Doctor Claudius, A True Story

  CHAPTER XIII.

  Troubles never come singly; moreover, they come on horseback, and goaway on foot. If Claudius had passed an unpleasant afternoon, theCountess's day had been darkened with the shadow of a very seriousdifficulty. Early in the morning her maid had brought her coffee, andwith it a note in a foreign hand. The maid, who was French, andpossessed the usual characteristics of French maids, had exhausted herbrain in trying to discover who the sender might be. But the missive wassealed with wax, and a plain "N" was all the impression. So she adoptedthe usual expedient of busying herself in the room, while her mistressopened the note, hoping that some chance exclamation, or even perhaps ananswer, might give her curiosity the food it longed for. But Margaretread and reread the note, and tore it up into very small pieces,thoughtfully; and, as an afterthought, she burned them one by one over awax taper till nothing was left. Then she sent her maid away and fell tothinking. But that did not help her much; and the warm sun stole throughthe windows, and the noise in the street prevented her from sleeping,for she was unused to the sound of wheels after the long weeks at sea.And so she rang for her maid again. The maid came, bringing anothernote, which, she said, had been given her by "Monsieur Clodiuse;" andwould there be an answer?

  It was simply a few lines to say he was going to be away all day, andthat he hoped to have the pleasure of seeing the Countess in Newportto-morrow. But for some reason or other Margaret was not pleased withthe note, and merely said there would be no answer.

  "Madame would she dress herself to go out, or to keep the lodging?"

  Madame would not go out. Was it warm? Oh yes, it was very warm. In factit was _hebetant_. Would Madame see Monsieur le Duc if he called ateleven? Monseigneur's Monsieur Veelees had charged her to inquire ofMadame. No, Madame would not see Monsieur le Duc this morning. But ifany one called, Madame desired to be informed. Madame would be served.And so the toilet proceeded.

  It was not very long before some one called. There was a knock at thedoor of the bedroom. Clementine left the Countess's hair, which she wasbusy combing and tressing, and went to the door. It was old Vladimir,Margaret's faithful Russian servant.

  "At this hour!" exclaimed the Countess, who was not in the best oftempers. "What does he want?"

  Vladimir ventured to make a remark in Russian, from the door, whichproduced an immediate effect. Margaret rose swiftly, overturning herchair and sweeping various small articles from the table in her rapidmovement. She went very quickly to the door, her magnificent black hairall hanging down. She knew enough Russian to talk to the servant.

  "What did you say, Vladimir?"

  "Margareta Ivanowna"--Margaret's father's name had been John--"NicolaiAlexandrewitch is here," said Vladimir, who seemed greatly surprised.His geographical studies having been purely experimental, the suddenappearance of a Russian gentleman led him to suppose his mistress hadlanded in some outlying part of Russia, or at least of Europe. So shebade the old servant conduct the gentleman to her sitting-room and askhim to wait. She was not long in finishing her toilet. Before she leftthe room a servant of the hotel brought another box of flowers from Mr.Barker. Clementine cut the string and opened the pasteboard shell.Margaret glanced indifferently at the profusion of roses and pinkpond-lilies--a rare variety only found in two places in America, on LongIsland and near Boston--and having looked, she turned to go.

  Clementine held up two or three flowers, as if to try the effect of themon Margaret's dress.

  "Madame would she not put some flowers in her dress?"

  No. Madame would not. Madame detested flowers. Whereat the intelligentClementine carefully examined the name of the sender, inscribed on acard which lay in the top of the box. Mr. Barker knew better than tosend flowers anonymously. He wanted all the credit he could get. TheCountess swept out of the room.

  At the door of the sitting-room she was met by a young man, who bent lowto kiss her extended hand, and greeted her with a manner which wasrespectful indeed, but which showed that he felt himself perfectly atease in her society.

  Nicolai Alexandrewitch, whom we will call simply Count Nicholas, was theonly brother of Margaret's dead husband. Like Alexis, he had been asoldier in a guard regiment; Alexis had been killed at Plevna, andNicholas had succeeded to the title and the estates, from which,however, a considerable allowance was paid to the Countess as ajointure.

