Doctor Claudius, A True Story

by F. Marion Crawford

  CHAPTER IV.

  The summer breath of the roses blew sweetly in through the long windowsof the Countess's morning-room from the little garden outside as Barkerand Claudius entered. There was an air of inhabited luxury which wasevidently congenial to the American, for he rubbed his hands softlytogether and touched one or two objects caressingly while waiting forthe lady of the house. Claudius glanced at the table and took up a book,with that singular student habit that is never lost. It was a volume ofEnglish verse, and in a moment he was reading, just as he stood, withhis hat caught between the fingers that held the book, oblivious ofcountesses and visits and formalities. There was a rustle and a step onthe garden walk, and both men turned towards the open glass door.Claudius almost dropped the vellum-covered poet, and was veryperceptibly startled as he recognised the lady of his Heidelbergadventure--the woman who had got, as by magic, a hold over his thoughts,so that he dreamed of her and wondered about her, sleeping and waking.

  Dark-eyed Countess Margaret, all clad in pure white, the smallest oflace fichus just dropped over her heavy hair, moved smoothly up thesteps and into the room.

  "Good morning, Mr. Barker, I am so glad you have come," said she,graciously extending her hand in the cordial Transatlantic fashion.

  "Permit me to present my friend, Professor Claudius," said Barker.Claudius bowed very low. The plunge was over, and he recovered hisoutward calm, whatever he might feel.

  "Mr. Barker flatters me, Madam," he said quietly. "I am not a professor,but only a private lecturer."

  "I am too far removed from anything learned to make such distinctions,"said the Countess. "But since good fortune has brought you into thecircle of my ignorance, let me renew my thanks for the service you didme in Heidelberg the other day."

  Claudius bowed and murmured something inaudible.

  "Or had you not realised that I was the heroine of the parasol at thebroken tower?" asked Margaret smiling, as she seated herself in a lowchair and motioned to her guests to follow her example. Barker selecteda comfortable seat, and arranged the cushion to suit him before hesubsided into repose, but the Doctor laid hands on a stern andsolid-looking piece of carving, and sat upright facing the Countess.

  "Pardon me," said he, "I had. But it is always startling to realise adream." The Countess looked at Claudius rather inquiringly; perhaps shehad not expected he was the sort of man to begin an acquaintance bymaking compliments. However, she said nothing, and he continued, "Do younot always find it so?"

  "The bearded hermit is no duffer," thought Mr. Barker. "He will saygrace over the whole barrel of pork."

  "Ah! I have few dreams," replied the Countess, "and when I do have any,I never realise them. I am a very matter-of-fact person."

  "What matters the fact when you are the person, Madam?" retortedClaudius, fencing for a discussion of some kind.

  "Immense," thought Mr. Barker, changing one leg over the other andbecoming interested.

  "Does that mean anything, or is it only a pretty paradox?" asked thelady, observing that Claudius had thrown himself boldly into a crucialposition. Upon his answer would probably depend her opinion of him asbeing either intelligent or _banal_. It is an easy matter to frameparadoxical questions implying a compliment, but it is no light task tobe obliged to answer them oneself. Claudius was not thinking ofproducing an effect, for the fascination of the dark woman was upon him,and the low, strange voice bewitched him, so he said what cameuppermost.

  "Yes," said he, "there are persons whose lives may indeed be matters offact to themselves--who shall say?--but who are always dreams in thelives of others."

  "Charming," laughed the Countess, "do you always talk like that,Professor Claudius?"

  "I have always thought," Mr. Barker remarked in his high-set voice,"that I would like to be the dream of somebody's life. But somehowthings have gone against me."

  The other two laughed. He did not strike one as the sort of individualwho would haunt the love-sick dreams of a confiding heart.

  "I would rather it were the other way," said Claudius thoughtfully.

  "And I," rejoined the American, "would drink perdition to theunattainable."

  "Either I do not agree with you, Mr. Barker," said the Countess, "orelse I believe nothing is unattainable."

  "I implore you to be kind, and believe the latter," he answeredcourteously.

  "Come, I will show you my garden," said Margaret rising. "It ispleasanter in the open air." She led the way out through the glass door,the men walking on her right and left.

  "I am very fond of my garden," she said, "and I take great care of itwhen I am here." She stopped and pulled two or three dead leaves off arosebush to illustrate her profession of industry.

  "And do you generally live here?" asked Claudius, who was as yet incomplete ignorance of the Countess's name, title, nationality, and modeof life, for Mr. Barker had, for some occult reason, left him in thedark.

  Perhaps the Countess guessed as much, for she briefly imparted a gooddeal of information.

