Kitabı oku: «The Chronicles of a Gay Gordon», sayfa 4
It was about this time that a reconciliation took place between King Alfonso’s mother, Queen Isabella, and Don Carlos, of a personal but not official character. The proverb, “Blood is thicker than water,” sometimes comes true. The two were near relations. They had no personal quarrels. Her own destiny was settled and Don Carlos’s own efforts to wrest the Crown from her son had ended in failure. Why, therefore, any need for further enmity? I am reminded of a quaint conceit of Isabella’s, which amused not only her but also her friends. Isabella had grown to be a woman of large proportions – in fact, of unmistakable proportions. One of her favourite ladies-in-waiting was similarly endowed by nature, if not more so. Isabella’s hospitality was noted for its old magnificence. Her entertainments were, one might say, superb. She delighted in masked balls, and it was her pleasure to move in the crowd of guests, masked, without being recognized. As her wish in this was made known to her guests, the pleasing illusion was kept up till the hour for unmasking arrived.
CHAPTER VII
MY FIRST ENGAGEMENT
I had been in Paris about three weeks when it came to the mind of Don Carlos that he could arrange an excellent marriage for me. Any of my readers who know how marriages are managed in France and Spain could not be surprised that his liking for me personally prompted this kind thought. Without my knowledge, but with the aid of my cousin’s wife and other feminine confederates, he had selected a charming girl, some seventeen years of age, the only daughter of a rich financier, scion of an old French family, whose wife was a Spaniard. During my visit I had met her at times. She was as desirable a partner for life as any, prince or peasant, could have wanted. Educated in one of the best convents in Paris, she spoke English and Spanish equally as well as her own language. She was tall, for a Frenchwoman, and her love for sport was equal to her personal charms. Up to this time I had, I suppose, not had time to fall in love with anyone in particular. This was probably due to the fact that I was imbued somewhat with the spirit which prompted a Spanish songster to write:
Then came the day when I was told that practically my engagement to her had been approved by her family. This came, I need hardly say, as a considerable surprise. The future was as rosy as the rosiest sunrise in any part of the world could be – a most desirable and charming wife, a life of contentment and pleasure. Who could ask for a better future? No more soldiering. On the contrary, a ready-made road to success, in whatever walk of life I chose to pursue. Some such thoughts – and many others – passed through my mind and I plucked up courage. Still, my heart was not in the affair, as you will see; but I argued to myself that, if the marriage did not finally take place, it could mean only the breaking of a family arrangement, which would not result in much grief or sorrow to my fiancée, as she certainly could not have become very devoted to me personally.
A fortnight or so passed, during which some further family affairs were discussed, and the day was at hand when the engagement was to be made public. Unfortunately a stroke of ill luck overtook me the night before that very day. It was the custom in Paris for those engaged in the theatrical profession to hold annually an Artists’ Ball in aid of the charities supported by them. This year the ball was to be held at the Grand Hotel. It was always a brilliant and picturesque pageant. The companies playing in the theatres entered the magnificent ballroom dressed in their theatrical costumes, while others appeared in fancy dresses. Remembering the fame for good taste, smartness and chic of Frenchwomen, the beauty of such a gathering is not surprising. The younger members of our party promised ourselves a thoroughly enjoyable night, while the elder ones looked forward to much pleasure too. It was about half-past twelve that the guests assembled in the ballroom to watch the arrival of the artists. Company after company entered, amidst much applause, and took up the position allotted to them. At a given signal the men approached the ladies to beg for the honour of dancing with them; it was a thoroughly Bohemian fête, and it was not necessary to obtain personal introductions. One very politely made his request of a lady for a dance. If it was granted, all was well. If it was not granted, then a polite bow – and all was not well.
I had been much attracted by a very sweet and charming actress. She appeared to me as the impersonation of all that was lovely. Her complexion was fair, and her hair golden – a head that Murillo would have loved to paint. She was rather petite, but, oh dear me, what a figure! What ankles! What sweetly moulded neck and arms! What delicately coloured flesh! Are you surprised that she looked all lovable? She had a companion, differing in type, but with equally as many charms of her own. One of my friends seemed to be much taken with her, and we at once decided to try our fortune and beg of them to honour us by accepting us as partners for the opening dance. As soon as the signal was given we did so, and, to our great joy, we obtained their permission. No two young men were happier than we were, for one dance followed another till supper was ready. Of course, the fact had quite escaped my mind that, in France and Spain, it is not usual for engaged men to dance with other ladies than their fiancée– and certainly outré for them to make themselves conspicuous by paying too much attention to any ladies, especially at such public functions. Still I continued to enjoy myself. My friend was equally successful with his partner.
