Why do we all refer to the period of boyhood as one of happiness? It is not that it had not its own sorrows, nor that they were really so light,—it is simply because it was the season of hope. In after-life, as deception after deception has checked us, when disappointment has dulled expectancy, we become more practical, less dreamy, and, alas! less happy. The possible and the probable of youth are not the possible and the probable of manhood, still less those of riper age. The realms of boyish fancy are as wide as the great ocean; and we revel in them in all the plenitude of unrestricted power. There is not a budding effort of intellect that we do not magnify to ourselves as the origin of future distinction. We exalt our feats of strength and courage into deeds of heroic daring; and we fancy that the little struggles and crosses we meet with are like the great trials and reverses of after-life; and in our pride of success, we deem ourselves conquerors. Oh for one day, for even one short hour, of that time of glorious delusions! Oh that I could once more look out upon the world as one gazes at a sunset at sea, wondering what beauteous lands lie afar off in the distance, and imagining the time when we should be journeying towards them, buoyant, high-hearted, hopeful! Who has ever achieved any success that equalled his boyish ambitions? Who has ever been as great or as good as his early visions have pictured him?
I have already told my reader that my youth was not passed in affluence. Our means were limited to the very merest requirements of existence; our food and our clothing were humble as our dwelling; and I believe that many a sore privation was needed to escape the calamity of debt. Of all these hardships I knew nothing at the time; my experience pointed out none who seemed to possess an existence happy as my own. I had all that unvarying affection and devoted love could bestow. My little turret in winter, the fields and the mountains in summer, made up a glorious world, full of interest; and the days seemed never long enough for all my plans of pleasure.
I had no companions of my own age, nor did I feel the want of them; for when my school hours were over I was free to follow the caprices of my own fancy. There was in my isolation a sort of independence that I gloried in. To be alone with my own day-dreams—my own ambitious hopes—my own high-soaring thoughts—was an ecstasy of delight that I would not have exchanged for any companionship. The very indulgence of these humors soon rendered me unsuited for association with others, whose ideas and habits appeared to me to be all vain, and trifling, and contemptible. The books of travel and discovery which I loved to read, had filled my mind with those stories of adventure which attend the explorer of unknown lands,—the wonders of scenery, and the strange pictures of life and people. There was in the career itself that blending of heroism and philanthropy, that mingled courage and humanity, which appealed to my heart by its very strongest sympathies; and I felt for these noble and devoted adventurers not less admiration than love. All my solitary rambles through the wild valleys of the neighborhood, all my lonely walks over mountains, were in imitation of these wanderers, whose hardships I envied, and whose perils I longed to share. Not a rugged crag nor snow-capped summit that I did not name after some far-away land; and every brook and rippling stream became to me the Nile, the Euphrates, or the Ganges. The desolate character of the scenery amidst which we lived, the wide tracts of uninhabited country, favored these illusions; and for whole days long not an incident would occur to break the spell which fancy had thrown around me.
My kind mother—for so Polly always taught me to call her—seemed to take delight in favoring these self-delusions of mine, and fell readily into all my caprices about locality.
She made me, too, with her own hands, a little knapsack to wear; bought me an iron-shod staff such as Alpine travellers carry; and made me keep a kind of journal of these wanderings, noting down all my accidents and adventures, and recording even the feelings which beset me when afar off and alone in the mountains. So intent did I become at last on these imaginings that the actual life of school and its duties grew to seem visionary and unreal, and my true existence to be that when wandering through the lonely valleys of the Alps, or sitting in solitude in some far-away gorge of the mountains.
As I grew older I pushed my journeys further, and carried my explorings to the very foot of the Splugen, through that dreariest of all mountain passes, the “Verlohrnes Loch.” The savage grandeur of this desolate spot, its gloom, its solitude, its utter desertion, its almost uninhabitable character, gave it a peculiar attraction in my eyes, for there nothing ever occurred to dispel the colorings of my imagination. There I revelled at will amidst the wildest flights of my fancy. An old castle, one of the many feudal remains of this tract of country, stood upon a lone crag to the centre of the valley. It seemed as if Nature herself had destined the rock for such a structure, for while there was barely space sufficient at the top, the approach lay by a zig-zag: path, rugged and dangerous, cut in the solid granite. When I first saw this rude old tower, the melting snows of early summer had flooded a small rivulet at the base of the crag, and the stream, being divided in its course against the rock, swept along on either side, leaving the castle, as it were, on an island.
I had long resolved to scale this cliff, the view from the summit of which I knew would be magnificent, extending for miles both up and down the valley; and at last, took advantage of my first holiday from school to accomplish my purpose. The Forlorn Glen, as the translation of the name would imply, lay about thirteen miles away by taking the mountain paths, though its distance by road was more than double, and to go and return in the same day required an early start. I set out before daybreak, having packed my knapsack with food to last me while I should be away.
I never remember to have felt a greater degree of exhilaration than as I set forth that morning. It was in the month of June, that season of all others the most beautiful in Alpine scenery, since it combines all the charms of spring with the balmy air and more genial atmosphere of summer. The cherry-trees were all in blossom in the glens, and the rich pink of the apricot peeped out from many a little grove. I went along, happy and light-hearted, passing many a spot to which I had given some name of a far-away scene, and recognizing places which once had been to me the utmost limits of my wanderings. So, thought I, shall it be in after-life, and we can look back upon efforts that we once deemed stupendous, and regard them as mere tiny steps in the great steep we are climbing.
I breakfasted at a little waterfall in the midst of the wildest mountain, not a sound save the plashing waters to break the stillness; the birds gathered round me for the crumbs of my meal, and ate them within a few paces of where I sat. There was something that I felt as indescribably touching, in the trustfulness of the humbler creation, in scenes deserted and forsaken of men; and musing on the theme, I arose and pursued my way.
