air that he fancied was quite that of a Talleyrand, – “something in the form of a memorial, you understand.”

“I have already done so, unsuccessfully,” said I, shortly.

“Ah, wasn’t aware,” sighed the young gentleman, stroking his moustache.

“The Secretary of Foreign Affairs acknowledged the receipt of my statement, and at one time held out some hope of redress.”

“Ah, indeed!” echoed the other.

“The state of our relations with Spain, however,” added I, “not requiring a grievance just then, my case was naturally shelved.”

He started, bit his lip, and evinced unmistakable signs of being ill at ease. “In fact,” resumed I, growing warmer as I proceeded, “no further notice was taken of me than what barely sufficed to take my case out of the hands of Opposition members. I was assumed to be an impostor, because the moment was not favorable to believe me honest. Good diplomacy, perhaps, but rather lax morality. Now, sir, I have lost my cause, – that is quite evident; let us see if you have gained yours. The press is the great vindicator of individual wrongs, and I ‘ll make its columns the arena in which this struggle shall be decided.”

“Be good enough to wait one instant, – take a seat, Count,” observed the young gentleman, in his very politest of tones, while he hastily retired into the inner room once more. This time the conversation was so low that not a whisper reached me. After a few seconds he re-entered.

“Your case will be inquired into, Count, and representation made to the Spanish minister at this court. May I ask where you are staying here?”

“I have not yet taken up my residence at Paris.” “Your passport is of course with the police?” I bowed an assent, while a sudden thought flashed across me. “They mean to send me out of the country!” The attaché had twice said “Good morning,” ere I remarked it, and with a hurried leave-taking I quitted the room, well aware of the folly into which a momentary fit of passion had betrayed me.

It was palpable enough, – my passport would at once offer a ground for my expulsion: I was an English subject, travelling on a Spanish passport. I must, of course, expect to be disowned by the Spanish minister, and not acknowledged by my own.

This was a sorry beginning, and I sauntered out into the streets in a very depressed state of mind. What was I to do? My funds were at a low ebb, – I had not above four hundred francs in the world. Into what career could I throw myself, and, while obtaining a livelihood, avoid discovery? I knew various things, in that smattering sort of way which, by the aid of puffing and notoriety, often succeeds with the world; but yet notoriety was the very thing I most dreaded! There was nothing for it but to change my name. Many would doubtless say that this was not any great sacrifice, – need not have cost me any very poignant sufferings; but they would be wrong. I had clung to my name through all the changes and vicissitudes of my fortune, as though it embodied my very identity. It was to make that humble name a great one that I had toiled and struggled through my whole life. In that obscure name lay the whole impulse of my darings. Take that from me, and you took away the energy that sustained me, and I sunk down into the mere adventurer, living on from day to day, and hour to hour, without purpose or ambition. I had borne my name in the very lowest passages of my fortune, hoping one day or other to contrast these dark periods with the brilliant hours of my destiny. And now I must abandon it! “Well, be it so,” thought I, “and, by way of compromise, I ‘ll keep half of it, and call myself Monsieur Corneille; and as to nationality, there need be little difficulty. Whenever a man talks indifferent Spanish, he says he is from the Basque. If he speaks bad German, he calls himself an Austrian. So I, if there be any irregularities in my regular verbs, will coolly assert that I am a brave Belge and a subject of King Leopold; and if humility be a virtue, this choice of a native land ought to do me credit.”

I raised my head from my musings at this moment, and found myself at the corner of the Rue Goguenarde, exactly opposite a house covered with placards and announcements, from the street to the third story, a great board with gilt letters, over the entrance, proclaiming it the “Bureau des Affiches” for all nations. Nor was the universality a mere pretence, as a single glance could show the range of advertisements, taking in everything, from an estate in Guadaloupe to a neat chamber in the Marais; from a foundry at Lyons to the sweeping of a passage in the Rue Rivoli. All the nostrums of medicine, all the cheap appliances of the toilet, remedies against corpulence, perventives to extreme emaciation, how to grow hair, how to get rid of it, governesses, ballet-dancers, even ladies “with suitable portions and great personal attractions,” were all at the command of him rich enough to indulge his indolence. “There must surely be something applicable to me in all those varied wants,” thought I; and I entered a great room where several knots of men and women, of different ranks and conditions, were gathered around large tablets of advertisements.

Some were in search of lost articles of dress or jewelry, a runaway child or a missing spaniel; some inquiring for cheap apartments, or economical modes of travel with others going the same road: but the greater number were in pursuit of some means of livelihood, – and what a host they were! Professors of every art, science, and language; journalists, poets, tenors, gardeners, governesses, missionaries, rope-dancers, frail little damsels who performed as goddesses in a pantomime, and powerful fellows who performed the “life-models” of academies, together with a number of well-dressed gentlemen of a certain age who announced themselves as “discreet friends to any party engaged in a delicate and difficult transaction.”

My heart sunk within me as I saw the mass of capability by which I was surrounded. “What could the world want with me,” thought I, “in such a glut of acquirements as I see here?” And I was about to turn away, when my attention was drawn to a very little elderly man who was most importunately entreating one of the clerks to do him some service or other. The old man’s eagerness was actually painful to witness. “I will sell it for a mere nothing,” said he, “although it cost me five hundred francs!”

“You’ll be fortunate if you get one hundred for it,” said the clerk.

“I would accept of even one hundred, – nay! I’d take eighty,” sighed the old man.

