Devereux Part 3

"There is no hope," I repeated; and an insensibility, rather than sleep, crept over me. Dreadful and fierce dreams peopled my slumbers; and, when I started from them at a late hour the next day, I was unable to rise from my bed: my agitation and my wanderings had terminated in a burning fever. In four days, however, I recovered sufficiently to mount my horse: I rode to the Spaniard's house; I found there only the woman who had been Don Diego's solitary domestic. The morning before, Alvarez and his daughter had departed, none knew for certain whither; but it was supposed their destination was London. The woman gave me a note: it was from Isora; it contained only these lines: Forget me: we are now parted forever. As you value my peace of mind-of happiness I do not speak-seek not to discover our next retreat. I implore you to think no more of what has been; you are young, very young. Life has a thousand paths for you; any one of them will lead you from remembrance of me. Farewell, again and again!

ISORA D'ALVAREZ.

With this note was another, in French, from Don Diego: it was colder and more formal than I could have expected; it thanked me for my attentions towards him; it regretted that he could not take leave of me in person, and it enclosed the sum by the loan of which our acquaintance had commenced.

"It is well!" said I, calmly, to myself, "it is well; I will forget her:" and I rode instantly home. "But," I resumed in my soliloquy, "I will yet strive to obtain confirmation to what perhaps needs it not. I will yet strive to see if Gerald can deny the depth of his injuries towards me; there will be at least some comfort in witnessing either his defiance or his confusion."

Agreeably to this thought, I hastened to seek Gerald. I found him in his apartment; I shut the door, and seating myself, with a smile thus addressed him,- "Dear Gerald, I have a favour to ask of you."

"What is it?"

"How long have you known a certain Mr. Barnard?" Gerald changed colour; his voice faltered as he repeated the name "Barnard!"

"Yes," said I, with affected composure, "Barnard! a great friend of Don Diego D'Alvarez."

"I perceive," said Gerald, collecting himself, "that you are in some measure acquainted with my secret: how far it is known to you I cannot guess; but I tell you, very fairly, that from me you will not increase the sum of your knowledge."

When one is in a good sound rage, it is astonishing how calm one can be! I was certainly somewhat amazed by Gerald's hardihood and a.s.surance, but I continued, with a smile, "And Donna Isora, how long, if not very intrusive on your confidence, have you known her?"

"I tell you," answered Gerald, doggedly, "that I will answer no questions."

"You remember the old story," returned I, "of the two brothers, Eteocles and Polynices, whose very ashes refused to mingle; faith, Gerald, our love seems much of the same sort. I know not if our ashes will exhibit so laudible an antipathy: but I think our hearts and hands will do so while a spark of life animates them; yes, though our blood" (I added, in a voice quivering with furious emotion) "prevents our contest by the sword, it prevents not the hatred and the curses of the heart."

Gerald turned pale. "I do not understand you," he faltered out,-"I know you abhor me; but why, why this excess of malice?"

I cast on him a look of bitter scorn, and turned from the room.

It is not pleasing to place before the reader these dark pa.s.sages of fraternal hatred: but in the record of all pa.s.sions there is a moral; and it is wise to see to how vast a sum the units of childish animosity swell, when they are once brought into a heap, by some violent event, and told over by the nice accuracy of Revenge.

But I long to pa.s.s from these scenes, and my history is about to glide along others of more glittering and smiling aspect. Thank Heaven, I write a tale, not only of love, but of a life; and that which I cannot avoid I can at least condense.

CHAPTER X.

A VERY SHORT CHAPTER,-CONTAINING A VALET.

MY uncle for several weeks had flattered himself that I had quite forgotten or foregone the desire of leaving Devereux Court for London. Good easy man! he was not a little distressed when I renewed the subject with redoubled firmness, and demanded an early period for that event. He managed, however, still to protract the evil day. At one time it was impossible to part with me, because the house was so full; at another time it was cruel to leave him, when the house was so empty. Meanwhile, a new change came over me. As the first shock of Isora's departure pa.s.sed away, I began to suspect the purity of her feelings towards me. Might not Gerald-the beautiful, the stately, the glittering Gerald-have been a successful wooer under the disguised name of Barnard, and hence Isora's confusion when that name was mentioned, and hence the power which its possessor exercised over her?

