How like the great world is every little section of it! How full of all its passions and interests, its warring jealousies and its selfish struggles! Within the Mazzarini Palace that night were at work every emotion and sentiment which sway the wide communities of men; and hope and fear, the yearnings of ambition, and the gloomy forebodings of despair, sat beside the pillows of those who, in vain, sought sleep and forgetfulness.
Before that long night ended, Sir Stafford had learned his ruin, for it was little less. Kate had yielded, to the pressing entreaties of Lady Hester, her consent to accept Midchekoff; and, just as day was breaking, George Onslow stole to his father's bedside to see him once more, perhaps for the last time. It would be difficult to say in which of those three hearts the darkest sorrow brooded. With noiseless step and cautious gesture, George crossed the little sitting-room, and entered his father's chamber; and, without awaking the servant, who kept watch habitually without, but now had dropped off to sleep, he gained the bedside, and sat down.
The terrible tidings he had just heard were evidently working on Sir Stafford's brain, and, despite all the influence of his opiate, still engaged his faculties; for his lips continued to move rapidly, and short broken sentences fell from him incessantly. “Poor George! poor George!” he muttered from time to time, and the tears rolled down the young man's cheek as he heard them.
“How unworthy of him have I been!” thought he; “how shamefully unworthy and forgetful! Here should have been my place, for those hours which I have spent in noisy dissipation and debauch; and now I come for the first time, and probably the last! Oh, my poor father! How will you bear up against the shock that is preparing for you? for, with all my faults, I know how you have loved me!” A heavy tear dropped from him on the old man's cheek as he said this; and gently brushing it off with his hand, Sir Stafford opened his eyes and awoke. A mild and gentle smile broke over his features as he saw his son beside him, and he drew him towards him, and kissed him.
“Have you been long here, George?” said he, affectionately.
“But a few minutes. I am so sorry to have disturbed you,” muttered the other, in confusion,
“Have you seen Grounsell yet? Has he told you?” asked Sir Stafford.
“Grounsell? no, sir. I did not even hear of his arrival. What are his tidings?”
“The saddest, perhaps, one friend can bring another,” sighed Onslow, as he covered his eyes with his hand. “Nay, nay, I am wrong,” said he, rapidly. “So long as Sydney and yourself are spared to me I have no right to say this; still, George, it is a terrible blow that strikes a man down from affluence to poverty, and, in place of wealth and power, leaves him nothing but insignificance and ruin!”
“Good heavens, father! is your brain wandering? What fancies are these that are flitting across your mind?”
“Sad and stern truths, my poor boy,” replied the old man, grasping his son's hand in his fevered palm. “A few weeks more will see the great house of Onslow bankrupt. These things cannot be told too briefly, George,” said he, speaking with a tremulous and eager rapidity. “One should hear misfortune early, to gain more time for future measures. A great crash has fallen upon the moneyed interest of England. The vast speculations in railways have overreached themselves; failures of great houses abroad have added to the difficulty. The correspondents whose solvency we never doubted are tottering to ruin. Every post brings tidings of some new failure; and from Odessa, from Hamburg, and from the ports of the Baltic to the distant shores of the New World, there is nothing but bankruptcy.”
“But you have large estates, sir; you possess property of various kinds beyond the reach of these casualties.”
“I own nothing to which my creditors have not a just right; nor, if I did, could I exercise the privilege of retaining it, George,” said the old man. “From what Grounsell tells me, there will be sufficient to meet every claim, but no more. There will remain nothing after. Lady Hester's settlement will, of course, secure to her a moderate competence; and we—you and I must look about, and see how we can face this same world we have been feasting so long. My time in it will needs be brief; but you, who may look forward with hope to long years of life, must bethink you at once of the new path before you. Arouse yourself, then, to the task, and I do not know but I may be prouder of you yet, buffeting the wild waves of adversity, and fighting the manful part of a bold, courageous spirit, than I have ever been in seeing you in the brilliant circle of all your high and titled acquaintances. Ay, George, the English merchant never died out in my heart, for all the aristocratic leaven which accident mixed up with my fortunes. I never ceased to glory in the pride of wealth accumulated by generous enterprises and honorable toil. I loved the life of labor that disciplined the faculties, and exercised not alone intelligence, but turned to use the gentler charities of life, linking man to man, as brethren journeying the same road, with different burdens, perhaps, but with the same goal. For myself, therefore, I have few cares. It remains with you to make them even fewer.”