Before going to supper Louise (my charming companion’s name) told me that she had another ball to attend that night, and that, as it was then about 2 a.m., she and her friend Estelle would take a light supper and leave immediately afterwards. Their will was, of course, law to us. We sent out a message by our footman for our carriage to be ready at the exit gateway in half an hour, and our partie carrée continued to enjoy itself. While at supper my cousin came to our table. We introduced him to Louise and Estelle. He joined us in a glass of champagne, and, as he left us, he said to me in Spanish, “Ten cuidado; tomas demasiados riesgos.”2 But, what think you? Did I care? No. I did not even realize that he was alluding to my engagement. I just thought that he had noticed that we four had passed the whole evening together, and that possibly we might be opening a friendship that might result in a liaison which might not be so judicious. We wished him good night and he passed on.
After supper we hurried to our carriage and drove to Louise’s apartments, which were only a short distance from the Grand Hotel. Arriving there, Louise suggested that my friend should drive Estelle home and return to take her to the other ball to which she was going. This we, of course, agreed to, and Louise invited me to her apartments to have a glass of champagne while she placed herself in the hands of her maid to change her costume and we awaited the arrival of my friend and the carriage. They were delightful apartments – such as one expects Parisiennes of exquisite taste to dwell in. The dining-room was a work of art in white and gold. Sky-blue draperies, deeply embroidered in Japanese fashion, with birds of the air and fishes of the seas in such bewildering colour as only the Japanese know how to depict. Louise’s dress at the ball was in the same sky-blue tone, and – as she stood in her dining-room taking a glass of champagne before handing herself over to the tender mercies of her maid – she looked almost heavenly. Anyway, so any man would have thought if he had been in my place, and of my age, during those precious moments.
But is there not a proverb that says: “All that glitters is not gold”? It applies not only to physical but also to mental condition. My mental condition was one of happiness. Louise was beautiful. Louise was kind, and the world was good and so was the champagne. But Nemesis was not far off.
Presently Louise returned to me. She wished for a cigarette and a glass of champagne before her maid robed her for her second ball. Just clad in the filmiest and most fetching of wraps (I think that is the word), she looked as bewitching as if she had just floated down from the abodes of bliss and beauty. She had just sipped her glass of champagne and lit her cigarette, and leaned on the arm of the arm-chair in which I was sitting, when we heard the hall-door open and someone enter.
“Hush!” she said; “it is Gustave! Leave him to me and say little.”
“Louise, ma chèrie, où êtes vous?”
It was Gustave. He drew apart the silken curtains separating the hall from the dining-room. “Voilà, je suis retourné. Mais … mon Dieu!”
As the curtains were drawn Louise rose from the arm of the chair (I at once rose also), and in the sweetest tones, speaking in English, Louise said: “My dear Gustave. What a pleasant surprise. No? Oh, yes, for me! I thought you would not return till the day after to-morrow. So! No? Let me introduce to you my friend, an English officer. He has been so polite to me at our fête to-night.”
Gustave and I stood facing each other; we had no need for introductions. Gustave was the bachelor brother of my prospective father-in-law. He happened also to be a particular friend of Louise’s. I knew him and he knew me. We looked calmly at each other. He was twice my age; it was not for me to speak. The piece was set as if for a dramatic scene – Louise, in her charming deshabillé; my humble self, silent but unabashed; Gustave, practically in possession of the situation. The moment was a critical one, but though Nemesis had arrived it was not the Nemesis with a flaming sword; it was the Nemesis with a somewhat more dangerous weapon, that of French politeness, which scorns to provoke personal quarrels in the presence of ladies but awaits to obtain reparation in good time in accordance with the code of honour.
