When I reached the open air I felt a delicious sense of relief. It was so still, so calm, so tranquil! a bright starlit summer's night, with here and there a murmuring of low voices, a gentle laugh, beard amongst the trees, and the rustling sounds of silk drapery brushing through the alleys,—all those little suggestive tokens that bring up one's reminiscences of
But they only came for a second, Bob, and they left not a trace behind them. The monotonous rubric of the croupier rang ever through my brain,—"Faîtes votre jeu, Messieurs! "—"Messieurs, faîtes votre jeu!" The table, the lights, the glittering gold, the clank of the rake, were all before me, and I set off at full speed to the hotel, to fetch more money, and resume my play.
I 'll not weary you with a detail, at every step of which I know that your condemnation tracks me. I re-entered the play-room, secretly and cautiously; I approached the table stealthily; I hoped to escape all observation,—at least, for a time; and with this object I betted small sums, and attracted no notice. My luck varied,—now inclining on this side, now to that. Fortune seemed as though in a half-capricious mood, and as it were undetermined how to treat me. "This comes of my own miserable timidity," thought I; "when I was bold and courageous, she favored me. It is the same in everything. To win, one must venture."
There was a vacant place in front of me; a young Hungarian had just quitted it, having lost his last "Louis." I immediately took it. The card on which he had been marking the chances of the game still lay there. I took it up, and saw that he had been playing most rashly; that no luck could possibly have carried a man safely through such a system as he had followed.
I must let you into a little secret of this game, Bob, and do not be incredulous of my theory, because my own case is a sorry illustration of it. Where all men fail at Rouge-et-Noir, is from temper. The loser makes tremendous efforts to repair his losses; the winner grows cautious with success, and diminishes his stake. Now the wise course is, play low when you see Fate against you, and back your luck to the very limit of the bank. You ask, perhaps, "How are you to ascertain either of these facts? What evidence have you that Fortune is with or against you?" As you are not a gambler, I cannot explain this to you. It is part of the masonry of the play-table, and every one who risks heavily on a chance knows well what are the instincts that guide him.
I own to you, that though well aware of these facts, and thoroughly convinced that they form the only rules of play, I soon forgot them in the excitement of the game, and betted on, as caprice, or rather as passion, dictated. We Irish are bad stuff for gamblers. We have the bull-dog resistance of the Englishman,—his stern resolve not to be beaten,—but we have none of his caution or reserve. We are as impassioned as the men of the South, but we are destitute of that intense selfishness that never suffers an Italian to peril his all. In fact, as an old Belgian said to me one night, we make bad winners and worse losers,—too lavish in one case, too reckless in the other.
I am not seeking excuses for my failure in my nationality. I accept the whole blame on my own shoulders. With common prudence I might have arisen that night a large winner; as it was, I left the table with a loss of nigh three thousand pounds. Just fancy it, Bob,—five thousand pounds poorer than when I strolled out after luncheon. A sum sufficient to have started me splendidly in some career,—the army, for instance,—gone without enjoyment, even without credit; for already the critics were busily employed in analyzing my "play," which they unanimously pronounced "badly reasoned and contemptible." There remained to me still—at home in the hotel, fortunately—about eight hundred pounds of my former winnings, and I passed the night canvassing with myself what I should do with these. Three or four weeks back I had never given a second thought to the matter,—indeed, it would never have entered my head to risk such a sum at play; but now the habit of winning and losing heavy wages, the alternations of affluence and want, had totally mastered all the calmer properties of reason, and I could entertain the notion without an effort. I 'll not tire you with my reasonings on this subject. Probably you would scarcely dignify them with the name. They all resolved themselves into this: "If I did not play, I 'd never win back what I lost; if I did, I might." My mind once made up to this, I began to plot how I should proceed to execute it I resolved to enter the room next day just as the table opened, at twelve o'clock. The players who frequented the room at that hour were a few straggling, poor-looking people, who usually combined together to make up the solitary crown-piece they wished to venture. Of course I had no acquaintances amongst them, and therefore should be free from all the embarrassing restraints of observation by my intimates. My judgment would be calmer, my head cooler, and, in fact, I could devote myself to the game with all my energies uncramped and unimpeded.
Sharp to the moment of the clock striking twelve, I entered the room. One of the croupiers was talking to a peasant-girl at the window. The other, seated on a table, was reading the newspaper. They both looked astonished at seeing me, but bowed respectfully, not, however, making any motion to assume their accustomed places, since it never occurred to them that I could have come to play at such an hour of the morning. A little group, of the very "seediest" exterior, was waiting respectfully for when it might be the croupiers' pleasure to begin, but the functionaries never deigned to notice them.
"At what hour are the tables opened?" asked I, as if for information.
"At noon, Monsieur le Comte," said one of the croupiers, folding up his paper, and producing the keys of the strongbox; "but, except these worthy people,"—this he said with a most contemptuous air of compassion,—"we have no players till four, or even five, of the afternoon."
"Come, then," said I, taking a seat, "I 'll set the virtuous fashion of early hours. There go twenty Naps, for a beginning."
The dealer shuffled the cards. I cut them, and we began. We I say; because I was the only player, the little knot of humble folk gathering around me in mute astonishment, and wondering what millionnaire they had before them. If I had not been too deeply engaged in the interest of the game, I should have experienced the very highest degree of entertainment from the remarks and comments of the bystanders, who all sympathized with me, and made common cause against the bank.
Some of them were peasants, some were small shopkeepers from distant towns,—the police regulations exclude all natives of Baden, it being the Grand-Ducal policy only to pillage the foreigner,—and one, a half-starved, decrepit old fellow, had been a professor of something somewhere, and turned out of his university to starve for having broached some liberal doctrines in a lecture. He it was who watched me with most eager intensity, following every alternation of my game with a card and a pin. At the end of about an hour I was winner of something more than two hundred pounds, and I sat betting on, my habitual stake of five, or sometimes ten "Naps." each time.
"Get up and go away now," whispered the old man in my ear. "You have done enough for once,—gained more in this brief hour than ever I did in any two years of hard labor."