When I reached the Verlohrnes Loch it was still early, and I was delighted to find that the stream at the foot of the castle rock was dwindled down to a mere rivulet, and fordable with ease. I crossed, and at once began the ascent of the crag. Before I had spent half an hour at my task, however, I found that its difficulties were far greater than I had anticipated. The path was often interrupted by masses of fallen rock, and frequently, from long disuse, difficult to hit upon when once lost. Brambles and prickly pears, too, formed terrible obstacles at some places, while at others the rocks were rendered slippery by dripping water, and the danger of a false step was very great. In no wise discouraged, I struggled on; but to my astonishment I could perceive that it was wearing nigh to noon before I had accomplished more than half the ascent. I had therefore to take counsel with myself whether I should abandon my enterprise at once, or resolve to pass the night on the crag, for I readily saw that before I could reach the level plain again it would be too late to resume my homeward road over the mountain, many parts of which required daylight to traverse. Although I had never passed a night away from home, I had often told my mother that I should probably be led to do so, and that she should not feel any alarm at my absence; and she, who well knew the honest character of the mountaineers, also knew that I was known to them for miles far around. My resolve was at length taken to pass the night in the shelter of the old castle, and take the following morning for my return.
As the day wore on, the heat grew more and more oppressive; occasional gusts of wind would sweep past, followed by a dead, unbroken stillness, in which not a leaf moved. It seemed as though mysterious spirits of the elemental world were conversing together in this lone region, and the thought impressed me more powerfully as at intervals a low, half-subdued murmuring seemed to rise from the deep glens around me. At first I deemed they were self-delusions; but as I listened I could distinctly trace the sounds as they rose and fell, swelling now to a deep rolling noise, and then dying away in soft fading cadences.
My mind was stored with stories of supernatural interest, and if I did not implicitly believe the existence of such agencies, yet I cannot affirm that I altogether rejected them. I was in that state in which, while reason is unconvinced, the imagination is still impressed, and fears and terrors hold sway, when the very causes of them were stoutly denied reality. One of the commonest of all the superstitions of mountain regions is the belief in a certain genius who invariably resists the intrusion of mortals within the precincts of his realm. The terrible tales of his vengeance form the subject of Alpine horrors, and the dreadful miseries of those who have incurred his displeasure point the moral of many a story, and “the Kobold of the Lost Glen” held a proud pre-eminence among such narratives. The heat, as I have said, grew oppressive; it became at last almost stifling, for the clouds descended near the earth, and the atmosphere became dense and suffocating. A few heavy drops of rain then fell, pattering slowly and lazily on the leaves; and then, as if at the word of some dread command, the thunder rolled forth in one long, loud, continuous peal that seemed to shake the very mountains. Crash after crash followed, till the very rocks seemed splitting with the loud artillery, while through the darkness of the murky air great sheets of yellow lightning gleamed, and long chains of the bright element zig-zagged through the sky; the rain, too, began to fall in torrents, and almost at once the mountain streams swelled and bounded in foamy cataracts from cliff and precipice. The din was deafening; and the loud crashing thunder with the hissing rain, the rushing rivers, and the dense shaking forests made up a grand and awful chorus. For a while I found a shelter beneath the thick foliage of the hollies, but the sweeping wind at last rent this frail sanctuary in twain, and in a moment I was drenched thoroughly.
Although still early in the afternoon, a premature night seemed to have set in, for the air grew darker and darker, till at length the mountains at either side of the glen were lost to sight, and a dense watery vapor surrounded the crag on which I stood. My position was not without peril, since if the waters did not abate at the end of some hours, I should be left to starve on the rock. This danger at once occurred to me, and my mind was already overcome by gloomy forebodings. One thing was, however, certain,—I must endeavor to reach the castle before nightfall; for to pass the dark hours where I was would be impossible. The difficulty of the ascent was now increased fourfold; the footing was less secure on the rocks, and dashing torrents tore past with a force that strength like mine could never have combated. It is with pride that I remember to have looked all those perils boldly in the face; it is, I say, a proud thought to me, even now, that as a mere boy I could meet danger boldly and undauntedly. More than once, indeed, the fatal terrors of my position stood arrayed before me, and I thought that I had seen my dear home and my kind mother for the last time; I could even speculate upon poor Raper's affliction when he came to hear of my calamity. With thoughts like these I wended my way along, ever upwards and ever more steep and difficult. Although the storm had spent much of its fury, the rain continued to fall in torrents, and the roar of the swollen streams almost equalled the deafening clamor of the thunder. The sudden transition from unbroken silence to the crash and tumult of falling waters is one of the most striking features of Alpine scenery, and suggests, even at moments of the greatest calm and quiet, a sense of foreboding peril. The sudden change of temperature, too, from intense heat to an almost biting cold, induces terrific storms of wind, almost tornadoes, by whose violence great trees are torn up by the roots, and vast rocks hurled down from crag and precipice. In turning the angle of a cliff, I came suddenly upon one of these gusts, which carried me completely off my legs, and swept me into a low copse of brushwood, stunned and senseless. I must have remained a considerable time unconscious, for when I came to myself the stars were shining in the dark blue sky of night, and the air calm, serene, and summer-like. It was with difficulty I could remember where I was, and by what chances I had come there; and it was indeed with a sinking heart that I arose, not knowing whither to turn my steps, nor whether my chance of safety lay above or below me.
