The Dodd Family Abroad, Vol. II

You already know something of our habits of life abroad, – wasteful and extravagant beyond all the pretensions of our fortune. It was a difficult thing for me to carry on the semblance of our assumed position so as not to throw discredit upon my family, and at the same time avoid the dis-ingenuousness of such a part. The struggle, from which I saw no escape, was too much for me, and I determined to leave the Morrises and return home, – to leave a house wherein I already had acquired the first steps of the right road in life, and go back to dissipations in which I felt no pleasure, and gayeties that never enlivened! I did not tell you all this at the time, my dear friend, partly because I had not the courage for it, and partly that the avowal might seem to throw a reproach on those whom my affection should shield from even a criticism. If I speak of it now, it is because, happily, the theme is one hourly discussed amongst us in all the candor of true frankness. We have no longer concealments, and we are happy.

It may have been that the abruptness of my departure offended Captain Morris, or, possibly, some other cause produced the estrangement; but, assuredly, he no longer cultivated the intimacy he had once seemed so ardently to desire, and, until the event of mamma's misfortune here, he ceased to visit us.

And now came the interview I have alluded to! Oh, my dearest friend, if there be a moment in life which combines within it the most exquisite delight with the most torturing agony, it is that in which an affection is sought for by one who, immeasurably above us in all the gifts of fortune, still seems to feel that there is a presumption in his demand, and that his appeal may be rejected. I know not how to speak of that conflict between pride and shame, between the ecstasy of conquest and the innate sense of the unworthiness that had won the victory!

Sir Penrhyn thought, or fancied he thought, me fond of display and splendor, – that in conforming to the quiet habits of his mother's house, I was only submitting with a good grace to privations. I undeceived him at once. I confessed, not without some shame, that I was in a manner unsuited to the details of an exalted station, – that wealth and its accompaniments would, in reality, be rather burdens than pleasure to one whose tastes were humble as my own, – that, in fact, I was so little of a "Grande Dame" that I should inevitably break down in the part, and that no appliances of mere riches could repay for the onerous duties of dispensing them.

"In so much," interrupted he, with a half-smile, "that you would prefer a poor man to a rich one?"

"If you mean," said I, "a poor man who felt no shame in his poverty, in comparison with a rich man who felt his pride in his wealth, I say, Yes."

"Then what say you to one who has passed through both ordeals," said he, "and only asks that you should share either with him to make him happy?"

I have no need to tell you my answer. It satisfied him, and made mine the happiest heart in the world. And now we are to be married, dearest, in a fortnight or three weeks, – as soon, in fact, as maybe; and then we are to take a short tour to Rome and Naples, where Sir Penrhyn's yacht is to meet us; after which we visit Malta, coast along Spain, and home. Home sounds delightfully when it means all that one's fondest fancies can weave of country, of domestic happiness, of duties heartily entered on, and of affections well repaid.

Penrhyn is very splendid; the castle is of feudal antiquity, and the grounds are princely in extent and beauty. Sir Morris is justly proud of his ancestral possessions, and longs to show me its stately magnificence; but still more do I long for the moment when my dear Miss Cox will be my guest, and take up her quarters in a certain little room that opens on a terraced garden overlooking the sea. I fixed on the spot the very instant I saw a drawing of the castle, and I am certain you will not find it in your heart to refuse me what will thus make up the perfect measure of my happiness.