  "When Count Alexis, my husband, was alive, we lived a great deal inRussia. But I am an American like Mr. Barker, and I occasionally make atrip to my native country. However, I love this place in summer, and Ialways try to be here. That is my friend, Miss Skeat, who lives withme."

  Miss Skeat was stranded under a tree with a newspaper and several books.Her polished cheekbones and knuckles glimmered yellow in the shade. Byher side was a long cane chair, in which lay a white silk wrap and a bitof needlework, tumbled together as the Countess had left them when shewent in to receive her visitors. Miss Skeat rose as the partyapproached. The Countess introduced the two men, who bowed low, and theyall sat down, Mr. Barker on the bench by the ancient virgin, andClaudius on the grass at Margaret's feet. It was noonday, but there wasa light breeze through, the flowers and grasses. The conversation soonfell into pairs as they sat.

  "I should not have said, at first sight, that you were a veryimaginative person, Dr. Claudius," said the Countess.

  "I have been dreaming for years," he answered. "I am a mathematician,and of late I have become a philosopher in a small way, as far as thatis possible from reading the subject. There are no two branches oflearning that require more imagination than mathematics and philosophy."

  "Philosophy, perhaps," she replied, "but mathematics--I thought that wasan exact science, where everything was known, and there was no room fordreaming."

  "I suppose that is the general impression. But do you think it requiresno imagination to conceive a new application of knowledge, to invent newmethods where old ones are inadequate, to lay out a route through theunknown land beyond the regions of the known?"

  "Ordinary people, like me, associate mathematics with measurement andfigures and angles."

  "Yes," said Claudius, "but it is the same as though you confusedreligion with its practical results. If the religion is true at all, itwould be just as true if man did not exist, and if it consequently hadno application to life."

  "I understand the truth of that, though we might differ about the word.So you have been dreaming for years--and what were your dreams like?"The Countess looked down earnestly at Claudius, who in his turn lookedat her with a little smile. She thought he was different from other men,and he was wondering how much of his dreams he might tell her.

  "Of all sorts," he answered, still looking up into her face. "Bitter andsweet. I have dreamed of the glory of life and of mind-power, of theaccomplishment of the greatest good to the greatest number; I havebelieved the extension of science possible 'beyond the bounds of allimaginable experience' into the realms of the occult and hidden; I havewandered with Hermes by the banks of the Nile, with Gautama along themud-flats of the Ganges. I have disgusted myself with the writings ofthose who would reduce all history and religion to solar myths, and Ihave striven to fathom the meaning of those whose thoughts are profoundand their hearts noble, but their speech halting. I have dreamed manythings, Countess, and the worst is that I have lived to weary of mydreams, and to
say that all things are vanity--all save one," he addedwith hesitation. There was a momentary pause.

  "Of course," Mr. Barker was saying to Miss Skeat, with a fascinatingsmile, "I have the greatest admiration for Scotch heroism. John Grahameof Claver-house. Who can read Macaulay's account--"

  "Ah," interrupted the old gentlewoman, "if you knew how I feel aboutthese odious calumnies!"

  "I quite understand that," said Barker sympathetically. He haddiscovered Miss Skeat's especial enthusiasm.

  Margaret turned again to the Doctor.

  "And may I ask, without indiscretion, what the one dream may be that youhave refused to relegate among the vanities?"

  "Woman," answered Claudius, and was silent.

  The Countess thought the Doctor spoke ironically, and she laughed aloud,half amused and half annoyed. "I am in earnest," said Claudius,plucking a blade of grass and twisting it round his finger.

  "Truly?" asked she.

  "Foi de gentilhomme!" he answered.

  "But Mr. Barker told me you lived like a hermit."

  "That is the reason it has been a dream," said he.

  "You have not told me what the dream was like. What beautiful thingshave you fancied about us?"

  "I have dreamed of woman's mission, and of woman's love. I have fanciedthat woman and woman's love represented the ruling spirit, as man andman's brain represent the moving agent, in the world. I have drawnpictures of an age in which real chivalry of word and thought and deedmight be the only law necessary to control men's actions. Not the scenicand theatrical chivalry of the middle age, ready at any moment to breakout into epidemic crime, but a true reverence and understanding ofwoman's supreme right to honour and consideration; an age wherein itshould be no longer coarsely said that love is but an episode in thebrutal life of man, while to woman it is life itself. I have dreamedthat the eternal womanhood of the universe beckoned me to follow."

  The Countess could not take her eyes off Claudius. She had never met aman like him; at least she had never met a man who plunged into thiskind of talk after half an hour's acquaintance. There was a thrill offeeling in her smooth deep voice when she answered: "If all men thoughtas you think, the world would be a very different place."