“So you ought,” said the other. “These things are all at a discount now; men like more active and energetic situations. Retirement is not the taste of our day.”

“Retirement!” thought I; “that may be exactly what would suit me at this moment,” and I drew near to listen.

“Find me a purchaser with seventy francs,” ejaculated the old man, “and I’ll close with him.”

“What is it, Monsieur?” said I, bowing civilly to both.

“A ‘quatorzième,’ sir,” said the clerk, interposing, that he might earn his commission, in the event of a deal. “A quatorzième; and I am bound to say one of the best in this quarter of Paris. It takes in the Rue de la Chuine, the Place de la Boucherie, with a very large sweep of the Boulevard Mont Parnasse.”

“A quatorzième!” cried I, in amazement; “I never heard of any one living so high up. Are there really houses in Paris fourteen stories high?”

They both burst into a fit of laughter as I said this, and it was some time ere the clerk could recover his gravity sufficiently to reply; at last he said, “I perceive that Monsieur is a stranger to Paris and its ways, or he would know that a quatorzième is not an apartment fourteen stories high, but an individual who holds himself always in readiness at the dining-hours of his neighborhood, to make the fourteenth at any table, where, by accident, the unlucky number of thirteen should be assembled, – a party which every well-informed person would otherwise scruple to sit down with. This, sir, is a quatorzième; and here is a gentleman desirous of disposing of his interest in such an enviable property.”

To my question as to what were the necessary qualifications, they both answered in a kind of duet, by volubly recapitulating that nothing was needed but a suit of black, and clean gloves; unobtrusive demeanor and a moderate appetite being the certain recommendations to a high professional success. I saw the chief requirement well, – to eat little, and to talk less; to come in with the soup, and go out with the salad; never to partake of an entrée, nor drink save the “ordinaire:” these were the duties; the reward was ten francs. “It used to be a Napoleon, Monsieur,” said the old mau, wiping his eyes. “In the time of Charles the Tenth it was always a Napoleon; but these ‘canailles’ nowadays have no reverence for anything; I have known even the ministry dine thirteen on a Friday, – to be sure, the king was fired at two days afterwards for it; but nothing can teach them.”

The old gentleman grew most communicative on the subject of his “walk,” which he was only abandoning in consequence of the rheumatism, and the difficulty of ascending to dinner-parties on a high elevation. He depicted with enthusiasm the enjoyments of a profession that demanded, as he observed, so little previous study, was removed from all the vicissitudes of commerce, pleasant in practice, and remunerative in pay. He also insinuated the possible advantages to a young and handsome man, who could scarcely fail to secure a good marriage, by observing a discreet and decorous demeanor; and, in fact, he represented his calling in such a light as at least to give me the liveliest curiosity to enter upon it for a brief space, and while meditating what future steps I should take in life.

That same afternoon I saw myself announced at the porter’s window of a very shabby-looking house in the Rue de la Forge as “Monsieur de Corneille,” – the “de” being advised by my predecessor, – “Quatorzième prêt à toute heure,” and thus opened my professional career. I was told that it was all important in my vocation that I should not be seen much abroad in the world. There should be a certain mysteriousness about me, when I appeared at a dinner-table, that might permit the host to speak of me – to strangers – as his old friend the Baron de So-and-so, who rarely ventured out even to dine with him. In fact, I should be as guarded against publicity as though I were a royal personage. This was not a hard condition at the time, since I was desirous of escaping notice. I passed all my mornings, therefore, in writing – sometimes memorials to a minister, sometimes statements for the press; now, they were letters to the banker at Guajuaqualla, or to Don Estaban, or to the great firm at the Havannah. The cost of postage deterred me from despatching most of them, but I continued to write them, as though to feed the cravings of my hope. When evening drew nigh, I abandoned the desk for the toilet; and having arrayed myself in most austere black, waited for the summons which should invite me to some unknown feast. I have often perused records of the early struggles of a professional life, – the nervous vacillations between hope and fear which haunt him who watches day after day, for some time, that he is not forgotten of the world; the fretful jealousies of the fortunate rival; the sad depression over his own failures; the eager watching lest the footfall on the stairs stop not at his door, and the wearisome sinking of the heart as the sounds die away in the distance, and leave him to the silence of his own despair. If I had not to feel the corroding regrets of him who has toiled long and ardently for the attainment of a knowledge that now lies in rust, unused, unasked for, unwanted, I had to learn what are his tortures who waits till the world call him.

There I sat in all my “bravery.” What a contrast between my sleek exterior and the half-famished creature within! Sometimes my impatience would break out into a fit of passion, in which I railed at the old knave who had entrapped me, at fortune that deserted me, at myself, who had grown indolent, and void of enterprise. Sometimes I became almost stupid by long reflection, and would sit to a late hour of the night, unconscious of everything; and sometimes I would actually laugh outright at the absurdity of my assumed calling, wondering how I ever could have been fool enough to embrace it.

The world had evidently grown out of its superstitions; republicanism and socialism, and all the other free and easy notions by which men persuaded themselves that the rich are thieves, and the poor the just inheritors of the gains, had knocked down many a mock idol besides monarchy. Men no longer threw a pinch of salt over their left shoulder when they upset the salt-cellar; did n’t pierce their egg-shell, lest the fairies might make a boat of it; and so, among many other remains of the custom of our ancestors abandoned, they sat down to dinner, careless whether the party were thirteen or thirty.