CHAPTER XXIV. THREE COACHES AND THEIR COMPANY
Three large and stately travelling-carriages, heavily laden, andsurrounded with all the appliances for comfort possible, rolled fromunder the arched gateway of Cro' Martin. One eager and anxious faceturned hastily to catch a last look at the place he was leaving, andthen as hastily concealing his emotion with his handkerchief, Mr. Martinsat back in the carriage in silence.
"Twenty minutes after eight!" exclaimed Lady Dorothea, looking at herwatch. "It is always the case; one never can get away in time."
Rousted by the speech, Martin started, and turned again to the window.
"How handsome those larches are!" cried he; "it seems but yesterday thatI planted them, and they are magnificent trees now."
Her Ladyship made no reply, and he went on, half as though speaking tohimself: "The place is in great beauty just now. I don't think I eversaw it looking so well. Shall I ever see it again?" muttered he, in astill lower tone.
"I really cannot think it ought to break your heart, Mr. Martin, if Iwere to say 'No' to that question," said she, testily.
"No--no!" exclaimed he, repeating the word after her; "not come backhere!"
"There is nothing to prevent us if we should feel disposed to doso," replied she, calmly. "I only observed that one could face thealternative with a good courage. The twenty years we have passed inthis spot are represented to _your_ mind by more leafy trees and bettertimber. To _me_ they are written in the dreary memory of a joyless,weary existence. I detest the place," cried she, passionately, "andfor nothing more, that even on leaving it my spirits are too jaded andbroken to feel the happiness that they ought."
Martin sighed heavily, but did not utter a word.
"So it is," resumed she; "one ever takes these resolutions too late.What we are doing now should have been done sixteen or eighteen yearsago."
"Or not at all," muttered Martin, but in a voice not meant to beoverheard.
"I don't think so, sir," cried she, catching up his words; "if onlyas our protest against the insolence and ingratitude of thisneighborhood,--of these creatures who have actually been maintained byus! It was high time to show them their real condition, and to what theywill be reduced when the influence of our position is withdrawn."
"If it were only for _that_ we are going away--" And he stopped himselfas he got thus far.
"In itself a good and sufficient reason, sir; but I trust there areothers also. I should hope that we have paid our debt to patriotism, andthat a family who have endured twenty years of banishment may return,if only to take a passing glance at the world of civilization andrefinement."
"And poor Mary!" exclaimed Martin, with deep feeling.
"Your niece might have come with us if she pleased, Mr. Martin. Toremain here was entirely her own choice; not that I am at all disposedto think that her resolution was not a wise one. Miss Mary Martinfeels very naturally her utter deficiency in all the graces andaccomplishments which should pertain to her condition. She appreciatesher unfitness for society, and selects--as I think, with commendablediscretion--a sphere much better adapted to her habits."
Martin again sighed heavily.
"To leave any other girl under such circumstances would have been highlyimproper," resumed her Ladyship; "but she is really suited to this kindof life, and perfectly unfit for any other, and I have no doubt she andCatty Broon will be excellent company for each other."
"Catty loves her with all her heart," muttered Martin.
And her Ladyship's lip curled in silent derision at the thought of suchaffection. "And, after all," said he, half involuntarily, "our absencewill be less felt so long as Molly stays behind."
"If you mean by that, Mr. Martin, that the same system of wastefulexpenditure is still to continue,--this universal employment scheme,--Ican only say I distinctly and flatly declare against it. Even Repton--and I 'm sure he 's no ally of mine--agrees with me in pronouncingit perfectly ruinous."
"There's no doubt of the cost of it," said Martin, gravely.
"Well, sir, and what other consideration should weigh with us?--I mean,"added she, hastily, "what should have the same weight? The immaculateauthority I have just quoted has limited our personal expenditure fornext year to five thousand pounds, and threatens us with even less infuture if the establishment at Cro' Martin cannot be reduced below itspresent standard; but I would be curious to know why there is such athing as an establishment at Cro' Martin?"