I was sorely bruised besides, and one of my arms severely injured by my fall, as I discovered in attempting to use my staff. It was at that moment, thoughts of my home came full and forcibly before me; the little chamber where I used to sit for hours in happy occupation; my seat beside the hearth; my place at my mother's wheel, for she used to spin during the hazy days of winter; and, in my despair, I burst into a flood of tears. The excess of grief passed off, and there now succeeded a dogged resolve to accomplish my first purpose, and I again set out for the summit.
I had not proceeded far, when on looking upward towards the sky I saw, or thought I saw, a light twinkling through the trees above me. The foliage was dense and thick, and grew around the base of the rock which formed the immediate foundation of the castle, so that it was only at certain spots a light, if such there was, could be visible. Onward I pushed now, with a new impulse given by hope; and to my inexpressible joy, as I rounded the corner of a crag, I came full in sight of the old tower, and saw, from one of the narrow windows, the sparkle of a bright light that, streaming forth, formed a long line upon the grass.
The window was fully twenty feet from the ground, nor was the entrance door more than a few feet lower,—being one of those fastnesses to which access was had by a ladder, drawn up for safety after entering. Many of these ruined castles in the valley of the Reichenau were, I knew, occupied by the shepherds; some indeed had been converted into refuge-houses for lost travellers, and supplied by the government of the canton with some few appliances of succor. The situation of this one, however, refuted all such possibility, since its very difficulty of approach would have rendered it unavailable for either purpose. As I stood on the little level tableland in front of the old ruin, and gazed upwards at the narrow window from which gleamed the light, all my former superstitious terrors returned, and I felt that cold shrinking of the heart that comes of a danger undefined and incomprehensible; nor am I certain that I would not rather have looked upon the ruin dark and desolate, than with that yellow streak that told of some inhabitant within.
The northern side of the Alpine ranges have few, if any, traditions of robbers. The horrors with which they are peopled are all those of an immaterial world, so that my mind ranged over the tales of wood-demons, Kobolds, and mountain imps, without one single thought of the perils of banditti; nor was I altogether without a strong prompting of eager curiosity to know what precise shape and semblance these strange creatures wore. Thus impelled, I set about examining the spot, and seeing in what way I might be able to approach the window. The trees on either side were too low, and the ivy which grew against the ruined wall itself offered the only means of ascent. I was an expert climber, and well knew that, though the ivy will often afford good and safe footing, it will always give way beneath the grasp of the hand, and that the stones of the wall would afford me the only security. In this wise it was, therefore, I began the ascent, and, with slow and careful steps, I arrived at last within a few feet of the window-sill. My impatience at this moment overcame all my prudence, and, with an eager spring, I tried to catch the stone. I missed it, and grasping the ivy in my despair, the branches gave way, and, after a brief struggle, and with a loud cry of terror, I fell backwards to the ground.
The stars seemed to flit to and fro above me; trees, mountains, and rocks seemed to heave in mad commotion around; my brain was filled with the wildest images of peril and suffering; and then came blank unconsciousness.
I was sitting rather than lying on a low pallet-bed stretched against the wall; in front of me a window curtained with a worn horseman's cloak; and around me in the room, which was lofty and spacious, were a few rudely fashioned articles of furniture, and two or three utensils for cooking,—all of the very meanest kind. My arm was bound with a bandage where I had been bled, and my great debility, and a sense of half-incoherence in all my thoughts, told of severe illness. At a table beneath the window, and bent over it as if writing, sat a tall, very old man, in a coarse woollen blouse of red-brown stuff, with a cap of the same color and material; sandals, fastened round the ankles with leather thongs, formed the protection of his feet; these, and a belt with a gourd for carrying water attached to it, made up his whole costume.
His face, when he seemed to look towards me, was harshly lined and severe; the lower jaw projected greatly, and the character of the whole expression was cold and stern: but the head was lofty and capacious, and indicated considerable powers of thought and reflection.
There was over me a sense of weakness so oppressive and so overwhelming that though I saw the objects I have here mentioned, and gazed on them for hours long, yet I made no effort to speak, nor ask where I was, nor to whom I was indebted for shelter and succor. This apathy—for it was, indeed, such—held me entranced, even when the old man would approach the bed to feel my pulse, to bathe my temples with water, or wet my lips with a drink. After these visits he would take his staff from the corner, and leave the room, to which he frequently did not return for many hours. Thus went day after day, monotony over everything, till my head ached with very weariness, as the lazy hours went by. Where was I? Was this a state of suffering malady? Or was it imprisonment? Why was I thus? How long should I still continue so? Such were the puzzling questions which would present themselves before me,—never to be solved—never replied to.
In my dreamy debility, when my faculties tottered like wearied limbs, I often wondered if I might not have entered upon some new kind of existence, in which long years of such wakeful sorrow should be gone through; and in a mood like this was it that I lay one day all alone, when from the open window there came the thrilling notes of a blackbird which sat ou a tree close by. Not even the kindest words of a fellow-creature could have filled my heart with more ecstasy than those sounds reminding me of my once happy life, my home, the little garden of the château, and its tangled alleys of fruit-trees and flowering shrubs. I struggled to arise from my bed, and after some efforts I succeeded, and with weak step and trembling limbs I reached the window and looked out.
Sudden as the change from blackest night to the light of breaking day was the effect that came over me as I gazed down the valley, and recognized each well-known crag, and cliff, and mountain peak of the Verlohrnes Loch. At once now came back all memory of my adventure and the night of the storm; and at once I saw that I was standing at the window of that old ruin which had been the goal of my wandering.
