Mrs. General Talboys
Why Mrs. General Talboys first made up her mind to pass the winter of1859 at Rome I never clearly understood. To myself she explained herpurposes soon after her arrival at the Eternal City, by declaring, inher own enthusiastic manner, that she was inspired by a burning desireto drink fresh at the still living fountains of classical poetry andsentiment. But I always thought that there was something more than thisin it. Classical poetry and sentiment were doubtless very dear to her,but so also, I imagine, were the substantial comforts of Hardover Lodge,the general's house in Berkshire; and I do not think that she wouldhave emigrated for the winter had there not been some slight domesticmisunderstanding. Let this, however, be fully made clear--that suchmisunderstanding, if it existed, must have been simply an affair oftemper. No impropriety of conduct has, I am very sure, ever been imputedto the lady. The general, as all the world knows, is hot; and Mrs.Talboys, when the sweet rivers of her enthusiasm are unfed by congenialwaters, can, I believe, make herself disagreeable.But be this as it may, in November, 1859, Mrs. Talboys came amongus English at Rome, and soon succeeded in obtaining for herself acomfortable footing in our society. We all thought her more remarkablefor her mental attributes than for physical perfection, but neverthelessshe was in her own way a sightly woman. She had no special brilliance,either of eye or complexion, such as would produce sudden flames insusceptible hearts, nor did she seem to demand instant homage by theform and step of a goddess; but we found her to be a good-looking womanof some thirty or thirty-three years of age, with soft, peach-likecheeks,--rather too like those of a cherub,--with sparkling eyes whichwere hardly large enough, with good teeth, a white forehead, a dimpledchin, and a full bust. Such outwardly was Mrs. General Talboys. Thedescription of the inward woman is the purport to which these few pageswill be devoted.There are two qualities to which the best of mankind are much subject,which are nearly related to each other, and as to which the world hasnot yet decided whether they are to be classed among the good or evilattributes of our nature. Men and women are under the influence of themboth, but men oftenest undergo the former, and women the latter. Theyare ambition and enthusiasm. Now Mrs. Talboys was an enthusiastic woman.As to ambition, generally as the world agrees with Mark Antony instigmatising it as a grievous fault, I am myself clear that it is avirtue; but with ambition at present we have no concern. Enthusiasmalso, as I think, leans to virtue's side, or, at least, if it be afault, of all faults it is the prettiest. But then, to partake at all ofvirtue or even to be in any degree pretty, the enthusiasm must be true.Bad coin is known from good by the ring of it, and so is bad enthusiasm.Let the coiner be ever so clever at his art, in the coining ofenthusiasm the sound of true gold can never be imparted to the falsemetal; and I doubt whether the cleverest she in the world can make falseenthusiasm palatable to the taste of man; to the taste of any woman theenthusiasm of another woman is never very palatable.We understood at Rome that Mrs. Talboys had a considerable family,--fouror five children, we were told,--but she brought with her only onedaughter, a little girl about twelve years of age. She had torn herselfasunder, as she told me, from the younger nurslings of her heart, andhad left them to the care of a devoted female attendant, whose love wasall but maternal. And then she said a word or two about the general interms which made me almost think that this quasi-maternal love extendeditself beyond the children. The idea, however, was a mistaken one,arising from the strength of her language, to which I was thenunaccustomed. I have since become aware that nothing can be moredecorous than old Mrs. Upton, the excellent head nurse at HardoverLodge; and no gentleman more discreet in his conduct than GeneralTalboys.And I may as well here declare also that there could be no more virtuouswoman than the general's wife. Her marriage vow was to her paramount toall other vows and bonds whatever. The general's honour was quite safewhen he sent her off to Rome by herself, and he no doubt knew that itwas so. Illi robur et oes triplex, of which I believe no weapons ofany assailant could get the better. But nevertheless we used to fancythat she had no repugnance to impropriety in other women--to what theworld generally calls impropriety. Invincibly attached herself tothe marriage tie, she would constantly speak of it as by no meansnecessarily binding on others; and virtuous herself as any griffinof propriety, she constantly patronised, at any rate, the theory ofinfidelity in her neighbours. She was very eager in denouncing theprejudices of the English world, declaring that she found existenceamong them to be no longer possible for herself. She was hot against thestern unforgiveness of British matrons, and equally eager in reprobatingthe stiff conventionalities of a religion in which she said that noneof its votaries had faith, though they all allowed themselves to beenslaved.We had at that time a small set at Rome consisting chiefly of Englishand Americans, who habitually met at one another's rooms, and spent manyof our evening hours in discussing Italian politics. We were, mostof us, painters, poets, novelists, or sculptors--perhaps I should saywould-be painters, poets, novelists, and sculptors, aspirants hopingto become some day recognised; and among us Mrs. Talboys took her placenaturally enough on account of a very pretty taste she had for painting.I do not know that she ever originated anything that was grand, but shemade some nice copies and was fond, at any rate, of art conversation.She wrote essays too, which she showed in confidence to variousgentlemen, and had some idea of taking lessons in modelling.In all our circle Conrad Mackinnon, an American, was perhaps the personmost qualified to be styled its leader. He was one who absolutely didgain his living, and an ample living too, by his pen, and was regardedon all sides as a literary lion, justified by success in roaring at anytone he might