  Nicholas was a handsome man of five or six and twenty, of middle height,swarthy complexion, and compact figure. His beard was very black, and hewore it in a pointed shape. His eyes were small and deep-set, but fullof intelligence. He had all the manner and appearance of a man of gentlebirth, but there was something more; an indescribable, undefinable airthat hung about him. Many Russians have it, and the French have embodiedthe idea it conveys in their proverb that if you scratch a Russian youwill find the Tartar. It is rather a trait of Orientalism in the blood,and it is to be noticed as much in Servians, Bulgarians, Roumanians, andeven Hungarians, as in Russians. It is the peculiarity of most of theseraces that under certain circumstances, if thoroughly roused, they willgo to any length, with a scorn of consequence which seems to the Westernmind both barbarous and incomprehensible. Margaret had always liked him.He was wild; but he was a courteous gentleman, and could always bedepended upon.

  "Mon cher," said Margaret, "I need not tell you I am enchanted to seeyou, but what is the meaning of the things you wrote me this morning?Are you really in trouble?"

  "Helas, yes. I am in the worst kind of trouble that exists for aRussian. I am in political trouble--and that entails everything else."

  "Tell me all about it," said she. "Perhaps I may help you."

  "Ah no! you cannot help. It is not for that I am come. I have aconfession to make that concerns you."

  "Well?" said she, with a smile. She did not suppose it could be anythingvery bad.

  "You will be angry, of course," he said, "but that is nothing. I havedone you an injury that I cannot repair."

  "Enfin, my dear Nicholas, tell me. I do not believe anything bad ofyou."

  "You are kindness itself, and I thank you in advance. Wait till you haveheard. I am 'suspect,'--they think I am a Nihilist I am exiled to themines, and everything is confiscated. Voila! Could it be worse?"

  Margaret was taken off her guard. She had herself been in more than easycircumstances at the time of her marriage, but the financial crisis inAmerica, which occurred soon after that event, had greatly crippled herresources. She had of late looked chiefly to her jointure for all theluxuries which were so necessary to her life. To find this suddenlygone, in a moment, without the slightest preparation, was extremelyembarrassing. She covered her eyes with one hand for a moment to collecther thoughts and to try and realise the extent of the disaster. Nicholasmistook the gesture.

  "You will never forgive me, I know. I do not deserve that you should.But I will do all in my power to repair the evil. I will go to Siberiaif they will consider your rights to the estate."

  Margaret withdrew her hand, and looked earnestly at the young man.

  "Forgive you?" said she. "My dear Nicholas, you do not suppose Iseriously think there is anything to forgive?"

  "But it is true," he said piteously; "in ruining me they have ruinedyou. Mon Dieu, mon Dieu! If I only had a friend--"

  "Taisez vous donc, mon ami. It is everything most bete what you say. Youhave many friends, and as for me, I do not care a straw for the money.Only if I had known I would not have left Europe. Voila tout."

  "Ah, that is it," said Nicholas. "I escaped the police and hurried toBaden. But you were gone. So I took the first steamer and came here. ButI have waited ten days, and it was only last night I saw in the papersthat you had arrived yesterday morning. And here I am."

  Margaret rose, from a feeling that she must move about--the restlessfiend that seizes energetic people in their trouble. Nicholas thought itwas a sign for him to go. He took his hat.

  "Believe me--" he began, about to take his leave.

  "You are not going?" said Margar
et. "Oh no. Wait, and we will think ofsome expedient. Besides you have not told me half what I want to know.The money is of no consequence; but what had you done to lead to such asentence? Are you really a Nihilist?"

  "Dieu m'en garde!" said the Count devoutly. "I am a Republican, that isall. Seulement, our Holy Russia does not distinguish."

  "Is not the distinction very subtle?"

  "The difference between salvation by education and salvation bydynamite; the difference between building up and tearing down, betweenRobespierre and Monsieur Washington."