"At what trade did you work?" asked I, without raising my head from my game.
"My faculty was the 'Pandects,'" replied he, gravely; "but I lectured in private on history, philology, and chemistry."
Shocked at the rudeness of my question to one in his station, I muttered some half-intelligible excuse; but he did not seem to suspect any occasion for apology,—never recognizing that he who labored with head could arrogate over him who toiled with his hands.
"There, I told you so," broke he in, suddenly. "You will lose all back again. You play rashly. The runs of the game have been 'triplets' and you bet on to the fourth time of passing."
"So, then, you understand it!" said I, smiling, and still making my stake as before.
"Let the deal pass; don't bet now," whispered he, eagerly.
"Herr Ephraim, I have warned you already," cried the croupier, "that if you persist in disturbing the gentlemen who play here, you will be removed by the police."
The word "police"—so dreadful to all German ears—made the old man tremble from bead to foot; and he bowed twice or thrice in hurried submission, and protested that he would be more cautious in future.
"You certainly do not exhibit such signs of good fortune on your own person," said the croupier, "that should entitle you to advise and counsel others."
"Quite true, Herr Croupier," assented he, with an attempt to smile.
"Besides that, if you reckon upon the Count's good nature to give you a trifle when the game is over, you 'll certainly merit it better by silence and respect now."
The old man's face became deep scarlet, and then as suddenly pale. He made an effort to say something; but though his hands gesticulated, and his lips moved, no sounds were audible, and with a faint sigh he tottered back and leaned against the wall. I sprang up and placed him in a chair, and, seeing that he was overcome by weakness, I called for wine, and hastily poured a glassful down his throat. I could not induce him to take a second, and he seemed, while expressing his gratitude, to be impatient to get away and leave the place.
"Shall I see you home, Herr Ephraim?" said I; "will you allow me to accompany you?"
"On no account, Herr Graf," said he, giving me the title he had heard the croupier address me by. "I can go alone; I am quite able, and—I prefer it."
"But you are too weak, far too weak to venture by yourself,—is he not so?" said I, turning to the croupier to corroborate my words. A strangely significant raising of the eyebrow, a sort of—I know not what—meaning, was all the reply he made me; and half ashamed of the possibility of being made the dupe of some practised impostor, I drew nigh the table for an explanation.
"What is it? what do you mean?" asked I, eagerly.
A shrug of the shoulders and a look of pity was his answer.
"Is he a hypocrite?—is he a cheat?" asked I.
"Perhaps not exactly that," said he, shuffling the cards.
"A drunkard,—does he drink, then?" asked I.
"I have never heard so," said he.
"Then what has he done?—what is he?" cried I, impatiently.
He made a sign for me to come close, and then whispered in my ear what I have just told you, only with a voice full of holy horror at the crime of a man who had dared to have an opinion not in accordance with that of a Police Prefect! That he—a man of hard study and deep reading—should venture to draw other lessons from history than those taught at drum-heads by corporals and petty officers!
"Is that all?—is that all?" asked I, indignantly.
"All all!" exclaimed he; "do you want more?"
"Why, these things may possibly interest police spies, but they have no imaginable concern for me."
"That is precisely what they have, sir," said he, hastily, and in a still more cautious tone. "You could not show that miserable man a kindness without its attracting the attention of the authorities. They never could be brought to believe mere humanity was the motive, and they would seek for some explanation more akin to their daily habits. As an Englishman, I know your custom is to treat these things haughtily, and make every personal insult of this kind a national question; but the inconvenience of this course will track you over the whole Continent. Your passport will be demanded here, permission refused you to remain there. At one town your luggage will be scrutinized, at another, your letters opened. I conclude you come abroad to enjoy yourself. Is this the way to do it? At all events, he is gone now," added he, looking down the room, "and let's think no more of him. Messieurs, faîtes votre jeu!" and once more rang out the burden of that monotonous injunction to ruin and beggary!
I was n't exactly in the mood for high play at the moment; on the contrary, my thoughts were with poor Ephraim and his sorrows; but, for very pride's sake, I was obliged to seem indifferent and at ease. For I must tell you, Bob, this cold, impassive bearing is the high breeding of the play-table, and to transgress it, even for an instant, is a gross breach of good manners. I have told you my mind was preoccupied; the results were soon manifest in my play. Every "coup" was ill-timed. I was always on the wrong color, and lost without intermission.
"This is not your 'beau moment,' Monsieur le Comte," said the croupier to me, as he raked in a stake I had suffered to quadruple itself by remaining. "I should almost say, wait for another time!"
"Had you said so half an hour ago," replied I, bitterly, "the counsel might have been worth heeding. There goes the last of twenty thousand francs." And there it did go, Bob! swept in by the same remorseless hand that gathered all I possessed.
I lingered for a few moments, half stunned. I felt like one that requires some seconds to recover from the effects of a severe blow, but who feels conscious that with time he shall rally and be himself again. After that I strolled out into the open air, lighted my cigar, and turned off into a steep path that led up the mountain side, under the cover of a dense pine forest. I walked for hours, without noticing the way at either side of me, and it was only when, overcome with thirst, I stooped to drink at a little fountain, that I perceived I had crossed over the crest of the mountain, and gained a little glen at its foot, watered by what I guessed must be a capital fishing-stream. Indeed, I had not long to speculate on this point, for, a few hundred yards off, I beheld a man standing knee-deep in the water, over which he threw his line, with that easy motion of the wrist that bespeaks the angler.
I must tell you that the sight of a fly-fisher is so far interesting abroad that it is only practised by the English; and although, Heaven knows, there is no scarcity of them in town and cities, the moment you wander in the least out of the beaten, frequented track of travel, you rejoice to see your countryman. I made towards him, therefore, at once, to ask what sport he had, and came up just as he had landed a good-sized fish.
"I see, sir," said I, "that the fish are not so strong as in our waters. You 'd have given that fellow twenty minutes more play, had he been in a Highland tarn."