please. His usual roar was not exactly that of a suckingdove or a nightingale, but it was a good-humoured roar, not veryoffensive to any man and apparently acceptable enough to some ladies. Hewas a big, burly man, near to fifty, as I suppose, somewhat awkward inhis gait, and somewhat loud in his laugh. But though nigh to fifty, andthus ungainly, he liked to be smiled on by pretty women, and liked,as some said, to be flattered by them also. If so he should havebeen happy, for the ladies at Rome at that time made much of ConradMackinnon.Of Mrs. Mackinnon no one did make very much, and yet she was one of thesweetest, dearest, quietest little creatures that ever made glad aman's fireside. She was exquisitely pretty, always in good humour,never stupid, self-denying to a fault, and yet she was generally inthe background. She would seldom come forward of her own will, but wascontented to sit behind her teapot and hear Mackinnon do his roaring. Hewas certainly much given to what the world at Rome called flirting, butthis did not in the least annoy her. She was twenty years hisjunior, and yet she never flirted with any one. Women would tellher--good-natured friends--how Mackinnon went on, but she received suchtidings as an excellent joke, observing that he had always done thesame, and no doubt always would until he was ninety. I do believe thatshe was a happy woman, and yet I used to think that she should have beenhappier. There is, however, no knowing the inside of another man's houseor reading the riddles of another man's joy and sorrow.We had also there another lion,--a lion cub,--entitled to roar a little,and of him also I must say something. Charles O'Brien was a young manabout twenty-five years of age, who had sent out from his studio in thepreceding year a certain bust supposed by his admirers to be unsurpassedby any effort of ancient or modern genius. I am no judge of sculpture,and will not therefore pronounce an opinion, but many who consideredthemselves to be judges declared that it was a "goodish head andshoulders" and nothing more. I merely mention the fact, as it was on thestrength of that head and shoulders that O'Brien separated himself froma throng of others such as himself in Rome, walked solitary during thedays, and threw himself at the feet of various ladies when the days wereover. He had ridden on the shoulders of his bust into a prominent placein our circle, and there encountered much feminine admiration--from Mrs.General Talboys and others.Some eighteen or twenty of us used to meet every Sunday evening inMrs. Mackinnon's drawing-room. Many of us, indeed, were in the habitof seeing one another daily and of visiting together the haunts inRome which are best loved by art-loving strangers; but here in thisdrawing-room we were sure to come together, and here before the end ofNovember Mrs. Talboys might always be found, not in any accustomed seat,but moving about the room as the different male mental attractions ofour society might chance to move themselves. She was at first greatlytaken by Mackinnon, who also was, I think, a little stirred by heradmiration, though he stoutly denied the charge. She became, however,very dear to us all before she left us, and certainly we owed to her ourlove, for she added infinitely to the joys of our winter."I have come here to refresh myself," she said to Mackinnon oneevening--to Mackinnon and myself, for we were standing together."Shall I get you tea?" said I."And will you have something to eat?" Mackinnon asked."No, no, no," she answered. "Tea, yes; but for heaven's sake let nothingsolid dispel the associations of such a meeting as this!""I thought you might have dined early," said Mackinnon. Now Mackinnonwas a man whose own dinner was very dear to him. I have seen him becomehasty and unpleasant, even under the pillars of the Forum, when hethought that the party were placing his fish in jeopardy by their desireto linger there too long."Early! Yes--no; I know not when it was. One dines and sleeps inobedience to that dull clay which weighs down so generally the particleof our spirit; but the clay may sometimes be forgotten; here I canalways forget it.""I thought you asked for refreshment," I said. She only looked at me,whose small attempts at prose composition had up to that time beenaltogether unsuccessful, and then addressed herself to reply toMackinnon."It is the air which we breathe that fills our lungs and gives uslife and light; it is that which refreshes us if pure or sinks us intostagnation if it be foul. Let me for a while inhale the breath of aninvigorating literature. Sit down, Mr. Mackinnon; I have a question thatI must put to you." And then she succeeded in carrying him off into acorner. As far as I could see he went willingly enough at that time,though he soon became averse to any long retirement in company with Mrs.Talboys.We none of us quite understood what were her exact ideas on the subjectof revealed religion. Somebody, I think, had told her that there wereamong us one or two whose opinions were not exactly orthodox accordingto the doctrines of the established English church. If so she wasdetermined to show us that she also was advanced beyond the prejudicesof an old and dry school of theology. "I have thrown down all thebarriers of religion," she said to poor Mrs. Mackinnon, "and am lookingfor the sentiments of a pure Christianity.""Thrown down all the barriers of religion!" said Mrs. Mackinnon, in atone of horror which was not appreciated."Indeed, yes," said Mrs. Talboys, with an exulting voice. "Are not thedays for such trammels gone by?""But yet you hold by Christianity?""A pure Christianity, unstained by blood and perjury, by hypocrisy andverbose genuflection. Can I not worship and say my prayers amongthe clouds?" And she pointed to the lofty ceiling and the handsomechandelier."But Ida goes to church," said Mrs. Mackinnon. Ida Talboys was herdaughter. Now it may be observed that many who throw down the barriersof religion, so far as those barriers may affect themselves, stillmaintain them on behalf of their children. "Yes," said Mrs. Talboys;"dear Ida! her soft spirit is not yet adapted to receive the perfecttruth. We are obliged to govern children by the strength of theirprejudices." And then she moved