University of Virginia Library

22. CHAPTER XXII.

The growing passion between Claude and Ida
had not been unobserved. Lovers are like the ostrich,
who, when his head is under the bush, thinks
himself unseen. The report that Mr. Wyndham
was engaged to Mary Digby had at first arisen naturally
from the circumstances; had been strengthened
by Elkington and his mother, at first, from a
mere malicious desire to injure him in the fashionable
world, where the strange intrusion of Mr. and
Mrs. Digby had been the occasion of much merriment.
His own conduct, as Madame Wharton remarked,
had, however, unintentionally confirmed the
idea. In his frequent intercourse with the Carolans
he had soon become an object of close attention to
more persons than one. Madame Wharton had
watched him with various emotions, such as a good

spirit might feel in beholding from the heavens the
course of a beloved friend over this dangerous earth.
Lady Beverly had fixed her eyes on him, as a malignant
being waiting an occasion to injure or ruin
him. Among her stronger influences was that of
envy. She was so weakly bound up in her son as
to be almost blind to his moral worthlessness; and
she regarded with disgust the elegance of Claude's
person, and the superior intelligence and grace of
his mind and manners; and she could not but see
that there was “a daily beauty” in his life and character,
in the presence of which Elkington appeared
to the greatest disadvantage. Other thoughts, of a
much deeper and darker nature, there were, half-floating
in her mind, which deepened her dislike of
Claude into serious apprehension and hatred. As
for Elkington, although he commenced by slighting
and despising Claude as a man of no fortune, rank,
or fashionable pretension—as a mere stranger, whose
sphere of life was sufficiently indicated by his intimacy
with the Digbys, he found, upon a nearer contact,
something about his rival which, while it rendered
him less insignificant, also rendered him more
hateful in his eyes. The unconscious delicacy and
warmth of his manner towards Ida, he perceived,
was met on her part by a congeniality which he
himself had never excited in this young person;
and as the match was, he well knew, one of mere
convenience, he at first feared, and then felt, that
the love which he had failed to inspire was bestowed,
although unacknowledged, and perhaps unknown
by either party, upon Claude. The quiet
contempt with which his rudeness had been returned
by the latter, the sentiment of inferiority which
he could not help being conscious of in his presence,
and the arts of his mother, who, for reasons of her
own, desired to widen the breach between them,
even to any extremity, all nourished in his bosom a
hatred which grew with every day, and was by no
means abated by his rival's success in society,
where, from his own merit and obvious superiority,
he was received with the liveliest welcome. Both
he and his mother had made secret attempts to find
out something definite respecting his family and
history which might be used to his disadvantage,
and had thus far been partially successful. By
certain means they had discovered the mystery
which involved his birth. This was openly hinted
in every company, in a way calculated to cast suspicion
on him. The occurrence already related between
Digby and Elkington suggested to the latter
a new mode of gratifying his resentment. He had
dropped Digby in the affair, and was determined to
provoke Claude to a challenge by the most open
and insulting statements respecting him. Several
persons had mentioned them to Claude, but he persisted
in the determination not to call his slanderer
to account. This refusal to fight was carefully
revealed to all the society, accompanied by every
term of exaggeration and contempt, and hence
arose the reports to which Madame Wharton had
alluded, that he was an adventurer, without even
the pecuniary means to support the life he was
leading, or the courage to resent the most unequivocal
insult. It was said that he had come to Berlin
only on a speculation of marriage, and that the letter
from Lord Perceval had been forged. These
calumnies were so openly spread by Elkington that
they were generally believed. The very height at
which Claude had stood in society—the admiration
with which he had been received—a certain air of
nobleness and independence which marked his manner
and conversation, and the favour of the Carolans,
were all against him. Envy chooses the fairest
victim, and slander loves a shining mark. It is
astonishing with what facility the world at large
grasps at the vaguest calumny against those who
have appeared superior, and how instantly a whisper
against an innocent woman is hatched into a tale
of guilt, or a hint of evil is caught and bandied about
when directed against an obviously honest man.
But poor Claude—who had lived, since his arrival
in Berlin, in a kind of enchantment, spellbound by
the side of Ida, welcomed in circles which may become
dangerously attractive to persons of his lively
temperament, and lingering amid scenes of wealth,
rank, and love, so magnificent and fair, that it seemed
as if he stood by the open gate of Paradise, where
a word from the lips of Ida might establish him for
ever—poor Claude had not such obvious evidences
of his standing and character as to put a stop to
the allegations against him. After the first impression,
caused by lies, as to his powers as a man of
superior mind and education, had subsided, people
began to wonder that they did not find out who and
what he was. Since Carolan had been made to
comprehend that there was danger in his society to
Ida, he had, without inquiry or discrimination, resolved
at once to consider him as an enemy, and, as
such, to speak of and treat him. This had a most
injurious effect upon him, as the withdrawal from
him of the first patron who had introduced him into
society could not but be received as a confirmation
of the unfavourable rumours current respecting him.