  "You must have been indiscreet. How could they have found it out?"

  "I was bete enough to write an article in the _Russki Mir_--the mildestof articles. And then some of the Nihilist agents thought I was in theirinterests and wanted to see me, and the police observed them, and I wasat once classed as a Nihilist myself, and there was a perquisition in myhouse. They found some notes and a few manuscripts of mine, quite enoughto suit their purpose, and so the game was up."

  "But they did not arrest you?"

  "No. As luck would have it, I was in Berlin at the time, on leave frommy regiment, for I was never suspected before in the least. And theNihilists, who, to tell the truth, are well organised and take good careof their brethren, succeeded in passing word to me not to come back. Afew days afterwards the Russian Embassy were hunting for me in Berlin.But I had got away. Sentence was passed in contempt, and I read the newsin the papers on my way to Paris. There is the whole history."

  "Have you any money?" inquired Margaret after a pause.

  "Mon Dieu! I have still a hundred napoleons. After that the deluge."

  "By that time we shall be ready for the deluge," said Margaretcheerfully. "I have many friends, and something may yet be done.Meanwhile do not distress yourself about me; you know I have somethingof my own."

  "How can I thank you for your kindness? You ought to hate me, andinstead you console!"

  "My dear friend, if I did not like you for your own sake, I would helpyou because you are poor Alexis's brother." There was no emotion in hervoice at the mention of her dead husband, only a certain reverence. Shehad honoured him more than she had loved him.

  "Princesse, quand meme," said Nicholas in a low voice, as he raised herfingers to his lips.

  "Leave me your address before you go. I will write as soon as I havedecided what to do." Nicholas scratched the name of a hotel on his card.

  When he was gone Margaret sank into a chair. She would have sent forClaudius--Claudius was a friend--but she recollected his note, andthought with some impatience that just when she needed him most he wasaway. Then she thought of Lady Victoria, and she rang the bell. But LadyVictoria had gone out with her brother, and they had taken Miss Skeat.Margaret was left alone in the great hotel. Far off she could hear adoor shut or the clatter of the silver covers of some belated breakfastservice finding its way up or down stairs. And in the street the eternalclatter and hum and crunch, and crunch and hum and clatter of men andwheels; the ceaseless ring of the tram-cars stopping every few steps topick up a passenger, and the jingle of the horses' bells as they movedon. It was hot--it was very hot. Clementine was right, it was_hebetant_, as it can be in New York in September. She bethought herselfthat she might go out and buy things, that last resource of a rich womanwho is tired and bored.

  Buy things! She had forgotten that she was ruined. Well, not quite that,but it seemed like it. It would be long before she would feel justifiedin buying anything more for the mere amusement of the thing. She triedto realise what it would be like to be poor. But she failed entirely, aswomen of her sort always do. She was brave enough if need be; if it mustcome, she had the courage to be poor. But she had not the skill to paintto herself what it would be like. She could not help thinking ofClaudius. It would be so pleasant just now to have him sitting there byher side, reading some one of those wise books he was so fond of.

  It was so hot. She wished something would happen. Poor Nicholas! He neednot have been so terribly cut up about the money. Who is there? It wasVladimir. Vladimir brought a card. Yes, she would see the gentleman.Vladimir disappeared, and a moment after ushered in Mr. HoraceBellingham, commonly known as "Uncle Horace."

  "I am so glad to see you, Mr. Bellingham," said Margaret, who hadconceived a great liking for the old gentleman on the previous evening,and who would have welcomed anybody this morning.

  Mr. Bellingham made a bow of the courtliest, most _ancien-regime_ kind.He had ventured to bring her a few flowers. Would she accept them? Theywere only three white roses, but there was more beauty in them than inall Mr. Barker's profusion. Margaret took them, and smelled them, andfastened them at her waist, and smiled a divine smile on the bearer.

  "Thank you, so much," said she.