away, for it was seldom that Mrs.Talboys remained long in conversation with any lady.Mackinnon, I believe, soon became tired of her. He liked her flattery,and at first declared that she was clever and nice, but her niceness wastoo purely celestial to satisfy his mundane tastes. Mackinnon himselfcan revel among the clouds in his own writings, and can leave ussometimes in doubt whether he ever means to come back to earth, but whenhis foot is on terra firma he loves to feel the earthy substratum whichsupports his weight. With women he likes a hand that can remain anunnecessary moment within his own, an eye that can glisten with thesparkle of champagne, a heart weak enough to make its owner's armtremble within his own beneath the moonlight gloom of the Colosseumarches. A dash of sentiment the while makes all these things thesweeter, but the sentiment alone will not suffice for him. Mrs. Talboysdid, I believe, drink her glass of champagne, as do other ladies, butwith her it had no such pleasing effect. It loosened only her tongue,but never her eyes. Her arm, I think, never trembled and her hand neverlingered. The general was always safe, and happy perhaps in his solitarysafety.It so happened that we had unfortunately among us two artists who hadquarrelled with their wives. O'Brien, whom I have before mentioned, wasone of them. In his case I believe him to have been almost as free fromblame as a man can be whose marriage was in itself a fault. However, hehad a wife in Ireland some ten years older than himself, and though hemight sometimes almost forget the fact, his friends and neighbours werewell aware of it. In the other case the whole fault probably was withthe husband. He was an ill-tempered, bad-hearted man, clever enough,but without principle; and he was continually guilty of the great sinof speaking evil of the woman whose name he should have been anxious toprotect. In both cases our friend, Mrs. Talboys, took a warm interest,and in each of them she sympathised with the present husband against theabsent wife.Of the consolation which she offered in the latter instance we used tohear something from Mackinnon. He would repeat to his wife and to meand my wife the conversations which she had with him. "Poor Brown!" shewould say; "I pity him with my very heart's blood.""You are aware that he has comforted himself in his desolation,"Mackinnon replied."I know very well to what you allude. I think I may say that Iam conversant with all the circumstances of this heart-blightingsacrifice." Mrs. Talboys was apt to boast of the thorough confidencereposed in her by all those in whom she took an interest. "Yes, he hassought such comfort in another love as the hard cruel world would allowhim.""Or perhaps something more than that," said Mackinnon. "He has a familyhere in Rome, you know; two little babies.""I know it, I know it," she said; "cherub angels!" And as she spoke shelooked up into the ugly face of Marcus Aurelius, for they were standingat the moment under the figure of the great horseman on the Campidoglio."I have seen them, and they are children of innocence. If all the bloodof all the Howards ran in their veins it could not make their birth morenoble!""Not if the father and mother of all the Howards had never beenmarried," said Mackinnon."What! that from you, Mr. Mackinnon!" said Mrs. Talboys, turning herback with energy upon the equestrian statue and looking up into thefaces first of Pollux and then of Castor, as though from them she mightgain some inspiration on the subject, which Marcus Aurelius in hiscoldness had denied to her. "From you, who have so nobly claimed formankind the divine attributes of free action! From you, who have taughtmy mind to soar above the petty bonds which one man in his littlenesscontrives for the subjection of his brother. Mackinnon--you who are sogreat!" And she now looked up into his face. "Mackinnon, unsay thosewords.""They are illegitimate," said he, "and if there was any landedproperty--""Landed property! and that from an American!""The children are English, you know.""Landed property! The time will shortly come--ay, and I see itcoming--when that hateful word shall be expunged from the calendar,when landed property shall be no more. What! shall the free soul of aGod-born man submit itself for ever to such trammels as that? Shallwe never escape from the clay which so long has manacled the subtlerparticles of the divine spirit? Ay, yes, Mackinnon!" and then she tookhim by the arm, and led him to the top of the huge steps which lead downfrom the Campidoglio into the streets of modern Rome. "Look down uponthat countless multitude." Mackinnon looked down, and saw three groupsof French soldiers, with three or four little men in each group; he sawalso a couple of dirty friars, and three priests very slowly beginningthe side ascent to the church of the Ara Coeli. "Look down upon thatcountless multitude," said Mrs. Talboys, and she stretched her armsout over the half-deserted city. "They are escaping now from thosetrammels--now, now--now that I am speaking.""They have escaped long ago from all such trammels as that of landedproperty," said Mackinnon."Ay, and from all terrestrial bonds," she continued, notexactly remarking the pith of his last observation; "from bondsquasi-terrestrial and quasi-celestial. The full-formed limbs of thepresent age, running with quick streams of generous blood, will nolonger bear the ligatures which past time have woven for the decrepit.Look down upon that multitude, Mackinnon; they shall all be free." Andthen, still clutching him by the arm and still standing at the top ofthose stairs, she gave forth her prophecy with the fury of a sibyl."They shall all be free. O Rome, thou eternal one! thou who hast bowedthy neck to imperial pride and priestly craft, thou who has sufferedsorely even to this hour, from Nero down to Pio Nono, the days of thineoppression are over. Gone from thy enfranchised ways for ever is theclang of the praetorian cohorts and the more odious drone of meddlingmonks!" And yet, as Mackinnon observed, there still stood the dirtyfriars and the small French soldiers, and there still toiled the slowpriests, wending their tedious way up to the church of the Ara Coeli.But that was the mundane view of