In all the selfishness of my joy, I have forgotten to tell you of Florence; but, in truth, it would require a calmer head than mine to talk of galleries and works of art while my thoughts are running on the bright realities of my condition. It is true we go everywhere and see everything, but I am in such a humor to be pleased that I am delighted with all, and can be critical to nothing. I half suspect that art, as art, is a source of pleasure to a very few. I mean that the number is a limited one which can enter into all the minute excellences of a great work, appreciate justly the difficulties overcome, and value deservingly the real triumph accomplished. For myself, I know and feel that painting has its greatest charm for me in its power of suggestiveness, and, consequently, the subject is often of more consequence than the treatment of it; not that I am cold to the chaste loveliness of a Raphael, or indifferent to the gorgeous beauty of a Giordano. They appeal to me, however, in somewhat the same way, and my mind at once sets to work upon an ideal character of the creation before me. That this same admiration of mine is a very humble effort at appreciating artistic excellence, I want no better proof than the fact that it is exactly what Betty Cobb herself felt on being shown the pictures in "the Pitti." Her honest worship of a Madonna at once invested her with every attribute of goodness, and the painter, could he only have heard the praises she uttered, might have revelled in the triumph of an art that can rise above the mere delineation of external beauty. That the appeal to her own heart was direct, was evidenced by her constant reference to some living resemblance to the picture before her. Now it was a saintly hermit by Caracci, – that was the image of Peter Delany at the cross-roads; now it was a Judas, – that was like Tom Noon of the turnpike; and now it was a lovely head by Titian, – the "very moral of Miss Kitty Doolan, when her hair was down about her." I am certain, my dearest Miss Cox, that the delight conveyed by painting and music is a much more natural pleasure than that derived from the enjoyment of imaginary composition by writing. The appeal is not alone direct, but it is in a manner the same to all, – to the highest king upon the throne, and to the lowly peasant, as in meek wonder he stands entranced and enraptured.

But why do I loiter within doors when it is of Florence itself, of its sunny Arno, of its cypress-crowned San Miniato, and of the villa-clad Fiezole I would tell you! But even these are so interwoven with the frame of mind in which I now enjoy them, that to speak of them would be again to revert to my selfishness.

Yesterday we made an excursion to Vallambrosa, which lies in a cleft between two lofty mountains, about thirteen miles from this. It was a strange transition from the warm air and sunny streets of Florence, with all their objects of artistic wonder on every side, to find one's self suddenly traversing a wild mountain gorge in a rude bullock-cart, guided by a peasant of semi-savage aspect, his sheepskin mantle and long ox-goad giving a picturesque air to his tall and sinewy figure. The snow lay heavily in all the crevices around, and it was a perfectly Alpine scene in its desolation; nor, I must say, did it recall a single one of the ideas with which our great poet has associated it. The thickly strewn leaves have no existence here, since the trees are not deciduous, and consist entirely of pines.

A straight avenue in the forest leads to the convent, which is of immense size, forming a great quadrangle. At a little distance off, sheltered by a thick grove of tall pines, stands a small building appropriated to the accommodation of strangers, who are the guests of the monks for any period short of three days, and by a special permission for even a longer time.

We passed the day and the night there, and I would willingly have lingered still longer. From the mountain peak above the convent the two seas at either side of the peninsula are visible, and the Gulf of Genoa and the Adriatic are stretched out at your feet, with the vast plain of Central Italy, dotted over with cities, every name of which is a spell to memory! Thence back to Florence, and all that gay world that seemed so small to the eye the day before! And now, dearest Miss Cox, let me conclude, ere my own littleness become more apparent; for here I am, tossing over laces and embroidery, gazing with rapture at brooches and bracelets, and actually fancying how captivating I shall be when apparelled in all this finery. It would be mere deceitfulness in me were I to tell you that I am not charmed with the splendor that surrounds me. Let me only hope that it may not corrupt that heart which at no time was more entirely your own than while I write myself yours affectionately,

Caroline Dodd.

LETTER XXXII. KENNY JAMES DODD TO THOMAS PURCELL, ESQ., OF THE GRANGE,

BRUFF

Florence.

Well, my dear Tom, my task is at last completed, – my magnum opus accomplished. I have carried all my measures, if not with triumphant majorities, at least with a "good working party," as the slang has it, and I stand proudly pre-eminent the head of the Dodd Administration. I have no patience for details. I like better to tell you the results in some striking paragraph, to be headed "Latest Intelligence," and to run thus: "Our last advices inform us that, notwithstanding the intrigues in the Cabinet, K. I. maintains his ascendency. We have no official intelligence of the fact, but all the authorities concur in believing that the Dodds are about to leave the Continent and return to Ireland."

Ay, Tom, that is the grand and comprehensive measure of family reform I have so long labored over, and at length have the proud gratification to see Law!