  "It would be a better place in more ways than one," he replied.

  "And yet you yourself call it a dream," said Margaret, musing.

  "It is only you, Countess, who say that dreams are never realised."

  "And do you expect to realise yours?"

  "Yes--I do." He looked at her with his bold blue eyes, and she thoughtthey sparkled.

  "Tell me," she asked, "are you going to preach a crusade for theliberation of our sex? Do you mean to bring about the great change inthe social relations of the world? Is it you who will build up thepedestal which we are to mount and from which we shall survey countlessranks of adoring men?"

  "Do you not see, as you look down on me from your throne, from thischair, that I have begun already?" answered Claudius, smiling, andmaking a pretence of folding his hands.

  "No," said the Countess, overlooking his last speech; "if you had anyconvictions about it, as you pretend to have, you would begin at onceand revolutionise the world in six months. What is the use of dreaming?It is not dreamers who make history."

  "No, it is more often women. But tell me, Countess, do you approve of mycrusade? Am I not right? Have I your sanction?"

  Margaret was silent. Mr. Barker's voice was heard again, holding forthto Miss Skeat.

  "In all ages," he said, with an air of conviction, "the aristocracy of acountry have been in reality the leaders of its thought and science andenlightenment. Perhaps the form of aristocracy most worthy of admirationis that time-honoured institution of pre-eminent families, the Scottishclan, the Hebrew tribe--"

  Claudius overheard and opened his eyes. It seemed to him that Barker wastalking nonsense. Margaret smiled, for she knew her companion well, andunderstood in a moment that the American had discovered her hobby, andwas either seeking to win her good graces, or endeavouring to amusehimself by inducing her to air her views. But Claudius returned to thecharge.

  "What is it to be, Countess?" he asked. "Am I to take up arms and sailout and conquer the universe, and bring it bound to your feet to do youhomage; or shall I go back to my turret chamber in Heidelberg?"

  "Your simile seems to me to be appropriate," said Margaret. "I am sureyour forefathers must have been Vikings."

  "They were," replied Claudius, "for I am a Scandinavian. Shall I go outand plunder the world for your benefit? Shall I make your universality,your general expression, woman, sovereign over my general expression,man?"

  "Considering who is to be the gainer," she answered, laughing, "I cannotwell withhold my consent. When will you begin?"

  "Now."

  "And how?"

  "How should I begin," said he, a smile on his face, and the lightdancing in his eyes, "except by making myself the first convert?"

  Margaret was used enough to pretty speeches, in earnest and in jest, butshe thought she had never heard any one turn them more readily than theyellow-bearded student.

  "And Mr. Barker," she asked, "will you convert him?"

  "Can you look at him at this moment, Countess, and say you really thinkhe needs it?"

  She glanced at the pair on the bench, and laughed again, in the air,for it was apparent that Mr. Barker had made a complete conquest of MissSkeat. He had led the conversation about tribes to the ancient practicesof the North American Indians, and was detailing their customs withmarvellous fluency. A scientific hearer might have detected somestartling inaccuracies, but Miss Skeat listened with rapt attention.Who, indeed, should know more about Indians than a born American who hadtravelled in the West?

  The Countess turned the conversation to other subjects, and talkedintelligently about books. She evidently read a great deal, or rathershe allowed Miss Skeat to read to her, and her memory was good. Claudiuswas not behind in sober criticism of current literature, though hisreading had been chiefly of a tougher kind. Time flew by quickly, andwhen the two men rose to go their visit had lasted two hours.

  "You will report the progress of your conquest?" said the Countess toClaudius as she gave him her hand, which he stooped to kiss in the goodold German fashion.

  "Whenever you will permit me, Countess," he said.

  "I am always at home in the middle of the day. And you too, Mr. Barker,do not wait to be asked before you come again. You are absolutely theonly civilised American I know here."

  "Don't say that, Countess. There is the Duke, who came with meyesterday."

  "But he is English."

  "But he is also American. He owns mines and prairies, and he emigratessemi-annually. They all do now. You know rats leave a sinking ship, andthey are going to have a commune in England."

  "Oh, Mr. Barker, how can you!" exclaimed Miss Skeat.

  "But I am only joking, of course," said he, and pacified her. So theyparted.

  Mr. Barker and Claudius stood on the front door-step, and the former lita cigar while the carriage drove up.

  "Doctor," said he, "I consider you the most remarkable man of myacquaintance."

  "Why?" asked Claudius as he got into the carriage.

  "Well, for several reasons. Chiefly because though you have lived in a'three pair back' for years, and never seen so much as a woman's ear, byyour own account, you nevertheless act as if you had never been out of adrawing-room during your life. You are the least shy man I ever saw."

