Paul Gosslett's Confessions in Love, Law, and The Civil Service Part 3

I went; but St. John had not arrived,--he was detained by important affairs in town, and feared he should not be able to keep his promise.

For myself, perhaps, it was all the better. I had the whole field my own, and discoursed brigandage without the fear of a contradiction.

A favorite representation with me was my first night at Rocco. I used to give it with considerable success. I described the village and the Frate, and then went on to my first sight of the renowned chief himself; for, of course, I never hesitated to call in Stoppa, any more than to impart to his conversation a much higher and wider reach than it actually had any claim to.

My "Stoppa" was p.r.o.nounced admirable. I lounged, smoked, gesticulated, and declaimed him to perfection. I made him something between William Tell and the Corsican brothers; and nervous people would n't have seen him, I ween, for worlds.

On the occasion that I speak of, the company was a large one, and I outdid myself in my pains to succeed. I even brought down with me the identical portmanteau, and actually appeared in the veritable hat and coat of the original adventure.

My audience was an excellent one; they laughed where I was droll, and positively shrieked where I became pathetic. I had sent round little water-colors of the scenery, and was now proceeding to describe the inn of the Frate, and my first arrival there.

"I will not affect to declare," said I, "that it was altogether without some sense of anxiety--I might even say fear--that I approached the room where this man of crime and bloodshed awaited me. Stoppa! a name that brought terror wherever it was uttered, the word that called the soldiers to arms from the bivouac, and silenced the babe as it sobbed on its mother's breast. I entered the room, however, boldly, and, advancing to the bed where he lay, said in a careless tone, 'Capitano,'--they like the t.i.tle,--'Capitano, how goes it?'"

Just as I uttered the words, a heavy hand fell on my shoulder! I turned, and there, there at my side, stood Stoppa himself, dressed exactly as I saw him at Rocco.

Whether it was the terrible look of the fellow, or some unknown sense of fear that his presence revived, or whether it was a terror lest my senses were deceiving me, and that a wandering brain alone had conjured up the image, I cannot say; but I fainted, and was carried senseless and unconscious to my room. A doctor was sent for, and said something about "meningitis." "I had overworked my brain, overstrained my faculties, and so forth;" with rest and repose, however, I should get over the attack.

I had a sharp attack, but in about a week was able to get up again. As all were enjoined to avoid strictly any reference to the topic which it was believed had led to my seizure, and as I myself did not venture to approach it, days pa.s.sed over with me in a half-dreamy state, my mind continually dwelling on the late incident, and striving to find out some explanation of it.

"Mr. St. John, sir, wishes to pay you a visit," said the servant one morning, as I had just finished my breakfast; and as the man retired, St. John entered the room.

"I am sorry I gave you such a start the other evening," he began. But I could not suffer him to proceed; for, clutching him by the arm, I cried out, "For Heaven's sake, don't trifle with a brain so distracted as mine, but tell me at once, are you--"

"Of course I am," said he, laughing. "You don't fancy, do you, that you are the only man with a gift for humbug?"

"And it was to you I paid the ransom?" gasped I out.

"Who had a better right to it, old fellow? Tell me that," said he, as he drew forth a cigar and lighted it. "You see, the matter was thus: I had lost very heavily at 'Baccarat' at the club; and having already overdrawn my allowance, I was sorely put to. My chief had no great affection for me, and had intimated to the banker that, if I wanted an advance, it would be as well to refuse me. In a word, I found every earth stopped, and was driven to my wits' end. I thought I 'd turn brigand,--indeed, if the occasion had offered, perhaps I should,--and then I thought I 'd get myself captured by the brigands. No man could complain of a fellow being a defaulter if he had been carried off by robbers. With this intention I set out for Rocco, which had got the reputation of being a spot in favor with these gentry; but, to my surprise, on arriving there, I discovered Rocco was out of fashion. No brigand had patronized the place for the last three years or more, and the landlord of the White Fox told me that the village was going fast to decay. The Basilicata, in fact, was no longer 'the mode;' and every brigand who had any sense of dignity had betaken himself to the mountains below Atri. Fra Bartolo's account of Stoppa was not so encouraging that I cared to follow him there. He had taken a fancy, of late, for sending the noses as well as the ears of the captives to their friends at Naples, and I shrank from contributing my share to this interesting collection; and it was then it occurred to me to pretend I had been captured, and arrange the terms of my own ransom. Fra Bartolo helped me throughout,--provided my costume, wrote my letters, and, in a word, conducted the whole negotiation like one thoroughly acquainted with all the details. I intended to have confided everything to you so soon as I secured the money, but I saw you so bent on being the hero of a great adventure, and so full of that blessed Blue Book you had come to write, that I felt it would be a sin to disenchant you. There's the whole story; and if you only keep my secret, I'll keep yours. I 'm off this week to Rio as second Secretary, so that, at all events, wait till I sail."