I find, on looking back, that I left off on my being sent for by Belton. I 'll try and take up one of the threads of my tangled narrative at that point. I found him at his hotel in conversation with a very smartly dressed, well-whiskered, kid-gloved little man, whom he presented as "Mr. Curl Davis, of Lincoln's Inn." Mr. D. was giving a rather pleasant account of the casualties of his first trip to Italy when I entered, but immediately stopped, and seemed to think that the hour of business should usurp the time of mere amusement.

Belton soon informed me why, by telling me that Mr. C. D. was a London collector who transacted the foreign affairs for various discounting houses at home, and who held a roving commission to worry, harass, and torment all such and sundry as might have drawn, signed, or endorsed bills, either for their own accommodation or that of their friends.

Now, I had not the most remote notion how I should come to figure in this category. I knew well that you had "taken care of" – that's the word – all my little missives in that fashion. So persuaded was I of my sincerity that I offered him at once a small wager that he had mistaken his man, and that it was, in fact, some other Dodd, bent on bringing our honorable name to shame and disgrace.

"It must, under these circumstances, then," said he, "be a very gross case of forgery, for the name is yours; nor can I discover any other with the same Christian names." So saying, he produced a pocket-book, like a family Bible, and drew from out a small partition of it a bill for five hundred pounds, at nine months, drawn and endorsed by me in favor of the Hon. Augustus Gore Hampton!

This precious document had now about fifty-two hours some odd minutes to run. In other words, it was a crocodile's egg with the shell already bursting, and the reptile's head prepared to spring out.

"The writing, if not yours, is an admirable imitation," said Davis, surveying it through his double eye-glass.

"Is it yours?" asked Belton.

"Yes," said I, with a great effort to behave like an ancient Roman.

"Ah, then, it is all correct," said Davis, smirking. "I am charmed to find that the case presents no difficulty whatsoever."

"I 'm not quite so certain of that, sir," said I; "I take a very different view of the transaction."

"Don't be alarmed, Mr. Dodd," said he, coaxingly, "we are not Shylocks. We will meet your convenience in any way; in fact, it is with that sole object I have come out from England. 'Don't negotiate it,' said Mr. Gore Hampton to me,' if you can possibly help it; see Mr. D. himself, ask what arrangement will best suit him, take half the amount in cash, and renew the bill at three months, rather than push him to an inconvenience.' I assure you these were his own words, for there is n't a more generous fellow breathing than Gore." Mr. Davis uttered this with a kind of hearty expansiveness, as though to say, "The man 's my friend, and let me see who 'll gainsay me."

"Am I at liberty to inquire into the circumstances of this transaction?" said Belton, who had been for some minutes attentively examining the bill, and the several names upon it, and comparing the writing with some other that he held in his hand.

I half scrupled to say "Yes" to this request, Tom. If there be anything particularly painful in shame above all others, it is for an old fellow to come to confession of his follies to a young one. It reverses their relative stations to each other so fatally that they never can stand rightly again. He saw this, or he seemed to see it, in a second, by my hesitation, for, quickly turning to Mr. Davis, he said, "Our meeting here is a most opportune one, as you will perceive by this paper," – giving him a letter as he spoke. Although I paid little attention to these words, I was soon struck by the change that had come over Mr. Davis. The fresh and rosy cheek was now blanched, the easy smile had departed, and a look of terror and dismay was exhibited in its place.

"Now, sir," said Belton, folding up the document, "you see I have been very frank with you. The charges contained in that letter I am in a position to prove. The Earl of Darewood has placed all the papers in my hands, and given me full permission as to how I shall employ them. Mr. Dodd," said he, addressing me, "if I am not at liberty to ask you the history of that bill, there is at least nothing to prevent my informing you that all the names upon it are those of men banded together for purposes of fraud."

"Take care what you say, sir," said Davis, affecting to write down his words, but in his confusion unable to form a letter.

"I shall accept your caution as it deserves," said Belton, "and say that they are a party of professional swindlers, – men who cheat at play, intimidate for money, and even commit forgery for it."

Davis moved towards the door, but Belton anticipated him, and he sat down again without a word.