the matter, a view not regarded by Mrs.Talboys in her ecstasy. "O Italia," she continued, "O Italia una, oneand indivisible in thy rights, and indivisible also in thy wrongs! to usis it given to see the accomplishment of thy glory. A people shall arisearound thine altars greater in the annals of the world than thy Scipios,thy Gracchi, or thy Caesars. Not in torrents of blood or with screamsof bereaved mothers shall thy new triumphs be stained; but mind shalldominate over matter, and, doomed together with popes and Bourbons, withcardinals, diplomatists, and police spies, ignorance and prejudice shallbe driven from thy smiling terraces. And then Rome shall again becomethe fair capital of the fairest region of Europe. Hither shall flock theartisans of the world, crowding into thy marts all that God and man cangive. Wealth, beauty, and innocence shall meet in thy streets--""There will be a considerable change before that takes place," saidMackinnon."There shall be a considerable change," she answered. "Mackinnon, tothee it is given to read the signs of the time; and hast thou not read?Why have the fields of Magenta and Solferino been piled with the corpsesof dying heroes? Why have the waters of the Mincio run red with theblood of martyrs? That Italy might be united and Rome immortal. Here,standing on the Capitolium of the ancient city, I say that it shall beso; and thou, Mackinnon, who hearest me knowest that my words are true."There was not then in Rome--I may almost say there was not in Italy--anEnglishman or an American who did not wish well to the cause for whichItaly was and is still contending, as also there is hardly one who doesnot now regard that cause as well-nigh triumphant; but neverthelessit was almost impossible to sympathise with Mrs. Talboys. As Mackinnonsaid, she flew so high that there was no comfort in flying with her."Well," said he, "Brown and the rest of them are down below. Shall we goand join them?""Poor Brown! How was it that in speaking of his troubles we were led onto this heart-stirring theme? Yes, I have seen them, the sweet angels;and I tell you also that I have seen their mother. I insisted on goingto her when I heard her history from him.""And what was she like, Mrs. Talboys?""Well, education has done more for some of us than for others, and thereare those from whose morals and sentiments we might thankfully draw alesson, whose manners and outward gestures are not such as custom hasmade agreeable to us. You, I know, can understand that. I have seen her,and feel sure that she is pure in heart and high in principle. Has shenot sacrificed herself, and is not self-sacrifice the surest guaranteefor true nobility of character? Would Mrs. Mackinnon object to mybringing them together?"Mackinnon was obliged to declare that he thought his wife would object,and from that time forth he and Mrs. Talboys ceased to be very closein their friendship. She still came to the house every Sunday evening,still refreshed herself at the fountains of his literary rills, but herspecial prophecies from henceforth were poured into other ears; and itso happened that O'Brien now became her chief ally. I do not rememberthat she troubled herself much further with the cherub angels or withtheir mother, and I am inclined to think that, taking up warmly as shedid the story of O'Brien's matrimonial wrongs, she forgot the littlehistory of the Browns. Be that as it may, Mrs. Talboys and O'Brien nowbecame strictly confidential, and she would enlarge by the half-hourtogether on the miseries of her friend's position to any one whom shecould get to hear her."I'll tell you what, Fanny," Mackinnon said to his wife one day--to hiswife and to mine, for we were all together--"we shall have a row inthe house if we don't take care. O'Brien will be making love to Mrs.Talboys.""Nonsense," said Mrs. Mackinnon; "you are always thinking that somebodyis going to make love to some one.""Somebody always is," said he."She's old enough to be his mother," said Mrs. Mackinnon."What does that matter to an Irishman?" said Mackinnon. "Besides, Idoubt if there is more than five years' difference between them.""There must be more than that," said my wife. "Ida Talboys is twelve, Iknow, and I am not quite sure that Ida is the eldest.""If she had a son in the Guards it would make no difference," saidMackinnon. "There are men who consider themselves bound to make love toa woman under certain circumstances, let the age of the lady be what itmay. O'Brien is such a one; and if she sympathises with him much oftenerhe will mistake the matter and go down on his knees. You ought to puthim on his guard," he said, addressing himself to his wife."Indeed, I shall do no such thing," said she; "if they are two foolsthey must, like other fools, pay the price of their folly." As a rulethere could be no softer creature than Mrs. Mackinnon, but it seemed tome that her tenderness never extended itself in the direction of Mrs.Talboys.Just at this time, toward the end, that is, of November, we made aparty to visit the tombs which lie along the Appian Way beyond thatmost beautiful of all sepulchres, the tomb of Cecilia Metella. It was adelicious day, and we had driven along this road for a couple of milesbeyond the walls of the city, enjoying the most lovely view which theneighborhood of Rome affords, looking over the wondrous ruins of the oldaqueducts up toward Tivoli and Palestrina. Of all the environs of Romethis is, on a fair day, the most enchanting; and here perhaps, among aworld of tombs, thoughts and almost memories of the old, old days comeupon one with the greatest force. The grandeur of Rome is best seen andunderstood from beneath the walls of the Colosseum, and its beautyamong the pillars of the Forum and the arches of the Sacred Way; butits history and fall become more palpable to the mind and more clearlyrealised out here among the tombs, where the eyes rest upon themountains, whose shades were cool to the old Romans as to us, thananywhere within the walls of the city. Here we look out at the sameTivoli and the same Praeneste glittering in the sunshine, emboweredamong the far-off valleys, which were dear to them; and the bluemountains have not crumbled away into ruins. Within Rome itself we cansee nothing as they