_EPILOGUE OF THE CIGAR DIVAN_
On a certain day of lashing rain in the December of last year, andbetween the hours of nine and ten in the morning, Mr. Edward Challonerpioneered himself under an umbrella to the door of the Cigar Divan inRupert Street. It was a place he had visited but once before: the memoryof what had followed on that visit and the fear of Somerset havingprevented his return. Even now, he looked in before he entered; but theshop was free of customers.
The young man behind the counter was so intently writing in a pennyversion-book, that he paid no heed to Challoner's arrival. On a secondglance, it seemed to the latter that he recognised him.
'By Jove,' he thought, 'unquestionably Somerset!'
And though this was the very man he had been so sedulously careful toavoid, his unexplained position at the receipt of custom changed distasteto curiosity.
'"Or opulent rotunda strike the sky,"' said the shopman to himself, inthe tone of one considering a verse. 'I suppose it would be too much tosay "orotunda," and yet how noble it were! "Or opulent orotunda strikethe sky." But that is the bitterness of arts; you see a good effect, andsome nonsense about sense continually intervenes.'
'Somerset, my dear fellow,' said Challoner, 'is this a masquerade?'
'What? Challoner!' cried the shopman. 'I am delighted to see you. Onemoment, till I finish the octave of my sonnet: only the octave.' Andwith a friendly waggle of the hand, he once more buried himself in thecommerce of the Muses. 'I say,' he said presently, looking up, 'you seemin wonderful preservation: how about the hundred pounds?'
'I have made a small inheritance from a great aunt in Wales,' repliedChalloner modestly.
'Ah,' said Somerset, 'I very much doubt the legitimacy of inheritance.The State, in my view, should collar it. I am now going through a stageof socialism and poetry,' he added apologetically, as one who spoke of acourse of medicinal waters.
'And are you really the person of the--establishment?' inquiredChalloner, deftly evading the word 'shop.'
'A vendor, sir, a vendor,' returned the other, pocketing his poesy. 'Ihelp old Happy and Glorious. Can I offer you a weed?'
'Well, I scarcely like . . . ' began Challoner.
'Nonsense, my dear fellow,' cried the shopman. 'We are very proud of thebusiness; and the old man, let me inform you, besides being the mostegregious of created beings from the point of view of ethics, isliterally sprung from the loins of kings. "_De Godall je suis lefervent_." There is only one Godall.--By the way,' he added, asChalloner lit his cigar, 'how did you get on with the detective trade?'
'I did not try,' said Challoner curtly.
'Ah, well, I did,' returned Somerset, 'and made the most incomparablemess of it: lost all my money and fairly covered myself with odium andridicule. There is more in that business, Challoner, than meets the eye;there is more, in fact, in all businesses. You must believe in them, orget up the belief that you believe. Hence,' he added, 'the recognisedinferiority of the plumber, for no one could believe in plumbing.'
'_A propos_,' asked Challoner, 'do you still paint?'
'Not now,' replied Paul; 'but I think of taking up the violin.'
Challoner's eye, which had been somewhat restless since the trade of thedetective had been named, now rested for a moment on the columns of themorning paper, where it lay spread upon the counter.
'By Jove,' he cried, 'that's odd!'
'What is odd?' asked Paul.
'Oh, nothing,' returned the other: 'only I once met a person calledM'Guire.'
'So did I!' cried Somerset. 'Is there anything about him?'
Challoner read as follows: '_Mysterious death in Stepney_. An inquestwas held yesterday on the body of Patrick M'Guire, described as acarpenter. Doctor Dovering stated that he had for some time treated thedeceased as a dispensary patient, for sleeplessness, loss of appetite,and nervous depression. There was no cause of death to be found. Hewould say the deceased had sunk. Deceased was not a temperate man, whichdoubtless accelerated death. Deceased complained of dumb ague, butwitness had never been able to detect any positive disease. He did notknow that he had any family. He regarded him as a person of unsoundintellect, who believed himself a member and the victim of some secretsociety. If he were to hazard an opinion, he would say deceased had diedof fear.'
'And the doctor would be right,' cried Somerset; 'and my dear Challoner,I am so relieved to hear of his demise, that I will--Well, after all,' headded, 'poor devil, he was well served.'