  "No thanks," said he; "I am more than repaid by your appreciation;" andhe rubbed his hands together and bowed again, his head a little on oneside, as if deprecating any further acknowledgment. Then he at oncebegan to talk a little, to give her time to select her subject if shewould; for he belonged to a class of men who believe it their duty totalk to women, and who do not expect to sit with folded hands and beamused. To such men America is a revelation of social rest. In Americathe women amuse the men, and the men excuse themselves by saying thatthey work hard all day, and cannot be expected to work hard all theevening. It is evidently a state of advanced civilisation,incomprehensible to the grosser European mind--a state where talking toa woman is considered to be hard work. Or--in fear and trembling it issuggested--is it because they are not able to amuse their womankind? Istheir refusal a _testimonium paupertatis ingenii_? No--perish thethought! It may have been so a long time ago, in the Golden Age. This isnot the Golden Age; it is the Age of Gold. Messieurs! faites votre jeu!

  By degrees it became evident that Margaret wanted to talk about Russia,and Mr. Bellingham humoured her, and gave her a good view of thesituation, and told anecdotes of the Princess Dolgorouki, and drew thesame distinction between Nihilists and Republicans that Count Nicholashad made an hour earlier in the same room. Seeing she was so muchinterested, Mr. Bellingham took courage to ask a question that hadpuzzled him for some time. He stroked his snowy beard, and hesitatedslightly.

  "Pardon me, if I am indiscreet, Madam," he said at last, "but I read inthe papers the other day that a nobleman of your name--a Count Nicholas,I think--had landed in New York, having escaped the clutches of thePetersburg police, who wanted to arrest him as a Nihilist. Was he--washe any relation of yours?"

  "He is my brother-in-law," said Margaret, rather startled at seeing thepoint to which she had led the conversation. But she felt a strongsympathy for Mr. Bellingham, and she was glad to be able to speak on thesubject to any one. She stood so much in need of advice; and, after all,if the story was in the papers it was public property by this time. Mr.Bellingham was a perfect diplomatist, and, being deeply interested, hehad soon learned all the details of the case by heart.

  "It is very distressing," he said gravely. But that was all. Margarethad had some faint idea that he might offer to help her--it was absurd,of course--or at least that he might give her some good advice. But thatwas not Mr. Bellingham's way of doing things. If he intended to doanything, the last thing he would think of would be to tell her of hisintention. He led the conversation away, and having rounded it neatlywith a couple of anecdotes of her grandmother, he rose to go, pleadingan engagement. He really had so many appointments in a day that heseldom kept more than half of them, and his excuse was no politeinvention. He bowed himself out, and when he was gone Margaret felt asthough she had lost a friend.

  She wearied of the day--so long, so hot, and so unfortunate. She tried abook, and then she tried to write a letter, and then she tried to thinkagain. It seemed to her that there was so little to think about, for shehad a hopeless helpless consciousness that there was nothing to be donethat she could do. She might have written to her friends inPetersburg--of course she would do that, and make every possiblerepresentation. But all that seemed infinitely far
off, and could bedone as well to-morrow as to-day. At last Lady Victoria came back, andat sight of her Margaret resolved to confide in her likewise. She had somuch common sense, and always seemed able to get at the truth.Therefore, in the afternoon Margaret monopolised Lady Victoria andcarried her off, and they sat together with their work by the openwindow, and the Countess was "not at home."