saw it.Our party consisted of some dozen or fifteen persons, and, as a hamperwith luncheon in it had been left on the grassy slope at the base ofthe tomb of Cecilia Metella, the expedition had in it something of thenature of a picnic. Mrs. Talboys was of course with us, and Ida Talboys.O'Brien also was there. The hamper had been prepared in Mrs. Mackinnon'sroom under the immediate eye of Mackinnon himself, and they thereforewere regarded as the dominant spirits of the party. My wife was leaguedwith Mrs. Mackinnon, as was usually the case; and there seemed to be ageneral opinion, among those who were closely in confidence together,that something would happen in the O'Brien-Talboys matter. The two hadbeen inseparable on the previous evening, for Mrs. Talboys had beenurging on the young Irishman her counsels respecting his domestictroubles. Sir Cresswell Cresswell, she had told him, was his refuge."Why should his soul submit to bonds which the world had now declared tobe intolerable? Divorce was not now the privilege of the dissolute rich.Spirits which were incompatible need no longer be compelled to fretbeneath the same couples." In short, she had recommended him to goto England and get rid of his wife, as she would with a littleencouragement have recommended any man to get rid of anything. I am surethat, had she been skilfully brought on to the subject, she might havebeen induced to pronounce a verdict against such ligatures for the bodyas coats, waistcoats, and trousers. Her aspirations for freedom ignoredall bounds, and in theory there were no barriers which she was notwilling to demolish.Poor O'Brien, as we all now began to see, had taken the matter amiss.He had offered to make a bust of Mrs. Talboys, and she had consented,expressing a wish that it might find a place among those who had devotedthemselves to the enfranchisement of their fellow-creatures. I reallythink she had but little of a woman's customary personal vanity. I knowshe had an idea that her eye was lighted up in her warmer moments bysome special fire, that sparks of liberty shone round her brow, and thather bosom heaved with glorious aspirations; but all these feelings hadreference to her inner genius, not to any outward beauty. But O'Brienmisunderstood the woman, and thought it necessary to gaze into her faceand sigh as though his heart were breaking. Indeed, he declared to ayoung friend that Mrs. Talboys was perfect in her style of beauty, andbegan the bust with this idea. It was gradually becoming clear to usall that he would bring himself to grief; but in such a matter who cancaution a man?Mrs. Mackinnon had contrived to separate them in making the carriagearrangements on this day, but this only added fuel to the fire which wasnow burning within O'Brien's bosom. I believe that he really did loveher in his easy, eager, susceptible Irish way. That he would get overthe little episode without any serious injury to his heart no onedoubted; but then what would occur when the declaration was made? Howwould Mrs. Talboys bear it?"She deserves it," said Mrs. Mackinnon."And twice as much," my wife added. Why is it that women are so spitefulto one another?Early in the day Mrs. Talboys clambered up to the top of a tomb, andmade a little speech, holding a parasol over her head. Beneath her feet,she said, reposed the ashes of some bloated senator, some glutton ofthe empire, who had swallowed into his maw the provision necessary fora tribe. Old Rome had fallen through such selfishness as that, butnew Rome would not forget the lesson. All this was very well, and thenO'Brien helped her down; but after this there was no separating them.For her own part, she would sooner have had Mackinnon at her elbow; butMackinnon now had found some other elbow. "Enough of that was as goodas a feast," he had said to his wife. And therefore Mrs. Talboys, quiteunconscious of evil, allowed herself to be engrossed by O'Brien.And then, about three o'clock, we returned to the hamper. Luncheon undersuch circumstances always means dinner, and we arranged ourselves for avery comfortable meal. To those who know the tomb of Cecilia Metellano description of the scene is necessary, and to those who do not nodescription will convey a fair idea of its reality. It is itself a largelow tower of great diameter, but of beautiful proportion, standing faroutside the city, close on to the side of the old Roman way. It has beenembattled on the top by some latter-day baron in order that it might beused for protection to the castle which has been built on and attachedto it. If I remember rightly, this was done by one of the Frangipani,and a very lovely ruin he has made of it. I know no castellated oldtumble-down residence in Italy more picturesque than this baronialadjunct to the old Roman tomb, or which better tallies with the ideasengendered within our minds by Mrs. Radcliffe and "The Mysteries ofUdolpho." It lies along the road, protected on the side of the city bythe proud sepulchre of the Roman matron, and up to the long ruined wallsof the back of the building stretches a grassy slope, at the bottom ofwhich are the remains of an old Roman circus. Beyond that is the long,thin, graceful line of the Claudian aqueduct, with Soracte in thedistance to the left, and Tivoli, Palestrina, and Frascati lying amongthe hills which bound the view. That Frangipani baron was in the rightof it, and I hope he got the value of his money out of the residencewhich he built for himself. I doubt, however, that he did but littlegood to those who lived in his close neighbourhood.We had a very comfortable little banquet seated on the broken lumps ofstone which lie about under the walls of the tomb. I wonder whether theshade of Cecilia Metella was looking down upon us. We have heard muchof her in these latter days, and yet we know nothing about her, nor canconceive why she was honoured with a bigger tomb than any other Romanmatron. There were those then among our party who believed that shemight still come back among us, and, with due assistance from somecognate susceptible spirit, explain to us the cause of her widowedhusband's liberality. Alas, alas! if we may judge of the Romans byourselves the true reason for such sepulchral grandeur would redoundlittle to the credit