"My Novel" — Volume 10. Эдвард Бульвер-Литтон

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СКАЧАТЬ unwell to journey with me as rapidly as I was obliged to travel; indeed, illness detained her several weeks in England. In this interval she might have made acquaintances. Ah, now I see; I guess. You say the name began with B. Paulina, in my absence, engaged a companion,—a Mrs. Bertram. This lady accompanied her abroad. Paulina became excessively attached to her, she knew Italian so well. Mrs. Bertram left her on the road, and returned to England, for some private affairs of her own. I forget why or wherefore; if, indeed, I ever asked or learned. Paulina missed her sadly, often talked of her, wondered why she never heard from her. No doubt it was to this Mrs. Bertram that she wrote!"

      "And you don't know the lady's friends, or address?"

      "No."

      "Nor who recommended her to your wife?"

      "No."

      "Probably Lady Jane Horton?"

      "It may be so.

      "Very likely."

      "I will follow up this track, slight as it is."

      "But if Mrs. Bertram received the communication, how comes it that it never reached myself—Oh, fool that I am, how should it! I, who guarded so carefully my incognito!"

      "True. This your wife could not foresee; she would naturally imagine that your residence in England would be easily discovered. But many years must have passed since your wife lost sight of this Mrs. Bertram, if their acquaintance was made so soon after your marriage; and now it is a long time to retrace,—before even your Violante was born."

      "Alas! yes. I lost two fair sons in the interval. Violante was born to me as the child of sorrow."

      "And to make sorrow lovely! how beautiful she is!" The father smiled proudly.

      "Where, in the loftiest houses of Europe, find a husband worthy of such a prize?"

      "You forget that I am still an exile, she still dowerless. You forget that I am pursued by Peschiera; that I would rather see her a beggar's wife—than—-Pah, the very thought maddens me, it is so foul. /Corpo di Bacco!/ I have been glad to find her a husband already."

      "Already! Then that young man spoke truly?"

      "What young man?"

      "Randal Leslie. How! You know him?" Here a brief explanation followed. Harley heard with attentive ear, and marked vexation, the particulars of Riccabocca's connection and implied engagement with Leslie.

      "There is something very suspicious to me in all this," said he.

      "Why should this young man have so sounded me as to Violante's chance of losing fortune if she married, an Englishman?"

      "Did he? Oh, pooh! Excuse him. It was but his natural wish to seem ignorant of all about me. He did not know enough of my intimacy with you to betray my secret."

      But he knew enough of it—must have known enough—to have made it right that he should tell you I was in England. He does not seem to have done so."

      "No; that is strange—yet scarcely strange; for, when we last met, his head was full of other things,—love and marriage. /Basta!/ youth will be youth."

      "He has no youth left in him!" exclaimed Harley, passionately. "I doubt if he ever had any. He is one of those men who come into the world with the pulse of a centenarian. You and I never shall be as old as he was in long clothes. Ah, you may laugh; but I am never wrong in my instincts. I disliked him at the first,—his eye, his smile, his voice, his very footstep. It is madness in you to countenance such a marriage; it may destroy all chance of your restoration."

      "Better that than infringe my word once passed."

      "No, no," exclaimed Harley; "your word is not passed, it shall not be passed. Nay, never look so piteously at me. At all events, pause till we know more of this young man. If he be worthy of her without a dower, why, then, let him lose you your heritage. I should have no more to say."

      "But why lose me my heritage? There is no law in Austria which can dictate to a father what husband to choose for his daughter."

      "Certainly not. But you are out of the pale of law itself just at present; and it would surely be a reason for State policy to withhold your pardon, and it would be to the loss of that favour with your own countrymen, which would now make that pardon so popular, if it were known that the representative of your name were debased by your daughter's alliance with an English adventurer,—a clerk in a public office. Oh, sage in theory, why are you such a simpleton in action?"

      Nothing moved by this taunt, Riceabocca rubbed his hands, and then stretched them comfortably over the fire.

      "My friend," said he, "the representation of my name would pass to my son."

      "But you have no son."

      "Hush! I am going to have one; my Jemima informed me of it yesterday morning; and it was upon that information that I resolved to speak to Leslie. Am I a simpleton now?"

      "Going to have a son," repeated Harley, looking very bewildered; "how do you know it is to be a son?"

      "Physiologists are agreed," said the sage, positively, "that where the husband is much older than the wife, and there has been a long interval without children before she condescends to increase the population of the world, she (that is, it is at least as nine to four)—she brings into the world a male. I consider that point therefore as settled, according to the calculations of statisticians and the researches of naturalists."

      Harley could not help laughing, though he was still angry and disturbed.

      "The same man as ever; always the fool of philosophy."

      "/Cospetto!/" said Riccabocca. "I am rather the philosopher of fools. And talking of that, shall I present you to my Jemima?"

      "Yes; but in turn I must present you to one who remembers with gratitude your kindness, and whom your philosophy, for a wonder, has not ruined. Some time or other you must explain that to me. Excuse me for a moment; I will go for him.

      "For him,—for whom? In my position I must be cautious; and—"

      "I will answer for his faith and discretion. Meanwhile order dinner, and let me and my friend stay to share it."

      "Dinner? /Corpo di Bacco!/—-not that Bacchus can help us here. What will Jemima say?"

      "Henpecked man, settle that with your connubial tyrant. But dinner it must be."

      I leave the reader to imagine the delight of Leonard at seeing once more Riccabocca unchanged and Violante so improved, and the kind Jemima too; and their wonder at him and his history, his books and his fame. He narrated his struggles and adventures with a simplicity that removed from a story so personal the character of egotism. But when he came to speak of Helen he was brief and reserved.

      Violante would have questioned more closely; but, to Leonard's relief, Harley interposed.

      "You shall see her whom he speaks of before long, and question her yourself."

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