The Interpreter: A Tale of the War

  CHAPTER XLII

  "TOO LATE"

  For a wounded campaigner on crutches, or a wasted convalescent slowlyrecovering from an attack of Crimean fever, there are few better placesfor the re-establishment of health than the hotel at Therapia. It isrefreshing to hear the ripple of the Bosphorus not ten feet distant fromone's bedroom window; it is life itself to inhale the invigoratingbreeze that sweeps down, unchecked and uncontaminated, from the BlackSea; it is inspiriting to gaze upon the gorgeous beauty of the Asiaticcoast, another continent not a mile away. And then the smalleraccessories of comfortable apartments, good dinners, civilised luxuries,and European society, form no unwelcome contrast to the Crimean tent,the soldier's rations, and the wearisome routine of daily and hourlyduty.

  But a few days after the taking of Sebastopol, I was once more inTurkey. Ropsley, the man of iron nerves and strong will--the man whomdanger had spared, and sickness had hitherto passed by, was struck downby fever--that wasting, paralysing disease so common to our countrymenin an Eastern climate--and was so reduced and helpless as to be utterlyincapable of moving without assistance. He had many friends, forRopsley was popular in his regiment and respected throughout the army;but none were so thoroughly disengaged as I; it seemed as if I could nowbe of little use in any capacity, and to my lot it fell to place my oldschool-fellow on board ship, and accompany him to Therapia, _en route_for England on sick leave.

  My own affairs, too, required that I should revisit Somersetshire beforelong. The wreck of my father's property, well nursed and taken care ofby a prudent man of business, had increased to no contemptible provisionfor a nameless child. If I chose to return to England, I should findmyself a landed proprietor of no inconsiderable means, should be enabledto assume a position such as many a man now fighting his way in theworld would esteem the acme of human felicity, and for me it would bebut dust and ashes! What cared I for broad acres, local influence, goodinvestments, and county respectability--all the outward show and emptyshadows for which people are so apt to sacrifice the real blessings oflife? What was it to me that I might look round from my own dining-roomon my own domain, with my own tenants waiting to see me in the hall? Anempty heart can have no possessions; a broken spirit is but a beggar inthe midst of wealth, whilst the whole universe, with all its glories,belongs alone to him who is at peace with himself. I often think howmany a man there is who lives out his three-score years and ten, andnever knows what _real_ life is, after all. A boyhood passed in vainaspirations--a manhood spent in struggling for the impossible--an oldage wasted in futile repinings, such is the use made by how many of ourfellow-creatures of that glorious streak of light which we callexistence, that intervenes between the eternity which hath been, and theeternity which shall be? Oh! to lie down and rest, and look back uponthe day's hard labour, and feel that something has been wrought--thatsomething has been _won!_ and so to sleep--happy here--happy forevermore. Well, on some natures happiness smiles even here on earth--Godforbid it should be otherwise!--and some must content themselves withduty instead. Who knows which shall have the best of it when all isover? For me, it was plain at this period that I must do my _devoir_,and leave all to Time, the great restorer in the moral, as he is thegreat destroyer in the physical, world. The years of excitement (noneknow how strong) that I had lately passed, followed by a listless,hopeless inactivity, had produced a reaction on my spirits which it wasnecessary to conquer and shake off. I resolved to return to England, toset my house in order--to do all the good in my power, and first of all,strenuously to commence with that which lay nearest my hand, although itwas but the humble task of nursing my old school-fellow through anattack of low fever.

  My patient possessed one of those strong and yet elastic natures whicheven sickness seems unable thoroughly to subdue. The Ropsley on a couchof suffering and lassitude, was the same Ropsley that confronted theenemy's fire so coolly in the Crimea, and sneered at the follies of hisfriends so sarcastically in St. James's street. Ill as he was, andutterly prostrated in body, he was clear-headed and ready-witted asever. With the help of a wretchedly bad grammar, he was rapidly pickingup Turkish, by no means an easy language for a beginner; and, takingadvantage of my society, was actually entering upon the rudiments ofHungarian, a tongue which it is next to impossible for any one toacquire who has not spoken it, as I had done, in earliest childhood. Hewas good-humoured and patient, too, far more than I should haveexpected, and was never anxious or irritable, save about his letters. Ihave seen him, however, turn away from a negative to the eager inquiry"Any letters for me?" with an expression of heart-sick longing that itpained me to witness on that usually haughty and somewhat sneeringcountenance.

  But it came at last. Not many mornings after our arrival at Therapiathere was a letter for Ropsley, which seemed to afford him unconcealedsatisfaction, and from that day the Guardsman mended rapidly, and beganto talk of getting up and packing his things, and starting westward oncemore.