Bowing low to Louise and looking at me straight in the face, Gustave politely remarked, “It happens that I am acquainted with monsieur the English lieutenant. I regret that I have intruded and disturbed your tête-à-tête at such an hour of the morning. Pray forgive me, Louise. I have no doubt monsieur the lieutenant and I will meet by and by. N’est-ce pas, monsieur le lieutenant? Good night to you both.” And, as Louise moved, Gustave added, “Please, oh, please, do not bother. I know my way out quite well. Au revoir.” He drew the curtains aside and, turning towards us, made the politest of bows and was gone.
“Louise,” I said, as I took her hands in mine, “it is all my fault. Can you forgive me?”
“Mon jeune ami,” said Louise as she looked up at me. “First of all, give me one kiss. Yes, I like that; just one more. So! Ah! Good! Now you said, ‘Forgive me.’ For that I love you, because it is what a man always should say to a woman. I not only forgive you, but I think you are charmant. One more kiss – eh! ah! nice. I never allowed anyone, since I remember, even to suggest to me to ask forgiveness. Certainly not any man. Don’t be concerned; don’t be unhappy. Gustave will come by and by and will ask me to forgive him for his conduct to-night. He was rude; he was unpleasant in front of me. He suggested, by his words, things that had not happened. That was more than impolite; it was ungentlemanly, and you will see he will be very sorry and come to me and ask me to forgive him. At this moment I know not that I will forgive him. One more kiss. He is a good friend, but by no means indispensable to me. I have all I wish of my own and can please myself as to whom I choose for my friends. So don’t be concerned. Just one more kiss and I go to make ready for the ball. Ah! the hall door bell! Your friend returns. I will be with you bien vite. Silence, n’est-ce pas?” And she went to her room.
Next minute my friend was with me. He was so full of the charms of Estelle that I had not – even if I wished – an opportunity of saying anything. Another cigarette, a couple of glasses of champagne, the presence of Louise looking sweeter than ever, all in pink silks and satins, and we were off in the carriage to leave her at the private house where her friends, she said, would be wondering what had become of her.
We two returned home in the early hours of the morning and retired to bed. Bed was one thing. Sleep was another. The day and evening had been crowded with unexpected events, wonderful happenings and newly inspired emotions. First and foremost, one event was certain. My engagement was doomed. Why, in all creation, had I selected Louise from all those six hundred other women who had attended the ball at the Grand Hotel? Louise, who was Gustave’s friend, and Gustave, my prospective uncle-in-law? There was only one answer – “Nemesis.”
Then I remembered my cousin’s warning at supper, “Cuidado!” Well, warnings are of no value if they are not heeded. One thing was clear. The engagement would be off. I must admit that the fault was all mine; I would not, nay, could not, offer any excuse. I had not played the game. I had failed to rise to the occasion and prove myself the correct youth that my sponsors had vouched for. So, no doubt the prospective father-in-law would soon call a family council and Gustave’s relations would be discussed – and then, an end to the affair.
Curiously enough, this did not trouble me much. I felt that the worst harm I had done was to hurt the pride of my would-be benefactors. This might be pardonable, but, as regarded my fiancée, what should I do? There seemed to me only one way to act that was honourable. I would ask that I might be given the privilege of seeing her for the last time and ask her forgiveness. If this was refused, then I would find my own way to see her. My thoughts ran on. All the pleasures of the evening recalled themselves. A new sensation coursed through my brain. Yes; it must be so. I must be in love. Love at first sight – and in love with Louise. Was she to suffer – and I the cause of her sufferings? No. I would see her, tell her of my love for her, marry her. Louise, one more kiss – eh! Then I must have fallen asleep.
When I returned from the world of nod my valet had brought me my morning chocolate. My brain was anything but clear. That some happenings of a surely serious nature had taken place the night before was certain. What were they? Gradually my memory recalled them. And then I dressed. As I was just ready for déjeuner my cousin sent me word that he would like to see me. I knew what it was about. Our interview was short. He was very kind. He laid all the blame on himself for expecting that the method of making marriages by arrangement would be a success where a youthful Britisher was concerned. He, however, wished I should tell him all that had happened since he had seen me at supper, and especially about my meeting with Gustave.