"Or in that brisk little river at Dodsborough," replied he, laughing; and, turning round at the same time to sainte me, I perceived that it was Captain Morris. You may remember him being quartered at Bruff, about two years ago, and having had some altercation with my governor on some magisterial topics. He was never much to my taste. I thought him somewhat of a military prig, very stiff and stand off; but whether it was the shooting-jacket vice the red coat, or change of place and scene, I know not, but now he seemed far more companionable than I could have thought him. He was a capital angler too, and spoke of shooting and deer-stalking like one passionately fond of them. I felt half ashamed at first, when he asked me my opinion of the trout streams in the neighborhood, and it was only as we warmed up that I owned to the kind of life I had been leading at Baden, and the consequences it had entailed.
"Fortunately for me, in one sense," said he, laughing, "I have always been too poor a man to play at anything; and chess, which excludes all idea of money, is the only game I know. But of this I am quite sure, that the worst of gambling is neither the time nor the money lost upon it; it is the simple fact that, if you ever win, from that moment forth you are unfitted to the pursuits by which men earn their livelihood. The slow, careworn paths of daily industry become insufferable to him who can compass a year's labor by the turn of a die. Enrich yourself but once—only once—at the play-table, and try then what it is to follow any career of patient toil."
He had seen, he said, many examples of this in his own regiment; some of the very finest fellows had been ruined by play, for, as he remarked, "it is strange enough, there are few vices so debasing, and yet the natures and temperaments most open to the seduction of the gaming-table are very far from being those originally degraded." I suppose that his tone of conversation chimed in well with my thoughts at the moment, for I listened to all he said with deep interest, and willingly accepted his invitation to eat some of his morning's sport at a little cottage, where he lived, hard by. He had taken it for the season, and was staying there with his mother, a charming old lady, who welcomed me with great cordiality.
I dined and passed the evening with them. I don't remember when I spent one so much to my satisfaction, for there was something more than courtesy, something beyond mere politeness, in their manner towards me; and I could observe in any chance allusion to the girls, there was a degree of real interest that almost savored of friendship. There was but one point on which I did not thoroughly go with Morris, and that was about Tiverton. On that I found him full of the commonest and most vulgar prejudices. He owned that there was no acquaintanceship between them, and therefore I was able to attribute much, if not all, of his impressions to erroneous information. Now I know George intimately,—nobody can know him better. He is what they call in the world "a loose fish." He's not overburdened with strict notions or rigid principles; he 'd tell you himself, that to be encumbered with either would be like entering for a rowing-match in a strait waistcoat; but he is a fellow to share his last shilling with a friend,—thoroughly generous and free-hearted. These are qualities, however, that men like Morris hold cheap. They seem to argue that nobody stands in need of such attributes. I differ with them there totally. My notion is that shipwreck is so common a thing in life, it is always pleasant to think that a friend can throw you a spare hencoop when you're sinking.
We chatted till the night closed in, and then, as the moon got up, Morris strolled with me to within a mile of Baden.
"There!" said he, pointing to the little village, now all spangled with its starry lights,—"there lies the fatal spot that has blighted many a hope, and made many a heart a ruin! I wish you were miles away from it!"
"It cannot injure me much now," said I, laughing; "I am as regularly 'cleaned out' as a poor old professor I met there this morning, Herr Ephraim."
"Not Ephraim Gauss?" asked he. "Did you meet him?"
"If that be his name,—a small, mean-looking man, with a white beard—"
"One of the first men in Germany—the greatest civilian—the most learned Orientalist—and a man of almost universal attainment in science—tell me of him."
I told him the little incident I have already related to you, and mentioned the caution given me by the croupier.
"Which is not the less valuable," broke he in, "because he who gave it is himself a paid spy of the police."
I started, and he went on.
"Yes, it is perfectly true; and the advice he gave you was both good and well intended. These men who act as the croupiers are always in the pay of the police. Their position affords them the very best and safest means of obtaining information; they see everybody, and they hear an immensity of gossip. Still, it is not their interest that the English, who form the great majority of play-victims, should be excluded from places of gambling resort. With them, they would lose a great part of their income; for this reason he gave you that warning, and it is by no means to be despised or undervalued."
At length we parted,—he to return over the mountain to his cottage, and I to continue my way to the hotel.
"At least promise me one thing," said he, as he shook my hand: "you 'll not venture down yonder to-night;" and he pointed to the great building where the play went forward, now brilliant in all its illumination.
"That's easily done," said I, laughing, "if you mean as regards play."
"It is as regards play, I say it," replied he; "for the rest, I suppose you'll not incur much hazard."
"I say that the pledge costs little sacrifice; I have no money to wager."
"All the better, at least for the present. My advice to you would be, take your rod, or, if you haven't one, take one of mine, and set out for a week or ten days up the valley of the 'Moorg.' You'll have plenty of fishing, pretty scenery, and, above all, quiet and tranquillity to compose your mind and recover your faculties after all this fevered excitement."
He continued to urge this plan upon me with considerable show of reason, and such success that as I shook his hand for the last time it was in a promise to carry out the scheme. He'd have gone with me himself, he said, but that he could not leave his mother even for a few days; and, indeed, this I scarcely regretted, because, to own the honest fact, my dear Bob, I felt that there was a terrible gulf between us in fifty matters of thought and opinion; and, what was worse, I saw that he was more often in the right than myself. Now, wise notions of life, prudent resolves, and sage aphorisms are certain to come some time or other to everybody; but I 'd as soon think of "getting up" wrinkles and crows'-feet as of assuming them at one-and-twenty. I know, at least, that's Tiverton's theory; and he, it can't be denied, does understand the world as well as most men. Not that I do not like Morris; on the contrary, I am sure he is an excellent fellow, and worthy of all respect, but somehow he does n't "go along," Bob; he's—as we used to say of a clumsy horse in heavy ground—"he's sticky." But I'm not going to abuse him, and particularly at the moment when I am indebted to his friendship.
When I reached the hotel, I was so full of my plan that I sent for the landlord, and asked him to convert all my goods and chattels, live and dead, into ready cash. After a brief and rather hot discussion the scoundrel agreed to give me two hundred "Naps." for what would have been cheap at twelve. No matter, thought I, I 'll make an end of Baden, and if ever I set foot in it again—
"Come, out with the cash, Master Müller," cried I, impatient to be off; "I 'm sick of this place, and hope never to set eyes on 't more!"
