A Day's Ride: A Life's Romance

Here was the whole mystery revealed, and I was no less a person than a royal prince, – very like my mother, but neither so tall nor robust as my distinguished father! “Oh, Potts! in all the wildest ravings of your most florid moments you never arrived at this!”

A very strange thrill went through me as I finished this paragraph. It came this wise. There is, in one of Hoffman’s tales, the story of a man who, in a compact with the Fiend, acquired the power of personating whomsoever he pleased, but who, sated at last with the enjoyment of this privilege, and eager for a new sensation, determined he would try whether the part of the Devil himself might not be amusing. Apparently Mephistopheles won’t stand joking, for he resented the liberty by depriving the transgressor of his identity forever, and made him become each instant whatever character occurred to the mind of him he talked to.

Though the parallel scarcely applied, the very thought of it sent an aguish thrill through me, – a terror so great and acute that it was very long before I could turn the medal round and read it on the reverse. There, indeed, was matter for vainglory! “It was but t’other day,” thought I, “and Lord Keldrum and his friends fancied I was their intimate acquaintance, Jack Burgoyne; and though they soon found out the mistake, the error led to an invitation to dinner, a delightful evening, and, alas! that I should own, a variety of consequences, some of which proved less delightful. Now, however, Fortune is in a more amiable mood; she will have it that I resemble a prince. It is a project which I neither aid nor abet; but I am not childish enough to refuse the rôle any more than I should spoil the Christmas revelries of a country-house by declining a part in a tableau or in private theatricals. I say, in the one case as in the other, ‘Here is Potts! make of him what you will. Never is he happier than by affording pleasure to his friends.’ To what end, I would ask, should I rob that old lady upstairs at No. 12, evidently a widow, and with not too many enjoyments to solace her old age, – why should I rob her of what she herself called the proudest episode in her life? Are not, as the moralists tell us, all our joys fleeting? Why, then, object to this one that it may only last for a few days? Let us suppose it only to endure throughout our journey, and the poor old soul will be so happy, never caring for the fatignes of the road, never fretting about the inn-keepers* charges, but delighted to know that his Royal Highness enjoys himself, and sits over his bottle of Chambertin every evening in the garden, apparently as devoid of care as though he were a bagman.”

I cannot say how it may be with others, but, for myself, I have always experienced an immense sense of relief, actual repose, whenever I personated somebody else; I felt as though I had left the man Potts at home to rest and refresh himself, and took an airing as another gentleman; just as I might have spared my own paletot by putting on a friend’s coat in a thunderstorm. Now I did wish for a little repose, I felt it would be good for me. As to the special part allotted me, I took it just as an obliging actor plays Hamlet or the Cock to convenience the manager. Mrs. Keats likes it, and, I repeat, I do not object to it.

It was evident that the old lady was not going to communicate her secret to her companion, and this was a great source of satisfaction to me. Whatever delusions I threw around Miss Herbert I intended should be lasting. The traits in which I would invest myself to her eyes, my personal prowess, coolness in danger, skill in all manly exercises, together with a large range of general gifts and acquirements, I meant to accompany me through all time; and I am a sufficient believer in magnetism to feel assured that by imposing upon her I should go no small part of the road to deceiving myself, and that the first step in any gift is to suppose you are eminently suited to it, is a well-known and readily acknowledged maxim. Women grow pretty from looking in the glass; why should not men grow brave from constantly contemplating their own courage?

“Yes, Potts, be a Prince, and see how it will agree with you!”

CHAPTER XXI. HOW I PLAY THE PRINCE

Mrs. Keats came down, and our dinner that day was somewhat formal. I don’t think any of ns felt quite at ease, and, for my own part, it was a relief to me when the old lady asked my leave to retire after her coffee. “If you should feel lonely, sir, and if Miss Herbert’s company would prove agreeable – ”

“Yes,” said I, languidly, “that young person will find me in the garden.” And therewith I gave my orders for a small table under a great weeping-ash, and the usual accompaniment of my after-dinner hours, a cool flask of Chambertin. I had time to drink more than two-thirds of my Burgundy before Miss Herbert appeared. It was not that the hour hung heavily on me, or that I was not in a mood of considerable enjoyment, but somehow I was beginning to feel chafed and impatient at her long delay. Could she possibly have remonstrated against the impropriety of being left alone with a young man? Had she heard, by any mischance, that impertinent phrase by which I designated her? Had Mrs. Keats herself resented the cool style of my permission by a counter-order? “I wish I knew what detains her!” cried I to myself, just as I heard her step on the gravel, and then saw her coming, in very leisurely fashion, up the walk.