"Now, Mr. Davis," said he, calmly, "it is left entirely to my discretion in what way I am to proceed with respect to one of the parties to these frauds." As he got thus far, the waiter entered, and presented a visiting-card, on which Belton said, "Yes, show him upstairs;" and the next minute Lord George Tiverton made his appearance. He was already in the middle of the room ere he perceived me, and for the first time in my life I saw signs of embarrassment and shame on his impassive features.

"They told me you were alone, Mr. Belton," said he, angrily, and as if about to retire.

"For all the purposes you have come upon, my Lord, it is the same as though I were."

"Is it blown, then?" asked his Lordship of Davis; and the other replied with an almost imperceptible nod. Muttering what sounded like a curse, Tiverton threw himself into a chair, drawing his hat, which he still wore, more deeply over his eyes.

I assure you, Tom, that so overwhelmed was I by this distressing scene, – for, say what you will, there is nothing so distressing as to see the man with whom you have lived in intimacy, if not actual friendship, suddenly displayed in all the glaring colors of scoundrelism. You feel yourself so humiliated before such a spectacle, that the sense of shame becomes like an atmosphere around you; I actually heard nothing, – I saw nothing. A scene of angry discussion ensued between Belton and the lawyer – Tiverton never uttered a word – of which I caught not one syllable. I could only mark, at last, that Belton had gained the upper hand, and in the other's subdued manner and submissive tone defeat was plainly written.

"Will Mr. Dodd deny his liability?" cried out Davis; and though, I suppose, he must have said the words many times over, I could not bring myself to suppose they were addressed to me.

"I shall not ask him that question." said Belton, "but you may."

"Hang it, Curl! you know it was a 'plant,'" said Tiverton, who was now smoking a cigar as coolly as possible. "What's the use of pushing them further? We 've lost the game, man!"

"Just so, my Lord," said Belton; "and notwithstanding all his pretended boldness, nobody is more aware of that fact than Mr. Curl Davis, and the sooner he adopts your Lordship's frankness the quicker will this affair be settled."

Belton and the lawyer conversed eagerly together in half-whispers. I could only overhear a stray word or two; but they were enough to show me that Davis was pressing for some kind of a compromise, to which the other would not accede, and the terms of which came down successively from five hundred pounds to three, two, one, and at last fifty.

"No, nor five, sir, – not five shillings in such a cause!" said Belton, determinedly. "I should feel it an indelible disgrace upon me forever to concede one farthing to a scheme so base and contemptible. Take my word for it, to escape exposure in such a case is no slight immunity."

Davis still demurred, but it was rather with the disciplined resistance of a well-trained rascal than with the ardor of a strong conviction.

The altercation – for it was such – interested me wonderfully little, my attention being entirely bestowed on Tiverton, who had now lighted his third cigar, which he was smoking away vigorously, never once bestowing a look towards me, nor in any way seeming to recognize my presence. A sudden pause in the discussion attracted me, and I saw that Mr. Davis was handing over several papers, which, to my practical eye, resembled bills, to Belton, who carefully perused each of them in turn before enclosing them in his pocket-book.

"Now, my Lord, I am at your service," said Belton; "but I presume our interview may as well be without witnesses."

"I should like to have Davis here," replied Tiverton, languidly; "seeing how you have bullied him only satisfies me how little chance I shall have with you."

Not waiting to hear an answer to this speech, I arose and took my hat, and pressing Belton's hand cordially as I asked him to dinner for that day, I hurried out of the room. Not, however, without his having time to whisper to me, —

"That affair is all arranged, – have no further uneasiness on the subject."

I was in the street in the midst of the moving, bustling population, with all the life, din, and turmoil of a great city around me, and yet I stood confounded and overwhelmed by what I had just witnessed. "And this," said I, at last, "is the way the business of the world goes on, – robbery, cheating, intimidation, and overreaching are the politenesses men reciprocate with each other!" Ah, Tom, with what scanty justice we regard our poor hard-working, half-starved, and ragged people, when men of rank, station, and refinement are such culprits as this! Nor could I help confessing that if I had passed my life at home, in my own country, such an instance as I had just seen had, in all likelihood, never occurred to me. The truth is that there is a simplicity in the life of poor countries that almost excludes such a craft as that of a swindler. Society must be a complex and intricate machinery where they are to thrive. There must be all the thousand requirements that are begotten of a pampered and luxurious civilization, and all the faults and frailties that grow out of these. Your well-bred scoundrel trades upon the follies, the weaknesses, the foibles, rather than the vices of the world, and his richest harvest lies amongst those who have ambitions above their station, and pretensions unsuited to their property, – in one word, to the "Dodds of this world, whether they issue from Tipperary or Yorkshire, whether their tongue betray the Celt or the Saxon!"