"Properly speaking, there is none," said Martin. "Rep-ton alludes onlyto the workpeople,--to those employed on the grounds and the gardens. Wecannot let the place go to ruin."
"There is certainly no necessity for pineries and forcing-houses. Yourniece is not likely to want grapes in January, or camellias in the earlyautumn. As little does she need sixteen carriage-horses and a stablefull of hunters."
"They are to be sold off next week. Mary herself said that she onlywanted two saddle-horses and the pony for the phaeton."
"Quite sufficient, I should say, for a young lady."
"I 'm sure she 'd have liked to have kept the harriers--"
"A pack of hounds! I really never heard the like!"
"Poor Molly! It was her greatest pleasure,--I may say her only amusementin life. But she would n't hear of keeping them; and when Repton triedto persuade her--"
"Repton's an old fool,--he's worse; he's downright dishonest,--for heactually proposed my paying my maids out of my miserable pittanceof eight hundred a year, and at the same moment suggests your nieceretaining a pack of foxhounds!"
"Harriers, my Lady."
"I don't care what they 're called. It is too insolent."
"You may rely upon one thing," said Martin, with more firmness thanhe had hitherto used, "there will be nothing of extravagance in Mary'spersonal expenditure. If ever there was a girl indifferent to all theclaims of self, she is that one."
"If we continue this discussion, sir, at our present rate, I opine thatby the time we reach Dublin your niece will have become an angel."
Martin dropped his head, and was silent; and although her Ladyship madetwo or three other efforts to revive the argument, he seemed resolvedto decline the challenge, and so they rolled along the road sullen anduncommunicative.
In the second carriage were Repton and Kate Henderson,--an arrangementwhich the old lawyer flatteringly believed he owed to his cunning andaddress, but which in reality was ordained by Lady Dorothea, whosenotions of rank and precedence were rigid. Although Repton's greatesttact lay in his detection of character, he felt that he could notsatisfactorily affirm he had mastered the difficulty in the presentcase. She was not exactly like anything he had met before; her mode ofthought, and even some of her expressions were so different that theold lawyer owned to himself, "It was like examining a witness through aninterpreter."
A clever talker--your man of conversational success--is rarely patientunder the failure of his powers, and, not very unreasonably perhaps,very ready to ascribe the ill-success to the defects of his hearer. Theyhad not proceeded more than half of the first post ere Repton began tofeel the incipient symptoms of this discontent.
She evidently had no appreciation for bar anecdote and judicial wit;she took little interest in political events, and knew nothing of thecountry or its people. He tried the subject of foreign travel, but hisown solitary trip to Paris and Brussels afforded but a meagre experienceof continental life, and he was shrewd enough not to swim a yard out ofhis depth. "She must have her weak point, if I could but discover it,"said he to himself. "It is not personal vanity, that I see. She does notwant to be thought clever, nor even eccentric, which is the governessfailing _par excellence_. What then can it be?" With all his ingenuityhe could not discover. She would talk, and talk well, on any themehe started, but always like one who maintained conversation throughpoliteness and not interest; and this very feature it was which piquedthe old man's vanity, and irritated his self-love.
When he spoke, she replied, and always with a sufficient semblanc
e ofinterest; but if he were silent, she never opened her lips.
"And so," said he, after a longer pause than usual, "you tell me thatyou really care little or nothing whither Fortune may be now conductingyou."
"To one in my station it really matters very little," said she, calmly."I don't suppose that the post-horses there have any strong preferencefor one road above another, if they be both equally level and smooth."
"There lies the very question," said he; "for you now admit that theremay be a difference."
"I have never found in reality," said she, "that these differences wereappreciable."
"How is it that one so young should be so--so philosophic?" said he,after a hesitation.
"Had you asked me that question in French, Mr. Repton, the languagewould have come so pleasantly to your aid, and spared you theawkwardness of employing a grand phrase for a small quality; but my'philosophy' is simply this: that, to fill a station whose casualtiesrange from courtesies in the drawing-room to slights from the servants'hall, one must arm themselves with very defensive armor as much, naymore, against flattery than against sarcasm. If, in the course of time,this habit render one ungenial and uncompanionable, pray be lenientenough to ascribe the fault to the condition as much as to theindividual."