Determined to display an indifference the equal of her own, I waited till she was almost close; and then, rising languidly, I offered her a chair with a superb air of Brummelism, while I listlessly said, “Won’t you take a seat?”

It was growing duskish, but I fancied I saw a smile on her lip as she sat down.

“May I offer you a glass of wine or a cigar?” said I, carelessly.

“Neither, thank you,” said she, with gravity.

“Almost all women of fashion smoke nowadays,” I resumed. “The Empress of the French smokes this sort of thing here; and the Queen of Bavaria smokes and chews.”

She seemed rebuked at this, and said nothing.

“As for myself,” said I, “I am nothing without tobacco, – positively nothing. I remember one night, – it was the fourth sitting of the Congress at Paris, that Sardinian fellow, you know his name, came to me and said, —

“‘There’s that confounded question of the Danubian Provinces coming on to-morrow, and Gortschakoff is the only one who knows anything about it. Where are we to get at anything like information?’

“‘When do you want it, Count?’ said I.

“‘To-morrow, by eleven at latest There must be, at least, a couple of hours to study it before the Congress meets.’

“‘Tell them to bring in ten candles, fifty cigars, and two quires of foolscap,’ said I, ‘and let no one pass this door till I ring.’ At ten minutes to eleven next morning he had in his hands that memoir which Lord C. said embodied the prophetic wisdom of Edmund Burke with the practical statesmanship of the great Commoner. Perhaps you have read it?”

“No, sir.”

“Your tastes do not probably incline to affairs of state. If so, only suggest what you ‘d like to talk on. I am indifferently skilled in most subjects. Are you for the poets? I am ready, from Dante to the Biglow Papers. Shall it be arts? I know the whole thing from Memmling and his long-nosed saints, to Leech and the Punctuate. Make it antiquities, agriculture, trade, dress, the drama, conchology, or cock-fighting, – I’m your man; so go in; and don’t be afraid that you ‘ll disconcert me.”

“I assure you, sir, that my fears would attach far more naturally to my own insufficiency.”

“Well,” said I, after a pause, “there’s something in that Macaulay used to be afraid of me. Whenever Mrs. Montagu Stanhope asked him to one of her Wednesday dinners, he always declined if I was to be there. You don’t seem surprised at that?”

“No, sir,” said she, in the same quiet, grave fashion.

“What’s the reason, young lady,” said I, somewhat sternly, “that you persist in saying ‘sir’ on every occasion that you address me? The ease of that intercourse that should subsist between us is marred by this Americanism. The pleasant interchange of thought loses the charming feature of equality. How is this?”

“I am not at liberty to say, sir.”

“You are not at liberty to say, young lady?” said I, severely. “You tell me distinctly that your manner towards me is based upon a something which you must not reveal?”

“I am sure, sir, you have too much generosity to press me on a subject of which I cannot, or ought not to speak.”

That fatal Burgundy had got into my brains, while the princely delusion was uppermost; and if I had been submitted to the thumbscrew now, I would have died one of the Orleans family.

“Mademoiselle,” said I, grandly, “I have been fortunately, or unfortunately, brought up in a class that never tolerates contradiction. When we ask, we feel that we order.”

“Oh, sir, if you but knew the difficulty I am in – ”

“Take courage, my dear creature,” said I, blending condescension with something warmer. “You will at least be reposing your confidence where it will be worthily bestowed.”

“But I have promised – not exactly promised; but Mrs. Keats enjoined me imperatively not to betray what she revealed to me.”

“Gracious Powers!” cried I, “she has not surely communicated my secret, – she has not told you who I am?”

“No, sir, I assure you most solemnly that she has not; but being annoyed by what she remarked as the freedom of my manner towards you at dinner, the readiness with which I replied to your remarks, and what she deemed the want of deference I displayed for them, she took me to task this evening, and, without intending it, even before she knew, dropped certain expressions which showed me that you were one of the very highest in rank, though it was your pleasure to travel for the moment in this obscurity and disguise.”