“Tell me what you propose for me, sir,” said George, in a low, weak voice.
“First of all, George, you ought to leave the army. Grounsell, I must tell you, is not of this opinion; he advises an exchange into a regiment in India, but I think differently. To repair, if it be possible, the shattered wreck of our fortunes, you must address yourself to business life and habits. You 'll have to visit the West Indies, and, probably, the East. We still possess property in Ceylon, of value; and our coffee plantations there, as yet only in their infancy, need nothing but good management to ensure success. Grounsell laughed at my suggesting you for such duties, but I know you better, George, far better, than he does. The English pluck that storms a breach or heads a charge is the very same quality that sustains a man on the long dark road of adverse fortune. I have often told Grounsell that the stuff was in you, George.”
The young man squeezed his father's hand, but was obliged to turn away his head to hide the tears which filled his eyes; for what a terrible deception was he practising at that very moment, and what duplicity was there even in the silence with which he heard him!
For a few seconds Sir Stafford seemed to revel in all the bright visions of a warm fancy. The prospect his imagination had conjured up appeared to have momentarily lifted him above the reach of sorrow. He thought of his son engaged in the active business of life, and displaying in this new career the energies and resources of a bold and courageous spirit. He imagined the high-principled youth becoming the British merchant, and making the name of “Onslow” great and respected in the old arena of all their victories, the city of London. Could this but come to pass, were this dream to be realized, and he would bless the hour that wrecked his fortune, and thus made his poverty the foundation of future greatness.
“I confess, George,” said he, “that I have a pride in thinking that I knew you better than others did, and that I read in the very wayward caprices of your disposition the impatience of an active mind, and not the ennui of an indolent one.” From this the old man branched off into his plans for the future; and, as if the emergency had suggested energy, talked well and clearly of all that was to be done. They were to start for England at once. Sir Stafford felt as if he was able to set out that very day. Some weeks would elapse before the crash came, and in the interval every preparation might be taken. “I hope,” said he, feelingly, “that I have few enemies; I am not sanguine enough to say, none; but, such as they are, they will not seek to humiliate me, I trust, by any unnecessary publicity.” The theme was a very painful one, and for a few seconds he could not go on. At last he resumed: “The extravagance of this household, George, will give much and just offence. It must be retrenched, and from this very day, from this very hour. You will look to this. It must not be said of us that, with ruin before us, we continued these habits of wasteful excess. Let these troops of idle servants be discharged at once. Except Lady Hester's carriage, sell off all equipage. Take no heed of what will be the town talk; such a downfall as ours can never be kept a secret. Let us only take care that we fall with dignity. Grounsell will remain here after us to settle everything, and our departure ought to be as speedy as may be. But you are not listening, George; do you hear me?”
It was quite true George heeded little of what his father spoke; for, with bent-down head, he was trying to catch the sounds of what seemed a long, low whistle from the court without. As he listened, the whistle was repeated; he knew now that it was Norwood's signal, and that “his time was up.”
“I must leave you, my dear father,” said he, assuming all that he could of calmness. “I have an appointment this morning, and one that I cannot well shake off. Norwood and I have promised to meet some friends at Pratolino.”
“It was of that same Norwood I wished to speak to you, George. The sophistry of thinking him 'no worse than his set' will serve no longer. Such men are not fitting acquaintances for one whose character must be above reproach. Norwood is a most unworthy friend for you.”
“I scarcely ever thought of him in that light. We are intimate, it is true; but such intimacy is not friendship.”
“The greater the pollution of such acquaintanceship, then,” said the old man, gravely. “To see the dark side of such a nature, and yet live under its baneful shadow, is infinitely worse, George, than all the self-deception of a rash confidence. Keep your promise to-day, but I beseech you, let it be for the last time in such company.”