of the lady Cecilia Metella herself or to that ofCrassus, her bereaved and desolate lord.She did not come among us on the occasion of this banquet, possiblybecause we had no tables there to turn in preparation for her presence;but had she done so, she could not have been more eloquent of things ofthe other world than was Mrs. Talboys. I have said that Mrs. Talboys'seye never glanced more brightly after a glass of champagne, but I aminclined to think that on this occasion it may have done so. O'Brienenacted Ganymede, and was perhaps more liberal than other latter-dayGanymedes to whose services Mrs. Talboys had been accustomed. Let itnot, however, be suspected by any one that she exceeded the limits of adiscreet joyousness. By no means! The generous wine penetrated,perhaps, to some inner cells of her heart, and brought forth thoughts insparkling words which otherwise might have remained concealed; but therewas nothing in what she thought or spoke calculated to give umbrageeither to an anchoret or to a vestal. A word or two she said or sungabout the flowing bowl, and once she called for Falernian; but beyondthis her converse was chiefly of the rights of man and the weakness ofwomen, of the iron ages that were past, and of the golden time that wasto come.She called a toast and drank to the hopes of the latter historians ofthe nineteenth century. Then it was that she bade O'Brien "fill highthe bowl with Samian wine." The Irishman took her at her word, and sheraised the bumper and waved it over her head before she put it to herlips. I am bound to declare that she did not spill a drop. "The true'Falernian grape,'" she said, as she deposited the empty beaker onthe grass beneath her elbow. Viler champagne I do not think I everswallowed; but it was the theory of the wine, not its palpable bodypresent there, as it were in the flesh, which inspired her. There wasreally something grand about her on that occasion, and her enthusiasmalmost amounted to reality.Mackinnon was amused, and encouraged her, as I must confess did I also.Mrs. Mackinnon made useless little signs to her husband, really fearingthat the Falernian would do its good offices too thoroughly. My wife,getting me apart as I walked round the circle distributing viands,remarked that "the woman was a fool and would disgrace herself." But Iobserved that after the disposal of that bumper she worshipped the rosygod in theory only, and therefore saw no occasion to interfere. "Come,Bacchus," she said, "and come, Silenus, if thou wilt; I know that yeare hovering round the graves of your departed favourites. And ye, too,nymphs of Egeria," and she pointed to the classic grove which wasall but close to us as we sat there. "In olden days ye did not alwaysdespise the abodes of men. But why should we invoke the presence of thegods--we who can become godlike ourselves! We ourselves are the deitiesof the present age. For us shall the tables be spread with ambrosia, forus shall the nectar flow."Upon the whole it was a very good fooling--for a while; and as soon aswe were tired of it we arose from our seats and began to stroll aboutthe place. It was beginning to be a little dusk and somewhat cool, butthe evening air was pleasant, and the ladies, putting on their shawls,did not seem inclined at once to get into the carriages. At any rate,Mrs. Talboys was not so inclined, for she started down the hill towardthe long low wall of the old Roman circus at the bottom, and O'Brien,close at her elbow, started with her."Ida, my dear, you had better remain here," she said to her daughter;"you will be tired if you come as far as we are going.""Oh no, mamma, I shall not," said Ida; "you get tired much quicker thanI do.""Oh yes, you will; besides, I do not wish you to come." There was an endof it for Ida, and Mrs. Talboys and O'Brien walked off together, whilewe all looked into one another's faces."It would be a charity to go with them," said Mackinnon."Do you be charitable then," said his wife."It should be a lady," said he."It is a pity that the mother of the spotless cherubim is not here forthe occasion," said she. "I hardly think that any one less giftedwill undertake such a self-sacrifice." Any attempt of the kind would,however, now have been too late, for they were already at the bottom ofthe hill. O'Brien had certainly drunk freely of the pernicious contentsof those long-necked bottles, and, though no one could fairly accuse himof being tipsy, nevertheless that which might have made others drunk hadmade him bold, and he dared to do perhaps more than might become a man.If under any circumstances he could be fool enough to make an avowal oflove to Mrs. Talboys he might be expected, as we all thought, to do itnow.We watched them as they made for a gap in the wall which led throughinto the large enclosed space of the old circus. It had been an arenafor chariot games, and they had gone down with the avowed purposeof searching where might have been the meta and ascertaining how thedrivers could have turned when at their full speed. For a while we hadheard their voices, or rather her voice especially. "The heart of a man,O'Brien, should suffice for all emergencies," we had heard her say. Shehad assumed a strange habit of calling men by their simple names, as menaddress one another. When she did this to Mackinnon, who was much olderthan herself, we had been all amused by it, and other ladies of ourparty had taken to call him "Mackinnon" when Mrs. Talboys was not by;but we had felt the comedy to be less safe with O'Brien, especially whenon one occasion we heard him address her as Arabella. She did not seemto be in any way struck by his doing so, and we supposed therefore thatit had become frequent between them. What reply he made at the momentabout the heart of a man I do not know, and then in a few minutes theydisappeared through the gap in the wall.None of us followed them, although it would have seemed the most naturalthing in the world to do so had nothing out of the way been expected. Asit was, we remained there round the tomb quizzing the little foibles ofour dear friend and hoping that O'Brien would be quick in what he wasdoing. That he would undoubtedly get a slap in the face, metaphorically,we all felt certain, for none of us doubted the