This idea, once admitted, soon gained ground. It is true that Isora had testified something of favourable feelings towards me; but this might spring from coquetry or compa.s.sion. My love had been a boy's love, founded upon beauty and coloured by romance. I had not investigated the character of the object; and I had judged of the mind solely by the face. I might easily have been deceived: I persuaded myself that I was. Perhaps Gerald had provided their present retreat for sire and daughter; perhaps they at this moment laughed over my rivalry and my folly. Methought Gerald's lip wore a contemptuous curve when we met. "It shall have no cause," I said, stung to the soul; "I will indeed forget this woman, and yet, though in other ways, eclipse this rival. Pleasure, ambition, the brilliancy of a court, the resources of wealth, invite me to a thousand joys. I will not be deaf to the call. Meanwhile I will not betray to Gerald, to any one, the scar of the wound I have received; and I will mortify Gerald, by showing him that, handsome as he is, he shall be forgotten in my presence!"

Agreeably to this exquisite resolution, I paid incessant court to the numerous dames by whom my uncle's mansion was thronged; and I resolved to prepare, among them, the reputation for gallantry and for wit which I proposed to establish in town.

"You are greatly altered since your love," said Aubrey, one day to me, "but not by your love. Own that I did right in dissuading you from its indulgence!"

"Tell me!" said I, sinking my voice to a whisper, "do you think Gerald was my rival?" and I recounted the causes of my suspicion.

Aubrey's countenance testified astonishment as he listened. "It is strange, very strange," said he; "and the evidence of the boat is almost conclusive; still I do not think it quite sufficient to leave no loop-hole of doubt. But what matters it? you have conquered your love now."

"Ay," I said, with a laugh, "I have conquered it, and I am now about to find some other empress of the heart. What think you of the Lady Ha.s.selton?-a fair dame and a sprightly. I want nothing but her love to be the most enviable of men, and a French valet-de-chambre to be the most irresistible."

"The former is easier to obtain than the latter, I fear," returned Aubrey; "all places produce light dames, but the war makes a scarcity of French valets."

"True," said I, "but I never thought of inst.i.tuting a comparison between their relative value. The Lady Ha.s.selton, no disparagement to her merits, is but one woman; but a French valet who knows his metier arms one for conquest over a thousand;" and I turned to the saloon.

Fate, which had destined to me the valuable affections of the Lady Ha.s.selton, granted me also, at a yet earlier period, the greater boon of a French valet. About two or three weeks after this sapient communication with Aubrey, the most charming person in the world presented himself a candidate pour le supreme bonheur de soigner Monsieur le Comte. Intelligence beamed in his eye; a modest a.s.surance reigned upon his brow; respect made his step vigilant as a zephyr's; and his ruffles were the envy of the world!

I took him at a glance; and I presented to the admiring inmates of the house a greater c.o.xcomb than the Count Devereux in the ethereal person of Jean Desmarais.

CHAPTER XI.

THE HERO ACQUITS HIMSELF HONOURABLY AS A c.o.xCOMB.-A FINE LADY OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY, AND A FASHIONABLE DIALOGUE; THE SUBSTANCE OF FASHIONABLE DIALOGUE BEING IN ALL CENTURIES THE SAME.

"I AM thinking, Morton," said my uncle, "that if you are to go to town, you should go in a style suitable to your rank. What say you to flying along the road in my green and gold chariot? 'Sdeath! I'll make you a present of it. Nay-no thanks; and you may have four of my black Flanders mares to draw you."

"Now, my dear Sir William," cried Lady Ha.s.selton, who, it may be remembered, was the daughter of one of King Charles's Beauties, and who alone shared the breakfast-room with my uncle and myself,-"now, my dear Sir William, I think it would be a better plan to suffer the Count to accompany us to town. We go next week. He shall have a seat in our coach, help Lovell to pay our post-horses, protect us at inns, scold at the drawers in the pretty oaths of the fashion, which are so innocent that I will teach them to his Countship myself; and unless I am much more frightful than my honoured mother, whose beauties you so gallantly laud, I think you will own, Sir William, that this is better for your nephew than doing solitary penance in your chariot of green and gold, with a handkerchief tied over his head to keep away cold, and with no more fanciful occupation than composing sonnets to the four Flanders mares."

"'Sdeath, Madam, you inherit your mother's wit as well as beauty," cried my uncle, with an impa.s.sioned air.

"And his Countship," said I, "will accept your invitation without asking his uncle's leave."

"Come, that is bold for a gentleman of-let me see, thirteen-are you not?"

"Really," answered I, "one learns to forget time so terribly in the presence of Lady Ha.s.selton that I do not remember even how long it has existed for me."