I grew very moral on this theme as I walked along, and actually found myself at my own door before I knew where I was. I discovered that Morris and his mother had been visiting Mrs. D. in my absence, and that the interview had passed off satisfactorily Cary's bright and cheery looks sufficiently assured me. Perhaps she was "not i' the vein," or perhaps she was awed by the presence of real wealth and fortune, but I was glad to find that Mrs. D. scarcely more than alluded to the splendors of Dodsborough; nor did she bring in the M'Carthys more than four times during their stay. This is encouraging, Tom; and who knows but in time we may be able to "lay this family," and live without the terrors of their resurrection!

The Morrises are to dine with us, and I only trust that we shall not give them a "taste of our quality" in high living, for I have just caught sight of a fellow with a white cap going into Mrs. D.'s dressing-room, and the preparations are evidently considerable. Here 's Mary Anne saying she has something of consequence to impart to me, and so, for the present, farewell.

The murder is out, Tom, and all the mystery of Morris's missing letter made clear. Mrs. D. received it during my illness at Genoa, and finding it to be a proposal of marriage to Cary, took it upon her to write an indignant refusal.

Mary Anne has just confessed the whole to me in strict secrecy, frankly owning that she herself was the great culprit on the occasion, and that the terms of the reply were actually dictated by her. She said that her present avowal was made less in reparation for her misconduct – which she owned to be inexcusable – than as an obligation she felt under to requite the admirable behavior of Morris, who by this time must have surmised what had occurred, and whose gentlemanlike feeling recoiled from vindicating himself at the cost of family disunion and exposure.

I tell you frankly, Tom, that Mary Anne's own candor, the honest, straightforward way in which she told me the whole incident, amply repays me for all the annoyance it occasioned. Her conduct now assures me that, notwithstanding all the corrupting influences of our life abroad, the girl's generous nature has still survived, and may yet, with good care, be trained up to high deservings. Of course she enjoined me to secrecy; but even had she not done so, I 'd have respected her confidence. I am scarcely less pleased with Morris, whose delicacy is no bad guarantee for the future; so that for once, at least, my dear Tom, you find me in good humor with all the world, nor is it my own fault if I be not oftener so! You may smile, Tom, at my self-flattery; but I repeat it. All my philosophy of life has been to submit with a good grace, and make the best of everything, – to think as well of everybody as they would permit me to do; and when, as will happen, events went cross-grain, and all fell out "wrong," I was quite ready to "forget my own griefs, and be happy with you." And now to dinner, Tom, where I mean to drink your health!

It is all settled; though I have no doubt, after so many "false starts," you 'll still expect to hear a contradiction to this in my next letter; but you may believe me this time, Tom. Cary is to be married on Saturday; and that you may have stronger confidence in my words, I beg to assure you that I have not bestowed on her, as her marriage portion, either imaginary estates or mock domains. She is neither to be thought an Irish princess en retraite, nor to be the proud possessor of the "M'Carthy diamonds." In a word, Tom, we have contrived, by some good luck, to conduct the whole of this negotiation without involving ourselves in a labyrinth of lies, and the consequence has been a very wide-spread happiness and contentment.

Morris improves every hour on nearer acquaintance; and even Mrs. D. acknowledges that when "his shyness rubs off, he 'll be downright agreeable and amusing." Now, that same shyness is very little more than the constitutional coldness of his country, more palpable when contrasted with the over-warmth of ours. It never does rub off, Tom, which, unfortunately, our cordiality occasionally does; and hence the praise bestowed on the constancy of one country, and the censure on the changeability of the other. But this is no time for such dissertations, nor is my head in a condition to follow them out.