rigid propriety of thelady's intentions. Some of us strolled into the buildings and some of usgot out on to the road, but we all of us were thinking that O'Brienwas very slow a considerable time before we saw Mrs. Talboys reappearthrough the gap.At last, however, she was there, and we at once saw that she was alone.She came on, breasting the hill with quick steps, and when she drew nearwe could see that there was a frown as of injured majesty on her brow.Mackinnon and his wife went forward to meet her. If she were really introuble it would be fitting in some way to assist her, and of all womenMrs. Mackinnon was the last to see another woman suffer from ill usagewithout attempting to aid her. "I certainly never liked her," Mrs.Mackinnon said afterward, "but I was bound to go and hear her tale whenshe really had a tale to tell."And Mrs. Talboys now had a tale to tell--if she chose to tell it. Theladies of our party declared afterward that she would have acted morewisely had she kept to herself both O'Brien's words to her and heranswer. "She was well able to take care of herself," Mrs. Mackinnonsaid; "and after all the silly man had taken an answer when he got it."Not, however, that O'Brien had taken his answer quite immediately, asfar as I could understand from what we heard of the matter afterward.At the present moment Mrs. Talboys came up the rising ground all aloneand at a quick pace. "The man has insulted me," she said aloud, aswell as her panting breath would allow her, and as soon as she was nearenough to Mrs. Mackinnon to speak to her."I am sorry for that," said Mrs. Mackinnon. "I suppose he has taken alittle too much wine.""No; it was a premeditated insult. The base-hearted churl has failed tounderstand the meaning of true, honest sympathy.""He will forget all about it when he is sober," said Mackinnon, meaningto comfort her."What care I what he remembers or what he forgets?" she said, turningupon poor Mackinnon indignantly. "You men grovel so in your ideas--"("And yet," as Mackinnon said afterward, "she had been telling me that Iwas a fool for the last three weeks.") "You men grovel so in your ideasthat you cannot understand the feelings of a true-hearted woman. Whatcan his forgetfulness or his remembrance be to me? Must not I rememberthis insult? Is it possible that I should forget it?"Mr. and Mrs. Mackinnon only had gone forward to meet her, butnevertheless she spoke so loud that all heard her who were stillclustered round the spot on which we had dined."What has become of Mr. O'Brien?" a lady whispered to me.I had a field-glass with me, and, looking round, I saw his hat as he waswalking inside the walls of the circus in the direction toward the city."And very foolish he must feel," said the lady."No doubt he is used to it," said another."But considering her age, you know," said the first, who might have beenperhaps three years younger than Mrs. Talboys, and who was not herselfaverse to the excitement of a moderate flirtation. But then why shouldshe have been averse, seeing that she had not as yet become subject tothe will of any imperial lord?"He would have felt much more foolish," said the third, "if she hadlistened to what he said to her.""Well, I don't know," said the second; "nobody would have known anythingabout it then, and in a few weeks they would have gradually become tiredof each other in the ordinary way."But in the meantime Mrs. Talboys was among us. There had been no attemptat secrecy, and she was still loudly inveighing against the grovellingpropensities of men. "That's quite true, Mrs. Talboys," said one of theelder ladies; "but then women are not always so careful as they shouldbe. Of course I do not mean to say that there has been any fault on yourpart.""Fault on my part! Of course there has been fault on my part. No one canmake any mistake without fault to some extent. I took him to be a man ofsense, and he is a fool. Go to Naples indeed.""Did he want you to go to Naples?" asked Mrs. Mackinnon."Yes; that was what he suggested. We were to leave by the train forCivita Vecchia at six to-morrow morning, and catch the steamer whichleaves Leghorn to-night. Don't tell me of wine. He was prepared for it!"And she looked round about on us with an air of injured majesty in herface which was almost insupportable."I wonder whether he took the tickets overnight," said Mackinnon."Naples!" she said, as though now speaking exclusively to herself, "theonly ground in Italy which has as yet made no struggle on behalf offreedom--a fitting residence for such a dastard!""You would have found it very pleasant at this season," said theunmarried lady who was three years her junior.My wife had taken Ida out of the way when the first complaining notefrom Mrs. Talboys had been heard ascending the hill. But now, whenmatters began gradually to become quiescent, she brought her back,suggesting as she did so that they might begin to think of returning."It is getting very cold, Ida dear, is it not?" said she."But where is Mr. O'Brien?" said Ida."He has fled--as poltroons always fly," said Mrs. Talboys. I believein my heart that she would have been glad to have had him there in themiddle of the circle, and to have triumphed over him publicly among usall. No feeling of shame would have kept her silent for a moment."Fled!" said Ida, looking up into her mother's face."Yes, fled, my child." And she seized her daughter in her arms, andpressed her closely to her bosom. "Cowards always fly.""Is Mr. O'Brien a coward?" Ida asked."Yes, a coward, a very coward! And he has fled before the glance of anhonest woman's eye. Come, Mrs. Mackinnon, shall we go back to the city?I am sorry that the amusement of the day should have received thischeck." And she walked forward to the carriage and took her place in itwith an air that showed that she was proud of the way in which she hadconducted herself."She is a little conceited about it after all," said that unmarriedlady. "If poor Mr. O'Brien had not shown so much premature anxietywith reference to that little journey to Naples, things might have gonequietly after all."But the unmarried lady was wrong in her judgment. Mrs. Talboys wasproud and conceited in the matter, but not proud of having excitedthe admiration of her Irish lover. She was