"Bravo!" cried the knight, with a moistening eye; "you see, Madam, the boy has not lived with his old uncle for nothing."

"I am lost in astonishment!" said the lady, glancing towards the gla.s.s; "why, you will eclipse all our beaux at your first appearance; but-but-Sir William-how green those gla.s.ses have become! Bless me, there is something so contagious in the effects of the country that the very mirrors grow verdant. But-Count-Count-where are you, Count? [I was exactly opposite to the fair speaker.] Oh, there you are! Pray, do you carry a little pocket-gla.s.s of the true quality about you? But, of course you do; lend it me."

"I have not the gla.s.s you want, but I carry with me a mirror that reflects your features much more faithfully."

"How! I protest I do not understand you!"

"The mirror is here!" said I, laying my hand to my heart.

"'Gad, I must kiss the boy!" cried my uncle, starting up.

"I have sworn," said I, fixing my eyes upon the lady,-"I have sworn never to be kissed, even by women. You must pardon me, Uncle."

"I declare," cried the Lady Ha.s.selton, flirting her fan, which was somewhat smaller than the screen that one puts into a great hall, in order to take off the discomfort of too large a room,-"I declare, Count, there is a vast deal of originality about you. But tell me, Sir William, where did your nephew acquire, at so early an age-eleven, you say, he is-such a fund of agreeable a.s.surance?"

"Nay, Madam, let the boy answer for himself."

"Imprimis, then," said I, playing with the ribbon of my cane,-"imprimis, early study of the best authors,-Congreve and Farquhar, Etherege and Rochester; secondly, the constant intercourse of company which gives one the spleen so overpoweringly that despair inspires one with boldness-to get rid of them; thirdly, the personal example of Sir William Devereux; and, fourthly, the inspiration of hope."

"Hope, sir?" said the Lady Ha.s.selton, covering her face with her fan, so as only to leave me a glimpse of the farthest patch upon her left cheek,-"hope, sir?"

"Yes, the hope of being pleasing to you. Suffer me to add that the hope has now become certainty."

"Upon my word, Count-"

"Nay, you cannot deny it; if one can once succeed in impudence, one is irresistible."

"Sir William," cried Lady Ha.s.selton, "you may give the Count your chariot of green and gold, and your four Flanders mares, and send his mother's maid with him. He shall not go with me."

"Cruel! and why?" said I.

"You are too"-the lady paused, and looked at me over her fan. She was really very handsome-"you are too old, Count. You must be more than nine."

"Pardon me," said I, "I am nine,-a very mystical number nine is too, and represents the Muses, who, you know, were always attendant upon Venus-or you, which is the same thing; so you can no more dispense with my company than you can with that of the Graces."

"Good morning, Sir William," cried the Lady Ha.s.selton, rising.

I offered to hand her to the door; with great difficulty, for her hoop was of the very newest enormity of circ.u.mference; I effected this object. "Well, Count," said she, "I am glad to see you have brought so much learning from school; make the best use of it while it lasts, for your memory will not furnish you with a single simile out of the mythology by the end of next winter."

"That would be a pity," said I, "for I intend having as many G.o.ddesses as the heathens had, and I should like to worship them in a cla.s.sical fashion."

"Oh, the young reprobate!" said the beauty, tapping me with her fan. "And pray, what other deities besides Venus do I resemble?"

"All!" said I,-"at least, all the celestial ones!"

Though half way through the door, the beauty extricated her hoop, and drew back. "Bless me, the G.o.ds as well as the G.o.ddesses?"

"Certainly."

"You jest: tell me how."

"Nothing can be easier; you resemble Mercury because of your thefts."

"Thefts!"

"Ay; stolen hearts, and," added I, in a whisper, "glances; Jupiter, partly because of your lightning, which you lock up in the said glances,-princ.i.p.ally because all things are subservient to you; Neptune, because you are as changeable as the seas; Vulcan, because you live among the flames you excite; and Mars, because-"

"You are so destructive," cried my uncle.

"Exactly so; and because," added I-as I shut the door upon the beauty-"because, thanks to your hoop, you cover nine acres of ground."

"Ods fish, Morton," said my uncle, "you surprise me at times: one while you are so reserved, at another so a.s.sured; to-day so brisk, to-morrow so gloomy. Why now, Lady Ha.s.selton (she is very comely, eh! faith, but not comparable to her mother) told me, a week ago, that she, gave you up in despair, that you were dull, past hoping for; and now, 'Gad, you had a life in you that Sid himself could not have surpa.s.sed. How comes it, Sir, eh?"