  So it came to pass that, with the help of his servant, I got him out ofbed and dressed him, and laid him on the sofa at the open window, wherehe could see the light caiques dancing gaily on the waters, and therestless sea-fowl flitting eternally to and fro, and could hear theshouts of the Turkish boatmen, adjuring each other, very unnecessarily,not to be too hasty; and the discordant cries of the Greek populationscolding, and cheating, and vociferating on the quay.

  We talked of Hungary. I loved to talk of it now, for was it not _her_country of whom I must think no more? And Ropsley's manner was kinder,and his voice softer, than I had ever thought it before. Poor fellow!he was weak with his illness, perhaps, yet hitherto I had remarked noalteration in his cold, impassible demeanour.

  At last he took my hand, and in a hollow voice he said--"Vere, you havereturned me good for evil. You have behaved to me like a brother.Vere, I believe you really are a Christian!"

  "I hope so," I replied quietly, for what had I but that?

  "Yes," he resumed, "but I don't mean conventionally, because yourgodfathers and godmothers at your baptism said you were--I mean_really_. I don't believe there is a particle of _humbug_ about you.Can you forgive your enemies?"

  "I have already told you so," I answered; "don't you remember that nightin the trenches? besides, Ropsley, I shall never consider you my enemy."

  "That is exactly what cuts me to the heart," he replied, flushing upover his wan, wasted face. "I have injured you more deeply than any oneon earth, and I have received nothing but kindness in return. Often andoften I have longed to tell you all--how I had wronged you, and how Ihad repented, but my pride forbade me till to-day. It is dreadful tothink that I might have died, and never confessed to you how hard andhow unfeeling I have been. Listen to me, and then forgive me if youcan. Oh, Vere, Vere! had it not been for me and my selfishness, youmight have married Constance Beverley!"

  I felt I was trembling all over; I covered my face with my hands andturned away, but I bade him go on.

  "Her father was never averse to you from the first. He liked you, Vere,personally, and still more for the sake of your father, his old friend.There was but one objection. I need not dwell upon it; and even that hecould have got over, for he was most anxious to see his daughtermarried, and to one with whom he could have made his own terms. He wasan unscrupulous man, Sir Harry, and dreadfully pressed for money. Whenin that predicament people will do things that at other times they wouldbe ashamed of, as I know too well. And the girl too, Vere, she lovedyou--I am sure of it--she loved you, poor girl, with all her heart andsoul."

  I looked him straight in the face--"Not a word of _her_, Ropsley, as youare a gentleman!" I said. Oh, the agony of that moment! and yet it wasnot all pain.

  "Well," he proceeded, "Sir Harry consulted me about the match. You knowhow intimate we were, you know what confidence he had in my judgment.If I had been generous and honourable, if I had been such a man as_you_, Vere, how much happier we should all be
now; but no, I had my ownends in view, and I determined to work out my own purpose, withoutlooking to the right or left, without turning aside for friend or foe.Besides, I hardly knew you then, Vere. I did not appreciate your goodqualities. I did not know your courage, and constancy, and patience,and kindliness. I did not know yours was just the clinging, womanlynature, that would never get over the crushing of its bestaffections--and I know it now too well. Oh, Vere, you never can forgiveme! And yet," he added, musingly, more to himself than to me,--"andyet, even had I known all this, had you been my own brother, I fear mynature was then so hard, so pitiless, so uncompromising, that I shouldhave gone straight on towards my aim, and blasted your happiness withoutscruple or remorse. _Remorse_," and the old look came over him, the oldsneering look, that wreathed those handsome features in the wicked smileof a fallen angel--"if a man means to _repent_ of what he has done, hehad better not _do it_. My maxim has always been, 'never lookback,'--'_vestigia, nulla retrorsum_'--and yet to-day I cannot helpretracing, ay, and bitterly _regretting_, the past.