She quickly perceived the indiscretion she had committed, and said, “Now, Miss Herbert, that an accident has put you in possession of certain circumstances, which I had neither the will nor the right to reveal, will you do me the inestimable favor to employ this knowledge in such a way as may not compromise me?’ I told her, of course, that I would; and having remarked how she occasionally – inadvertently, perhaps – used 'sir’ in addressing you, I deemed the imitation a safe one, while it as constantly acted as a sort of monitor over myself to repress any relapse into familiarity.”

“I am very sorry for all this,” said I, taking her hand in mine, and employing my most insinuating of manners towards her. “As it is more than doubtful that I shall ever resume the station that once pertained to me; as, in fact, it may be my fortune to occupy for the rest of life an humble and lowly condition, my ambition would have been to draw towards me in that modest station such sympathies and affections as might attach to one so circumstanced. My plan was to assume an obscure name, seek out some unfrequented spot, and there, with the love of one – one only – solve the great problem, whether happiness is not as much the denizen of the thatched cottage as of the gilded palace. The first requirement of my scheme was that my secret should be in my own keeping. One can steel his own heart against vain regrets and longings; but one cannot secure himself against the influence of those sympathies which come from without, the unwise promptings of zealous followers, the hopes and wishes of those who read your submission as mere apathy.”

I paused and sighed; she sighed, too, and there was a silence between us.

“Must she not feel very happy and very proud,” thought I, “to be sitting there on the same bench with a prince, her hand in his, and he pouring out all his confidence in her ear? I cannot fancy a situation more full of interest.”

“After all, sir,” said she, calmly, “remember that Mrs. I Keats alone knows your secret. I have not the vaguest suspicion of it.”

“And yet,” said I, tenderly, “it is to you I would confide it; it is in your keeping I would wish to leave it; it is from you I would ask counsel as to my future.”

“Surely, sir, it is not to such inexperience as mine you would address yourself in a difficulty?”

“The plan I would carry out demands none of that crafty argument called 'knowing the world.’ All that acquaintance with the byplay of life, its conventionalities and exactions, would be sadly out of place in an Alpine village, or a Tyrolese Dorf, where I mean to pitch my tent. Do you not think that your interest might be persuaded to track me so far?”

“Oh, sir, I shall never cease to follow your steps with the deepest anxiety.”

“Would it not be possible for me to secure a lease of that sympathy?”

“Can you tell me what o’clock it is, sir?” said she, very gravely.

“Yes,” said I, rather put out by so sudden a diversion; “it is a few minutes after nine.”

“Pray excuse my leaving you, sir, but Mrs. Keats takes her tea at nine, and will expect me.”

And, with a very respectful courtesy, she withdrew, before I could recover my astonishment at this abrupt departure.

“I trust that my Royal Highness said nothing indiscreet,” muttered I to myself; “though, upon my life, this hasty exit would seem to imply it.”

CHAPTER XXII. INCIDENTS OF THE SECOND DAY’S JOURNEY

We continued our journey the next morning, but it was not without considerable difficulty that I succeeded in maintaining my former place in the cabriolet. That stupid old woman fancied that princes were born to be bored, and suggested accordingly that I should travel inside with her, leaving the macaw and the toy terriers to keep company with Miss Herbert. It was only by insisting on an outside place as a measure of health that I at last prevailed, telling her that Dr. Corvisart was peremptory on two points regarding me. “Let him,” said he, “have abundance of fresh air, and never be without some young companion.”

And so we were again in our little leathern tent, high up in the fresh breezy atmosphere, above dusty roads, and with a glorious view over that lovely country that forms the approach to the Black Forest. The road was hilly, and the carriage-way a heavy one; but we had six horses, who trotted along briskly, shaking their merry bells, and flourishing their scarlet tassels, while the postilions cracked their whips or broke out into occasional bugle performances, principally intended to announce to the passing peasants that we were very great folk, and well able to pay for all the noise we required.

I was not ashamed to confess my enjoyment in thus whirling along at some ten miles the hour, remembering how that great sage Dr. Johnson had confessed to a like pleasure, and, animated by the inspiriting air and the lovely landscape, could not help asking Miss Herbert if she did not feel it “very jolly.”

She assented with a sort of constrained courtesy that by no means responded to the warmth of my own sensations, and I felt vexed and chafed accordingly.