I just told him – as I have told you, pointing out that the affair had been quite harmless, though appearances were certainly against me. He left the house and returned later on. He had seen Gustave. The engagement, of course, was off. My escapade was looked upon as excusable. I was young and inexperienced in the ways of the world, and permission was graciously given me to see my late fiancée. This I did, and, I am happy to say, she not only forgave me but we remained friends.
It suddenly dawned upon me that my leave was up and that I was due back to duty at home. Don Carlos, while somewhat resenting the unfortunate ending of his scheme, made allowances for me when the whole story was related to him. He smiled a kindly smile as I expressed to him all my regrets that I had failed to take advantage of his well-meaning efforts in my behalf.
But then, what about Louise? What about Gustave? What should I do? The solution came from Gustave himself. Next day I received an invitation from him to a supper party at the Café d’Helder. Naturally I accepted. We were to meet at a quarter to twelve, and my friend, Estelle’s admirer, was also asked. It was a merry party; just ten of us. The hour to say “Good morning” arrived only too soon. For me it was not only “good morning” but also “good-bye.” I had to leave Paris the evening of that day. My last but one good-bye was to Louise. I kissed the hands she gave me; then she said, looking towards Gustave with smiling eyes, “One last kiss for monsieur the lieutenant. N’est-ce pas, Gustave? Mais, oui. The final. Pourquoi non?” So Louise and I kissed.
Then Gustave shook hands with me, placed his hand on my shoulder, and we left the supper-room together. He came down to see me into my carriage, and as I was stepping into it he once more shook my hand and said, “You are very young. I am old enough to be your father. Always remember your English proverb: ‘Look before you leap.’ Good night. Bonne fortune toujours.”
Thus ended my first romance and, with it, my most enjoyable visit to Paris.
CHAPTER VIII
SOLDIERING IN IRELAND
On obtaining his commission a young officer was ordered to report himself at the Royal Artillery Barracks at Woolwich, to undergo six months’ further training in his regimental duties and in practical work at the Arsenal, with occasional visits to the School of Gunnery at Shoeburyness. It was a happy six months if he managed to keep out of trouble, for there were many temptations to overcome. Straight away from the strict discipline of the “Shop,” the young officer found himself – or at least considered himself – quite a gentleman at large. In his own opinion he had become a person of very considerable importance, and the orders he gave had to be implicitly obeyed. His uniform was a source of extreme pleasure to him. He was allotted a whole “Tommy” to himself as a soldier servant. He rejoiced in the possession of quite a big room for his quarters. And there was the Mess.
At that time there had been an amalgamation of the English and Indian Artillery, which were combined into one General List, so that the whole of the Artillery formed one Regiment comprising Horse, Field and Garrison Artillery. The headquarters were at Woolwich, and the Royal Artillery Mess was the Headquarters Mess, and is so still, though lately there have been further sub-divisions of the Regiment. Still, these have not as yet, so far as I know, resulted in any change as regards the Headquarters Mess. It remains to be seen what changes will or will not be made in the future.
One of the institutions attached to the Royal Artillery Mess was the Garrison Theatre. At regular intervals the Royal Artillery officers gave performances at this theatre. Let me tell you that it is seldom that an Engineer or Artillery officer was not a first-rate dancer; for, at the “Shop,” two or three nights a week dancing took place in the gymnasium to the delightful music of the Royal Artillery band. On these nights ladies were not allowed to attend, so the cadets had to supply the ladies amongst themselves. But the continual practice naturally made them good dancers. Personally I took great delight in the art of dancing. I was built just for it, tall, light, thin and long-legged. I was able to pirouette and high-kick fairly well.
I was very keen on private theatricals, so that, amongst my other important duties of those days, I was appointed stage manager and producer for a week’s performance which was to take place at the Garrison Theatre. The play was the old farce, Box and Cox, which was converted into a musical comedy. Some people say to this day that this particular production was the origin of the musical comedies which have since then so amused the public. Mrs. Bouncer was most excellently performed by Lieutenant Bingham, while Lieutenants Jocelyn and Fritz, if I remember rightly, were Box and Cox. Mrs. Bouncer, assisted in the musical part of the piece by a chorus of lusty sergeants and gunners, who revelled in dances and choruses, was a great success, while a specially selected chorus of ballet-girls highly distinguished themselves. The production was quite good, and the financial results on behalf of the regimental charities were most satisfactory. In after years the theatrical experiences thus gained gave me considerable enjoyment. But of this, later on.