  "I have told you I had my own ends in view. I wished to marry theheiress myself. Not that I loved her, Vere--do not be angry with me forthe confession--I never loved her the least in the world. She was fartoo placid, too conventional, too like other girls, to make theslightest impression on me. My ideal of a woman is, a bold, strongnature, a keen intellect, a daring mind, and a dazzling beauty thatothers must fall down and worship. I never was one of yoursentimentalists. A violet may be a very pretty flower, and smell verysweet, but I like a camellia best, and all the better because yourequire a hothouse to raise it in. But, if I did not care for MissBeverley, I cared a good deal for Beverley Manor, and I resolved that,come what might, Beverley Manor should one day be mine. The young ladyI looked upon as an encumbrance that must necessarily accompany theestate. You know how intimate I became with her father, you know thetrust he reposed in me, and the habit into which he fell, of doingnothing without my advice. That trust, I now acknowledge to you, Iabused shamefully; of that habit I took advantage, solely to further myown ends, totally irrespective of my friend. He confided to me in veryearly days his intention of marrying his daughter to the son of his oldfriend. He talked it over with me as a scheme on which he had set hisheart, and, above all, insisted on the advantage to himself of making,as he called it, his own terms with you about settlements, etc. I havealready told you he was involved in difficulties, from which hisdaughter's marriage could alone free him, with the consent of herhusband. I need not enter into particulars. I have the deeds and lawpapers at my fingers' ends, for I like to understand a businessthoroughly if I embark on it at all, but it is no question of suchmatters now. Well, Vere, at first I was too prudent to object overtlyto the plan. Sir Harry, as you know, was an obstinate, wilful man, andsuch a course would have been the one of all others most calculated towed him more firmly than ever to his original intention; but I weighedthe matter carefully with him day by day, now bringing forward argumentsin favour of it, now starting objections, till I had insensiblyaccustomed him to consider it by no means as a settled affair. Then Itried all my powers upon the young lady, and there, I confess to youfreely, Vere, I was completely foiled. She never liked me even as anacquaintance, and she took no pains to conceal her aversion. How angryshe used to make me sometimes!--I _hated_ her so, that I longed to makeher mine, if it were only to humble her, as much as if I had loved herwith all my heart and soul. Many a time I used to grind my teeth andmutter to myself, 'Ah! my fair enemy, I shall live to make you rue thistreatment;' and I swore a great oath that, come what might, she shouldnever belong to Vere Egerton. I even tried to create an interest in hermind for Victor de Rohan, but the girl was as true as steel. I havebeen accustomed to read characters all my life, women's as well asmen's, it is part of my profession;" and Ropsley laughed once more hisbitter laugh; "and many a trifling incident showed me that ConstanceBeverley cared for nobody on earth but you. This only made me moredetermined not to be beat; and little by little, with hints here andwhispers there, assisted by your own strange, solitary habits, and thehistory of your poor father's life and death, I persuaded Sir Harry thatthere was madness in your family, and that you had inherited the curse.From the day on which he became convinced of this, I felt I had won myrace. No power on earth would then have induced him to let you marryhis daughter, and the excuse that he made you on that memorableafternoon, when you had so gallantly rescued her from death, was but agentlemanlike way of getting out of his difficulty about telling you thereal truth. Vere, that girl's courage is wonderful. She came down todinner that night with the air of an empress, but with a face likemarble, and a dull, stony look in her eyes that made even me almost ruewhat I had done. She kept her room for a fortnight afterwards, and Icannot help feeling she has never looked as bright since.

  "When you went away I acknowledge I thought the field was my own. Inconsideration of my almost ruining myself to preserve him from shame,Sir Harry promised me his daughter if I could win her consent, and youmay depend upon it I tried hard to do so. It was all in vain; the girlhated me more and more, and when we all met so unexpectedly in Vienna, Isaw that my chance of Beverley Manor was indeed a hopeless one. SirHarry, too, was getting very infirm. Had he died before his daughter'smarriage, his bills for the money I had lent him were not worth thestamps on which they were drawn. My only chance was her speedy unionwith some one rich enough to make the necessary sacrifices, and again Ipicked out Victor de Rohan as the man. We all thought then you wereengaged to his sister Valerie."

  Ropsley blushed scarlet as he mentioned that name.

  "And it was not my part to conceal the surmise from Miss Beverley. 'Shewas _so_ glad, she was _so_ thankful,' she said, 'she was _so_ happy,for Vere's sake'; and a month afterwards she was Countess de Rohan, withthe handsomest husband and the finest place in Hungary. It was a_mariage de convenance_, I fear, on both sides. I know now, what Iallow I did not dream of then, that Victor himself was the victim of anunfortunate attachment at the time, and that he married the beautifulMiss Beverley out of pique. Sir Harry died, as you know, within threemonths. I have saved myself from ruin, and I have destroyed thehappiness on earth of three people that never did me the slightest harm.Vere, I do not deserve to be forgiven, I do not deserve ever to riseagain from this couch; and yet there is _one_ for whose sake I wouldfain get well--_one_ whom I _must_ see yet again before I die."

  He burst into tears as he spoke. Good heaven! this man was mortal afterall--an erring, sinful mortal, like the rest of us, with broken pride,heartfelt repentance, thrilling hopes and fears. Another bruised reed,though he had stood so defiant and erect, confronting the whirlwind andthe thunderbolt, but shivered up, and cowering at the whisper of the"still small voice." Poor fellow! poor Ropsley! I pitied him from myheart, while he hid his face in his hands, and the big tears forcedthemselves through his wasted fingers; freely I forgave him, and freelyI told him so.