"Ah, the 'Herr Graf' is going away then?" said he, in some surprise. "And the ladies, are they, too, about to leave?"
"I know nothing about their intentions, nor have you any business to make the inquiry," replied I; "pay this money, and make an end of it."
He muttered something about doing the thing regularly, not having "so much gold by him," and so on, ending with a promise that in half an hour I should have the cash sent to my room.
I accordingly hurried upstairs to put away my traps. My mother and the girls had already gone out for the evening, so that I wrote a few lines to say that I was off for a week's fishing, but would be back by Wednesday. I had just finished my short despatch, when the landlord entered with a slip of paper in one hand and a canvas bag of money in the other.
"This is the inventory of the goods, Herr Graf, which you will please assign over to me, by affixing your signature."
I wrote it at once.
"This is my little account for your expenses at the hotel," said he, presenting a hateful-looking strip of a foot and a half long.
"Another time,—no leisure for looking over that now!" said I, angrily.
"Whenever you please, Herr Graf," said he, with the same imperturbable manner. "You will find it all correct, I 'm sure. This is the balance!" And opening the bag he poured forth some gold and silver, which, when counted, made up twenty-seven Napoleons, fourteen francs.
"And what's this?" cried I, almost boiling over with rage.
"Your balance, Herr Graf. All that is coming to you. If you will please to look here—"
"Give me up that inventory,—that bill of sale," cried I, perfectly wild with passion.
He only gave a grim smile, while, by a significant gesture, he showed that the paper in question was in his breeches-pocket For a second, Bob, I was so thoroughly beside myself with passion, that I determined to regain possession of it by force. To this end I went to the door, and locked it; but by the time I returned to him, I found that he had thrown up the window and addressed some words to the people in the courtyard. This brought me to my senses, so I counted over my twenty-seven Naps., placed the bill on the chimney-piece, unlocked the door, and told him to go,—an injunction which, I assure you, he obeyed with such alacrity that had I been disposed to assist his exit I could not have been in time to do it.
For both our sakes I 'll not recall the state of mind in which this scene left me. As to going an excursion with such a sum, or rather with what would have remained of it after paying waiters, porters, and such-like, it was too absurd to think of, so that I coolly put it in my pocket, walked over to "the Rooms," threw it on the green cloth of the gaming-table—and—lost it! There ends the episode of my last fortnight's existence,—as dreary and disreputable a one as need be. As to how I have passed the last four days I 'm not quite so clear! I have walked some twenty-five or thirty miles in each, dining at little wayside inns, and returning late at night to Baden.
Passing through picturesque glens, and along mountain ridges of boldest outline, I have marked little. I remember still less. Still the play-fever is abating. I can sleep without dreaming of the croupier's chant, and I awake without starting at any imaginary loss! I feel as though great bodily exertion and fatigue would ultimately antagonize the excessive tension of nerves too long and too painfully on the stretch, and I am steadily pursuing this system for a cure.
When I come home—after midnight—I add some pages to this long epistle, which I sometimes doubt if I shall ever have courage to send you! for there is this poignant misery about one's play misfortunes, you never can expect a friend's sympathy, no matter how severe your sufferings be. The losses at play are thoroughly selfish ills; they appeal to nothing for consolation!
You will have remarked how I have avoided all mention of the family in this epistle. The truth is, I scarcely ever see my mother or Mary Anne. Caroline occasionally comes to me before I 'm up of a morning; but it is to sorrow over domestic griefs of one kind or other. My father is still away, and, strangely too, we do not hear from him; and, in fact, we are a most ill-ordered, broken-up household, each going his own road, and that being—in almost every case, I fear—a bad one.
This recital—if it be ever destined to come to hand—may possibly tend to reconcile you to home life, and the want of those advantages which you are so thoroughly convinced pertain to foreign travel. I know that in my present mood I am very far from being an impartial witness, and I am also aware that I am open to the reproach of not having cultivated those arts which give to Continental residence its peculiar value; but let me tell you, Bob, the ignorance with which I left home—the utter neglect of education in youth—left me unable to derive profit from what lay so seemingly accessible. You do not plate over cast-iron, and the thin lacquer of gold or silver would never even hide the base metal beneath. I haven't courage to go over and see Morris; and here I live, perfectly isolated and companionless.
Tiverton writes me word that he 'll be back in a few days. He went over to speak on the Jew Bill. He says that his liberal speech on that measure "stood to him" very handsomely in Lombard Street He has forwarded the report of his oration, but I have n't read it. His chief argument in favor of admitting them into Parliament is, "There are so few of them." It's very like the lady's plea,—of the child being a little one. However, I don't think it signifies much one way or t'other; but it seems strange to exclude men from legislation who claim for their ancestor the first Lawgiver.
I shall be all eagerness to hear what success you have had for the scholarship. You are a happy fellow to have heart and energy for an honorable ambition; and that you may have "luck"—for that is requisite, too—is the sincere wish of your attached friend,
James Dodd.
My dear Miss Cox,—How happy would you be if only seated in the spot where I now write these lines! I am at an open window, the sill of which is a great rock, all covered with red-brown moss, and beneath, again, at some thirty feet lower, runs the clear stream of the Moorg River. Two gigantic mountains, clad in pine forests to the summits, enclose the valley, the view of which, however, extends to full two miles, showing little peeps of farmhouses and mills along the river's bank, and high upon a great bold crag, the ducal castle of Eberstein. The day is hot but not sultry, for a light summer breeze is playing over the water, and, high up, the clouds move slowly on, now casting broad masses of mellow shadow over the deep-tinted forest.
The stream here falls over some masses of rock with a pleasant gushing music that harmonizes well with the songs of the peasant girls, who are what we should in Ireland call "beetling" their clothes in the water. On the opposite bank some mowers are seated at their dinner, under the shadow of a leafy horsechestnut-tree, and, far away in the distance, a wagon of the newly cut hay is traversing the river; the horses stop to drink, and the merry children are screaming their laughter from the top of the load. I hear them even here.