The end of the six months’ training at Woolwich being completed, I was appointed to a Garrison company, with its headquarters at Limerick – good old Limerick – which was then known as the paradise of hard-up subalterns. Limerick is a quaint town. There is Old Limerick and Modern Limerick. The old town is situated round the castle, which is on the banks of the Shannon, and where – across the river – stands the old Treaty Stone. It is difficult to describe Old Limerick. One must really see it and live in it to appreciate its dirty houses, poor tenements, its smells and other unhealthy attributes. Yet it is a characteristic little piece of old Ireland. This part of the old town reached down to the cathedral, past which the main street – George Street – runs through the modern town, practically parallel with the River Shannon. With the exception of the old castle, Limerick does not possess any buildings of very particular interest. The best residential part was across the river, Circular Row. Limerick itself has nothing to recommend it as regards picturesqueness, but there is much beauty in the country surrounding it. From just below the castle the River Shannon has some beautiful reaches, right away up to Castle Connell; while Tervoe on the river, Adare Abbey, and many other places are well known.
When I reported myself to my commanding officer at the castle I found that our company, which then consisted of about eighty all told, was doing duty from the very North to the South of Ireland. There was a detachment of some twenty-five men at a place called Green Castle, which was an old fort at the entrance of Lough Swilly, not far off the Giant’s Causeway. Another detachment of some thirty-five men was on duty at Carlisle Fort, one of the forts guarding the entrance into Cork Harbour at Queenstown. This left us about twenty men at our headquarters at Limerick Castle. Our captain was not with the company. He was A.D.C. to a Colonial Governor, and, of course, was seconded. The two senior subalterns were in command of the detachments at Green Castle and Carlisle Fort, so that the commanding officer, our good major and myself, were left at our headquarters with the twenty men. By the time that we found the guard for the day, the major’s two orderlies, my own orderly, the cook and cook’s mate, the district gunner (who was busy keeping our three very old guns, mounted in the tower, polished up), the office clerk and the barrack sweeper, the morning parade consisted usually of the sergeant-major.
At nine o’clock every morning, after first joining, I appeared on parade, when the sergeant-major reported “All present, sir,” and I said, “Carry on, sergeant-major,” and went inside to breakfast. After a time I’m afraid I got into the bad habit of letting the sergeant-major come to make his report at the window of my quarters, which faced the barrack-square. At ten o’clock the major, whose quarters were above mine, and who was the happy possessor of some eight children, appeared at the company office, and I duly reported to him, “All correct, sir, this morning.” For it was only very occasionally that we had a prisoner. The major would answer, “Very good.” I would then ask him, “Do you want me any more to-day, sir?” He would then answer, without a smile, for he was a serious-minded major, “No, thanks.” And then the joys of my day would begin for me.
The way in which my major came to be quartered in Limerick was this. He was the eldest brother of a very well-known family in Tipperary. He had many brothers, all of whom were also well known and much liked throughout the surrounding districts. They were all first-class horsemen, and, needless to say, good sportsmen all round. One of these brothers was at the time Sub-Sheriff of Limerick. It was indeed a difficult post to fill in those days. The country was exceedingly disturbed. Evictions were all too frequent, with the accompanying result of riots and murders, and it required much pluck and tact to carry out the Sub-Sheriff’s duties. My major had been, some time previous to my joining, ordered to Singapore, while another major, a bachelor, was in command of the company at Limerick. In those days officers were allowed to exchange on the payment of fees agreed upon. My major did not relish the idea of proceeding to Singapore with his young family of eight, so he approached the bachelor major at Limerick with a view to an exchange, and offered a very handsome sum. The bachelor major very promptly accepted, and the exchange took place. Just before leaving Limerick the members of the club gave the bachelor major a farewell dinner, and, in proposing his health, the chairman remarked that he didn’t understand why anybody should wish to leave Limerick for such an awful place as Singapore. When answering the toast the bachelor major said he would tell them in confidence the real reason. He went on to say that a short time before he accepted the exchange he had been to dinner with friends, some nine miles away, across the Shannon, in County Clare. He was returning home with the old jarvey on an outside car, and as it was a fairly fine night, moonlight, and he had had a very good dinner, he was enjoying his pipe and now and again having a little doze. They were passing a piece of road which was bounded on one side by a somewhat thick hedge. Suddenly there was a flash and the loud report of a gun, which very promptly woke him and made the old jarvey sit up too, and pull his horse up. Immediately two heads popped up over the hedge, had a good look at the major, and then one of the men said, “Begorra, Pat, we’ve shot at the wrong man again,” and promptly disappeared. “Now, don’t you think, my friends, that it’s time I went to Singapore?”