proud of her own subsequentconduct, and gave herself credit for coming out strongly as thenoble-minded matron. "I believe she thinks," said Mrs. Mackinnon, "thather virtue is quite Spartan and unique; and if she remains in Romeshe'll boast of it through the whole winter.""If she does, she may be certain that O'Brien will do the same," saidMackinnon. "And in spite of his having fled from the field, it isupon the cards that he may get the best of it. Mrs. Talboys is a veryexcellent woman. She has proved her excellence beyond a doubt. Butnevertheless she is susceptible of ridicule."We all felt a little anxiety to hear O'Brien's account of the matter,and after having deposited the ladies at their homes Mackinnon and Iwent off to his lodgings. At first he was denied to us, but after awhile we got his servant to acknowledge that he was at home, and then wemade our way up to his studio. We found him seated behind a half-formedmodel, or rather a mere lump of clay punched into something resemblingthe shape of a head, with a pipe in his mouth and a bit of stick in hishand. He was pretending to work, though we both knew that it was out ofthe question that he should do anything in his present frame of mind."I think I heard my servant tell you that I was not at home," said he."Yes, he did," said Mackinnon, "and would have sworn it too if we wouldhave let him. Come, don't pretend to be surly.""I am very busy, Mr. Mackinnon.""Completing your head of Mrs. Talboys, I suppose, before you start forNaples.""You don't mean to say that she has told you all about it?" And heturned away from his work, and looked up into our faces with a comicalexpression, half of fun and half of despair."Every word of it," said I. "When you want a lady to travel with younever ask her to get up so early in winter.""But, O'Brien, how could you be such an ass?" said Mackinnon. "As ithas turned out, there is no very great harm done. You have insulted arespectable middle-aged woman, the mother of a family and the wife of ageneral officer, and there is an end of it--unless, indeed, the generalofficer should come out from England to call you to account.""He is welcome," said O'Brien haughtily."No doubt, my dear fellow," said Mackinnon; "that would be a dignifiedand pleasant ending to the affair. But what I want to know is this: whatwould you have done if she had agreed to go?""He never calculated on the possibility of such a contingency," said I."By heavens, then, I thought she would like it," said he."And to oblige her you were content to sacrifice yourself," saidMackinnon."Well, that was just it. What the deuce is a fellow to do when a womangoes on in that way? She told me down there, upon the old race-course,you know, that matrimonial bonds were made for fools and slaves. Whatwas I to suppose that she meant by that? But, to make all sure, I askedher what sort of a fellow the general was. 'Dear old man,' she said,clasping her hands together. 'He might, you know, have been my father.''I wish he were,' said I, 'because then you'd be free.' 'I am free,'said she, stamping on the ground, and looking up at me so much as to saythat she cared for no one. 'Then,' said I, 'accept all that is left ofthe heart of Wenceslaus O'Brien,' and I threw myself before her in herpath. 'Hand,' said I, 'I have none to give, but the blood which runs redthrough my veins is descended from a double line of kings.' I said thatbecause she is always fond of riding a high horse. I had gotten closeunder the wall so that none of you should see me from the tower.""And what answer did she make?" said Mackinnon."Why, she was pleased as Punch--gave me both her hands and declaredthat we would be friends for ever. It is my belief, Mackinnon, that thatwoman never heard anything of the kind before. The general, no doubt,did it by letter.""And how was it that she changed her mind?""Why, I got up, put my arm round her waist, and told her that we wouldbe off to Naples. I'm blessed if she didn't give me a knock in theribs that nearly sent me backward. She took my breath away, so that Icouldn't speak to her.""And then----""Oh, there was nothing more. Of course I saw how it was. So she walkedoff one way and I the other. On the whole, I consider that I am well outof it.""And so do I," said Mackinnon, very gravely. "But if you will allow meto give you my advice, I would suggest that it would be well to avoidsuch mistakes in future.""Upon my word," said O'Brien, excusing himself, "I don't know what a manis to do under such circumstances. I give you my honour that I did itall to oblige her."We then decided that Mackinnon should convey to the injured lady thehumble apology of her late admirer. It was settled that no detailedexcuses should be made. It should be left to her to consider whether thedeed which had been done might have been occasioned by wine or by thefolly of a moment, or by her own indiscreet enthusiasm. No one butthe two were present when the message was given, and therefore we wereobliged to trust to Mackinnon's accuracy for an account of it.She stood on very high ground indeed, he said, at first refusing to hearanything that he had to say on the matter. The foolish young man, shedeclared, was below her anger and below her contempt."He is not the first Irishman that has been made indiscreet by beauty,"said Mackinnon."A truce to that," she replied, waving her hand with an air of assumedmajesty. "The incident, contemptible as it is, has been unpleasant tome. It will necessitate my withdrawal from Rome.""Oh no, Mrs. Talboys; that will be making too much of him.""The greatest hero that lives," she answered, "may have his house madeuninhabitable by a very small insect." Mackinnon swore that those wereher own words. Consequently a sobriquet was attached to O'Brien of whichhe by no means approved, and from that day we always called Mrs. Talboys"the hero."Mackinnon prevailed at last with her, and she did not leave Rome. Shewas even induced to send a message to O'Brien conveying her forgiveness.They shook hands together with great eclat in Mrs. Mackinnon'sdrawing-room; but I do not suppose that she ever again offered to himsympathy on the score of his matrimonial troubles.
THE END.* * * * * * * * * * * *
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