How I longed to learn what interval of time had gone over! I tried to calculate it by remembering that it was early summer when I came, but still the trees wore no tokens of coming autumn. They were bright in foliage, and leafy, and the streams that traversed the valley were small and tiny rills that showed no touch of the season of rains. From these observations I now addressed myself to an inspection of the interior. Well used as I had been to habits of poverty, the aspect of this chamber still struck me with astonishment. The only thing like food was some Indian cornmeal carefully covered up in an iron vessel, and a jar of water; of clothing, the cloak which formed the window-curtain, and a sheepskin fashioned into a rude resemblance to a coat, were all that were to be seen. The furniture consisted of a low stool and a single chair, the trunk of an elm-tree representing a table. On this, however, an attempt at a desk had been made, and here, to my astonishment, were now masses of papers covered with figures from top to bottom,—algebraic signs and calculations without end! Not one word of writing, not a phrase in any language, was to be met with, but page after page of these mystical sums, which seemed to be carried on from one sheet of paper to the other. How eagerly I sought out something which might give me a clew to the writer of these figures, but in vain; I pored over them long and carefully, I studied their form and their size. I tried—how hopelessly!—to trace out some purpose in the calculations, and to divine their object and end; but to no avail! I had heard tell of persons whose intellects had been deranged by the intense study of a difficult problem, the search after some unattainable object in science. I had read wonderful stories of long years of toilsome labor,—whole lives passed in an arduous struggle, till death had at last relieved them from a contest with the “impossible.” Could the writer of these be the victim of such a delusion? Might he have sought out this lone spot, to live apart and away from all the distracting influences of life, and to devote himself to some such task? Had his mind given way under this pressure, or had weakened faculties first led to this career? All these doubts presented themselves to me in turns; and again I turned to the complex pages of figures to assist my conjectures.
Alas! they could convey nothing to me,—they were symbols only of so much toil and labor, but to what end or object I could not guess. As I sat thus, I thought that I detected an error in one of the calculations. It was an algebraic quantity misstated; and, on looking down, I remarked that the mistake was repeated over and over, through a long series of figures. Any proficiency I had ever attained at school was in matters of this kind, owing, as I did, everything to Raper's guidance and instruction; so that I found little difficulty in ascertaining that this error had really occurred, and in all likelihood marred all the deductions to be hoped from the calculation.
To escape from the dreamy vacuity of my late life, by an actual occupation, was an unspeakable relief; and I felt in the pursuit all the interest of an adventurer. There was something positive, tangible, real, as it were, here, instead of that boundless expanse of doubt over which my mind had been wandering, and I addressed myself to the task with eagerness. The error first discovered had led to others, and I diligently traced out all its consequences; and making the fitting corrections, I set forth the results on a slip of paper that I found, happily, clear of figures.
So tired was I with the unaccustomed exertion that, when I had done, I had barely reached my bed ere I fell off in a deep and heavy sleep. I awoke late in the night, for so I judged it from the starry sky which I could see through the open window. The old man sat at his usual seat beside the desk, and, with his head supported by his hands, seemed to study the pages before him. The flickering lamplight that fell upon his worn features, his snow-white beard, his wrinkled forehead and thick-veined hands, together with the heavy folds of the cloak which, for warmth, he had thrown over his shoulders, made him resemble one of those alchemists or astrologers we see in Dutch pictures. I had not looked long at him till I saw that he was pondering over the corrections I had made, and trying to remember if they were by his own hand. At last he turned suddenly round, and fixed his eyes on me. Mine met the glance, and thus we remained for some seconds staring steadily at each other. He then rose slowly like one fatigued from exertion, and, with the paper in his hand, approached the bed. How my heart beat as he drew nigh! how I wondered what words he would utter, what accents he would speak in, and in what mood of mind!
He came slowly forward, and, seating himself beside my bed on the low stool, he pointed to the figures on the paper, and said, in the Romaic dialect of the mountaineers, the one word, “Yours?” Though the word was uttered in the peasant dialect, the tone of the voice was not that of a “Bauer;” and, reassured by thinking that he might be of superior condition, I answered him at once in French.
“Is that your native tongue?” said he, replying to me in the same language.
I shook my head in negative.
“You are a German boy, then?” said he.
“Nor that either,” replied I. “I am English.”
“English! you English, and in this place!” cried he, in astonishment. “From what part of England do you come?” said he, in English, which he spoke as a native.
“I came from Ireland. My father was of that country. My mother, I have heard, was French.”
“You have heard! So that you do not know it of yourself?”
“I never remember to have seen either of them.”
“Your name?”
“Carew—Jasper Carew.”
“I recollect one of that name,” said he, pondering for some time. “But he could not have been your father. And how came you here?”
In a few words I told him of my adventure, and in doing so revealed such habits as appeared to interest him, for he questioned me closely about my wanderings, and the causes which at first suggested them. In turn I asked and learned from him that several weeks had elapsed since my accident; that numerous scouts had traversed the glen, evidently sent in search of me, but that for reasons which regarded himself he had not spoken with, nor, indeed, been seen by any of them, but still had written a few lines to the Curé of Reichenau to say that I was in safety, and should be soon restored to my friends. This he had conveyed to the post by night, but without suffering any clew to escape from whence it came.
“And these figures are yours?” said he, referring to the paper.
I nodded, and he went on:—
“What toilsome nights, boy, had I been spared if I had but detected this error! These mistakes have marred whole weeks of labor. I must have been ill. My head must have been suffering, to have fallen into error like this; for see, here are far deeper and more abstruse calculations,—all correct, all accurate. But who can answer for moments of weakness!”
He sighed heavily, and the stern expression of his features assumed a look of softened, but suffering meaning.
“I have often thought,” said he, hastily, “that if another were joined with me in this task, its completeness would be more certain; while to trust myself alone with this secret is both unwise and unjust. Human life is the least certain of all things. To-morrow I may be no more. I have already passed through enough to have brought many to the grave. You, however, are young. You have yet, in all likelihood, long years of life before you. What if you were to become my associate?”
