CHAPTER XII. MR. MERL'S MEDITATIONS.
Our last chapter left Mr. Herman Merl in bad company,--he was alone.Now, very few men's thoughts are companionable in the dreary solitudeof a sorry inn. None of us, it is to be feared, are totally exempt from"this world's crosses;" and though the sorrows of life do fall veryunequally, the light afflictions are accepted as very heavy burdens bythose to whose lot they fall!
Just as it happens, then, on some gloomy day of winter, when we have"finished our book," and the newspapers are tiresome, we take theopportunity to look through our letters and papers,--to arrangeour desk, and put a little order in our scattered and litteredmemoranda,--somewhat in the same spirit will Conscience grasp a similarmoment to go over the past, glance at bygone events, and make, as itwere, a clearance of whatever weighs upon our memory. I 'm not quitecertain that the best of us come out of this Bankruptcy Court with afirst-class certificate. Even the most merciful to his own errors willacknowledge that in many things he should do differently were they tobe done over again; and he must, indeed, have fallen upon a happy lotin life who has not some self-reproach on the score of kindnessunrequited,--slight injuries either unforgiven or unequallyavenged,--friendships jeopardized, mayhap lost, by some mere indulgenceof temper,--and enmities unreconciled, just for lack of the veriestsacrifice of self-love.
Were there any such court in morals as in law, what a sad spectaclewould our schedule show, and how poor even the most solvent amongst us,if called on for a list of his liabilities!
Lest our moralizing should grow uncomfortable, dear reader, let usreturn to Mr. Merl, now occupied, as he was, in this same process ofself-examination. He sat with a little note-book before him, recallingvarious incidents of the past. And if the lowering expression of hisface might be trusted, his reveries were not rose-colored; and yet, ashe turned over the pages, it might be seen that moments of gratulationalternated with the intervals of self-reproach.
"Wednesday, the 10th," muttered he to himself, "dined atPhilippe's--supped with Arkright and Bailey--whist at double Nap.points--won four hundred and ten--might have made it a thousand, butB. flung the cards out of the window in a passion, and had to ceaseplaying.
"Thursday--toothache--stayed at home, and played piquet withmyself--discovered two new combinations, in taking in cards--Irving cameto see me--won from him twenty pounds his mother had just sent him.
"Friday--a good day's work--walked into Martin for two thousand sevenhundred, and took his bill at three months, with promise to renew--dinedwith Sitwell, and sold him my Perugino for six hundred--cost myself notas many francs--am to have the refusal of all Vanderbrett's cabinets forletting him off his match with Columbine, which, by the way, he was sureto win, as Mope is dead lame.
"Martin again--Saturday--came to have his revenge, but seemedquarrelsome; so I affected an engagement, and declined play.
"Sunday--gave him his revenge, to the tune of twelve hundred in myown favor--'Lansquenet' in the evening at his rooms--several swellspresent--thought it prudent to drop some tin, and so, lost one hundredand forty Naps.--Sir Giles Bruce the chief winner--rich, and within twomonths of being of age.
"Monday--the Perugino returned as a bad copy by Fava--took it at once,and said I was taken in myself--Sitwell so pleased that he sat down toecarte, and lost two hundred to me. I dine with him to-morrow.
"Tuesday--blank--dinner at Sitwell's--met Colonel Cardie, whom I saw atHombourg, and so refused to play. It was, I suspect, a plan of Sitwell'sto pit us against each other.
"Wednesday--sold out my African at seventy-one and an eighth--realizedwell, and bought in Poyais, which will rise for at least ten days tocome--took Canchard's chateau at Ghent for his old debt at ecarte--don'tlike it, as it may be talked about.
"Gave a dinner to Wilson, Morris, Leader, Whyte, and Martin--Lescourcould n't come--played little whist afterwards--changed for hazard aftersupper--won a few Naps., and home to bed.
"Took Rigby's curricle and horses for the two hundred he owes me--gladto have done with him--he evidently wanted a row--and so play with himno more.
"Sent ten Naps, to the fund for the poor injured by the lateinundations, as the police called to ask about my passport, &c.
"Saturday--the Cure of St. Rochette, to ask for alms--gave three hundredfrancs, and secured his services against the police--the cure mentionssome curious drawings in the sacristy--promised to go and see them.
"Bought Walrond's library for a franc a volume--the Elzevirs aloneworth double the amount paid--Bailey bolted, and so lose his lastbills--Martin quarrelsome--said he never yet won at any sitting withme--lost seventy to him, and sent him home satisfied.
"Gave five hundred francs for the drawings at St. R------, abominabledaubs; but the police grow more troublesome every day--besides,Crowthorpe is collecting early studies of Rembrandt--these sketches aremarked R.