"You may trust my prudence for a longer term than that," said I.

"I rather suspect so," said he, laughing. "They say that your clever report on brigandage is to get you a good berth, and I don't think you 'll spoil your advancement by an indiscreet disclosure."

We parted with a hearty shake hands, and I never met him till ten years after. How that meeting came about, and why I now reveal this incident, I may relate at another time.

CONFESSION THE SECOND.

AS TO LOVE.

CHAPTER I. "IN DOUBT"

The door into the anteroom where I was waiting stood half-open, and I heard a very imperious voice say, "Tell Mr. Gosslett it is impossible,--quite impossible! There are above three hundred applicants, and I believe he is about the least suitable amongst them." A meek-looking young gentleman came out after this; and, closing the door cautiously, said, "My Lord regrets extremely, Mr. Gosslett, that you should have been so late in forwarding your testimonials. He has already filled the place; but if another vacancy occurs, his Lordship will bear your claims in mind."

I bowed in silent indignation, and withdrew. How I wished there had been any great meeting, any popular gathering, near me at that moment, that I might go down and denounce, with all the force of a wounded and insulted spirit, the insolence of office and the tyranny of the place-holder!

With what withering sarcasm I would have flayed those parasites of certain great houses who, without deserts of their own, regard every office under the Crown as their just prerogative! Who was Henry Lord Scatterdale that he should speak thus of Paul Gosslett? What evidences of ability had he given to the world? What ill.u.s.trious proofs of high capacity as a minister, that he should insult one of those who, by the declared avowal of his party, are the bone and sinew of England? Let Beales only call another meeting, and shall I not be there to expose these men to the scorn and indignation of the country? Down with the whole rotten edifice of pampered menials and corrupt place-men,--down with families patented to live on the nation,--down with a system which perpetuates the worst intrigues that ever disgraced and demoralized a people,--a system worse than the corrupt rule of the Bourbons of Naples, and more degrading than--

"Now, stoopid!" cried a cabman, as one of his shafts struck me on the shoulder, and sent me spinning into an apple-stall.

I recovered my legs, and turned homewards to my lodgings in a somewhat more subdued spirit.

"Please, sir," said a dirty maid-of-all-work, entering my room after me, "Mrs. Mechim says the apartment is let to another gentleman after Monday, and please begs you have to pay one pound fourteen and threepence, sir."

"I know, I know," said I, impatiently.

"Yes, sir," replied the s.m.u.tty face, still standing in the same place.

"Well, I have told you I know all that. You have got your answer, haven't you?"

"Please yes, sir, but not the money."

"Leave the room," said I, haughtily; and my grand imperious air had its success, for I believe she suspected I was a little deranged.

I locked the door to be alone with my own thoughts, and, opening my writing-desk, I spread before me four sovereigns and some silver.

"Barely my funeral expenses," said I, bitterly. I leaned my head on my hand, and fell into a mood of sad thought. I was n't a bit of a poet. I could n't have made three lines of verse had you given me a million for it; but somehow I bethought me of Chatterton in his garret, and said to myself, "Like him, poor Gosslett sunk, famished in the midst of plenty,--a man in all the vigor of youth, able, active, and energetic, with a mind richly gifted, and a heart tender as a woman's." I could n't go on. I blubbered out into a fit of crying that nearly choked me.

"Please, sir," said the maid, tapping at the door, "the gentleman in the next room begs you not to laugh so loud."

"Laugh!" burst I out. "Tell him, woman, to take care and be present at the inquest. His evidence will be invaluable." As I spoke, I threw myself on my bed, and fell soon after into a sound sleep.

When I woke, it was night. The lamps were lighted in the street, and a small, thin rain was falling, blurring the gas-flame, and making everything look indistinct and dreary. I sat at the window and looked out, I know not how long. The world was c.r.a.pe-covered to me; not a thought of it that was not dark and dismal. I tried to take a retrospect of my life, and see where and how I might have done better; but all I could collect was, that I had met nothing but ingrat.i.tude and injustice, while others, with but a t.i.the of my capacity, had risen to wealth and honor. I, fated to evil from my birth, fought my long fight with fortune, and sank at last, exhausted. "I wonder will any one ever say, 'Poor Gosslett'? I wonder will there be--even late though it be--one voice to declare, 'That was no common man! Gosslett, in any country but our own, would have been distinguished and honored. To great powers of judgment he united a fancy rich, varied, and picturesque; his temperament was poetic, but his reasoning faculties a.s.serted the mastery over his imagination '? Will they be acute enough to read me thus? Will they know,--in one word,--will they know the man they have suffered to perish in the midst of them?" My one gleam of comfort was the unavailing regret I should leave to a world that had neglected me. "Yes," said I, bitterly, "weep on, and cease not."

I made a collection of all my papers,--some of them very curious indeed,--stray fragments of my life,--brief jottings of my opinions on the current topics of the day. I sealed these carefully up, and began to bethink me whom I should appoint my literary executor. I had not the honor of his acquaintance, but how I wished I had known Martin Tupper!

There were traits in that man's writings that seemed to vibrate in the closer chambers of my heart. While others gave you words and phrases, he gave you the outgushings of a warm nature,--the overflowings of an affectionate heart. I canva.s.sed long with myself whether a stranger might dare to address him, and prefer such a request as mine; but I could not summon courage to take the daring step.

After all, thought I, a man's relatives are his natural heirs. My mother's sister had married a Mr. Morse, who had retired from business, and settled down in a cottage near Rochester. He had been "in rags"--I mean the business of that name--for forty years, and made a snug thing of it; but, by an unlucky speculation, had lost more than half of his savings. Being childless, and utterly devoid of affection for any one, he had purchased an annuity on the joint lives of his wife and himself, and retired to pa.s.s his days near his native town.

I never liked him, nor did he like me. He was a hard, stern, coa.r.s.e-natured man, who thought that any one who had ever failed in anything was a creature to be despised, and saw nothing in want of success but an innate desire to live in indolence, and be supported by others. He often asked me why I did n't turn coal-heaver? He said he would have been a coal-heaver rather than be dependent upon his relations.

My aunt might originally have been somewhat softer-natured, but time and a.s.sociation had made her very much like my uncle. Need I say that I saw little of them, and never, under any circ.u.mstances, wrote a line to either of them?

I determined I would go down and see them, and, not waiting for morning nor the rail, that I would go on foot. It was raining torrents by this time, but what did I care for that? When the ship was drifting on the rocks, what mattered a leak more or less?

It was dark night when I set out; and when day broke, dim and dreary, I was soaked thoroughly through, and not more than one-fifth of the way.

There was, however, that in the exercise, and in the spirit it called forth, to rally me out of my depression; and I plodded along through mud and mire, breasting the swooping rain in a far cheerier frame than I could have thought possible. It was closing into darkness as I reached the little inn where the cottage stood, and I was by this time fairly beat between fatigue and hunger.

"Here's a go!" cried my uncle, who opened the door for me. "Here's Paul Gosslett, just as we're going to dinner."

"The very time to suit him," said I, trying to be jocular.

"Yes, lad, but will it suit us? We 've only an Irish stew, and not too much of it, either."

"How are you, Paul?" said my aunt, offering her hand. "You seem wet through. Won't you dry your coat?"

"Oh, it's no matter," said I. "I never mind wet."

"Of course he does n't," said my uncle. "What would he do if he was up at the 'diggins'? What would he do if he had to pick rags as I have, ten, twelve hours at a stretch, under heavier rain than this?"