CHAPTER III
THE MUSIC OF THE WORLD
If a philosopher, learned in the human mind as Flamsteed in the coursesof the stars or the great Newton in the laws of external nature, were totake one possessed by a strong passion of love or a bitter grief, orwhat overpowering emotion you will, and were to consider impartially andwith cold precision what share of his time was in reality occupied bythe thing which, as we are in the habit of saying, filled his thoughtsor swayed his life or mastered his intellect, the world might well smile(and to my thinking had better smile than weep) at the issue of theinvestigation. When the first brief shock was gone, how few out of thesolid twenty-four would be the hours claimed by the despot, however muchthe poets might call him insatiable. There is sleeping, and meat anddrink, the putting on and off of raiment and the buying of it. If a manbe of sound body, there is his sport; if he be sane, there are theinterests of this life and provision for the next. And if he be young,there is nature's own joy in living, which with a patient scornful smilesets aside his protest that he is vowed to misery, and makes him,willy-nilly, laugh and sing. So that, if he do not drown himself in aweek and thereby balk the inquiry, it is odds that he will composehimself in a month, and by the end of a year will carry no more marks ofhis misfortune than (if he be a man of good heart) an added sobriety andtenderness of spirit. Yet all this does not hinder the thing fromreturning, on occasion given.
In my own case--and, if my story be followed to its close, I ampersuaded that I shall not be held to be one who took the disease oflove more lightly than my fellows--this process of convalescence, mostsalutary, yet in a sense humiliating, was aided by a train ofcircumstances, in which my mother saw the favour of Heaven to our familyand the Vicar the working of Betty Nasroth's prophecy. An uncle of mymother's had some forty years ago established a manufactory of wool atNorwich, and having kept always before his eyes the truth that men mustbe clothed, howsoever they may think on matters of Church and State, andthat it is a cloth-weaver's business to clothe them and not to think forthem, had lived a quiet life through all the disturbances and hadprospered greatly in his trade. For marriage either time or inclinationhad failed him, and, being now an old man, he felt a favourabledisposition towards me, and declared the intention of making me heir toa considerable portion of his fortune provided that I showed myselfworthy of such kindness. The proof he asked was not beyond reason,though I found cause for great lamentation in it; for it was that, inlieu of seeking to get to London, I should go to Norwich and live therewith him, to solace his last years and, although not engaged in histrade, learn by observation something of the serious occupations of lifeand of the condition of my fellow-men, of which things young gentlemen,said he, were for the most part sadly ignorant. Indeed, they were, andthey thought no better of a companion for being wiser; to do anything orknow anything that might redound to the benefit of man or the honour ofGod was not the mode in those days. Nor do I say that the fashion haschanged greatly, no, nor that it will change. Therefore to Norwich Iwent, although reluctantly, and there I stayed fully three years,applying myself to the comforting of my uncle's old age, and consolingmy leisure with the diversions which that great and important cityafforded, and which, indeed, were enough for any rational mind. Butreason and youth are bad bedfellows, and all the while I was like theIsraelites in the wilderness; my thoughts were set upon the PromisedLand and I endured my probation hardly. To this mood I set down the factthat little of my life at Norwich lives in my memory, and to that littleI seldom recur in thought; the time before it and the time after engrossmy backward glances. The end came with my uncle's death, whereat I, therecipient of great kindness from him, sincerely grieved, and that withsome remorse, since I had caused him sorrow by refusing to take up hisoccupation as my own, preferring my liberty and a moderate endowment toall his fortune saddled with the condition of passing my days as acloth-weaver. Had I chosen otherwise, I should have lived a morepeaceful and died a richer man. Yet I do not repent; not riches norpeace, but the stir of the blood, the work of the hand, and the serviceof the brain make a life that a man can look back on without shame andwith delight.
I was nearing my twenty-second birthday when I returned to Hatchsteadwith an air and manner, I doubt not, sadly provincial, but with a liningto my pocket for whose sake many a gallant would have surrendered someof his plumes and feathers. Three thousand pounds, invested in myuncle's business and returning good and punctual profit made of SimonDale a person of far greater importance in the eyes of his family thanhe had been three years ago. It was a competence on which a gentlemancould live with discretion and modesty, it was a step from which hisfoot could rise higher on life's ladder. London was in my power, all itheld of promise and possibility was not beyond the flight of my soaringmind. My sisters exchanged sharp admonitions for admiring deference, andmy mother feared nothing save that the great place to which I was nowsurely destined might impair the homely virtues which she had instilledinto me. As for the Vicar, he stroked his nose and glanced at me withan eye which spoke so plainly of Betty Nasroth that I fell to laughingheartily.
