CHAPTER XXXVIII. VERY OUTSPOKEN ON THE WORLD AT LARGE
And there came a next morning to all this. Oh, these same next mornings of life!—strange leaves in that book of our daily existence, now dark and black-lettered, now bright in all the glories of golden tracery! For so is it, each day is a fresh page to be written “with chalk or charcoal,” as it may be.
Two travelling-carriages took their way from Florence on that morning,—one for Bologna, with Mr. Stocmar and Clara; the other for Rome, with the Heathcotes, Captain Holmes having his place in the rumble. Old soldier that he was, he liked the open-air seat, where he could smoke his cigar and see the country. Of all those who journeyed in either, none could vie with him in the air of easy enjoyment that he wore; and even the smart Swiss maid at his side, though she might have preferred a younger companion, was fain to own, in her own peculiar English, that he was full of little bounties (bontés) in her regard. And when they halted to bait, he was so amiable and full of attentions to every one, exerting the very smallest vocabulary to provide all that was needed; never abashed by failure or provoked by ridicule; always good-tempered, always gay. It was better than colchicum to Sir William to see the little fat man washing the salad himself at the fountain, surrounded by all the laughing damsels of the hostel, who jeered him on every stage of his performance; and even May, whose eyes were red with crying after Clara, had to laugh at the disasters of his cookery and the blunders of his Italian. And then he gossiped about with landlords and postboys, till he knew of every one who had come or was coming; what carriages, full of Russian Princes, could not get forward for want of horses, and what vetturinos, full of English, had been robbed of everything. He had the latest intelligence about Garibaldi, and the names of the last six Sicilian Dukes shot by the King of Naples. Was he not up, too, in his John Murray, which he read whenever Mademoiselle Virginia was asleep, and sold out in retail at every change of post-horses?
Is it not strange that this is exactly the sort of person one needs on a journey, and yet is only by the merest accident to be chanced upon? We never forget the courier, nor the valet, nor the soubrette, but the really invaluable creature,—the man who learns the name of every village, the value of all coinage, the spot that yields good wine, the town where the peaches are fullest of flavor, or the roses richest in perfume; we leave him to be picked up at hazard, if picked up at all. It is an unaccountable prejudice that makes the parasite unpopular. For who is it that relieves life of much of its asperities,—who is it that provides so unceasingly that our capon should be well roasted and our temper unruffled,—who, like him, to secure all the available advantages of the road, and, when disasters will occur, to make them food for laughter?
How patient, how self-sacrificing, how deferential to caprices and indulgent to whims is the man whose daily dinner you pay for! If you would see humanity in holiday attire, look out for one like him. How blandly does he forgive the rascalities of your servants and the robberies of your tradesmen! No fretfulness about trifles disfigures the calm serenity of his features. He knows that if the travelling-carriage be thought heavy, it is only two leaders the more are required; if the wine be corked, it is but ordering another bottle. Look at life from his point of view, and it is surprising how little there is to complain of. It would be too much to say that there was not occasionally a little acting in all this catholic benevolence and universal satisfaction, but no more, perhaps, than the fervor of a lawyer for his client,—that nisi prius enthusiasm marked five guineas on the brief.
The Captain understood his part like an artist; and through all the condescending forgiveness he bestowed on the shortcomings of inns and innkeepers, he suffered, ever half imperceptibly, to peer out the habits of a man accustomed to the best of everything, who always had been sedulously served and admirably cared for. His indulgence was thus generosity, not ignorance, and all irritability in such a presence would stand rebuked at once.
Sir William declared he had never seen his equal,—such temper, such tact, such resources in difficulty, such patience under all trials. May pronounced him charming. He could obtain something eatable in the veriest desolation, he could extract a laugh out of disasters that seemed to defy drollery; and, lastly, Mrs. Morris herself averred “that he was unlike every old Indian she had ever seen, for he seemed not to know what selfishness meant,—but so, indeed, 'poor Penthony' had always described him.” And here she would wipe her eyes and turn away in silence.
As they rolled along the road, many a little scheme was devised for detaining him at Rome, many a little plot laid for making him pass the carnival with them. Little knew they the while, how, seated in the rumble close behind, he too revolved the self-same thoughts, asking himself by what means he could secure so pleasant a harbor of refuge. Will it not occasionally occur in life that some of those successes on which we pride ourselves have been in a measure prepared by others, and that the adversary has helped us to win the game we are so vain of having scored?
“Well, how do you like them?” said Mrs. Morris, as she smoked her cigarette at the end of the little garden at Viterbo, after Sir William and May had said good-night,—“how do you like them, pa?”
“They 're wonderful,—they 're wonderful!” said the Captain, puffing his weed. “It's a long time since I met anything so fresh as that old Baronet.”
“And with all that,” said she, “his great vanity is to think he knows 'the world.'”
“So he may, my dear. I can only say it is n't your world nor mine,” replied he, laughing.