"But, to be candid, I only recognize in you qualities the very oppositeof all these; and if I am to confess a smart at this moment, it is infeeling that I am not the man to elicit them."
"There you do me wrong. I should be very proud to captivate Mr. Repton."
"Now we are on the good road at last!" said he, gayly; "for Mr. Reptonis dying to be captivated."
"The fortress that is only anxious to surrender offers no great glory tothe conqueror," replied she.
"By Jove! I 'm glad you 're not at the bar."
"If I had been, I could never have shown the same forbearance as Mr.Repton."
"How so? What do you mean?"
"I never could have refused a silk gown, sir; and they tell me you havedone so!"
"Ah! they told you that," said he, coloring with pleasurable pride."Well, it's quite true. The fact is correct, but I don't know whatexplanation they have given of it!"
"There was none, sir,--or, at least, none that deserved the name."
"Then what was your own reading of it?" asked he.
"Simply this, sir: that a proud man may very well serve in the ranks,but spurn the grade of a petty officer."
"By Jove; it is strange to find that a young lady should understandone's motives better than an old Minister," said he, with an evidentsatisfaction.
"It would be unjust, sir, were I to arrogate any credit to my ownperspicuity in this case," said she, hastily; "for I was aided in myjudgment by what, very probably, never came under the Minister's eyes."
"And what was that?"
"A little volume which I discovered one day in the library, entitled'Days of the Historical Society of Trinity College,' wherein I found Mr.Repton's name not only one of the first in debate, but the very first inenunciating the great truths of political liberty. In fact, I might gofurther, and say, the only one who had the courage to proclaim the greatprinciples of the French Revolution."
"Ah,--yes. I was a boy,--a mere boy,--very rash,--full of hope,--full ofenthusiasm," said Repton, with an embarrassment that increased at everyword. "We all took fire from the great blaze beside us just then; but,my dear young lady, the flame has died out,--very fortunately, too; forif it had n't, it would have burned us up with it. We were wrong,--wrongwith Burke, to be sure,--_Errare Platone_, as one may say,--but stillwrong."
"You were wrong, sir, in confounding casualties with true consequences;wrong as a physician would be who abandoned his treatment from mistakingthe symptoms of disease for the effects of medicine. You set out bydeclaring there was a terrible malady to be treated, and you shrink backaffrighted at the first results of your remedies; you did worse; youaccommodated your change of principles to party, and from the greatchampions of liberty you descended to be--modern Whigs!"
"Why, what have we here? A Girondist, I verily believe!" said Repton,looking in her face with a smile of mingled surprise and amazement.
"I don't much care for the name you may give me; but I am one who thinksthat the work of the French Revolution is sure of its accomplishment.We shall very probably not do the thing in the same way, but it will bedone, nevertheless; for an Act of Parliament, though not so speedy, willbe as effectual as a 'Noyade,' and a Reforming Administration will workas cleanly as a Constituent!"
"But see; look at France at this moment. Is not society reconstitutedpretty near to the old models? What evidence is there that the prestigeof rank has suffered from the shock of revolution?"
"The best evidence. Nobody believes in it,--not one. Society isreconstituted just as a child constructs a card-house to see how high hecan carry the frail edifice before it tumbles. The people--the truepeople of the Continent--look at the pageantry of a court and a nobilityjust as they do on a stage procession, and criticise it in the samespirit. They endure it so long as their indolence or their capricepermit, and then, some fine morning, they 'll dash down the wholeedifice; and be assured that the fragments of the broken toy will neversuggest the sentiment to repair it."
"You are a Democrat of the first water!" exclaimed Repton, in halfamazement.