Thus, being in great danger of self-exaltation, I took the best medicinethat I could--although by no means with intention--in waiting on my lordQuinton, who was then residing at the Manor. Here my swelled spirit wassmartly pricked, and sank soon to its true proportions. I was no greatman here, and although my lord received me very kindly, he had less tosay on the richness of my fortune than on the faults of my manner andthe rustic air of my attire. Yet he bade me go to London, since there aman, rubbing shoulders with all the world, learnt to appraise his ownvalue, and lost the ignorant conceit of himself that a village greatnessis apt to breed. Somewhat crestfallen, I thanked him for his kindness,and made bold to ask after Mistress Barbara.
"She is well enough," he answered, smiling. "And she is become a greatlady. The wits make epigrams on her, and the fools address verses toher. But she's a good girl, Simon."
"I'm sure of it, my lord," I cried.
"He's a bold man who would be sure of it concerning anyone nowadays," hesaid dryly. "Yet so, thank God, it is. See, here's a copy of the versesshe had lately," and he flung me the paper. I glanced over it and sawmuch about "dazzling ice," "unmelting snow," "Venus," "Diana," and soforth.
"It seems sad stuff, my lord," said I.
"Why, yes," he laughed; "but it is by a gentle man of repute. Take careyou write none worse, Simon."
"Shall I have the honour of waiting on Mistress Barbara, my lord?" Iasked.
"As to that, Simon, we will see when you come. Yes, we must see whatcompany you keep. For example, on whom else do you think of waiting whenyou are set up in London?"
He looked steadily at me, a slight frown on his brow, yet a smile, andnot an unkind one, on his lips. I grew hot, and knew that I grew redalso.
"I am acquainted with few in London, my lord," I stammered, "and withthose not well."
"Those not well, indeed," he echoed, the pucker deepening and the smilevanishing. Yet the smile came again as he rose and clapped me on theshoulder.
"You're an honest lad, Simon," he said, "even though it may have pleasedGod to make you a silly one. And, by Heaven, who would have all ladswise? Go to London, learn to know more folk, learn to know better thosewhom you know. Bear yourself as a gentleman, and remember, Simon,whatsoever else the King may be, yet he is the King."
Saying this with much emphasis, he led me gently to the door.
"Why did he say that about the King?" I pondered as I walked homewardthrough the park; for although what we all, even in the country, knew ofthe King gave warrant enough for the words, my lord had seemed to speakthem to me with some special meaning, and as though they concerned memore than most men. Yet what, if I left aside Betty's foolish talk, asmy lord surely did, had I to do with the King, or with what he might bebesides the King?
About this time much stir had been aroused in the country by thedismissal from all his offices of that great Minister and accomplishedwriter, the Earl o
f Clarendon, and by the further measures which hisenemies threatened against him. The village elders were wont to assembleon the days when the post came in and discuss eagerly the news broughtfrom London. The affairs of Government troubled my head very little, butin sheer idleness I used often to join them, wondering to see them soperturbed at the happening of things which made mighty little differencein our retired corner. Thus I was in the midst of them, at the King andCrown Tavern, on the Green, two days after I had talked with my lordQuinton. I sat with a mug of ale before me, engrossed in my own thoughtsand paying little heed to what passed, when, to my amazement, thepostman, leaping from his horse, came straight across to me, holding outin his hand a large packet of important appearance. To receive a letterwas a rare event in my life, and a rarer followed, setting the cap onmy surprise. For the man, though he was fully ready to drink my health,demanded no money for the letter, saying that it came on the service ofHis Majesty and was not chargeable. He spoke low enough, and there was ababble about, but it seemed as though the name of the King made its waythrough all the hubbub to the Vicar's ears; for he rose instantly, and,stepping to my side, sat down by me, crying,
"What said he of the King, Simon?"
"Why, he said," I answered, "that this great letter comes to me on theKing's service, and that I have nothing to pay for it," and I turned itover and over in my hands. But the inscription was plain enough. "ToMaster Simon Dale, Esquire, at Hatchstead, by Hatfield."