I gave no reply for some seconds. When he repeated his words still more forcibly,—
“I should first learn what it is I should be engaged in,” said I. “I should be satisfied that the object was just, reasonable, and, above all, practicable.”
“You speak like a sage, boy,” cried he. “Whence came such wisdom as this?”
“All my teachings of this kind,” said I, “have come from her who now calls herself my mother, and whom I love with a son's affection.”
“And how is she called?”
I could not tell him. I only knew her as one who was as a mother to me, and yet said she had no title to that name. Once or twice I had heard her addressed as the Countess. There ended my knowledge of her condition.
“She is rich, then?” asked be.
“Far from it,” said I, sorrowfully.
“Then can I make her so!” exclaimed he. “Joined with me in this mighty enterprise, you can be the richest and the greatest man of the age. Nay, child, this is not matter to smile at. I am no dreamer, no moon-struck student of the impossible. I do not ponder over those subtle combinations of metals that are to issue forth in yellow gold, nor do I labor to distil the essences which are to crystallize into rubies. What I strive at has been reached already,—the goal won, the prize enjoyed! Ay, by my own father. By him was this brilliant discovery proclaimed triumphantly before the face of Europe.”
The exultation with which he uttered these words seemed to carry him away in thought from the scene wherein he stood, and his eyes gleamed with a strange fire, and his lips continued to mutter rapidly. Then, ceasing of a sudden, he said,—
“I must seek her; she will recognize me, for she will have heard our history. She will give her permission, too, to you to join me in my great design. The fate that sent you hither was no accident. Boy, there are none such in life. Our passions in their wilfulness color destiny with fitful changes, and these we call chance; but in nature all is predetermined, and by plan.”
Now rambling on this wise, now stopping to question me as to who we were, whence we came, and with what objects, he continued to talk till, fairly overcome by weariness, I dropped off to sleep, his loud tones still ringing in my ears through my dreams.
The following day he never left me; he seemed insatiable in his desire to learn what progress I had made in knowledge, and how far my acquirements extended. For classical learning and literature he evinced no respect. These and modern languages, he said, were mere accomplishments that might adorn a life of ease and luxury; but that to a man who would be truly great there was but one subject of inquiry,—the source of wealth, and the causes which make states affluent. These, he said, were the legitimate subjects for high intelligence to engage upon. “Master these,” said he, “and monarchs are your vassals.” I was amazed to discover that amid the mass of prejudices which encumbered his mind, it was stored with information the most various and remarkable. It was evident, too, that he had lived much in the great world, and was familiar with all its habits and opinions. As time wore on, I learned from him that his present life, with all its privations, was purely voluntary; that he possessed sufficient means to support an existence of comfort and ease. “But,” added he, “if you would give the intelligence a supremacy, it must be done at the cost of animal enjoyment. If the body is to be pampered, the brain will take its ease. To this end came I here; to this end have I lived fourteen years of toil and isolation. I have estranged myself from all that could distract me; friendships, pleasures, the great events of the age,—I know none of them! I am satisfied to toil and think now that, in after ages, men should hold my name in reverence, and regard my memory with affection.”
Although he constantly made allusions of this kind, he never proceeded to give me any closer insight into his designs; and if at moments the reasonableness of his manner and the strong force of his remarks impressed me favorably with regard to his powers of mind, at others I was induced to think that nothing short of erring faculties could have condemned a man to a voluntary life of such abject want and of such cruel privation as he endured.
It was still some weeks before I had strength to return home; but he permitted me to write every second day to my mother and Raper, from whom I heard in return. If at first my ardent longing to be once more at home—to be with those who made up the whole world of my existence—surpassed all other thoughts, I grew day by day to feel the strange fascination of an unknown interest in the subject of his talk, and to experience an intense anxiety to know his secret.
It was evident that he felt the influence he had obtained over me, and was bent on extending and enlarging it; for constantly would he dwell upon the themes which attracted me and fascinated my attention. Shall I confess what these were? The brilliant pictures of courtly life, the splendor and fascination of a palace, where all that could charm and captivate abounded, and all were at the feet of one who, not a king, was yet greater than a king, and who in the mighty power of his intellect held kings and kaisers as his bond-slaves.
That these were not mere fancies he assured me by saying,—
“This has been witnessed by all Europe; it is not more than fifty years ago that the world has seen all that I tell you. When I can convince you of this, will you pledge yourself to be my follower?”
I at once gave my promise, and ratified it by a solemn row.
The next day we started on our return to Reichenau.
I will not attempt to describe the welcome that met me on my return, nor the gratitude with which my mother overwhelmed my kind protector. The whole school, and no inconsiderable part of the village itself, had gone forth to meet us, and we were conducted back in a sort of triumph. Over and over again was I obliged to recount my story, of which the mystery still remained unexplained. Who and what was the strange recluse who so long had inhabited the castle of the Forlorn Glen, and who now stood before them, old and simply clad, but still bearing unmistakable marks of having been a person of some condition?
As Mr. Robert he desired to be known by me, and as such was he received by my mother. He declined the offer she freely made him of a room in her own small house, and hired a little lodging in the toll-house on the bridge, and which he said was convenient to the garden of the château, where he obtained the liberty of walking. If the interest which he manifested in me was at first a cause of anxiety to my mother, not knowing what it portended, nor how far it might contribute to withdraw my affection from herself, it was clear that she soon became satisfied with whatever explanation he afforded, and that those long conversations, frequently prolonged to a late hour of the night, which they held together, had the effect of reconciling her to his views and intentions.