“Perhaps you prefer travelling inside?” said I, with some pique.

“No, sir.”

“Perhaps you dislike travelling altogether?”

“No, sir.”

“Perhaps – ” But I checked myself, and with a somewhat stiff air, I said, “Would you like a book?”

“If it would not be rude to read, sir, while you – ”

“Oh, not at all, never mind me, I have more than enough to think of. Here are some things by Dumas, and Paul Féval, and some guide-book trash.” And with that I handed her several volumes, and sank back into my corner in sulky isolation.

Here was a change! Ten minutes ago all Nature smiled on me; from the lark in the high heavens to the chirping grasshopper in the tall maize-field, it was one song of joy and gladness. The very clouds as they swept past threw new and varied light over the scene, as though to show fresh effects of beauty on the landscape, – the streams went by in circling eddies, like smiles upon a lovely face, – and now all was sad and crape-covered! “What has wrought this dreary change?” thought I; “is it possible that the cold looks of a young woman, good-looking, I grant, but no regular downright beauty after all, can have altered the aspect of the whole world to you? Are you so poor a creature in yourself, Potts, so beggared in your own resources, so barren in all the appliances of thought and reflection, that if your companion, whoever she or he may be, sulk, you must needs reflect the humor? Are you nothing but the mirror that displays what is placed before it?”

I set myself deliberately to scan the profile beside me; her black veil, drawn down on the side furthest from me, formed a sort of background, which displayed her pale features more distinctly. All about the brow and orbit was beautifully regular, but the mouth was, I fancied, severe; there was a slight retraction of the upper lip that seemed to imply over-firmness, and then the chin was deeply indented, – “a sign,” Lavater says, “of those who have a will of their own.” “Potts,” thought I, “she ‘d rule you, – that’s a nature would speedily master yours. I don’t think there’s any softness either, any of that yielding gentleness there, that makes the poetry of womanhood; besides, I suspect she’s worldly, – those sharply cut nostrils are very worldly! She is, in fact,” – and here I unconsciously uttered my thoughts aloud, – “she is, in fact, one to say, ‘Potts, how much have you got a-year? Let us have it in figures.’”

“So you are still ruminating over the life of that interesting creature,” said she, laying down her book to laugh; “and shall I confess, I lay awake half the night, inventing incidents and imagining situations for him.”

“For whom?” said I, innocently.

“For Potts, of course. I cannot get him out of my head such as I first fancied he might be, and I see now, by your unconscious allusion to him, that he has his place in your imagination also.”

“You mistake, Miss Herbert, – at least you very much misapprehend my conception of that character. The Potts family has a high historic tradition. Sir Constantine Potts was cup-bearer to Henry H., and I really see no reason why ridicule should attach to one who may be, most probably, his descendant.”

“I ‘m very sorry, sir, if I should have dared to differ with you; but when I heard the name first, and in connection with two such names as Algernon Sydney, and when I thought by what strange accident did they ever meet in the one person – ”

“You are very young, Miss Herbert, and therefore not removed from the category of the teachable,” said I, with a grand didactic look. “Let me guard you, therefore, against the levity of chance inferences. What would you say if a person named Potts were to make the offer of his hand? I mean, if he were a man in all respects acceptable, a gentleman captivating in manner and address, agreeable in person, graceful and accomplished, – what would you reply to his advances?”

“Really, sir, I am shocked to think of the humble opinion I may be conveying of my sense and judgment, but I’m afraid I should tell him it is impossible I could ever permit myself to be called Mrs. Potts.”

“But, in Heaven’s name, why? – I ask you why?”

“Oh, sir! don’t be angry with me; it surely does not deserve such a penalty; at the worst, it is a mere caprice on my part.”

“I am not angry, young lady, I am simply provoked; I am annoyed to think that a prejudice so unworthy of you should exercise such a control over your judgment.”

“I am quite ashamed, sir, to have been the occasion of so much displeasure to you. I hope and trust you will ascribe it to my ignorance of life and the world.”