But he never told them of the cheque he got to go to Singapore.
At that time the garrison of Limerick was fairly strong. There was a Field Artillery battery at the William Street Barracks, and there were a regiment of infantry and a squadron of cavalry at the New Barracks, so that our turn for any garrison duty didn’t come very often, and we had plenty of time to enjoy ourselves. Anyone who wished and who had sufficient horses could put in four or five days’ hunting a week during the season. The Master of the Limerick Hounds at the time lived at Croome. He was a typical Irish gentleman, noted for his genial character and the forcefulness of his language in the hunting field. Limerick is a fine hunting country, and gives excellent sport. There were many good riders in those days. Our friend the Sub-Sheriff was one, but perhaps the best man there was the owner of Ballynegarde, at whose hospitable house we spent many happy days. He must have ridden quite over sixteen stone, and I well remember seeing him, on a chestnut horse, clear the wall which surrounded the park, the chestnut changing his feet on the top, just like a cat. Good horses were just as expensive in those days as they were before the war, but we subalterns did not buy expensive horses; we picked up good jumpers that had gone cronk, and trusted to the vet., occasional firing, plenty of bandages, and not too hard work to keep them going.
Riding out one morning towards Mount Shannon, the then lovely home of the Fitzgibbons, on the banks of the river, and just on leaving the old town of Limerick, I arrived at a rather long and steep hill, at the foot of which a jarvey was trying to induce his horse, a long, rakish, Irish-built bay, to go up. The horse absolutely refused to do so, and each time the old jarvey flogged him he exhibited very considerable agility in every direction except up the hill. I rode up to the jarvey and asked him what was the matter. “Shure, sir,” he said, “I bought this horse to go up this hill, for I am the mail contractor on this road. I’ve got him here these last three mornings, and I’ve never got farther than this. Now I’ll have to go back again and get another horse, and all the people will get their mails late and they’ll report me, and they’ll fine me, and the divil do I know what my ould missus’ll have to say about it. And, shure, yer honour, ’tis all the fault of this donkey-headed old quadruped.”
I asked him whether the old quadruped could jump.
“Shure, yer honour,” he said, “he’d jump out of his harness, traces an’ all, if I hadn’t got him by the bit.”
“Will you sell him?” says I.
“Will I sell him?” says he. “Will I find the fool that’ll buy him, yer honour?”
“Bring him up to the old castle in the morning,” says I, “and I may find the fool that’ll buy him.”
“Begorra, sir,” says he, “yer a gintleman. I’ll be there with him at nine o’clock, with a halter round his old ewe neck.”
Next morning, at nine o’clock, just as the sergeant-major was reporting as usual, “All correct,” I saw my old friend leading his quadruped into the barrack square. He was a quaint looking horse. He was particularly full of corners, for he wasn’t furnished up above at all. But he had good-boned legs. His coat was by way of being a miracle to look at. He had no particular colour to speak of. In some places he was a bit of a roan – Taffy-like; round some other corners he was a dirty bay. In some places, especially where for the last three days he had attempted to get out of his harness at the bottom of the hill, there was no hair at all. But he had a good-looking eye; he had good sound feet; good bone, though his tail was hardly up to Cocker. Most of it, no doubt, was now part and parcel of the car.
I can well remember the look of the correct and austere sergeant-major – who himself was a bit of a sport, but who still considered himself “on parade” – as he cast his eye over that noble quadruped, and wondered what his lieutenant was about. I could see that he was asking himself, “Is he going to run a circus, and is this going to be the freak horse?”