The door at this moment opened, and Desborough appeared upon thethreshold. He was wrapped in a long waterproof, imperfectly suppliedwith buttons; his boots were full of water, his hat greasy with service;and yet he wore the air of one exceeding well content with life. He washailed by the two others with exclamations of surprise and welcome.
'And did you try the detective business?' inquired Paul.
'No,' returned Harry. 'Oh yes, by the way, I did though: twice, and gotcaught out both times. But I thought I should find my--my wife here?' headded, with a kind of proud confusion.
'What? are you married?' cried Somerset.
'Oh yes,' said Harry, 'quite a long time: a month at least.'
'Money?' asked Challoner.
'That's the worst of it,' Desborough admitted. 'We are deadly hard up.But the Pri--- Mr. Godall is going to do something for us. That is whatbrings us here.'
'Who was Mrs. Desborough?' said Challoner, in the tone of a man ofsociety.
'She was a Miss Luxmore,' returned Harry. 'You fellows will be sure tolike her, for she is much cleverer than I. She tells wonderful stories,too; better than a book.'
And just then the door opened, and Mrs. Desborough entered. Somersetcried out aloud to recognise the young lady of the Superfluous Mansion,and Challoner fell back a step and dropped his cigar as he beheld thesorceress of Chelsea.
'What!' cried Harry, 'do you both know my wife?'
'I believe I have seen her,' said Somerset, a little wildly.
'I think I have met the gentleman,' said Mrs. Desborough sweetly; 'but Icannot imagine where it was.'
'Oh no,' cried Somerset fervently: 'I have no notion--I cannotconceive--where it could have been. Indeed,' he continued, growing inemphasis, 'I think it highly probable that it's a mistake.'
'And you, Challoner?' asked Harry, 'you seemed to recognise her too.'
'These are both friends of yours, Harry?' said the lady. 'Delighted, Iam sure. I do not remember to have met Mr. Challoner.'
Challoner was very red in the face, perhaps from having groped after hiscigar. 'I do not remember to have had the pleasure,' he respondedhuskily.
'Well, and Mr. Godall?' asked Mrs. Desborough.
'Are you the lady that has an appointment with old--' began Somerset, andpaused blushing. 'Because if so,' he resumed, 'I was to announce you atonce.'
And the shopman raised a curtain, opened a door, and passed into a smallpavilion which had been added to the back of the house. On the roof, therain resounded musically. The walls were lined with maps and prints anda few works of reference. Upon a table was a large-scale map of Egyptand the Soudan, and another of Tonkin, on which, by the aid of colouredpins, the progress of the different wars was being followed day by day.A light, refreshing odour of the most delicate tobacco hung upon the air;and a fire, not of foul coal, but of clear-flaming resinous billets,chattered upon silver dogs. In this elegant and plain apartment, Mr.Godall sat in a morning muse, placidly gazing at the fire and hearkeningto the rain upon the roof.
'Ha, my dear Mr. Somerset,' said he, 'and have you since last nightadopted any fresh political principle?'
'The lady, sir,' said Somerset, with another blush.
'You have seen her, I believe?' returned Mr. Godall; and on Somerset'sreplying in the affirmative, 'You will excuse me, my dear sir,' heresumed, 'if I offer you a hint. I think it not improbable this lady maydesire entirely to forget the past. From one gentleman to another, nomore words are necessary.'
&
nbsp; A moment after, he had received Mrs. Desborough with that grave andtouching urbanity that so well became him.
'I am pleased, madam, to welcome you to my poor house,' he said; 'andshall be still more so, if what were else a barren courtesy and apleasure personal to myself, shall prove to be of serious benefit to youand Mr. Desborough.'
'Your Highness,' replied Clara, 'I must begin with thanks; it is likewhat I have heard of you, that you should thus take up the case of theunfortunate; and as for my Harry, he is worthy of all that you can do.'She paused.
'But for yourself?' suggested Mr. Godall--'it was thus you were about tocontinue, I believe.'
'You take the words out of my mouth,' she said. 'For myself, it isdifferent.'