Again the whistle was heard, and with the sharp crack of a whip, denoting impatience; and fearful that some accident might betray his secret, George clasped the old man's hand fervidly within his own, and hurried away without a word.
“Is that George?” cried Norwood, as he stood beside a calessino ready harnessed, and with lamps lighted, for the morning was still dark, “is that George? Why, where have you been loitering this half-hour, man? Our time is six sharp, and it is now considerably past five, and the way lies all up hill.”
“I have often done the distance in half an hour,” said George, angrily.
“Perhaps the errand was a pleasanter one,” rejoined Norwood, laughing; “but jump in, for I feel certain the others are before us.”
George Onslow was in no mood for talking as he took his seat beside his companion. The late scene with his father and the approaching event were enough to occupy him, even had his feeling for Norwood been different from what it was; but in reality never had he experienced the same dislike for the Viscount. All the flippant ease, all the cool indifference he displayed, were only so many offences to one whose thoughts were traversing the whole current of his life, from earliest boyhood down to that very moment. A few hours hence he might be no more! And thence arose to his mind the judgments men would pass upon him, the few who would speak charitably, the still fewer who would regret him. “What a career!” thought he. “What use to have made of fortune, station, health, and vigor; to have lived in dissipation, and die for a street brawl! And poor Kate! to what unfeeling scandal will this unhappy meeting expose you! how impossible to expect that truth will ever penetrate through that dark atmosphere of mystery and malevolence the world will throw over the event!”
Norwood was provoked at the silence, and tried in various ways to break it. He spoke of the road, the weather, the horse's trotting action, the scenery, over which the breaking day now threw fitful and uncertain lights, but all in vain; and at last, piqued by non-success, he spitefully pointed attention to a little valley beside the road, and said, “Do you see that spot yonder, near the pine-trees? that 's where Harry Mathews was shot. Malzahn sent the bullet through the brain at forty paces. They were both first-rate pistol-shots, and the only question was who should fire first. Harry determined to reserve his shot, and he carried the privilege into the other world with him. Malzahn knew he might trust his skill, and fired the very instant he took his ground. The moral of which is, always try and have first fire with a foreigner.”
“I heard the sound of wheels behind us; who are they?” said George, not heeding either the story or the counsel.
“The doctor, I suspect. I ordered a calessino to wait for him at the door of the palace, and bring him up as fast as possible.”
“If Guilmard be equal to his reputation, we shall not want his services,” said Onslow, with a faint smile.
“Who can tell? We 'll put you up at a short distance; and there 's nothing shakes the nerves of your practised pistol-shot more than ten or twelve paces.”
The road here became so steep that they were obliged to get down and walk for some distance, while the horse toiled slowly up behind them. As they went, Norwood continued to talk on incessantly of this, that, and t' other, as though bound to occupy the attention of his companion; while George, with half-closed eyes, strolled onward, deep in his own thoughts.
“We 're not far off the place now, George,” said Norwood, at last, “and I wish you 'd throw off that look of care and abstraction. These foreign fellows will be quite ready to misinterpret it. Seem at your ease, man, and take the thing as I have seen you take it before, as rather good fun than otherwise.”
“But that is precisely what I do not feel it,” said George, smiling quietly. “Twenty-four hours ago, when life had every possible advantage to bestow on me, with the prospect of an ample fortune before me, I was perfectly ready to turn out with any man who had the right to ask me; and now that I am ruined—”
“Ruined!” broke in Norwood; “what do you mean? You have not lost to that Greek fellow so largely as that?”
“Now that my father is on the verge of utter ruin,” repeated George, slowly, “the news came last night, I never felt the desire of life so strong within me. A few days or weeks more will make it public gossip, so I may tell you that we have not escaped the torrent that is sweeping away so many of the richest houses in Europe; and what between our immense liabilities and my father's scrupulous sense of honor, the chances are we shall be utterly beggared.”
“The devil!” exclaimed Norwood, whose thoughts at once reverted to his own claims on George, and the unpaid acceptances he still held of his.
“That's what I feel so strange,” said George, now speaking with a degree of warmth and interest, “that it should be exactly when life ceases to give promise that I should care for it; and I own to you, I 'd give anything that this meeting was not before me.”