"A great evening--cleared Martin out--suspect that this night's workmakes me an Irish estated gentleman--must obtain legal opinion as tothese same Irish securities and post-obits, involving, as they do, aheavy sum."
Mr. Merl paused at this _entree_ in his diary, and began to reflect inno very gratulatory mood on the little progress he had as yet made inthis same object of inquiry; in fact, he was just discovering what avast number of more shrewd observers than himself have long since foundout, that exploring in Ireland is rather tough work. Everything looks soeasy and simple and plain upon the surface, and yet is so puzteling andcomplicated beneath; all seems so intelligible, where there is nothingin reality that is not a contradiction. It is true he was not harassinghimself with problems of labor and wages, the condition of the people,the effects of emigration, and so forth. He wanted to ascertain somefew facts as to the value of a certain estate, and what incumbrances itmight be charged with; and to the questions he put on this head, everyreply was an insinuated interrogatory to himself. "Why are _you_ here,Mr. Merl?" "How does it concern _you?_" "What may be _your_ interest inthe same investigation?" This peculiar dialectic met him as he landed;it followed him to the West. Scanlan, the landlord, even that poorsimpleton the painter--as he called Crow--had submitted him to its harshrule, till Mr. Merl felt that, instead of pursuing an examination, hewas himself everlastingly in the witness-box.
Wearied of these speculations, dissatisfied with himself and hisfruitless journey, he summoned the landlord to ask if that "old gent"above stairs had not a book of some kind, or a newspaper, he could lendhim. A ragged urchin speedily returned with a key in his hand, saying,"That's the key of No. 4. Joe says you may go up and search foryourself."
One more scrupulous might not exactly have fancied the officethus suggested to him. He, however, was rather pleased with theinvestigation, and having satisfied himself that the mission was safe,set forth to fulfil it. No. 4, as the stranger's room was called, was alarge and lofty chamber, lighted by a single bay-window, the deep recessof which was occupied by a writing-table. Books, maps, letters, anddrawings littered every part of the room. Costly weapons, too, such asrichly chased daggers and inlaid pistols, lay carelessly about, withcuriously shaped pipes and gold-embroidered tobacco-bags; a richly linedfur pelisse covered the sofa, and a skull-cap of the very finest sablelay beside it. All these were signs of affluence and comfort, and Mr.Merl pondered over them as he went from place to place, tossing over onething after another, and losing himself in wild conjectures about theowner.
The writing-table, we have said, was thickly strewn with letters, and tothese he now addressed himself in all form, taking his seat comfortablyfor the investigation. Many of the letters were in foreign languages,and from remote and far-away lands. Some he was enabled to spell out,but they referred to places and events he had never heard of, and werefilled with allusions he could not fathom. At length, however, he cameto documents which interested him more closely. They were notes, mostprobably in the stranger's own hand, of his late tour along the coast.Mournful records were they all,--sad stories of destitution and want, awhole people struck down by famine and
sickness, and a land perishing inutter misery. No personal narrative broke the dreary monotony of thesegloomy records, and Merl searched in vain for what might give a clewto the writer's station or his object. Carefully drawn-up statistics,tables of the varying results of emigration, notes upon the tenure ofland and the price of labor were all there, interspersed with repliesfrom different quarters to researches of the writer's making. Numerousappeals to charity, entreaties for small loans of money, were mingledwith grateful acknowledgments for benefits already received. There wasmuch, had he been so minded, that Mr. Merl might have learned in thissame unauthorized inquiry. There were abundant traits of the peopledisplayed, strange insight into customs and ways peculiar to them,accurate knowledge, too, of the evils of their social condition;and, above all, there were the evidences of that curious compound ofcredulity and distrust, hope and fatalism, energy and inertness, whichmake up the Irish nature.
He threw these aside, however, as themes that had no interest for him.What had he to do with the people? His care was with the soil, and lesseven with it than with its burdens and incumbrances. One convictioncertainly did impress itself strongly upon him,--that he 'd part withhis claims on the estate for almost anything, in preference to himselfassuming the cares and duties of an Irish landlord,--a position which hesummed up by muttering to himself, "is simply to have so many acres ofbad land, with the charge of feeding so many thousands of bad people."Here were suggestions, it is true, how to make them better, coupledwith details that showed the writer to be one well acquainted with thedifficulties of his task; here, also, were dark catalogues of crime,showing how destitution and vice went hand in hand, and that the seasonsof suffering were those of lawlessness and violence. Various hands weredetectable in these documents. Some evinced the easy style and gracefulpenmanship of education; others were written in the gnarled hand of thedaily, laborer. Many of these were interlined in what Merl soon detectedto be the stranger's own handwriting; and brief as such remarks were,they sufficed to show how carefully their contents had been studied byhim.