That you may learn where I am, and how I have come hither, let me tell you that I am on a visit with Mrs. Morris, the mother of Captain M., at a little cottage they have taken for the season, about twelve miles from Baden, in a valley called the Moorg Thal. If its situation be the very perfection of picturesque choice, it contains within quite enough of accommodation for those who occupy it. The furniture, too, most simple though it be, is of that nice old walnut-wood, so bright and mellow-looking; and our little drawing-room is even handsomely ornamented by a richly carved cabinet and a centre-table, the support of which is a grotesque dwarf with four heads. Then we have a piano, a reasonably well-filled book-shelf, and a painter's easel, to which I turn at intervals, as I write, to give a passing touch of light to those trees now waving in the summer's wind, and which I destine, when finished, for my dear, dear governess. All the externals of rural life in Germany are highly picturesque,—I might almost call them poetic. The cottages, the costume, the little phrases in use amongst the people, their devotional offices, and, above all, their music, make up an ideal of country life such as I scarcely conceived possible to exist.
There is, too, I am told,—for my imperfect knowledge of the language does not permit me to state the fact of myself,—an amount of information amongst the people seldom found in a similar class throughout the rest of Europe. I do not mean the peasantry here, but the dwellers in the small villages,—those, for instance, who follow handicrafts and small trades, and who are usually great readers and very acute thinkers. Denied almost entirely all access to that daily literature of newspapers on which our people feed, they fall back upon a very different class of writing, and are conversant with the works of their great prose and verse writers. Their thoughts are thus idealized to a degree; they themselves become assuredly less work-a-day and practical, but their hopes, their aspirations, and their ambitions take a higher flight than we could ever think possible from such humble resting-places. Mrs. Morris, who knew Germany many years ago, tells me that those fatal years of '48 and '49 have done them great injury. Suddenly called upon to act, in events and contingencies of which they derived all their knowledge from some parallels in remote history, they rushed into the excesses of a mediæval period, as the natural consequences of the position; and all the atrocities of bygone centuries were re-enacted by a people who are unquestionably the most docile and law-obeying of the whole Continent. They are now calming down again, and there is every reason to think that, if, unshaken by troubles from without or within, Germany will again be the happy land it used to be.
Forgive me, my dear Miss Cox, if I grow tiresome to you, by a theme which now fills all my thoughts, and occupies so much of our daily talking. Captain M. has gone to England on some important matter of business, and the old lady is my only companion.
Oh, how you would like her! and how capable you would be of appreciating traits and features of her mind, of which I, in my insufficiency, can but dimly catch the meaning. She is within a year or two of eighty, and yet with a freshness of heart and a brightness of intellect that would shame one of my age.
The mellow gayety of heart that, surviving all the trials of life, lives on to remote age, hopeful in the midst of disappointments, trusting even when betrayed, is the most captivating trait that can adorn our poor nature. The spirit that can extract its pleasant memories from the past, forgetting all their bitterness, is truly a happy one. This she seems to do in all gratitude for what blessings remain to her, after a life not devoid of misfortune. She is devotedly attached to her son, who, in return, adores her. Probably no picture of domestic affection is more touching than that subsisting between a man already past youth and his aged and widowed mother,—the little tender attentions, the watchful kindnesses on both sides, those graceful concessions which each knows how and when to make of their own comfort, and, above all, that blending of tastes by which, at last, each learns to adopt some of the other's likings, and, even in prejudices, to become more companionable.
To me, the happiness of my present life is greater than I can describe to you. The peaceful quietude of an existence on which no shocks obtrude is unspeakably delightful. If the weather forbid us to venture abroad, which on fine days we do for hours together, our home resources are numerous. The little cares of a household, amusing as they are, associated with so many little peculiar traits of nationality, help the morning to pass; after which I draw, or write, or play, or read aloud, mostly German, to the old lady. Whatever my occupation, be it at the easel, the desk, or the pianoforte, her criticisms are always good and just; for, strange to say, even on subjects of which she professes to know nothing, there is an instinctive appreciation of the right; and this would seem to result from an intense study, and deep love of nature. She herself was the first to show me that this was a charm which the Bible possessed in the most remarkable manner, and, unlike other literature, gave it the most uncommon value in the eyes of the humblest classes, who are from the very accidents of fortune the deep students of nature. The language whose illustrations are taken from objects and incidents that every peasant can confirm, has a direct appeal to a lowly heart; and there is a species of flattery to his intelligence in the fact that inspiration could not typify more strongly its conception than by analogies open to the lowliest son of labor.
After this, she places Shakspeare, whose actual knowledge is miraculous, and whose immortality is based upon that very fact, since the true will be true to all ages and people; and, however men's minds may differ about the forms of expression, the fact will remain imperishable. According to her theory, Shakspeare understood human nature as learned men do an exact science,—where certain results must follow certain premises and combinations inevitably and of necessity. How otherwise explain that intimate acquaintance with the habits and modes of thought of classes of which he never made one? How account for the delineation of kingly feelings by him who scarcely saw the steps of a throne? "And yet," said Mrs. M., "Louis Philippe himself told me, that Shakspeare's kings were as true as his lovers. His Majesty once amused me much," said she, "by alluding to a passage in 'Hamlet,' which assuredly would never have occurred to me to notice. It is where the King and Queen are dismissing their attendants from further waiting. His Majesty says, 'Thanks, Rosenkrantz, and gentle Guildenstern;' on which the Queen adds, 'Thanks, Guildenstern, and gentle Rosenkrantz.' 'Now,' said Louis Philippe, 'one almost should have been a queen to know that it was needful to balance the seeming preference of the Royal epithet, by inverting the phrase.'"