Norwood started, and turned his keen eyes on the other, but in the calm, unmoved features he saw no traces of fear or even agitation; and it was in his habitually calm voice Onslow resumed,
“Yes, I wish the Count's hand would shake a little, Norwood. I 'd be most grateful to the bullet that would take to the right or the left of me.”
“Come, come, George, no more of this. We are alone here, it's true; but if you talk this way now, you may chance to look like it by and by.”
“And if I do not, my looks will strangely belie my sentiments, that I can tell you,” said Onslow, with a quiet laugh. “I don't care how you read the confession, Norwood, but I tell you frankly, that if the insult in this instance admitted of an apology, if there were any way to come off consistent with honor, I 'd take it, and not fight this Frenchman.”
“Have you forgotten his reputation as a shot?” asked Norwood, hastily.
“I was not thinking of it. My mind was dwelling merely on myself and my own interests, how far my life, if preserved, could be rendered useful to others, and in what way my death might occasion detriment and injury.”
“A most mercantile estimate of profit and loss, by Jove!” said Norwood, laughing; “and perhaps it is fortunate for you there is no amende possible, for if Guilmard should miss you—”
“As to these acceptances,” said George, not paying attention to what the other said, “I 'd prefer that they should not be presented to my father under our actual circumstances. My horses and carriages, and some other trumpery of mine, when sold, will more than meet them, and I have given orders to that end.”
“Come, old fellow, it's not gone that far yet,” said Norwood, affecting a tone of friendship, suggested by the self-satisfaction the promise of payment afforded him. “But, hush! There they are, all together. Let us talk no more of these matters; and now, George, for Heaven's sake, be cool.”
Norwood drew the other's arm within his own as he said this, and advanced to where a group of some half-dozen persons were standing, beside a low balcony, overlooking the Val d'Arno and the graceful valley in which Florence stands. Norwood quitted his friend's arm as he came forward and saluted the company. Nothing could possibly be more easy and unconstrained than the tone of their conversation, as they chatted away about the prospect beneath, and over which, like a gauzy veil, the gray shadow of dawn was hanging. With the exception of an Italian or two, they were all French, the young fashionables who were the loungers of the salons and cafes of the city.
“Have you breakfasted, my Lord?” said one. “If not, let me recommend some excellent cutlets, which are not too cold, even yet.”
“And the best chocolate I ever tasted out of Paris,” cried another.
“Thanks,” said Norwood. “We 'll profit by the good counsel.” And, taking a cigar from his case, he lighted it from Guilmard's, as, with hands in his paletot, he sat negligently on the wall, surveying the scene below him.
“Come, George, let's have something,” whispered Norwood, eagerly; for the vacant and unoccupied stare of Onslow continued to cause the Viscount the most intense anxiety. “These fellows are affecting to be devilish cool. Let us not be behindhand.” And, rather by force than mere persuasion, he dragged Onslow along, and entered the little parlor of the inn.
A large table, covered with the remains of an ample breakfast, stood in the middle of the room, and a dish of cutlets was placed to keep hot before the stove. Several loose sheets of paper lay scattered about the table, on which were scrawled absurd and ill-drawn caricatures of duels, in which attitudes of extravagant fear and terror predominated. Norwood glanced at them for a moment, and then contemptuously threw them into the fire.
“Sit down, George,” said he, placing a chair for the other; “and, if you cannot eat, at least take a 'nip' of brandy. Jekyl will be up, I suppose, in a few minutes. I told him to come with the doctor.”
“I never felt an appetite at this early hour,” said Onslow; “and perhaps the present is not the time to suggest one.”
“Did you remark Guilmard?” said Norwood, as he helped himself to a cutlet, and prepared his plate most artistically for a savory meal. “Did you observe him, George?”
“No; I never looked that way.”
“By Jove! he has got a tremendous scar on his cheek; the whole length, from the eye to the corner of his mouth. English knuckles do not certainly improve French physiognomy. A left-hander, eh?”
“I remember nothing about it,” said Onslow, carelessly.