  In truth, a woman of the world in trouble of any kind could not dobetter than confide in Lady Victoria. She is so frank and honest thatwhen you talk to her your trouble seems to grow small and your heartbig. She has not a great deal of intellect; but, then, she has a greatdeal of common sense. Common sense is, generally speaking, merely adislike of complications, and a consequent refusal on the part of theindividual to discover them. People of vivid imagination delight inmagnifying the difficulties of life by supposing themselves the centreof much scheming, plotting, and cheap fiction. They cheerfully givetheir time and their powers to the study of social diplomacy. It isreserved for people intellectually very high or very low in the scale tolead a really simple life. The average mind of the world is terriblymuddled on most points, and altogether beside itself as regards itsindividual existence; for a union of much imagination, unbounded vanity,and unfathomable ignorance can never take the place of an intellect,while such a combination cannot fail to destroy the blessed _visinertiae_ of the primitive fool, who only sees what is visible, insteadof evolving the phantoms of an airy unreality from the bottomless abyssof his own so-called consciousness. Fortunately for humanity, thelow-class unimaginative mind predominates in the world, as far asnumbers are concerned; and there are enough true intellects among men toleaven the whole. The middle class of mind is a small class, congregatedtogether chiefly within the boundaries of a very amusing institutioncalling itself "society." These people have scraped and varnished theaforesaid composition of imagination, ignorance, and vanity, into acertain conventional thing which they mendaciously term their"intelligence," from a Latin verb _intelligo_, said to mean "Iunderstand." It is a poor thing, after all the varnishing. It is neitherhammer nor anvil; it cannot strike, and, if you strike it, dissolutioninstantly takes place, after which the poor driveller is erroneouslysaid to have "lost his mind," and is removed to an asylum. It is curiousthat the great majority of lunatics should be found in "society."Society says that all men of genius are more or less mad; but it is anotable fact that very few men of genius have ever been put inmadhouses, whereas the society that calls those men crazy is alwaysfinding its way there. It takes but little to make a lunatic of poorLady Smith-Tompkins. Poor thing! you know she is so very "high-strung,"such delicate sensibilities! She has an _idee fixe_--so very sad. Ahyes! that is it. She never had an idea before, and now that she has oneshe cannot get rid of it, and it will kill her in time.

  Now people whose intellect is of a low class are not disturbed withvisions of all that there is to be known, nor with a foolish desire toappear to know it. On the other hand, they are perfectly capable ofunderstanding what is honourable or dishonourable, mean or generous, andthey are very tenacious of these principles, believing that in theletter of the law is salvation. They are not vain of qualities andpowers not theirs; and, consequently, when they promise, they promisewhat they are able to perform. Occasionally such characters appear in"society,"--rare creatures, in whom a pernicious education has notspoiled the simplicity and honesty which is their only virtue. They fallnaturally into the position of confessors to the community, for thecommunity requires confessors of some sort. In them confides thehardened sinner bursting with evil deeds and the accumulation of pettynaughtiness. To them comes the beardless ass, simpering from his firstadventure, and generally "afraid he has compromised" the mature woman ofthe world, whom he has elected to serve, desiring to know what he oughtto do about it. To them, too, comes sometimes the real sufferer with hisor her little tale of woe, hesitatingly told, half hinted, hoping to bewholly understood. They are good people, these social confessors, thoughthey seldom give much advice. Nevertheless, it is such a help to tellone's story and hear how it sounds!

  Lady Victoria was not a woman of surpassing intellect; perhaps she hadno intellect at all. She belonged to the confessors above referred to.She was the soul of honour, of faith, and of secrecy. People were alwaysmaking confidences to her, and they always felt the better forit--though she herself could not imagine why. And so even Margaret cameand told her troubles. Only, as Margaret was really intelligent, she didnot hesitate or make any fuss about telling, when once she had made upher mind. The story was, indeed, public property by this time, and LadyVictoria was sure to know it all before long from other people. WhenMargaret had finished, she laid down her work and looked out of thewindow, waiting.

  "I need not tell you I am sorry," said Lady Victoria. "You know that, mydear. But what will you do? It will be so very awkward for you, youknow."

  "I hardly can tell yet--what would you do in my place?"

  "Let me see," said the English girl. "What would I do? You must have aRussian minister here somewhere. I think I would send for him, if I wereyou."

  "But it takes so long--so dreadfully long, to get anything done in thatway," said Margaret. And they discussed the point in a desultoryfashion. Of course Lady Victoria's suggestion was the simplest and mostdirect one. She was quite certain that Margaret would get her rightsvery soon.