While I ramble on thus, I may seem to be forgetting the subjects on which more properly I ought to dwell,—home and family. Our pursuit of greatness still continues, my dear Miss Cox. We are determined to be fine people; and I suppose, after all, that our shortcomings and disappointments are not greater than usually fall to the lot of those who aspire to what is beyond or above them. In England the gradations of rank are as fixed as the degrees of a service; and we, being who and what we are, could no more pretend to something else than could a subaltern pass off for a colonel to his own regiment. Here, however, there is a general scramble for position, and each seems to have the same privilege to call himself what he likes, that he exercises over the mere spelling of his name. I judge this to be the case from the anecdotes I have heard in society about the Count this, and the Baron that. Since papa's absence in the interior of Germany, whither he accompanied Mrs. Gore Hampton, to visit, I believe, some crowned head of her acquaintance, mamma has pursued a kind of royal progress towards greatness. Our style of living has been most expensive,—I might almost call it splendid. We have servants, horses, equipage,—everything, in fact, that appertains to a certain station, but one, and that one thing, unfortunately, is the grand requisite of all,—the air that belongs to it. The truth is, Miss Cox, as the old lawyer one day said at dinner to papa, "You prove too much, Mr. Dodd." That is exactly what mamma is doing. She dresses magnificently for small occasions; she insists too eagerly upon what she deems her due; and she is far too exclusive with respect to those who seek her acquaintanceship. Would you believe it, that though I am permitted to accept the kind hospitality which I at this moment enjoy, it is upon the condition that neither mamma nor Mary Anne are to "be dragged into the mire of low intimacies;" that Mrs. Morris is to be "Cary's friend." Proud am I, indeed, if she will deign to consider me such!
I must acknowledge that mamma's "Wednesdays" collected all that was high and distinguished at Baden. We had the old Kurfurst of something, with a long white moustache, and thirty orders; an archduchess with a humpback, and a mediatized prince with one eye. There were generals, marshals, ministers, envoys, and plenipos without end,—"your Highness" and "your Excellency" were household words round our tea-table. But I often asked myself, "Are not these great folk paying off in falsehood the imposition we are practising upon them? Are they not laughing at the 'Dodds,' and their thousand solecisms in good breeding?" These would be very unworthy suspicions of mine if I did not feel convinced they were well founded; but more than once I have overheard chance words and phrases that have suffused my cheeks with "shame-red," as the Germans call it, for an hour after. Is it not an indignity to accept hospitality and requite it by ridicule? Is it not base to receive attentions, and repay them in scorn?
Whether it is from feeling as I do on the subject or not, I cannot say, but James rarely or never appears at mamma's receptions. He is among what is called "a fast set;" but I always incline to think that his nature is not corrupted, though doubtless sullied, by the tone of society around us.
You ask me about Mary Anne's appearance, and here I can speak without reserve or qualification. She is, indeed, the handsomest girl I ever saw; tall and well-proportioned, and with a carriage and a style about her that might grace a princess. A critic inclined to severity might say there was perhaps a slight tendency to haughtiness in the expression of the features, especially the mouth; the head, too, is a little, a very little, too much thrown back; but somehow these might be defects in another, and yet in her they seem to give a peculiar stamp and character to her beauty. All her gestures are grace itself, and her courtesy, save that it is a little too low, perfect. She speaks French and German fluently, and knows the precise title of some hundred acquaintances, every one of whom would be distracted if defrauded in the smallest coin of his rank. I need not say how superior all these gifts make her to your humble and unlettered correspondent. Yes, my dear Miss Cox, the French "irregulars" are the same puzzle to me they used to be, and my mind will no more carry me on to the verb at the end of the German sentence than will my feet bear me over fifty miles a day. I am the stupid Caroline of long ago, and what renders the case so hopeless is, with the best of dispositions to do otherwise.
I am, however, improved in my painting, particularly in my use of color. I begin at last to recognize the merits of harmony in tint, and see how Nature herself always contrives to be correct. I hope you will like the little sketch that accompanies this; the rock in the foreground is the spot on which I sit at every sunset. Would that I had you beside me there, to counsel, to guide, and to correct me!
When Captain Morris returns, I shall leave this, as Mrs. M. will not require my companionship any longer, although she is already planning twenty things we are to do then.
Pray, therefore, write to me, as before, to Baden; and with my most affectionate regards to all who may remember me, and my dearest love to yourself,
Believe me, yours ever,
Caroline Dodd.
My dearest Kitty,—It was our names you saw in the "Morning Post"! We are "The Dodd M'Carthys." It was no use deferring the decision for papa's return; and, as I observed to mamma, circumstances are often stronger than ourselves; for, in all likelihood, Louis Napoleon would not have declared the Empire so soon if it were not for the "Rouges," or the Orléaniste, or the others. Events, in fact, pressed us from behind,—go forward we must; and so, like the distinguished authority I have mentioned, we accepted greatness, in the shape of our present designation.
We took the great step on Monday evening last, and issued one hundred and thirty-eight cards for our Wednesday at home, as Madame Dodd M'Carthy. Of course, I conclude the new title was amply discussed and criticised; but, as James remarked, the coup d'état succeeded perfectly. He sent me three different bulletins during the day from "the Rooms," where he was engaged at play. The first was briefly: "Great excitement, and much curiosity as to the reasons. Causes assigned,—vague, various, and contradictory. Strict silence on my part" The second ran: "Funds rising rapidly,—confidence restored." The third was: "Victory—opposition crushed, annihilated—dynasty secure. Send a card at once to the Crown Prince of Dalmatia, at the 'Lion.' He is just come."
Mamma's nervous tremors during this eventful day were dreadful. Nothing sustained her but a high consciousness, and some excellent curacoa. Every cry in the street, every chance commotion, the slightest assemblage, beneath our windows, she took for popular demonstrations. You know, my dearest Kitty, we live in really eventful times, and nobody can answer for how the mere populace will receive any attempts to recover ancient feudal privileges. I own to you, frankly, the attempt was a bold one. We, so to say, stemmed the foamy torrent of Democracy at its highest flood; but the moment was also propitious. Now or never was the time for nobility to raise its head again; and we, I am proud to say, have given the initiative to astonished Europe.