“Well, you 've left him a memorandum of the transaction, any way,” said the Viscount, as he ate on. “And you were talking about an apology awhile ago?”
“I was wishing that the case admitted of one,” said Onslow, calmly.
Norwood gave a sidelong glance at the speaker, and, although he said nothing, a gesture of angry impatience revealed what was passing within him.
“Do try that brandy. Well, then, take a glass of curacoa,” said he, pushing the bottle towards him.
“Something! anything, in fact, you would say, Norwood, that might serve to make my courage 'carry the bead;' but you are altogether mistaken in inc. It is not of myself I am thinking; my anxieties are. But what could you care, or even understand, about my motives? Finish your breakfast, and let us make an end of this affair.”
“In one minute more I'm your man; but if I have a weakness, it is for a plain roast truffle, with butter. It was a first love of mine, and, as the adage says, 'only revient toujours.' Were I in your shoes this morning, George, I 'd not leave one on the dish.”
“On what principle, pray?” asked Onslow, smiling.
“On that of the old Cardinal, who, when his doctors pronounced his case hopeless, immediately ordered a supper of ortolans with olives. It was a grand opportunity to indulge without the terror of an indigestion; anda proposto such themes, where can our worthy doctor be all this time? The calessino was close up with us all the way.”
Leaving Norwood to continue his meal, George strolled out in quest of the surgeon, but none had seen nor knew anything of him. An empty calessino was standing on the roadside, but the driver only knew that the gentleman who came with him had got out there, and entered the park.
“Then we shall find him near the little lake,” said Norwood, coolly, as George returned, disappointed. “But it's strange, too, that he should be alone. Jekyl was to have been with him. These foreigners ever insist upon two seconds on either side. Like the gambler that always is calling for fresh cards, it looks very like a suspicion of foul play. Go back, George, and see if the fellow knows nothing of Jekyl. You 've only to name him, for every cab, cad, and barcaruolo of Florence is acquainted with Master Albert.”
George returned to the spot, but without any success. The man stated that he took his stand, as he was desired, at the gate of the palace, and that a little man, apparently somewhat elderly, came out and asked which way the others had gone, and how long before they had started. “See that you pick them up then,” said he, “but don't pass them. He talked incessantly,” added the man, “the whole way, but in such bad Italian that I could make nothing of it, and so I answered at random. If I were tired of him, I fancy he was sick of me; and when he got out yonder, and passed into the park, it was a relief to us both.”
George was just turning away, when his eye caught a glimpse of the glorious landscape beneath, on which a freshly risen sun was shedding all its splendor. There are few scenes, even in Italy, more striking than the Val d'Arno around Florence. The beautiful city itself, capped with many a dome and tower, the gigantic castle of the Bargello, the graceful arch of the Baptistery, the massive facade of the Pitti, all, even to the lone tower on the hill where Galileo watched, rich in their storied memories; while on the gentle slope of the mountain stood hundreds of beauteous villas, whose very names are like spells to the imagination, and the Dante, the Alfieri, the Boccaccio, vie in interest with the sterner realities of the Medici, the Pazzi, the Salviati, and the Strozzi. What a flood of memory pours over the mind, to think how every orange-grove and terrace, how each clump of olives, or each alley of cedars, have witnessed the most intense passions, or the most glorious triumphs of man's intellect or ambition, and that every spot we see has its own claim to immortality!
Not in such mood as this, however, did Onslow survey the scene. It was in the rapt admiration of its picturesque beauty. The glittering river, now seen and lost again, the waving tree-tops, the parterres of bright flowers, the stately palaces, whose terraces were shadowed by the magnolia, the oleander, and the fig, all made up a picture of rich and beautiful effect, and he longed to throw himself on the deep grass and gaze on it for hours. As he stood thus, unable to tear himself away, he heard the sharp cracking of a postilion's whip immediately beneath him, and, on looking down, saw two heavily laden travelling-carriages, which all the power of eight horses to each could barely drag along against the steep ascent. A mounted courier in advance proclaimed that the travellers were persons of condition, and everything about the equipages themselves indicated wealth and station. As Onslow knew all who moved in a certain class in society, he was curious to see who was journeying northward so early in the year, and, stepping into a little copse beside the road, he waited for the carriages to pass.