'I am not here to be a judge of men,' replied the Prince; 'still less ofwomen. I am now a private person like yourself and many million others;but I am one who still fights upon the side of quiet. Now, madam, youknow better than I, and God better than you, what you have done tomankind in the past; I pause not to inquire; it is with the future Iconcern myself, it is for the future I demand security. I would notwillingly put arms into the hands of a disloyal combatant; and I dare notrestore to wealth one of the levyers of a private and a barbarous war. Ispeak with some severity, and yet I pick my terms. I tell myselfcontinually that you are a woman; and a voice continually reminds me ofthe children whose lives and limbs you have endangered. A woman,' herepeated solemnly--'and children. Possibly, madam, when you are yourselfa mother, you will feel the bite of that antithesis: possibly when youkneel at night beside a cradle, a fear will fall upon you, heavier thanany shame; and when your child lies in the pain and danger of disease,you shall hesitate to kneel before your Maker.'
'You look at the fault,' she said, 'and not at the excuse. Has your ownheart never leaped within you at some story of oppression? But, alas,no! for you were born upon a throne.'
'I was born of woman,' said the Prince; 'I came forth from my mother'sagony, helpless as a wren, like other nurselings. This, which youforgot, I have still faithfully remembered. Is it not one of yourEnglish poets, that looked abroad upon the earth and saw vastcircumvallations, innumerable troops manoeuvring, warships at sea and agreat dust of battles on shore; and casting anxiously about for whatshould be the cause of so many and painful preparations, spied at last,in the centre of all, a mother and her babe? These, madam, are mypolitics; and the verses, which are by Mr. Coventry Patmore, I havecaused to be translated into the Bohemian tongue. Yes, these are mypolitics: to change what we can, to better what we can; but still to bearin mind that man is but a devil weakly fettered by some generous beliefsand impositions, and for no word however nobly sounding, and no causehowever just and pious, to relax the stricture of these bonds.'
There was a silence of a moment.
'I fear, madam,' resumed the Prince, 'that I but weary you. My views areformal like myself; and like myself, they also begin to grow old. But Imust still trouble you for some reply.'
'I can say but one thing,' said Mrs. Desborough: 'I love my husband.'
'It is a good answer,' returned the Prince; 'and you name a goodinfluence, but one that need not be conterminous with life.'
'I will not play at pride with such a man as you,' she answered. 'Whatdo you ask of me? not protestations, I am sure. What shall I say? Ihave done much that I cannot defend and that I would not do again. Can Isay more? Yes: I can say this: I never abused myself with themuddle-headed fairy tales of politics. I was at least prepared to meetreprisals. While I was levying war myself--or levying murder, if youchoose the plainer term--I never accused my adversaries of assassination.I never felt or feigned a righteous horror, when a price was put upon mylife by those whom I attacked. I never called the policeman a hireling.I may have been a criminal, in short; but I never was a fool.'
'Enough, madam,' returned the Prince: 'more than enough! Your words aremost reviving to my spirits; for in this age, when even the assassin is asentimentalist, there is no virtue greater in my eyes than intellectualclarity. Suffer me, then, to ask you to retire; for by the signal ofthat bell, I perceive my old friend, your mother, to be close at hand.With her I promise you to do my utmost.'
And as Mrs. Desborough returned to the Divan, the Prince, opening a doorupon the other side, admitted Mrs. Luxmore.
'Madam and my very good friend,' said he, 'is my face so much changedthat you no longer recognise Prince Florizel in Mr. Godall?'
'To be sure!' she cried, looking at him through her glasses. 'I havealways regarded your Highness as a perfect man; and in your alteredcircumstances, of which I have already heard with deep regret, I will begyou to consider my respect increased instead of lessened.'
'I have found it so,' returned the Prince, 'with every class of myacquaintance. But, madam, I pray you to be seated. My business is of adelicate order, and regards your daughter.'
'In that case,' said Mrs. Luxmore, 'you may save yourself the trouble ofspeaking, for I have fully made up my mind to have nothing to do withher. I will not hear one word in her defence; but as I value nothing soparticularly as the virtue of justice, I think it my duty to explain toyou the grounds of my complaint. She deserted me, her natural protector;for years, she has consorted with the most disreputable persons; and tofill the cup of her offence, she has recently married. I refuse to seeher, or the being to whom she has linked herself. One hundred and twentypounds a year, I have always offered her: I offer it again. It is what Ihad myself when I was her age.'