  "Of course," said she, "they must do it. It would be so unjust not to."She looked at Margaret with a bright smile, as if there was no suchthing as injustice in the world. But the Countess looked grave; and asshe leaned back in her deep arm-chair by the window, with half-closedeyes, it was easy to see she was in trouble. She needed help andsympathy and comfort. She had never needed help before, and it was not apleasant sensation to her; perhaps she was dissatisfied when sherealised whose help of all others she would most gladly accept. At leastit would be most pleasant that he should offer it. "He"--has it come tothat? Poor Margaret! If "he" represented a sorrow instead of ahappiness, would you confide that too to Lady Victoria? Or would youfeel the least shadow of annoyance because you miss him to-day? Perhapsit is only habit. You have schooled yourself to believe you ought to dowithout him, and you fancy you ought to be angry with yourself fortransgressing your rule. But what avails your schooling against thelittle god? He will teach you a lesson you will not forget. The day issinking. The warm earth is drinking out its cup of sunlight to thepurple dregs thereof. There is great colour in the air, and the cloudsare as a trodden wine-press in the west. The old sun, the golden bowl oflife, is touching earth's lips, and soon there will be none of the wineof light left in him. She will drink it all. Yet your lover tarries,Margaret, and comes not.

  Margaret and Lady Victoria agreed they would dine together. Indeed,Margaret had a little headache, for she was weary. They would dinetogether, and then read something in the evening--quite alone; and sothey did. It was nearly nine o'clock when the servant announced Claudiusand the Duke. The latter, of course, knew nothing about Margaret'stroubles, and was in high spirits. As for Claudius, his momentaryexcitement, caused by Mr. Screw's insinuations, had long since passedaway, and he was as calm as ever, meditating a graphic description ofhis day's excursion to Greenwood Cemetery for Margaret's benefit. It wasa lugubrious subject, but he well knew how to make his talk interesting.It is the individual, not the topic, that makes the conversation; if aman can talk well, graveyards are as good a subject as the last novel,and he will make tombstones more attractive than scandal.

  No one could have told from Claudius's appearance or conversation thatnight that there was anything in the world to cloud his happiness. Hetalked to the woman he loved with a serene contempt for everything elsein the world--a contempt, too, which was not assumed. He was perfectlyhappy for the nonce, and doubly so in that such a happy termination to avery long day was wholly unexpected. He had thought that he should findthe party gone from New York on his return from Greenwood, and this bitof good luck seemed to have fallen to him out of a clear sky. Margaretwas glad to see him t
oo; she was just now in that intermediate frame ofmind during which a woman only reasons about a man in his absence. Themoment he appears, the electric circuit is closed and the quiescentstate ceases. She was at the point when his coming made a differencethat she could feel; when she heard his step her blood beat faster, andshe could feel herself turning a shade paler. Then the heavy lids woulddroop a little to hide what was in her dark eyes, and there were manyvoices in her ear, as though the very air cried _gloria_, while herheart answered _in excelsis_. But when he was come the gentle taleseemed carried on, as from the hour of his last going; and while hestayed life seemed one long day.

  She had struggled hard, but in her deepest thoughts she had foreseen thetermination. It is the instinct of good women to fight against love--hecomes in such a questionable shape. A good woman sees a differencebetween being in love and loving--well knowing that there is passionwithout love, but no love without passion. She feels bound in faith toset up a tribunal in her heart, whereby to judge between the two; butvery often judge and jury and prisoner at the bar join hands, and sweareternal friendship on the spot. Margaret had feared lest this Northernwooer, with his mighty strength and his bold eyes, should lead herfeelings whither her heart would not. Sooner than suffer that, she woulddie. And yet there is a whole unspoken prophecy of love in every humansoul, and his witness is true.

  All this evening they sat side by side, welding their bonds. Each had asecret care, but each forgot it utterly. Claudius would not have deignedto think of his own troubles when he was with her; and she never onceremembered how, during that morning, she had longed to tell him allabout her brother-in-law. They talked of all sorts of things, and theymade up their minds to go to Newport the next day.

  Miss Skeat asked whether Newport was as romantic as Scarborough.