"I am simply for the assertion of the truth everywhere and ineverything,--in religion and in politics, as in art and literature. Ifthe people be the source of power, don't divert the stream into anotherchannel; and, above all, don't insist that it should run up-hill! Comeabroad, Mr. Repton,--just come over with us to Paris,--and see if whatI am telling you be so far from the fact. You 'll find, too, that itis not merely the low-born, the ignoble, and the poor who profess theseopinions, but the great, the titled, and the wealthy men of fourteenquarterings and ancient lineage; and who, sick to death of a contestwith a rich bourgeoisie, would rather start fair in the race again, andwin whatever place their prowess or their capacity might giye them. You'll hear very good socialism from the lips of dukes and princesses whoswear by Fourier."
Repton stared at her in silence, not more amazed at the words he heardthan at the manner and air of her who spoke them; for she had graduallyassumed a degree of earnestness and energy which imparted to herfeatures a character of boldness and determination such as he had notseen in them before..
"Yes," resumed she, as though following out her own thoughts, "it isyour new creations, your ennobled banker, your starred and cordonedagitator of the Bourse, who now defends his order, and stands up for thedivine right of misrule! The truly noble have other sentiments!"
"There 's nothing surprises me so much," said Repton, at last, "asto hear these sentiments from one who has lived surrounded by all theblandishments of a condition that owes its existence to an aristocracy,and never could have arisen without one,--who has lived that delightfullife of refined leisure and elevating enjoyment, such as forms theatmosphere of only one class throughout the whole world. How would youbear to exchange this for the chaotic struggle that you point at?"
"As for me, sir, I only saw the procession from the window. I may,perhaps, walk in it when I descend to the street; but really," addedshe, laughing, "this is wandering very far out of the record. I hadpromised myself to captivate Mr. Repton, and here I am, striving toarray every feeling of his heart and every prejudice of his mind againstme."
"It is something like five-and-fifty years since I last heard suchsentiments as you have just uttered," said Repton, gravely. "I was youngand ardent,--full of that hopefulness in mankind which is, afterall, the life-blood of Republicanism; and here I am now, an old,time-hardened lawyer, with very little faith in any one. How do yousuppose that such opinions can chime in with all I have witnessed in theinterval?"
"Come over to Paris, sir," was her reply.
"And I would ask nothing better," rejoined he. "Did I ever tell you ofwhat Harry Parsons said to Macnatty when he purposed visiting France,after the peace of '15? '
Now is the time to see the French capital,'said Mac. 'I 'll put a guinea in one pocket and a shirt in the other,and start to-morrow.' 'Ay, sir,' said Parsons, 'and never change eithertill you come back again!'"
Once back in his accustomed field, the old lawyer went along recountingstory after story, every name seeming to suggest its own anecdote. Norwas Kate, now, an ungenerous listener; on the contrary, she relished hisstores of wit and repartee. Thus they, too, went on their journey!
The third carriage contained Madame Hortense, Lady Dorothea's Frenchmaid; Mrs. Runt, an inferior dignitary of the toilet; and Mark Peddar,Mr. Martin's "gentleman,"--a party which, we are forced to own, seemedto combine more elements of sociality than were gathered together in thevehicles that preceded them. To _their_ share there were no regrets forleaving home,--no sorrow at quitting a spot endeared to them by longassociation. The sentiment was one of unalloyed satisfaction. They wereescaping from the gloom of a long exile, and about to issue forth intothat world which they longed for as eagerly as their betters. And whyshould they not? Are not all its pleasures, all its associationsmore essentially adapted to such natures; and has solitude one singlecompensation for all its depression to such as these?
"Our noble selves," said Mr. Peddar, filling the ladies' glasses, andthen his own; for a very appetizing luncheon was there spread out beforethem, and four bottles of long-necked gracefulness rose from amidst thecrystal ruins of a well-filled ice-pail. "Mam'selle, it is your favoritetipple, and deliciously cool."
"Perfection," replied mademoiselle, with a foreign accent, for she hadbeen long in England; "and I never enjoyed it more. _Au revoir_,"added she, waving her hand towards the tall towers of Cro' Martin, justvisible above the trees,--"_Au revoir!_"
"Just so,--till I see you again," said Mrs. Runt; "and I 'm sure I'll take good care that day won't come soon. It seems like a terriblenightmare when I think of the eight long years I passed there."