“And yet there is a class in which such men as he are the clever ones, where their remarks are listened to and their observations treasured, and where old ladies in turbans and bird-of-paradise feathers pronounce them 'such well-informed men.' Isn't that the phrase, pa?”
“Yes, that's the phrase. An old article of the 'Quarterly' committed to memory, some of Dr. Somebody's predictions about the end of the world, and Solomon's proverbs done into modern English, make a very well-informed man.”
“And a most insupportable bore, besides. After all, papa,” said she, “it is in the landlocked creeks, the little waveless bays, that one must seek his anchorage, and not in the breezy roadsteads nor the open ocean. I've thought over the matter a good deal lately, and I believe that to be the wise choice.”
“You are right, Loo,” said he; “ease is the great thing,—ease and security! What settlement can he make?”
“A small one; just enough to live on. The son would be better in that respect, but then I should n't like it; and, besides, he would live as long as myself,—longer, perhaps,—and you know one likes to have a look forward, though it be ever so far away off.”
“Very true,—very true,” said he, with a mild sigh. “And this Miss Leslie,” added he, after a while; “she 'll marry, I suppose?”
“Oh yes; her fortune will still be considerable,—at least, I hope so. That man Trover has taken all the papers away with him, but he 'll turn up some day or other. At all events, there will be quite enough to get her a Roman Count or a Sicilian Duke; and as they are usually sent to the galleys or shot in a few years, the endurance is not prolonged. These are Trover's cigars, ain't they? I know them well.”
“Yes; it was your friend Stocmar filled my case yesterday.”
“Another of the would-be shrewd ones!” said she, laughing.
“I did n't fancy him much,” said he.
“Nor I, either; he is such a snob. Now, one can't live with a snob, though one may dine with him, smoke, flirt, ride, and chat with him. Is it not so?”
“Perfectly true.”
“Sir William is not snobbish. It is his one redeeming quality.”
“I see that. I remarked it the first day we met.”
“Oh dear! oh dear!” sighed she, drearily, “what a tame, poor, commonplace thing life becomes when it is reduced to English cookery for health, and respectability for morals! I could marry Stocmar if I pleased, papa.”
“Of course you could.”
“Or O'Shea,—'the O'Shea,'” said she, with a laugh. “How droll to be the she of that species! I could have him also.”
“Not also, but either, dear,” said the Captain, correcting her.
“I meant that, papa,” laughed she in, “though, perhaps—perhaps poor Mr. Ogden might n't see that your objection was called for.” And then they both laughed once more at the droll conceit. “We are to be married on some day before Lent,” said she, after a pause. “I must positively get an almanac, papa, or I shall make confusion in my dates.”
“The Lent begins late this year,” remarked he.
“Does it? So much the better, for there is much to be thought of. I trust to you for the settlements, papa. You will have to be inexorable on every stage of the proceedings; and as for me, I know nothing of business,—never did, never could.”
“But that is not exactly the character you have figured in here of late.”
“Oh, papa dear,” cried she, “do you imagine, if reason or judgment were to be invoked, that Sir William would ever marry me? Is it not because he is blind to every inconsistency and every contradiction that the poor man has decided on this step?”
“Where do you mean to live? Have you any plans on that score?”
“None, except where there are fewest English; the smallest possible population of red whiskers and red petticoats, and the least admixture of bad tongues and Balmoral boots. If we cannot find such a spot, then a city,—a large city, where people have too many resources to be obliged to amuse themselves with scandal.”
“That's true; I have always remarked that where the markets were good, and fish especially abundant, people were less censorious. In small localities, where one eats kid every day, the tendency to tear your neighbor becomes irresistible. I 'm convinced that the bad tongue of boarding-house people may be ascribed to the bad diet.”
“Perfectly true, papa; and when you dine with us, you shall have no excuse for malevolence. There,” said she, throwing away the end of her cigar, “I can't afford to light another one this evening, I have got so few of those delicious Cubans. Oh dear,” sighed she, “what a strange destiny is mine! Whenever I enter the marriage state, it must always be with a connection where there are no small vices, and I fond of them!”
And so saying, she drew her shawl around her, and strolled lazily towards the house, while the Captain, selecting another cheroot, sat himself down in a snug spot in the arbor to muse, and meditate, and moralize after his fashion. Had any one been there to mark him as he gazed upwards at the starry sky, he might readily have deemed him one lost in heavenly contemplation, deep in that speculative wisdom that leaves the frontier of this narrow life far, far behind, and soars to realms nobler, vaster, grander. But not so were his thoughts; they were earthy of the earthiest, craft and subtlety crossed and recrossed them, and in all their complex web not one chord was to be found which could vibrate with an honest wish or a generous aspiration. There was not, nevertheless, a ruddier complexion, a brighter eye, a merrier voice, or a better digestion than his in Christendom.