By this time half the company was round us, and my Lord Clarendonwell-nigh forgotten. Small things near are greater than great thingsafar, and at Hatchstead my affairs were of more moment than the fall ofa Chancellor or the King's choice of new Ministers. A cry arose that Ishould open my packet and disclose what it contained.
"Nay," said the Vicar, with an air of importance, "it may be on aprivate matter that the King writes."
They would have believed that of my lord at the Manor, they could not ofSimon Dale. The Vicar met their laughter bravely.
"But the King and Simon are to have private matters between them oneday," he cried, shaking his fist at the mockers, himself half inmockery.
Meanwhile I opened my packet and read. To this day the amazement itscontents bred in me is fresh. For the purport was that the King,remembering my father's services to the King's father (and forgetting,as it seemed, those done to General Cromwell), and being informed of myown loyal disposition, courage, and good parts, had been graciouslypleased to name me to a commission in His Majesty's Regiment of LifeGuards, such commission being post-dated six months from the day ofwriting, in order that Mr Dale should have the leisure to inform himselfof his duties and fit himself for his post; to which end it was theKing's further pleasure that Mr Dale should present himself, bringingthis same letter with him, without delay at Whitehall, and there beinstructed in his drill and in all other matters necessary for him toknow. Thus the letter ended, with a commendation of me to the care ofthe Almighty.
I sat, gasping; the gossips gaped round me; the Vicar seemed stunned. Atlast somebody grumbled,
"I do not love these Guards. What need of guard has the King except inthe love of his subjects?"
"So his father found, did he?" cried the Vicar, an aflame in a moment.
"The Life Guards!" I murmured. "It is the first regiment of all inhonour."
"Ay, my lad," said the Vicar. "It would have been well enough for you toserve in the ranks of it, but to hold His Majesty's Commission!" Wordsfailed him, and he flew to the landlord's snuff-box, which that goodman, moved by subtle sympathy, held out, pat to the occasion.
Suddenly those words of my lord's that had at the time of theirutterance caught my attention so strongly flashed into my mind, seemingnow to find their explanation. If there were fault to be found in theKing, it did not lie with his own servants and officers to find it; Iwas now of his household; my lord must have known what was on the way tome from London when he addressed me so pointedly; and he could know onlybecause he had himself been the mover in the matter. I sprang up and ranacross to the Vicar, crying,
"Why, it is my lord's kindness! He has spoken for me."
"Ay, ay, it is my lord," was grunted and nodded round the circle in thesatisfaction of a discovery obvious so soon as made. The Vicar alonedissented; he took another pinch and wagged his head petulantly.
"I don't think it's my lord," said he.
"But why not, sir, and who else?" I urged.
"I don't know, but I do not think it is my lord," he persisted.
Then I laughed at him, and he understood well that I mocked his dislikeof a plain-sailing everyday account of anything to which it might bepossible by hook or crook to attach a tag of mystery. He had harped backto the prophecy, and would not have my lord come between him and hishobby.
"You may laugh, Simon," said he gravely. "But it will be found to be asI say."
I paid no more heed to him, but caught up my hat from the bench, cryingthat I must run at once and offer thanks to my lord, for he was to setout for London that day, and would be gone if I did not hasten.
"At least," conceded the Vicar, "you will do no harm by telling him. Hewill wonder as much as we."
Laughing again, I ran off and left the company crowding to a man roundthe stubborn Vicar. It was well indeed that I did not linger, for,having come to the Manor at my best speed, I found my lord's coachalready at the door and himself in cloak and hat about to step into it.But he waited to hear my breathless story, and, when I came to the pithof it, snatched my letter from my hand and read it eagerly. At first Ithought he was playing a part and meant only to deny his kindness ordelay the confession of it. His manner soon undeceived me; he was intruth amazed, as the Vicar had predicted, but more than that, he was, ifI read his face aright, sorely displeased also; for a heavy frowngathered on his brow, and he walked with me in utter silence the betterhalf of the length of the terrace.
"I have nothing to do with it," he said bitterly. "I and my family havedone the King and his too much service to have the giving away offavours. Kings do not love their creditors, no, nor pay them."
"But, my lord, I can think of no other friend who would have suchpower."
"Can't you?" he asked, stopping and laying his hand on my shoulder. "Maybe, Simon, you don't understand how power is come by in these days, norwhat are the titles to the King's confidence."