Thus was a new individual introduced into the little circle of our family party, and each Sunday saw him seated at our dinner-table, of which his conversation formed the great charm. It was not alone that his mind was stored with varied information the most rare and curious, but his knowledge of the world itself and of mankind seemed more remarkable still; and frequently, after he had left us of an evening, have I overheard my mother express her wonder to Raper who and what he had been, and by what strange events he was reduced to his present condition. These remarks of hers at first showed me that whatever revelations he might have made in his long interviews with her, he had told little or nothing of his own story. Such was indeed the case, and I can remember well a little scene, in itself unimportant and of no consequence, which can both portray my mother's intense curiosity on this theme, and display some traits of him for whom it was excited.
It happened that at the period when her little quarterly pittance came due, my mother was confined to home by a slight feverish cold, and Herr Klann, the banker and moneychanger of the village, was condescending enough to come in person and hand her the amount. In spite of her narrow fortune, my mother had always been treated with a marked deference by the village, and Herr Klann demeaned himself on the occasion with every show of courtesy and politeness. He indeed did not scruple to display that he was the great depositary of riches for miles and miles around; that all the relations of trade and commerce, all the circumstances of family fortune,—the dowries of brides, the portions of younger sons,—were in his charge and keeping. He talked much of the responsibility of his station and its requirements, and, like many others, while encomiumizing his secrecy, he exhibited the very opposite quality. There was not a house in the village or its neighborhood of which he did not incidentally relate some story or incident. He became, in fact, candor itself in his confessions. It is but fair to own that my mother looked most becomingly in her half invalid costume, and that the little straw-wrapped flask of “Sieben-berger” with which she regaled him was excellent. Herr Klann was a man to acknowledge both such influences. He possessed the Hebrew weaknesses both as regards gold and beauty. He therefore became largely confidential,—taking a survey of the whole neighborhood, and revealing their circumstances with the minute anatomy that a surgeon might have employed in displaying their structure. My mother heard him with no peculiar interest till by accident he alluded to the “Herr Robert;” it was a mere reference to the toll-house where he lived, but the name at once awakened her attention.
“With him, I conclude,” said she, “your money dealings are few. He does not appear to be wealthy.”
“He is a mystery in every way, madam,” replied Klann, “his very cash does not come through a banker or an agent; he has no credit, no bills—nothing. He comes down to me at times, say once a month or so, to change a few gold pieces,—they are always 'Louis.' I remark, and sometimes of the time of the late reign. They are good money, and full weight invariably, that I must say.”
“And what may be your own opinion of all this?”
“I can form none,—positively none, madam. Of course I need not say that I regret the vulgar notion in the village that he is in communication with supernatural agencies; neither you nor I, madam, are likely to fall into this absurd mistake.”
“And so you rather incline to suppose—” She drew out the words tardily, and fixed on Herr Klann a look of ineffable softness and intelligence together.
“I do, madam,—that is my private opinion,” said he, sententiously.
“Would that account for the life he has been leading for some years back,—should we have found him passing such a long term in isolation from all the world?” asked she.
“I think so, madam, and I will tell you why. The agents employed by the regency, and in the beginning of the present reign in France, were all men of certain condition,—many of them belonged to high families, and, having ruined their fortunes by extravagance, were fain to take any occupation for mere subsistence. Some of them resided as nobles in Vienna, and were received at the court of the Empress. Others gained admittance to St. James's. They were supplied with money, both for purposes of play and bribery; and that they used such means to good account is now matter of history. When the game was played out, and they were no longer needed by the government, such men were obliged to retire from the stage whereon they had only played a part. The Duc de Senneterre went into a monastery; Count Leon de Rhode set off for the New World; and there was one taken ill in this very village, whose name I now forget, who had gone into the priesthood, and was head of a seminary in Flanders. What more likely, then, than that our friend at the bridge yonder was some great celebrity of those times, of which I hear he loves to talk and declaim?”
The hint thus thrown out made a deep impression on my mother. It served to explain not only many circumstances of Herr Robert's position, but also to account for the strange glimpses of a great and glorious future, in which at moments of excitement he would indulge. A life of intrigue and plot would naturally enough suggest ambitious hopes, and conduce to the very frame of mind which he appeared to reach. That I should become the follower of such a man, and the disciple of such a school, revolted against all her feelings. The spy, no matter how highly accredited and how richly rewarded, was, in her eyes, the most ignoble of all careers; and she would rather have seen me clad in the sheepskin of an Alpine shepherd than wearing, in this capacity, the decorations of every order of Europe.
From the moment, therefore, the suspicion crossed her mind that Herr Robert had been such, she firmly determined to withdraw me altogether from his intimacy. Nor was the step an easy one. He had become a recognized member of our little household; each evening saw him seated at our hearth or board; on every Sunday he dined with us. His little presents of wine and fruit, and occasionally of books, showed that he intended reciprocity to be a basis of our intercourse, of which, indeed, the balance lay in our favor. How, therefore, was such a state of things to be suddenly arrested? How bring to an abrupt conclusion an intimacy of which nothing had hitherto interrupted the peaceful course? This was a matter of no common difficulty, and for several days did she ponder over it to herself.
It chanced that, for the first time since her arrival at Reichenau, Herr Robert had been slightly indisposed, and being unable to come and see us, had sent for me to come each evening and read to him. At any other moment my mother would have thought no more of this, but coming now, at the very time when her feelings of doubt and suspicion were torturing her, she regarded the circumstance with actual apprehension.
At first, she thought of sending Raper along with me, in the guise of protector; but as Herr Robert had not requested his company, there seemed an awkwardness in this; then she half resolved to refuse me permission, on pretence of requiring my presence at home: this, too, would look ungracious; and when at last she did accord her leave, it was for a very limited time, and with strict injunctions to be back by an early hour.