'Very well, madam,' said the Prince; 'and be that so! But to touch uponanother matter: what was the income of the Reverend Bernard Fanshawe?'
'My father?' asked the spirited old lady. 'I believe he had sevenhundred pounds in the year.'
'You were one, I think, of several?' pursued the Prince.
'Of four,' was the reply. 'We were four daughters; and painful as theadmission is to make, a more detestable family could scarce be found inEngland.'
'Dear me!' said the Prince. 'And you, madam, have an income of eightthousand?'
'Not more than five,' returned the old lady; 'but where on earth are youconducting me?'
'To an allowance of one thousand pounds a year,' replied Florizel,smiling. 'For I must not suffer you to take your father for a rule. Hewas poor, you are rich. He had many calls upon his poverty: there arenone upon your wealth. And indeed, madam, if you will let me touch thismatter with a needle, there is but one point in common to your twopositions: that each had a daughter more remarkable for liveliness thanduty.'
'I have been entrapped into this house,' said the old lady, getting toher feet. 'But it shall not avail. Not all the tobacconists in Europe . . .'
'Ah, madam,' interrupted Florizel, 'before what is referred to as myfall, you had not used such language! And since you so much object tothe simple industry by which I live, let me give you a friendly hint. Ifyou will not consent to support your daughter, I shall be constrained toplace that lady behind my counter, where I doubt not she would prove agreat attraction; and your son-in-law shall have a livery and run theerrands. With such young blood my business might be doubled, and I mightbe bound in common gratitude to place the name of Luxmore beside that ofGodall.'
'Your Highness,' said the old lady, 'I have been very rude, and you arevery cunning. I suppose the minx is on the premises. Produce her.'
'Let us rather observe them unperceived,' said the Prince; and so sayinghe rose and quietly drew back the curtain.
Mrs. Desborough sat with her back to them on a chair; Somerset and Harrywere hanging on her words with extraordinary interest; Challoner,alleging some affair, had long ago withdrawn from the detestedneighbourhood of the enchantress.
'At that moment,' Mrs. Desborough was saying, 'Mr Gladstone detected thefeatures of his cowardly assailant. A cry rose to his lips: a cry ofmingled triumph . . .'
'That is Mr. Somerset!' interrupted the spirited old lady, in the highestnote of her register. 'Mr. Somerset, what have you done w
ith myhouse-property?'
'Madam,' said the Prince, 'let it be mine to give the explanation; and inthe meanwhile, welcome your daughter.'
'Well, Clara, how do you do?' said Mrs. Luxmore. 'It appears I am togive you an allowance. So much the better for you. As for Mr. Somerset,I am very ready to have an explanation; for the whole affair, thoughcostly, was eminently humorous. And at any rate,' she added, nodding toPaul, 'he is a young gentleman for whom I have a great affection, and hispictures were the funniest I ever saw.'
'I have ordered a collation,' said the Prince. 'Mr. Somerset, as theseare all your friends, I propose, if you please, that you should join themat table. I will take the shop.'
Footnotes
{9} Hereupon the Arabian author enters on one of his digressions.Fearing, apparently, that the somewhat eccentric views of Mr. Somersetshould throw discredit on a part of truth, he calls upon the Englishpeople to remember with more gratitude the services of the police; towhat unobserved and solitary acts of heroism they are called; againstwhat odds of numbers and of arms, and for how small a reward, either infame or money: matter, it has appeared to the translators, too seriousfor this place.
{43} In this name the accent falls upon the _e_; the _s_ is sibilant.
{176} The Arabian author of the original has here a long passageconceived in a style too oriental for the English reader. We subjoin aspecimen, and it seems doubtful whether it should be printed as prose orverse: 'Any writard who writes dynamitard shall find in me anever-resting fightard;' and he goes on (if we correctly gather hismeaning) to object to such elegant and obviously correct spellings aslamp-lightard, corn-dealard, apple-filchard (clearly justified by theparallel--pilchard) and opera dancard. 'Dynamitist,' he adds, 'I couldunderstand.'
{182} The Arabian author, with that quaint particularity of touch whichour translation usually praetermits, here registers a somewhatinteresting detail. Zero pronounced the word 'boom;' and the reader, ifbut for the nonce, will possibly consent to follow him.
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends