The Fortunes Of Glencore Part 44

"For yourself! It is in bearing up manfully before the world you'll gain the courage to sustain your own heart. Ay, Glencore, you 'll do it to-morrow. In the presence of royalty you 'll comport yourself with dignity and reserve, and you 'll come out from the interview higher and stronger in self-esteem."

"You talk as if I were some country squire who would stand abashed and awe-struck before his King; but remember, my worthy Colonel, I have lived a good deal inside the tabernacle, and its mysteries are no secrets to _me_.

"Reason the more for what I say!" broke in Harcourt; "your deference will not obliterate your judgment; your just respect will not alloy your reason."

"I'll talk to the King, sir, as I talk to you," said Glencore, pa.s.sionately; "nor is the visit of my seeking. I have long since done with courts and those who frequent them. What can royalty do for _me?_ Upton and yourself may play the courtier, and fawn at levees; you have your pet.i.tions to present, your favors to beg for; you want to get this, or be excused from that: but I am no supplicant; I ask for no place, no ribbon. If the King speak to me about my private affairs, he shall be answered as I would answer any one who obtrudes his rank into the place that should only be occupied by friendship."

"It may be that he has some good counsel to offer."

"Counsel to offer me!" burst in Glencore, with increased warmth. "I would no more permit any man to give me advice unasked than I would suffer him to go to my tradespeople and pay my debts for me. A man's private sorrows are his debts,--obligations between himself and his own heart. Don't tell me, sir, that even a king's prerogative absolves him from the duties of a gentleman."

While he uttered these words, he continued to fill and empty his wine-gla.s.s several times, as if pa.s.sion had stimulated his thirst; and now his flashing eyes and his heightened color betrayed the effect of wine.

"Let us stroll out into the cool air," said Harcourt. "See what a gorgeous night of stars it is!"

"That you may resume your discourse on patience and resignation!" said Glencore, scoffingly. "No, sir. If I must listen to you, let me have at least the aid of the decanter. Your bitter maxims are a bad subst.i.tute for olives, but I must have wine to swallow them."

"I never meant them to be so distasteful to you," said Harcourt, good-humoredly.

"Say, rather, you troubled your head little whether they were or not,"

replied Glencore, whose voice was now thick from pa.s.sion and drink together. "You and Upton, and two or three others, presume to lecture _me_--who, because gifted, if you call it gifted--I'd say cursed--ay, sir, cursed with coa.r.s.er natures--temperaments where higher sentiments have no place--fellows that can make what they feel subordinate to what they want--you appreciate _that_, I hope--_that_ stings you, does it?

Well, sir, you'll find me as ready to act as to speak. There's not a word I utter here I mean to retract to-morrow."

"My dear Glencore, we have both taken too much wine."

"Speak for yourself, sir. If you desire to make the claret the excuse for your language, I can only say it's like everything else in your conduct,--always a subterfuge, always a scapegoat. Oh, George, George, I never suspected this in you;" and burying his head between his hands, he burst into tears.

He never spoke a word as Harcourt a.s.sisted him to the carriage, nor did he open his lips on the road homewards.

CHAPTER x.x.xVII. THE VILLA AT SORRENTO

In one of the most sequestered nooks of Sorrento, almost escarped out of the rocky cliff, and half hid in the foliage of orange and oleander trees, stood the little villa of the Princess Sabloukoff. The blue sea washed the white marble terrace before the windows, and the arbutus, whose odor scented the drawing-room, dipped its red berries in the gla.s.sy water. The wildest and richest vegetation abounded on every side.

Plants and shrubs of tropical climes mingled with the hardier races of Northern lands; and the cedar and the plantain blended their leaves with the sycamore and the ilex; while, as if to complete the admixture, birds and beasts of remote countries were gathered together; and the bustard, the ape, and the antelope mixed with the peac.o.c.k, the chamois, and the golden pheasant. The whole represented one of those capricious exhibitions by which wealth so often a.s.sociates itself with the beautiful, and, despite all errors in taste, succeeds in making a spot eminently lovely. So was it. There was often light where a painter would have wished shadow. There were gorgeous flowers where a poet would have desired nothing beyond the blue heather-bell. There were startling effects of view, managed where chance glimpses through the trees had been infinitely more picturesque. There was, in fact, the obtrusive sense of riches in a thousand ways and places where mere unadorned nature had been far preferable; and yet, with all these faults, sea and sky, rock and foliage, the scented air, the silence, only broken by the tuneful birds, the rich profusion of color upon a sward strewn with flowers, made of the spot a perfect paradise.