It chanced that Herr Robert felt on this evening a more than ordinary desire to be frank and confidential. He related to me various anecdotes of his early days, the scenes he had mixed in, and the high associates with whom he was intimate; and when he had excited my curiosity and wonderment to a high degree, by gorgeous narratives of the great world, he stopped short and said: “I would not have you think, Jasper, that these dukes and princes were more gifted or more endowed than other men; the only real difference between them is, that they employ their faculties on great events, not little ones; and all their pleasures, their amusements, their very vices, react upon the condition of mankind in general, and consequently whatever goes forward in their society has a certain amount of importance, not for itself, but for what may follow it.”
These words made a profound impression upon me, leading to the conviction that out of this charmed circle life had no ambition worth striving for, no successes that deserved a struggle. From my mother I had no concealment, and before I went to my bed I told her all that the Herr Robert had said to me, and showed how deeply this sentiment had sunk into my mind.
I conclude that it must have been from some relation to her former fears she took immediate alarm at the possible bent my mind was receiving. Assuredly she deemed that his influence over me was not without peril, and resolved the following morning to send for the Herr Robert, and in all frankness avow her fears, and appeal to his friendship to allay them.
I was about to set off for school when the old man was ascending the stairs, and taking me by the hand he led me back again into the little chamber, where my mother awaited him.
“Let Jasper remain with us, madam,” said he; “the few words of your note have shown me what is passing in your mind, and it will save you and me a world of explanation if he be suffered to be present.”
My mother assented, not over willingly, perhaps, and the old man, taking a seat, at once begun,—
“If I had ever suspected, madam, that my history could have possibly possessed any interest for you, you should certainly have heard it ere now. My opinion was, however, different; and I thought, moreover, that as I had strictly abstained from encroaching upon your confidence, an equal reserve might have protected mine. Forgive me if by any accident the slightest word should escape me to cause you pain or displeasure. Nothing can be further from my thoughts than this intention, and I beg of you so to receive whatever I say.
“Some years ago, a physician, in whom I had and have the fullest confidence, forewarned me that if certain symptoms which I then labored under should ever recur, my case would be beyond remedy, and my life could not be prolonged many days. Two days since, the first signs of these became evident; yesterday the appearance became more palpable; to-day I recognize them in full force. When a man of my age talks of his approaching death, he only speaks of what has been before his thoughts every day and every night for years back. Whatever benefit I was ever capable of rendering my fellow-men in my younger days, I have been latterly a useless and profitless member of the guild, and for this reason, that though time had not effaced my powers of intellect, the energy and the force that should develop them was gone. Without youth there is no vitality; without vitality, no action; without action, no success. I often fancied what results might arise if to the mature thoughts and experience of age were to be added the fire, the energy, and the passion of youth. If caution and rashness, reserve and intrepidity, the distrust that comes of knowing men, with that credulous hope that stirs the young heart, were all to centre in one nature, what might we not effect? The fate that brought Jasper and myself together whispered to me that he might become such! I pictured to my mind the training he should go through, the hard discipline of work and labor, and yet without impairing in the slightest that mainspring of all power, the daring courage and energy of a young and brave spirit. To this end, he should incur no failures in early life, never know a reverse till it could become to him the starting-point for higher success. And thus launched upon life with every favoring breeze of fortune, what might not be predicted of his course?
“He who would stand high among his fellow-men, and be regarded as their benefactor and superior during his lifetime, must essentially be a man of action! The great geniuses of authorship, the illustrious in art, have received their best rewards from posterity; contemporaries have attacked them, depreciated and reviled them; the very accidents of their lives have served to injure the excellence of their compositions. But the man of action stands forth to his own age great and distinguished; the world on which his services have bestowed benefits is proud to reward him! and either as a legislator, a conqueror, or a discoverer, his claims meet full acknowledgment.
“Who would not be one of these, then?—who would not aspire to win the enthusiasm that tracks such a career, and makes a mere mortal godlike?
“To be such I possessed the secret! Nay, madam, this is not the weakness of faltering intellect, nor the outpouring of a silly vanity. Hear me out with patience but a very little longer. It is not of some wonder of science or of mystery, of occult art, that I speak; and yet the power to which I allude is infinitely greater than any of these were ever fancied to bestow. Imagine an engine by which the failing energies of a whole nation can be rallied, its wasting vigor repaired, its resources invigorated. Fancy a nation—millions—brought out of poverty, debt, and distress, into wealth, affluence, and abundance; the springs of their industry reinforced, the sources of their traffic refreshed. Picture to your mind the change from an embarrassed government, a ruined aristocracy, an indebted, poverty-stricken people, to a full treasury, a splendid nobility, and a prosperous and powerful nation. Imagine all this; and then, if you can ascribe the transformation to the working of one man's intelligence, what will you say of him?
“I am not conjuring up a mere visionary or impossible triumph; what I describe has been actually done, and he who accomplished it was my own father!
“Yes, madam, the mightiest financial scheme the world has ever witnessed, the grandest exemplification of the principle of credit that has ever been promulgated by man, was his invention. He farmed the whole revenues of France, and at one stroke annihilated the peculation of receivers-general, and secured the revenue of the nation. He fructified the property of the state by employing its vast resources in commercial speculations; from the east to the west, from the fertile valley of the Mississippi to the golden plains of Asia, he opened every land to the enterprise of Frenchmen. Paris itself he made the capital city of the world. Who has not heard of the splendor of the regency, of Chantilly, the gorgeous palace of the Duc d'Orléans, the very stables more magnificent than the residences of many princes? The wealth and the rank of Europe flocked thither; and in the pleasures of that paradise of capitals lies the history of an age! He who did all this was my own father, and his name was John Law, of Lauriston! Ay, madam, you see before you, poor, humbly clad, and gray-haired, going down to the grave in actual want, the son of a man who once counted his revenue by millions, whose offerings to the Church of St. Roch would have made a meet dowry for a princess, and whose very menials acquired fortunes such as modern nobility cannot equal.”