From the hour that we took the great step, Kitty, I felt my heart rise with the occasion. My spirit seemed to say, "Swell to the magnitude of those grand proportions around you;" and I really felt myself, as it were, disenthralled from the narrow limits of a mere Dodd, and expanding to the wide realms of a M'Carthy! If you only knew the sufferings and heart-burnings that plebeian appellation has cost us! The hateful monosyllable seemed to drop down like a shell in the midst of a company; and often has it needed a fortnight's dinners and evening parties, in a new place, to overcome the horrid impression caused by the name of Dodd!
Now, as it stands at present, it serves to give vigor and energy to the name. Dodd M'Carthy is like Gorman O'Moore, Grogan O' Dwyer, or any other of the patronymics of ancient Ireland.
From the deep interest caused by this decisive step, I was obliged at once to turn to the details of our great reception to be held on the Wednesday following, for it was necessary that in splendor and distinction it should eclipse all that had preceded it. Happily for us, dearest Caroline was absent as well as papa; she had gone to spend a week with a tiresome old lady some miles away, and we were therefore relieved from the annoyance of that vexatious restraint imposed by the mere presence of those whose thoughts and ideas are never yours. I have already told you that she has taken up a completely mistaken line, and utterly destroyed any natural advantages she possessed. I told her so myself over and over; I reasoned and argued the question deliberately. "I see," said I, "your tastes are not those of high and fashionable society. You do not feel the instinctive fascination that comes of being admired by the distinguished classes. Your ambitions do not soar to those aristocratic regions whose atmosphere breathes of royalty. Be it so; there is another path open to you,—the sentimental and the romantic. Your hair suits it, your complexion, your figure, your style generally, will easily adapt themselves to the character. If not a part that attracts general admiration, it is one which never fails, in every society, to secure some favorable notice; and elder sons, educated either 'at home or in clergymen's families,' are constantly captured by its fascination." This, I must remark to you, Kitty, is perfectly true, and it is of great consequence frequently to have a woman that suits shy men, and saves them the much-dreaded exhibition of themselves by talking aloud. I told her all this, and I even condescended to use arguments derived from her own narrow views of life, by showing that it is a style requiring little expense in the way of dress,—ringlets and a white muslin "peignoir" of a morning, a broad-leaved straw hat for the promenade,—something, in short, of the very simplest kind, and no ornaments. No! my dearest Kitty, it was of no use! She is one of those self-opinionated girls that reason never appeals to. She coolly replied to me, that all this would be unreal and unnatural,—"a mere piece of acting," as she said, and, consequently, unworthy of her, and unbecoming. I repeat the very words of her reply, to show you the great benefits she has derived from foreign travel! Why, dearest Kitty, nobody is real,—nobody pretends to be real abroad; if they were to do so, they 'd be shunned like wild beasts. What is it, I ask, that constitutes the very essence of high breeding? Conventional usages, forms of expression, courtesies, attentions, flatteries, and observances,—all stimulated, all put on, to please and captivate. Reject this theory, and instead of society, you have a mob; instead of a salon, you have a wild-beast "menagerie." Caroline says she is Irish; she might as well say she was Cochin-Chinese. Nobody can recognize any trait in that nationality but its uniform "savagery;" for I must tell you, Kitty, that Ireland itself—though politically deplored, pitied, and wept over, abroad—is encumbered by geographical doubts and difficulties like the North-West Passage. Many suppose it to be a town in the West of England; others fancy it a barren tract along the coast; and a few, whose sympathies are more acute for suffering nations, fancy it to be a species of penal settlement in an unknown latitude.
If Caroline even developed the character—if she had, as the French say, créé le rôle of an Irish girl, what with eccentricities of dress, manner, and Moore's melodies, something might be made of it. It admits of all those extravagances that are occasionally admired, and any amount of liberty with the male sex. Cary's reading of the part was very different; it was neither poetic nor pictorial; in fact, it was a mere vulgar piece of commonplace devotion to home and its tiresome associations, and a clinging attachment to whatever recalled memories of our former obscurity,—these "national traits" being eked out with a most insolent contempt for the foreigner, and a compassionate sorrow for the patience with which we endured him.
Pardon me, my dearest friend, if I weary you with this unpleasant theme; but I wish to satisfy your mind that if my sisterly affection be strong, it still does not tyrannize over my reason, and that increased powers of judgment, if they elevate the understanding, are frequently exercised at the cost of our tenderest feelings.
To come back to the point whence I started, "our Wednesday"—and this, by the way, enables me to answer some of the questions in your last You ask about my admirers; you shall have the catalogue as lately revised and corrected, though I scarcely flatter myself that the names will admit of vocal repetition. First, then, there is the Neapolitan Prince Sierra d'Aquila Nero, whom I already mentioned to you in one of my letters from Brussels. In my then innocence of the Continent I thought him charming, so impassioned, so poetical, and so perfumed. Now, Kitty, I find him an intolerable old bore; he is upwards of seventy, but so painted, patched, and plastered as to pass off panoramically for five-and-forty. He affects all the habits and even the vices of young men. He keeps saddle-horses that he dare not ride, and hires a "chasse," though he never fires a gun; and lastly, issues from his hairdresser's shop, at intervals, with a wig of shortened proportions, coolly alleging that he has just had his hair cut! When he drives out of an evening, the whole Allée reeks of "Bergamot," and the flutter of his handkerchief is a tornado in the Spice Islands. Need I say that his chance is at zero? Count Rastuchewitsky, a Russian Pole, comes next,—at least, in order of seniority; a short, stern-looking man, of about fifty, with a snow-white beard and moustache, with abrupt manners, and an unpleasant voice. I believe that he only pays me any attention because he sees the Prince do so, for he hates all Italians, and tries to thwart them in everything. The Count's great claim to distinction rests upon his father, or mother, I forget which, having helped to assassinate the Emperor Paul,—a piece of chivalry that he dwells on unceasingly.