They came slowly forward, now halting to “breathe” the weary horses, now struggling for a brief space against the hill, and at last, turning a sharp angle of the way, the first carriage drew short up, directly in front of where he stood. The panels bore the flaunting and pretentious arms of Prince Midchekoff, with many an armorial emblem, which, however tolerated in the rest of Europe, the Czar would not suffer within his own dominions. As George glanced at these, he started, for a well-known voice caught his ear, and, forgetting his desire of concealment, he leaned forward to listen. It was Kate was speaking; he could not hear the words, but the accents were her own. “Oh for one look at her, for the last time!” thought he; and dashed headlong through the copse towards where, by another bend, the road made a rapid turn upwards.
Already the horses had regained their wind, and were away at a brisk trot, as George tore onward through the closely interwoven branches and thick underwood of the grove. There was no path, nor, once out of sight or sound of the road, anything to guide him; but he dashed on, in the direction he supposed the carriage must take. At every step the way grew more intricate and difficult; the pits the peasants dig for chestnut leaves, the little heaps collected for firewood, intercepted him at each moment. With torn clothes and bleeding hands he still rushed madly, resolutely bent upon his object; and, with many a bruise and many a scar, at last gained the open country just in time to see the second carriage crowning the peak of the mountain above his head, while he could hear the sharp, clanking sound of the drag as they fastened it to the leading carriage. Any attempt to overtake them on the hill must now be hopeless. He well knew the pace at which a continental postilion descends a mountain, and how the steepest galleries of Alps and Apennines are often galloped down at speed. For miles below him he could see the winding zigzags of the road, and at each turning he fancied how he might catch sight of her. The mountain itself was terraced with vineyards from base to summit; but, from the steepness of its side, these terraces were but narrow strips of ground, barely sufficient for the vine-dresser to pass when tending his plants, or gathering in their produce. To look down on this giant stair, for such it seemed, was a giddy sensation, and few could have surveyed the precipitous descent without a sense of danger. Onslow's thoughts, however, had but one object, to see Kate once, and for the last time. By a straight descent of the mountain, leaping from terrace to terrace, it was possible for him to reach the bottom before the carriages could traverse the winding course of the road; and no sooner was the thought conceived than he proceeded to execute it. It is difficult to convey to those who have never seen these terraced flights of earth a true notion of the peril of such an undertaking; but they who have beheld them will acknowledge that little short of utter recklessness could dare it. Less leaping than dropping from height to height, the slightest impulse will carry the footsteps beyond the edge of the terrace, and then all self-control is lost, and destruction, to every appearance, inevitable.
The youth whose nerves have been trained by the sports of fox-hunting and deer-stalking, however, is seldom unprepared for sudden danger; and George never hesitated when once the undertaking seemed practicable. By sidelong leaps he descended the first three or four terraces well and safely. Impressed with the risk of the exploit, he never turned his eyes from the spot whereon he meant to alight, and measured every bound with accuracy. Suddenly, however, his attention was caught by the postilion's bugle sounding, several hundred feet below him, and, in a bend of the road, he saw the dust left by the fast-descending carriage. Forgetful of safety, of everything, save his object, he leaped at random, and with a tremendous bound cleared one terrace completely, and alighted on the one beneath it. The impulse drove him forwards, and ere he could recover, he was on the very verge of the cliff. Even yet his presence of mind might have rescued him, when the loose masonry gave way, and carried him down with it. He fell forwards, and headlong; the force of the descent carried him on, and now, half falling, half-struggling, he bounded from height to height, till, shattered, maimed, and bleeding, he rolled, an unconscious heap of clay, in the long grass of the valley.
Not fifty yards from where he lay, the carriages passed, and Kate even leaned from the window to gaze upon the winding glen, little thinking how terrible an interest that quiet scene was filled with. And so the equipages held their speed, and pressed onward; while, with a faint breathing, poor George lay, sleeping that dreamless slumber that seems a counterfeit of death.
END OF VOL. I.