“If you are dissatisfied with yourself, Miss Herbert, I have no more to say,” said I, taking up a book, and pretending to read, while I felt such a disgust with myself that if I had n’t been strapped up with a leather apron up to my chin, I think I should have thrown myself headlong down and let the wheel pass over me. “What is it, Potts, that is corrupting and destroying the naturally fine and noble nature you are certainly endowed with? Is it this confounded elevation to princely rank? If you were not a Royal Highness, would you have dared to utter such cruelties as these? Would you, in your most savage of moods, have presumed to make that pale cheek paler, and forced a tear-drop into that liquid eye? I always used to think that the greatest effort of a man was to keep him on a level with those born above him. I now find it is far harder to stoop than to stand on tiptoe. Such a pain in the back comes of always bending, and it is so difficult to do it gracefully!”

I was positively dying to be what the French call bon prince, and yet I didn’t know how to set about it. I could not take off one of my decorations, – a cross or a ribbon, – for I had none; nor give it, because she, being a woman, could n’t wear it. I could n’t make her one of the court ladies, for there was no court; and yet it was clear something should be done, if one only knew what it was. “I suppose now,” said I to myself, “a real R. H. would see his way here at once; the right thing to do, the exact expression to use would occur as naturally to his mind as all this embarrassment presents itself to mine. ‘Whenever your head cannot guide you,’ says a Spanish proverb, ‘ask your heart;’ and so I did, and my heart spoke thus: ‘Tell her, Potts, who you are, and what; say to her, “Listen, young lady, to the words of truth from one who could tell you far more glibly, far more freely, and far more willingly, a whole bushel of lies. It will sit light on his heart that he deceive the old lady inside, but you he cannot, will not deceive. Do not deem the sacrifice a light one; it cost St. George far less to go out dragon-hunting than it costs me to slay this small monster who ever prompts me to feats of fancy."’”

“I am very sorry to be troublesome, sir, but as we change horses here, I will ask you to assist me to alight; the weather looks very threatening, and some drops of rain have already fallen.”

These words roused me from my revery to action, and I got down, not very dexterously either, for I slipped, and made the postilion laugh, and then I helped her, who accomplished the descent so neatly, so gracefully, showing the least portion of such an ankle, and accidentally giving me such a squeeze of the hand! The next moment she was lost to me, the clanking steps were drawn up, the harsh door banged to, and I was alone, – all alone in the world.

Like a sulky eagle, sick of the world, I climbed up to my eyry. I no longer wished for sunshine or scenery; nay, I was glad to see the postboys put on their overcoats and prepare for a regular down-pour. I liked to think there are some worse off than even Potts. In half an hour they will be drenched to the skin, and I ‘ll not feel a drop of it!

The little glass slide at my back was now withdrawn, and Miss Herbert’s pale, sweet face appeared at it. She was saying that Mrs. Keats urgently entreated I would come inside, that she was so uneasy at my being exposed to such a storm.

I refused, and was about to enter into an account of my ascent of Mont Blanc, when the slide was closed and my listener lost to me.

“Is it possible, Potts,” said I, “that she has detected this turn of yours for the imaginative line, and that she will not encourage it, even tacitly? Has she said, ‘There is a young man of genius, gifted marvellously with the richest qualities, and yet such is the exuberance of his fancy that he is positively its slave. Not content to let him walk the earth like other men, she attaches wings to him and carries him off into the upper air. I will endeavor, however hard the task, to clip his feathers and bring him back to the common haunts of men’? Try it, fair enchantress, try it!”

The rain was now coming down in torrents, and with such swooping gusts of wind that I was forced to fasten the leather curtain in front of me, and sit in utter darkness, denied even the passing pleasure of seeing the drenched postboys bobbing up and down on the wet saddles. I grew moody and sad. Every Blue Devil of my acquaintance came to pay his visit to me, and brought a few more of his private friends. I bethought me that I was hourly travelling away further and further from my home; that all this long road must surely be retraced one day or other, though not in a carriage and post, but probably in a one-horse cart, with a mounted gendarme on either side of it, and a string to my two wrists in their bridle hands. I thought of that vulgar herd of mankind so ready to weep over a romance, and yet send the man who acts one to a penal settlement. I thought how I should be described as the artful knave, the accomplished swindler. As if I was the first man who ever took an exaggerated estimate of his own merits! Go into the House of Commons, visit the National Gallery, dine at a bar or a military mess, frequent, in one word, any of the haunts of men, and with what pièces pour servir à l’histoire of self-deception will you come back loaded!