"_Et moi_, twelve! Miladi engage me, so to say, _provisoirement_, tocome to Ireland, but with a promise of travel abroad; that we live inParis, Rome, Naples,--_que sais-je?_ I accept,--I arrive,--_et mevoici!_" And mademoiselle threw back her veil, the better to directattention to the ravages time and exile had made upon her charms.
"Hard lines, ma'am," said Peddar, whose sympathy must not be accusedof an _equivoque_; "and here am I, that left the best single-handedsituation in all England,--Sir Augustus Hawleigh's,--a young fellowjust of age, and that never knew what money was, to come down here ata salary positively little better than a country curate's, and live thelife of--of--what shall I say?--"
"No, the leg, if you please, Mr. Peddar; no more wine. Well, just oneglass, to drink a hearty farewell to the old house."
"I 'm sure I wish Mary joy of her residence there," said Peddar,adjusting his cravat; "she is a devilish fine girl, and might do better,though."
"She has no ambitions,--no what you call them?--no aspirations for _legrand monde_; so perhaps she has reason to stay where she is."
"But with a young fellow of _ton_ and fashion, mam'selle,--a fellowwho has seen life,--to guide and bring her out, trust me, there areexcellent capabilities in that girl." And as Mr. Peddar enunciated thesentiment, his hands ran carelessly through his hair, and performed akind of impromptu toilet.
"She do dress herself _bien mal_."
"Disgracefully so," chimed in Mrs. Runt "I believe, whenever she boughta gown, her first thought was what it should turn into when she 'd donewith it."
"I thought that la Henderson might have taught her something," saidPeddar, affectedly.
"_Au contraire_,--she like to make the contrast more strong; she alwaysseek to make say, '_Regardez_, mademoiselle, see what a _tournure_ isthere!'"
"Do you think her handsome, Mr. Peddar?" asked Mrs. Runt.
"Handsome, yes; but not _my_ style,--not one of what _I_ call _my_women; too much of this kind of thing, eh?" And he drew his head back,and threw into his features an expression of exaggerated scorn.
"Just so. Downright impudent, I'd call it."
"Not even that," said Mr. Peddar, pondering; "haughty, rather,--a kindof don't-think-to-come-it-on-me style of look, eh?"
"Not at all amiable,--_point de cela,_" exclaimed mam'selle; "but still,I will say, _tres bon genre_. You see at a glance that she has seen _labonne societe._"
"Which, after all, is the same all the world over," said Peddar,dogmatically. "At Vienna we just saw the same people we used to havewith us in London; at Rome, the same; so, too, at Naples. I assure youthat the last time I dined at Dolgorouki's, I proposed going in theevening to the Haymarket. I quite forgot we were on the Neva. And whenPrince Gladuatoffski's gentleman said, 'Where shall I set you down?'I answered carelessly, 'At my chambers in the Albany, or anywhere yourHighness likes near that.' Such is life!" exclaimed he, draining thelast of the champagne into his glass.
"The place will be pretty dull without us, I fancy," said Mrs. Runt,looking out at the distant landscape.
"That horrid old Mother Broon won't say so," said Peddar, laughing. "ByJove! if it was only to escape that detestable hag, it 's worth whilegetting away."
"I offer her my hand when I descend the steps, but she refuse_froidement_, and say, 'I wish you as much pleasure as you leave behindyou.' _Pas mal_ for such a _creature_."
"I did n't even notice her," said Mrs. Runt.
"_Ma foi!_ I was good with all the world; I was in such Joy--suchspirits--that I forgave all and everything. I felt _nous sommes enroute_, and Paris--dear Paris--before us."
"My own sentiments to, a T," said Mr. Peddar. "Let me live on theBoulevards, have my cab, my stall at the Opera, two Naps, per diemfor my dinner, and I'd not accept Mary Martin's hand if she owned Cro'Martin, and obliged me to live in it."
The speech was fully and warmly acknowledged, other subjects werestarted, and so they travelled the same road as their betters, andperhaps with lighter hearts.
The Martins Of Cro' Martin, Vol. I (of II) Page 26