"What could be the object of all this research? Was he some emissary ofthe Government, sent expressly to obtain this knowledge? Was he employedby some section of party politicians, or was he one of those literaryphilanthropists who trade upon the cheap luxury of pitying the poor anddetailing their sorrows? At all events," thought Mr. Merl, "this sameinformation seems to have cost him considerable research, and nota little money; and as I am under a pledge to give the Captain someaccount of his dear country, here is a capital opportunity to do so,not only with ease, but actually with honor." And having formed thisresolve, he instantly proceeded to its execution. That wonderful littlenote-book, with its strong silver clasps, so full of strange and curiousinformation, was now produced; but he soon saw that the various facts tobe recorded demanded a wider space, and so he set himself to write downon a loose sheet of paper notices of the land in tillage or in pasture,the numerical condition of the people as compared with former years,their state, their prospects; but when he came to tell of the ravagesmade and still making by pestilence amongst them, he actually stopped toreread the records, so terrible and astounding were the facts narrated.A dreadful malady walked the land, and its victims lay in every house!The villages were depopulated, the little clusters of houses at crossroads were stricken, the lone shealing on the mountain side, themiserable cottage of the dreary moor, were each the scenes of desolationand death. It was as though the land were about to be devastated, andthe race of man swept from its surface! As he read on, he came uponsome strictures in the stranger's own hand upon these sad events, andperceived how terribly had the deserted, neglected state of the peopleaided the fatal course of the epidemic. No hospitals had been provided,no stores of any remedial kind, not a doctor for miles around, save anold physician who had been retained at Miss Martin's special charge, andwho was himself nigh exhausted by the fatigue of his office.
Mr. Merl laid down his pen to think,--not, indeed, in any compassionatespirit of that suffering people; his sorrows were not for those who layon beds of want and sickness; his whole anxiety was for a certain personvery dear to his own heart, who had rashly accepted securities on aproperty which, to all seeming, was verging upon ruin; this convictionbeing strongly impressed by the lawless state of the country, and thehopelessness of expecting payment from a tenantry so circumstanced.
"Sympathy, indeed!" cried he; "I should like to hear of a littlesympathy for the unlucky fellow who has accepted a mortgage on thisconfounded estate! These wretched creatures have little to lose,--andeven death itself ought to be no unwelcome relief to a life liketheirs,--but to a man such as I am, with abundance of projects for hisspare cash, this is a pretty investment! It is not impossible that thisphilanthropic stranger, whoever he be, might buy up my bonds. He shouldhave them a bargain,--ay, by Jove! I'd take off a jolly percentage totouch the 'ready;' and who knows, what with all his benevolence, hischarity, and his Christian kindliness, if he 'd not come down handsomelyto rescue this unhappy people from the hands of a Jew!"
And Mr. Merl laughed pleasantly, for the conceit amused him, and itsounded gratefully to his imagination that even his faith could be putout to interest, and the tabernacle be turned to good account. The noiseof a chaise approaching at a sharp trot along the shingly beach startledhim from his musings, and he had barely time to snatch up the paperon which he had scrawled his notes, and hasten downstairs, when theobsequious landlord, rushing to the door, ushered in Mr. Barry, andwelcomed him back again.
Merl suffered his door to stand ajar, that he might take a look atthe stranger as he passed. He was a very large, powerfully built man,somewhat stooped by age, but showing even in advanced years signs of avigorous frame and stout constitution; his head was massive, and coveredwith snow-white hair, which descended on the back of his neck. Hiscountenance must in youth have been handsome, and even yet bore theexpression of a frank, generous, but somewhat impetuous nature,--soat least it struck him who now observed it; a character not improbablyaided by his temper as he entered, for he had returned from scenes ofmisery and suffering, and was in a mood of indignation at the neglect hehad just witnessed.
"You said truly," said he to the landlord. "You told me I shouldn'tsee a gentleman for twenty miles round; that all had fled and left thepeople to their fate, and I see now it is a fact."
"Faix, and no wonder," answered the host. "Wet potatoes and the shakingague, not to speak of cholera morbus, is n't great inducements to stayand keep company with. I 'd be off, too, if I had the means."
"But I spoke of gentlemen, sir," said the stranger, with a strongemphasis on the word,--"men who should be the first to prove their birthand blood when a season of peril was near."
"Thrue for you, sir," chimed in Joe, who suddenly detected the blunderhe had committed. "The Martins ought not to have run away in the middleof our distress."
"They left the ship in a storm; they 'll find a sorry wreck when theyreturn to it," muttered the stranger, as he ascended the stairs.
"By Jacob! just what I suspected," said Merl to himself, while he closedthe door; "this property won't be worth sixpence, and I am regularly'done.'"
The Martins Of Cro' Martin, Vol. II (of II) Page 12