In a richly decorated room, whose three windows opened on a marble terrace, sat the Princess. It was December; but the sky was cloudless, the sea a perfect mirror, and the light air that stirred the leaves soft and balmy as the breath of May. Her dress was in keeping with the splendor around her: a rich robe of yellow silk fastened up the front with large carbuncle b.u.t.tons; sleeves of deep Valenciennes lace fell far over her jewelled fingers; and a scarf of golden embroidery, negligently thrown over an arm of her chair, gave what a painter would call the warm color to a very striking picture. Farther from the window, and carefully protected from the air by a screen, sat a gentleman whose fur-lined pelisse and velvet skull-cap showed that he placed more faith in the almanac than in the atmosphere. From his cork-soled boots to his shawl m.u.f.fled about the throat, all proclaimed that distrust of the weather that characterizes the invalid. No treachery of a hot sun, no seductions of that inveterate cheat, a fine day in winter, could inveigle Sir Horace Upton into any forgetfulness of his precautions. He would have regarded such as a palpable weakness on his part,--a piece of folly perfectly unbecoming in a man of his diplomatic standing and ability.

He was writing, and smoking, and talking by turns, the table before him being littered with papers, and even the carpet at his feet strewn with the loose sheets of his composition. There was not in his air any of the concentration, or even seriousness, of a man engaged in an important labor; and yet the work before him employed all his faculties, and he gave to it the deepest attention of abilities of which very few possessed the equal. To great powers of reasoning and a very strong judgment he united a most acute knowledge of men; not exactly of mankind in the ma.s.s, but of that especial order with whom he had habitually to deal. Stolid, commonplace stupidity might puzzle or embarra.s.s him; while for any amount of craft, for any degree of subtlety, he was an over-match. The plain matter-of-fact intelligence occasionally gained a slight advantage over him at first; the trained and polished mind of the most astute negotiator was a book he could read at sight. It was his especial tact to catch up all this knowledge at once,--very often in a first interview,--and thus, while others were interchanging the customary plat.i.tudes of every-day courtesy, he was gleaning and recording within himself the traits and characteristics of all around him.

"A clever fellow, very clever fellow, Cineselli," said he, as he continued to write. "His proposition is--certain commercial advantages, and that we, on our side, leave him alone to deal his own way with his own rabble. I see nothing against it, so long as they continue to be rabble; but grubs grow into b.u.t.terflies, and very vulgar populace have now and then emerged into what are called liberal politicians."

"Only where you have the blessing of a free press," said the Princess, in a tone of insolent mockery.

"Quite true, Princess; a free press is a tonic that with an increased dose becomes a stimulant, and occasionally over-excites."

"It makes your people drunk now and then!" said she, angrily.

"They always sleep it off over-night," said he, softly. "They very rarely pay even the penalty of the morning headache for the excess, which is exactly why it will not answer in warmer lat.i.tudes."

"Ours is a cold one, and I 'm sure it would not suit us."

"I'm not so certain of that," said he, languidly. "I think it is eminently calculated for a people who don't know how to read."

She would have smiled at the remark, if the sarcasm had not offended her.

"Your Lordship will therefore see," muttered he, reading to himself as he wrote, "that in yielding this point we are, while apparently making a concession, in reality obtaining a very considerable advantage--"

"Rather an English habit, I suspect," said she, smiling.

"Picked up in the course of our Baltic trade, Princess. In sending us your skins, you smuggled in some of your sentiments; and Russian tallow has enlightened the nation in more ways than one!"

"You need it all, my dear chevalier," said she, with a saucy smile.

"Harzewitch told me that your diplomatic people were inferior to those of the third-rate German States; that, in fact, they never had any 'information.'"

"I know what he calls 'information,' Princess; and his remark is just.

Our Government is shockingly mean, and never would keep up a good system of spies."

"Spies! If you mean by an odious word to inculpate the honor of a high calling--"

"Pray forgive my interruption, but I am speaking in all good faith. When I said 'spy,' it was in the bankrupt misery of a man who had nothing else to offer. I wanted to imply that pure but small stream which conveys intelligence from a fountain to a river it was not meant to feed. Was n't that a carriage I heard in the 'cour'? Oh, pray don't open the window; there's an odious _libeccio_ blowing to-day, and there's nothing so injurious to the nervous system."

"A cabinet messenger, your Excellency," said a servant, entering.

"What a bore! I hoped I was safe from a despatch for at least a month to come. I really believe they have no veneration for old inst.i.tutions in England. They don't even celebrate Christmas!"

"I'm charmed at the prospect of a bag," cried the Princess.

"May I have the messenger shown in here, Princess?"

"Certainly; by all means."

"Happy to see your Excellency; hope your Ladyship is in good health,"

said a smart-looking young fellow, who wore a much-frogged pelisse, and sported a very well-trimmed moustache.

"Ah, Stevins, how d'ye do?" said Upton. "You've had a cold journey over the Cenis."

"Came by the Splugen, your Excellency. I went round by Vienna, and Maurice Esterhazy took me as far as Milan."

The Princess stared with some astonishment. That the messenger should thus familiarly style one of that great family was indeed matter of wonderment to her; nor was it lessened as Upton whispered her, "Ask him to dine."

"And London, how is it? Very empty, Stevins?" continued he.

"A desert," was the answer.

"Where's Lord Adderley?"

"At Brighton. The King can't do without him,--greatly to Adderley's disgust; for he is dying to have a week's shooting in the Highlands."