  "Shy?" exclaimed Claudius, "what a funny idea! Why should I be shy?"

  "No reason in the world, I suppose, after all. But it is very odd." AndMr. Barker ruminated, rolling his cigar in his mouth. "Besides," headded, after a long pause, "you have made a conquest."

  "Nonsense. Now, you have some right to flatter yourself on that score."

  "Miss Skeat?" said Mr. Barker. "Sit still, my heart!"

  They drove along in silence for some time. At last Mr. Barker beganagain,--


  "Well, Professor, what are you going to do about it?"

  "About what?"

  "Why, about the conquest. Shall you go there again?"

  "Very likely." Claudius was annoyed at his companion's tone of voice. Hewould have scoffed at the idea that he loved the Countess at firstsight; but she nevertheless represented his ideal to him, and he couldnot bear to hear Mr. Barker's chaffing remarks. Of course Barker hadtaken him to the house, and had a right to ask if Claudius had found thevisit interesting. But Claudius was determined to check any kind oflevity from the first. He did not like it about women on any terms, butin connection with the Countess Margaret it was positively unbearable.So he answered curtly enough to show Mr. Barker he objected to it. Thelatter readily understood and drew his own inferences.

  A different conversation ensued in the Countess's garden when thevisitors were gone.

  "Well, Miss Skeat," said Margaret, "what do you think of my newacquaintances?"

  "I think Mr. Barker is the most agreeable American I ever met," saidMiss Skeat. "He has very sound views about social questions, and hisinformation on the subject of American Indians is perfectlyextraordinary."

  "And the Doctor? what do you think of him?"

  "He dresses very oddly," said the lady companion; "but his manners seemeverything that could be desired, and he has aristocratic hands."

  "I did not notice his dress much. But he is very handsome. He looks likea Scandinavian hero. You know I was sure I should meet him again thatday in Heidelberg."

  "I suppose he really is very good-looking," assented Miss Skeat.

  "Shall we have them to dinner some day? I think we might; very quietly,you know."

  "I would certainly advise it, dear Countess. You really ought to beginand see people in some way besides allowing them to call on you. Ithink this solitude is affecting your spirits."

  "Oh no; I am very happy--at least, as happy as I can be. But we willhave them to dinner. When shall it be?"

  "To-morrow is too soon. Say Thursday, since you ask me," said MissSkeat.

  "Very well. Shall we read a little?" And Tourgueneff was put intorequisition.

  It was late in the afternoon when the Countess's phaeton, black horses,black liveries, and black cushions, swept round a corner of the drive.Claudius and Barker, in a hired carriage, passed her, coming from theopposite direction. The four people bowed to each other--the ladiesgraciously, the men with courteous alacrity. Each of the four wasinterested in the others, and each of the four felt that they would allbe thrown together in the immediate future. There was a feeling amongthem that they had known each other a long time, though they were butacquaintances of to-day and yesterday.

  "I have seldom seen anything more complete than that turn-out," said Mr.Barker. "The impression of mourning is perfect; it could not have beenbetter if it had been planned by a New York undertaker."

  "Are New York undertakers such great artists?" asked Claudius.

  "Yes; people get buried more profusely there. But don't you think it isremarkably fine?"

  "Yes. I suppose you are trying to make me say that the Countess is abeautiful woman," answered Claudius, who was beginning to understandBarker. "If that is what you want, I yield at once. I think she is themost beautiful woman I ever saw."

  "Ah!--don't you think perhaps that Miss Skeat acts as an admirablefoil?"

  "Such beauty as that requires no foil. The whole world is a foil toher."

  "Wait till you come to America. I will show you her match in Newport."

  "I doubt it. What is Newport?"

  "Newport is the principal watering-place of our magnificent country. Itis Baden, Homburg, Bigorre, and Biarritz rolled into one. It is aterrestrial paradise, a land of four-in-hands and houris andsurf-bathing and nectar and ambrosia. I could not begin to give you anidea of it; wait till you get there."

  "A society place, I suppose, then?" said Claudius, not in the leastmoved by the enthusiastic description.

  "A society place before all things. But you may have plenty of solitudeif you like."

  "I hardly think I should care much for Newport," said Claudius.

  "Well, I like it very much. My father has a place there, to which I takethe liberty of inviting you for the season, whenever you make up yourmind to enjoy yourself."

  "You are very good, I am sure; and if, as you say, I ever go to America,which seems in your opinion paramount to enjoying myself, I will takeadvantage of your kind invitation."

  "Really, I hope you will. Shall we go and dine?"