His words and manner dashed my new pride, and I suppose my face grewglum, for he went on more gently,
"Nay, lad, since it comes, take it without question. Whatever the sourceof it, your own conduct may make it an honour."
But I could not be content with that.
"The letter says," I remarked, "that the King is mindful of my father'sservices."
"I had thought that the age of miracles was past," smiled my lord."Perhaps it is not, Simon."
"Then if it be not for my father's sake nor for yours, my lord, I am ata loss," and I stuffed the letter into my pocket very peevishly.
"I must be on my way," said my lord, turning towards the coach. "Let mehear from you when you come, Simon; and I suppose you will come soonnow. You will find me at my house in Southampton Square, and my ladywill be glad of your company."
I thanked him for his civility, but my face was still clouded. He hadseemed to suspect and hint at some taint in the fountain of honour thathad so unexpectedly flowed forth.
"I can't tell what to make of it," I cried.
He stopped again, as he was about to set his foot on the step of hiscoach, and turned, facing me squarely.
"There's no other friend at all in London, Simon?" he asked. Again Igrew red, as he stood watching me. "Is there not one other?"
I collected myself as well as I could and answered,
"One that would give me a commission in the Life Guards, my lord?" And Ilaughed in scorn.
My lord shrugged his shoulders and mounted into the coach. I closed thedoor behind him, and stood waiting his reply. He leant forward and spokeacross me to the lackey behind, saying, "Go
on, go on."
"What do you mean, my lord?" I cried. He smiled, but did not speak. Thecoach began to move; I had to walk to keep my place, soon I should haveto run.
"My lord," I cried, "how could she----?"
My lord took out his snuff-box, and opened it.
"Nay, I cannot tell how," said he, as he carried his thumb to his nose.
"My lord," I cried, running now, "do you know who Cydaria is?"
My lord looked at me, as I ran panting. Soon I should have to give in,for the horses made merry play down the avenue. He seemed to wait forthe last moment of my endurance, before he answered. Then, waving hishand at the window, he said, "All London knows." And with that he shutthe window, and I fell back breathless, amazed, and miserably chagrined.For he had told me nothing of all that I desired to know, and what hehad told me did no more than inflame my curiosity most unbearably. Yet,if it were true, this mysterious lady, known to all London, hadremembered Simon Dale! A man of seventy would have been moved by such athing; what wonder that a boy of twenty-two should run half mad with it?
Strange to say, it seemed to the Vicar's mind no more unlikely andinfinitely more pleasant that the King's favour should be bound up withthe lady we had called Cydaria than that it should be the plain fruit ofmy lord's friendly offices. Presently his talk infected me withsomething of the same spirit, and we fell to speculating on the identityof this lady, supposing in our innocence that she must be of veryexalted rank and noble station if indeed all London knew her, and shehad a voice in the appointment of gentlemen to bear His Majesty'sCommission. It was but a step farther to discern for me a most notablecareer, wherein the prophecy of Betty Nasroth should find fulfilment andprove the link that bound together a chain of strange fortune and highachievement. Thus our evening wore away and with it my vexation. Now Iwas all eager to be gone, to set my hand to my work, to try Fate'spromises, and to learn that piece of knowledge which all London had--thetrue name of her whom we called Cydaria.
"Still," said the Vicar, falling into a sudden pensiveness as I rose totake my leave, "there are things above fortune's favour, or a King's, ora great lady's. To those cling, Simon, for your name's sake and for mycredit, who taught you."
"True, sir," said I in perfunctory acknowledgment, but with errantthoughts. "I trust, sir, that I shall always bear myself as becomes agentleman."
"And a Christian," he added mildly.
"Ay, sir, and a Christian," I agreed readily enough.
"Go your way," he said, with a little smile. "I preach to ears that arefull now of other and louder sounds, of strains more attractive andmelodies more alluring. Therefore, now, you cannot listen; nay, I knowthat, if you could, you would. Yet it may be that some day--if it beGod's will, soon--the strings that I feebly strike may sound loud andclear, so that you must hear, however sweetly that other music charmsyour senses. And if you hear, Simon, heed; if you hear, heed."
Thus, with his blessing, I left him. He followed me to the door, with asmile on his lips but anxiety in his eyes. I went on my way, neverlooking back. For my ears were indeed filled with that strange andenchanting music.