As he spoke, he drew forth a large silver-clasped pocket-book, and, opening it, took out a mass of papers.
“I do not ask you to take any part of this on trust,” continued he. “There, with the seal of the chancellor, and the date, January the 5th, 1720, is his patent as comptroller-general of France. Here are letters from the Regent, the Prince of Deux-Ponts, the Duke of Rohan; I leave them in your hands, and will send you others that authenticate all I have stated. Of my own life, humble and uneventful, I have no wish to speak; more than this I know, for I have long studied the great principles of my father's secret. The causes of his reverses I have thoroughly investigated; they are not inherent in the system, nor are they reasonably attributable to it in any way. His discovery must not be disparaged by the vices of a profligate prince, a venal administration, and an ignorant cabinet; nor must the grandeur of his conception be charged with the rash infatuation of a nation of gamblers. Law's system stands free from every taint of dishonesty, when dissociated with the names of those who prostituted it. For years long have I studied the theory, and tested it by every proof within my power. To make the fact known to the world; to publish abroad the great truth, that credit well based and fortified is national wealth, and that national wealth, so based, is almost boundless,—this became the object of my whole life. I knew that a certain time must elapse ere the disasters that followed my father's downfall were forgotten, and that I should, in all likelihood, never live to see the day when his glorious system would be revived, and his memory vindicated; but I hoped to have found one worthy to inherit this secret, and in whose keeping it might be transmitted to after ages. I will not weary you with the story of all my disappointments, the betrayals, and the treachery, and the falsehoods I have endured. Enough! I became a recluse from mankind. I gave myself up to my old pursuits of calculation and combination, undisturbed; and I have lived on, to this hour, with one thought ever before me, and one fear,—is this great secret to die out with me? and are countless millions of men destined to toil and slavery, while this vast source of affluence and power shall lie rusting and unused?”
The intense fervor of his voice, and his tone of self-conviction as he spoke, had evidently impressed my mother strongly in his favor; and when she turned over one by one the letters before her, and read passages penned by the hand of Du Pin, the chief secretary of the Regent, D'Argen-son, Alberoni the Cardinal, and others of like station, and then turned to look on the feeble and wasted figure of the old man, her eyes filled with tears of pity and compassion.
“My heart is now relieved of a weary load,” said he, sighing. “Now I shall go back to my home, and to-morrow, if I be not able to come here, you and Jasper will visit me, for I have still much to tell you.”
My mother did her utmost to detain him where he was. She saw that the excitement of his narrative had greatly increased the symptoms of fever upon him, and she wished to tend and watch over him; but he was resolute in his determination, and left us, almost abruptly.
Raper and myself went several times that evening to see him, but he would not receive us. The reply to our inquiries was, that he was deeply engaged, and could not be disturbed. I remember well how often during the night I arose from my bed to look out at the little window of the tollhouse, which was that of Herr Robert's room. A light burned there the whole night through, and more than once I could see his figure pass between it and the window. Poor old man!—was it that he was devoting the last few hours of his life to the weary task that had worn him to a very shadow? Towards daybreak I sank into a heavy sleep, from which I was suddenly awakened by Raper calling on me to get up and dress at once.
“Herr Robert is dying!” said he, “and wishes to see you and speak with you. Be quick, for there is not a moment to lose.”
I dressed myself as speedily as my trembling limbs would permit, and followed Raper down the stairs and into the street. My mother was already there, waiting for us, and we hurried along towards the toll-house without a word.
The toll-keeper's wife beckoned to us impatiently as we came in sight, and we pressed eagerly on, and entered the little chamber where Herr Robert lay half-dressed upon his bed. He knew us, and took each of us by the hand as we came forward. His face was greatly flushed, and his eyes stared wildly, and his dry, cracked lips muttered frequently and fast. Several large packages of papers lay beside him, sealed and addressed, and to these he made a motion with his hand, as if he would speak of them.
“Tell us of yourself, Herr Robert,” said my mother, in a kind voice, as she sat down beside him. “Do you feel any pain?”
He seemed not to hear her, but muttered indistinctly to himself. Then, turning short round to me, he said,—
“I have forgotten the number of the house, but you can't mistake it. It is the only one with a stone balcony over the entrance gate. It was well enough known once. John Law's house,—the 'Rue Quincampoix.' The room looks to the back—and the safe—Who is listening to us?”
I reassured him, and he went on:—
“The ingots were forged as if coming from the gold mines of Louisiana. D'Argenson knew the trick, and the Regent too. They it was who wrecked him,—they and Tencivi.”
His eyes grew heavy, and his voice subsided to a mere murmur after this, and he seemed to fall off in a drowsy stupor. The whole of that day and the next he lingered on thus, breathing heavily, and at intervals seeming to endeavor to rally himself from the oppression of sleep; but in vain! Exhaustion was complete, and he passed away calmly, and so quietly that we did not mark the moment when he ceased to breathe.
My mother led me away weeping from the room, and Raper remained to look after his papers and make the few arrangements for his humble burial.
The same day that we laid him in the earth came a letter from the Count de Gabriac to say that he would be with us on the morrow. It was the only letter he had written for several months past, and my mother's joy was boundless at the prospect of seeing him. Thus did sunshine mingle with shadow in our life, and tears of happiness mingle with those of sorrow!