  After a time he became more composed, and then, as if ashamed of hisweakness, assumed once more the cold satirical manner, half sarcasm,half pleasantry, which has become the conventional disguise of the worldin which such men as Ropsley delight to live. Little by little heconfided to me the rise and progress of his attachment to Valerie--atwhich I had already partly guessed--acknowledged how, for a long time,he had imagined that I was again a favoured rival, destined ever tostand in his way; how my sudden departure from Vienna and herincomprehensible indifference to that hasty retreat had led him tobelieve that she had entertained nothing but a girl's passinginclination for her brother's comrade; and how, before he reached hisregiment in the Crimea, she had promised to be his on the conclusion ofthe war. "I never cared for any other woman on earth," said Ropsley,once more relapsing into the broken accents of real, deep feeling. "Inever reflected till I knew her, what a life mine has been. God forgiveme, Vere; if we had met earlier, I should have been a different man. Ihave received a letter from her to-day. I shall be well enough to
moveby the end of the week. Vere, I _must_ go through Hungary, and stop atEdeldorf on my way to England!"

  As I walked out to inhale the evening breeze and indulge my own thoughtsin solitude by the margin of the peaceful Bosphorus, I felt almoststunned, like a man who has sustained a severe fall, or one who wakessuddenly from an astounding dream. And yet I might have guessed longago at the purport of Ropsley's late revelations. Diffident as I was ofmy own merits, there had been times when my heart told me, with a voicethere was no disputing, that I was beloved by Constance Beverley; andnow it was with something like a feeling of relief and exhilaration thatI recalled the assurance of that fact from one himself so interested andso difficult to deceive as Ropsley. "And she loved me all along," Ithought, with a thrill of pleasure, sadly dashed with pain. "She wastrue and pure, as I always thought her; and even now, though she iswedded to another, though she never can be mine on earth, perhaps--"And here I stopped, for the cold, sickening impossibility chilled me tothe marrow, and an insurmountable barrier seemed to rise up around meand hem me in on every side. It was sin to love her, it was sin tothink of her now. Oh! misery! misery! and yet I would give my life tosee her once more! So my good angel whispered in my ear, "You mustnever look on her again; for the rest of your time you must tread theweary path alone, and learn to be kindly, and pure, and holy for _her_sake." And self muttered, "Where would be the harm of seeing her justonce again?--of satisfying yourself with your own eyes that she ishappy?--of learning at once to be indifferent to her presence? You_must_ go home. Edeldorf lies in your direct road to England; youcannot abandon Ropsley in his present state, with no one to nurse andtake care of him. Victor is your oldest friend, he would be hurt if youdid not pay him a visit. It would be more courageous to face theCountess at once, and get it over." And I listened now to one and nowto the other, and the struggle raged and tore within me the while Ipaced sadly up and down "by the side of the sounding sea."

  "Egerton! how goes it? Let me present to you my friends," exclaimed avoice I recognised on the instant, as, with lowered head and dreamyvision, I walked right into the centre of a particularly smart party,and was "brought up," as the sailors say, "all standing," by a whitesilk parasol and a mass of flounces that almost took my breath away.When you most require solitude, it generally happens that you findyourself forced into society, and with all my regard for our _ci-devant_usher, I never met Manners, now a jolly Colonel of Bashi-Bazouks, withso little gratification as at this moment. I am bound to admit,however, that on his side all was cordiality and delight. Dressed outto the utmost magnificence of his gorgeous uniform, spurs clanking, andsabretasche jingling, his person stouter, his beard more exuberant, hisface more florid and prosperous than ever, surrounded, too, by a bevy ofladies of French extraction and Pera manners, the "soldier of fortune,"for such he might fairly be called, was indeed in his glory. With manyflourishes and compliments in bad French, I was presented successivelyto Mesdemoiselles Philippine, and Josephine, and Seraphine, alldark-eyed, black-haired, sallow-faced, but by no means bad-looking,young ladies, all apparently bent upon the capture and destruction ofanything and everything that came within range of their artillery, andall apparently belonging equally to my warlike and fortunate friend. Hethen took me by the arm, and dropping behind the three graces aforesaid,informed me, in tones of repressed exultation, how his fortune was madeat last, how he now commanded (the dearest object of his ambition) aregiment of actual cavalry, and how he was on the eve of marriage withone of the young ladies in front of us, with a dowry of a hundredthousand francs, who loved him to distraction, and was willing toaccompany him to Shumla, there to take the lead in society, and help himto civilise his regiment of Bashi-Bazouks.

  "I always told you I was fit for something, Egerton," saidLieutenant-Colonel Manners, with a glow of exultation on his simpleface; "and I have made my own way at last, in despite of all obstacles.It's pluck, sir, that makes the man! pluck and _muscle_," doubling hisarm as he spoke, in the old Everdon manner. "I have done it at last,and you'll see, my dear Egerton, I shall live to be a general."

  "I hope from my heart you may," was my reply, as I bade him "farewell,"and congratulated him on his position, his good fortune, and his bride;though I never made out exactly whether it was Mademoiselle Josephine,or Philippine, or Seraphine who was to enjoy the unspeakable felicity ofbecoming Mrs. Colonel Manners.