The Chevalier de Courcelles makes "No. Three," and thirty years ago he might have been very presentable; but he belongs to a school even older than his time. He is of the Richelieu order, and seems to be always in a terrible fright about the effect of his own powers of fascination: his constant effort being to show you that he really is not fond of making victims. There is a German Graf von Herren-shausen, a large, yellow-bearded, blear-eyed monster, with a frogged coat and a huge pipe-stick projecting from the hind pock et, who kisses my hand whenever we meet, and leers at me from the whist-table—for, happily, he is past dancing—like a Ghoul in an Eastern tale. There are a vast number of others, one or two of whom I reserve for favorable mention hereafter; but these are the true "prétendants," of which number, I believe, I might select the one which pleases me best.
Amongst "home productions," as you term them, I may mention the Honorable Sackville Cavendish,—a thin, pale, white-eyebrowed babe of diplomacy, that smallest of Foreign Office infants yclept an "unpaid attaché." He has just emerged from the "nursery" at Downing Street, and is really not strong enough to go alone. I have supported him in an occasional polka, and "hustled him," as James called it, through a waltz, and have in turn received the meed of his admiration as expressed in the most lacklustre eyes that ever glittered out of a doll's head; and, lastly, there is Mister Milo Blake O'Dwyer, who formerly—O'Connell régnante—represented the town of Tralee in Parliament, and who now, with altered fortunes, performs the duty of Foreign Correspondent to that great news-paper, "The Sledge Hammer op Freedom."
Perhaps I 'm not strictly correct in enrolling him amongst the number of my worshippers; with more rigid justice, I believe he belongs to mamma; at least he's in constant attendance upon her, and continually assures me, with upturned eyes and a smack of the lip, that she is a "gorgeous woman," and "wonderfully preserved!" This worthy individual is really a curiosity; since being in manner, exterior, knowledge, and fortune totally deficient of all those aids which achieve success in society, he has actually contrived, by the bare force of impudence, to move with, and be received by, persons in the very first ranks. Foreigners, I must tell you, Kitty, conceive the most ridiculous notions of England; one of the most popular of which is that more than one-half of our government is carried on by newspaper writing, the minister contributing his sentiments one day, some individual of the public replying the next. Now, the illustrious Milo takes every opportunity of propping up this fallacy, while he represents himself as the very bone and sinew of all English opinion on the Continent. To believe him, no foreign prince or potentate could raise a sixpence on loan till he subscribes the scheme. How many an appropriation of territory have his warnings arrested? From what cruelties has he saved the Poles? What a crisis did his pen achieve in the fortunes of Hungary! And then the bushels of diamond snuff-boxes that he has thrown from him with disgust, the heaps of orders that he has rejected with proud scorn! As he says himself, "Haven't I more power than them all? When I send off my article to the 'Sledge,' don't I see them trembling and shaking for what's coming? Ay, says I to myself, haughty enough you look to-day, but won't I expose your Majesty, won't I lay bare the cruelties of your prisons and the infamy of your spies! And your Eminence, too, how silky you are; but I know you well, and I 've a copy of the last rescript you sent over to Ireland! Don't be afraid, my little darling; never mind the puppies that hissed you at Parma, I 'll make your fortune in London. A word from me to Lumley, and it's as good as five thousand pounds in the bank!"
It really gives me a great notion of the glut of genius that we possess in England, when you see a man whose qualifications are great in war and peace; whose knowledge ranges over the world of politics, religion, literature, fine arts, and the drama; who knows mankind to perfection, and understands statecraft to a miracle, with no higher nor prouder position than that of writing for the "Sledge." It is but fair to own that he has been of great service to us here. The hardest thing to find in the world is some person of pushing habits and impudent address, who will speak of you at all times and in all companies, doing for you, socially, what, in the world of trade, is accomplished by huge advertisements and red-lettered placards. Now, one really cannot stick up on the walls great announcements of "unrivalled attraction," the "positively last night but one" of Mrs. Dodd's great soirées and so on, but you can come pretty nigh the same result by a little tact and management. A few insignificant commissions about camellias, a change of arrangement about the fiddles, intrusted to him, and Milo was prepared to go forth, trumpet in hand, for us, from day to dark. Woe to the luckless wight that hadn't got a card for our "Evening"! the obligation Milo would place him under was a bond debt for life. Then he contrived to know everybody; and though he made sad hash of their names, they only smiled at his blunders.
I have heard that a great English minister one day confessed that the only exaction of office he never could thoroughly reconcile himself to, was the nature of those persons he was occasionally obliged to employ as subordinates. I suppose that, without being leader of a cabinet, everybody must have experienced something or other of this kind in life.
I think I hear you ask, "Where is the Ritter von Wolfensbafer all this time? What has become of him?" you say. You really are very tiresome, dearest Kitty, with your little poisonous allusions to "old loves," former attachments, and so on. As to the Ritter, however, I heard from him yesterday; he cannot, it seems, come to Baden; his father is not on terms with the Grand-Duke, and he strictly charges me not to mention their names to any one. His letter repeats the invitation to us all to spend some weeks at the "Schloss,"—an arrangement which might, very possibly, suit our plans well, since, when the season ends here, it is still too early to go into winter quarters; and one is sorely puzzled what to do with the late autumn, which is as wearisome as the time one passes in the drawing-room before dinner. Of course we must await pa's return, to reply to this invitation; and I incline to say we shall accept it. Why will you be so silly as to remind me of the follies of my childhood? Are there no naughtinesses of the nursery you can rake up to record? You know as well, if not better than myself, that the attentions you allude to could never have been seriously meant! nor could Dr. B. believe them such, if not totally deficient in those qualities of good sense and judgment for which I always have given him credit. I will not say that, in the artless gayety of infancy, I have not amused myself with the mock devotion he proffered; but you might as well reproach me with fickleness for not taking a child's interest any longer in the nursery games that once delighted me, as for not sustaining my share in this absurd illusion!
I plainly perceive one thing, Kitty,—the gentleman in question has very little pride; but even that in your eyes, may be an excellence, for you have discovered innumerable merits in his character under circumstances which, I am constrained to own, have failed to impress me with a suitable degree of interest. The subject is so very unpleasant, however, that I must beg it may never be reopened between us; and if you really feel for him so acutely as you say, I can only suggest that you should hit upon some plan of consolation perfectly independent of any aid from your attached friend,
Mary Anne.