"Why, Uncle, you have explained the reason; it was exactly because she said I was dull that I was resolved to convict her in an untruth."

"Well, now, there is some sense in that, boy; always contradict ill report by personal merit. But what think you of her ladyship? 'Gad, you know what old Bellair said of Emilia. 'Make much of her: she's one of the best of your acquaintance. I like her countenance and behaviour. Well, she has a modesty not i' this age, a-dad she has.' Applicable enough; eh, boy?"

"'I know her value, Sir, and esteem her accordingly,'" answered I, out of the same play, which by dint of long study I had got by heart. "But, to confess the truth," added I, "I think you might have left out the pa.s.sage about her modesty."

"There, now; you young chaps are so censorious; why, 'sdeath, sir, you don't think the worse of her virtue because of her wit?"

"Humph!"

"Ah, boy! when you are my age, you'll know that your demure cats are not the best; and that reminds me of a little story; shall I tell it you, child?"

"If it so please you, Sir."

"Zauns-where's my snuff-box?-oh, here it is. Well, Sir, you shall have the whole thing, from beginning to end. Sedley and I were one day conversing together about women. Sid was a very deep fellow in that game: no pa.s.sion you know; no love on his own side; nothing of the sort; all done by rule and compa.s.s; knew women as well as dice, and calculated the exact moment when his snares would catch them, according to the principles of geometry. D--d clever fellow, faith; but a confounded rascal: but let it go no further; mum's the word! must not slander the dead; and 'tis only my suspicion, you know, after all. Poor fellow: I don't think he was such a rascal; he gave a beggar an angel once,-well, boy, have a pinch?-Well, so I said to Sir Charles, 'I think you will lose the widow, after all,-'Gad I do.' 'Upon what principle of science, Sir William?' said he. 'Why, faith, man, she is so modest, you see, and has such a pretty way of blushing.' 'Hark ye, friend Devereux,' said Sir Charles, smoothing his collar and mincing his words musically, as he was wont to do,-'hark ye, friend Devereux, I will give you the whole experience of my life in one maxim: I can answer for its being new, and I think it is profound; and that maxim is-,' no, faith, Morton-no, I can't tell it thee: it is villanous, and then it's so desperately against all the s.e.x."

"My dear uncle, don't tantalize me so: pray tell it me; it shall be a secret."

"No, boy, no: it will corrupt thee; besides, it will do poor Sid's memory no good. But, 'sdeath, it was a most wonderfully shrewd saying,-i' faith, it was. But, zounds, Morton, I forgot to tell you that I have had a letter from the Abbe to-day."

"Ha! and when does he return?"

"To-morrow, G.o.d willing!" said the knight, with a sigh.

"So soon, or rather after so long an absence! Well, I am glad of it. I wish much to see him before I leave you."

"Indeed!" quoth my uncle; "you have an advantage over me, then! But, ods fish, Morton, how is it that you grew so friendly with the priest before his departure? He used to speak very suspiciously of thee formerly; and, when I last saw him, he lauded thee to the skies."

"Why, the clergy of his faith have a habit of defending the strong and crushing the weak, I believe; that's all. He once thought I was dull enough to d.a.m.n my fortune, and then he had some strange doubts for my soul; now he thinks me wise enough to become prosperous, and it is astonishing what a respect he has conceived for my principles."

"Ha! ha! ha!-you have a spice of your uncle's humour in you; and, 'Gad, you have no small knowledge of the world, considering you have seen so little of it."

A hit at the popish clergy was, in my good uncle's eyes, the exact acme of wit and wisdom. We are always clever with those who imagine we think as they do. To be shallow you must differ from people: to be profound you must agree with them. "Why, Sir," answered the sage nephew, "you forget that I have seen more of the world than many of twice my age. Your house has been full of company ever since I have been in it, and you set me to making observations on what I saw before I was thirteen. And then, too, if one is reading books about real life, at the very time one is mixing in it, it is astonishing how naturally one remarks and how well one remembers."

"Especially if one has a genius for it,-eh, boy? And then too, you have read my play; turned Horace's Satires into a lampoon upon the boys at school; been regularly to a.s.sizes during the vacation; attended the county b.a.l.l.s, and been a most premature male coquette with the ladies. Ods fish, boy! it is quite curious to see how the young sparks of the present day get on with their lovemaking."

"Especially if one has a genius for it,-eh, sir?" said I.

"Besides, too," said my uncle, ironically, "you have had the Abbe's instructions."