In the game of whist there occur periods when
one finds every chance obstinately against him.
Fortune seems not only accidentally capricious, but
malignant; and the best player is beaten, not by the
skill of his adversary, but by an unseen power in
the air. How often is it thus in the more important
game of human life? The poor mortal finds
his utmost exertions vain, and contends against un-friendly
influences, which mock his wisest efforts,
and turn them against himself. It seemed now thus
with Claude; he was placed in a most painful position.
Principle called upon him to make sacrifices
almost beyond his strength. First, to turn

from the person he loved, and even to behold her
about to despise him, without making an effort
against it; and then to repel a direct charge against
his character only with the mild weapons of explanation
and forbearance. How little did they know
him who suspected him of cowardice! It would
have been a relief to call into the field the insolent
calumniator who had so often insulted him by his
manner, and was now endeavouring to complete his
destruction. In his present state of mind, death
would not have been unwelcome; but he felt that
the ball which laid low the slanderer of his honour
would not clear his name; nor did he, the moment
he reflected, really wish to take the blood even of
Elkington. His thoughtful mind recoiled from the
image of a fellow-creature stretched in death by his
hand, and his very conviction of the profligacy of
Elkington rendered him averse to send him, “with
all his imperfections on his head,” into the presence
of his God. Whatever might be the temptation or
the consequences, a long cherished habit of implicit
submission to the dictates of reason and duty, an innate
delicacy and magnanimity, and a profound piety,
made him firm in the resolution to go through
life without imbruing his hands in human blood, or
without consenting to offer his own to blind error or
profligate passion. Where he knew he was pursuing
the course of duty, no earthly consequences could
make him shrink.

“I have sacrificed my love to a sense of right,”
said he; “shall I not sacrifice my hate? And does
my reputation demand that I shall kill or be killed?
Will the death of Elkington prove my honesty—my
fortune—my claims to respect? Will it even clear
my name? Will it not, on the contrary, consign it to
infamy, and deprive me of the opportunity of disproving
by my actions the aspersions against it?”

He therefore determined to persevere in his
course—to pass the slanders of Elkington without

other notice than an offer of such proofs of his real
character as were necessary, to Count Carolan or
any other friend or friends—to avoid being drawn
into a quarrel with his enemy—to disentangle himself
as imperceptibly, but as completely as possible,
from the sweet ties which were beginning to exist
between him and Ida, and then to withdraw himself
from the scene of so much trouble. He scarcely
knew how difficult was his task.

On entering the apartments of Monsieur de B—
with Mrs. Digby and Mary, he perceived immediately
that he was an object of attention; nor did it
require many moments to discover that this attention
was not of the flattering kind to which he had been
accustomed. Slander had done its work, and of all
those who had been till now so affable and friendly,
scarcely one recognised him without a coolness
which formed an obvious contrast to their usual
manner. Inexperienced in life, although he had
heard of calumny, he was not really acquainted with
it. He had not thought of its effects. In paying
his addresses to Monsieur and Madame de B—,
he fancied he saw in both a change not to be mistaken.
Madame de B— was a beautiful but proud
woman, careful of her smiles, and disciplined even
in the art of directing her looks only according to the
fashionable worth of the object. She was an interesting
and delightful companion among her friends
—Claude himself had, till now, been her peculiar
favourite—but her eye, as she coldly returned his
greeting without encountering his, was cast down,
and immediately lifted to a person behind him, with
whom she entered into a sudden conversation. Although
this was apparently accidental, Claude felt
it was a manner of avoiding him. The reception
extended to Mrs. Digby and her daughter was equally
cold.

Monsieur de B— bowed slightly to each of the
three, and extended his hand to a gentleman who

passed before Claude. He felt the blood mounting
to his temple. It was his first impulse to turn on
his heel, and never again to enter this or any other
Berlin mansion; but he checked these hasty emotions
with a calmer pride, and the independence belonging
to his character. He reflected that he did
not know how far this slander was credited—that
perhaps the manner of Monsieur de B— and his
lady might have been accidental—that flight would
countenance the falsehoods respecting him—that he
had resolved not to seek, but also not to avoid Elkington—that
he had a duty to perform towards Ida
—and—for he was in the habit of thinking of others
as well as himself—he had brought Mrs. Digby and
Mary, and they would not wish to be abandoned.
He resolved, therefore, to remain. He felt also that
his high spirit would meet the incivility of the whole
assembly, if necessary, without shrinking, conscious
as he was that he did not deserve it.

As he turned he found himself next to Carolan.
If the scarce perceptible change in the manner of
Monsieur and Madame de B— and several others
had surprised him, he was much more struck with
that in the demeanour of Carolan. All the bland
suavity of that gentleman had disappeared. It was
scarcely possible to recognise him. His figure was
drawn up with an ostentatious hauteur on seeing
Claude, which left no doubt of his changed sentiments.
His manner was stiff and pompous, his
nose elevated in the air, and his features expressive
of self-satisfaction, superciliousness, and contempt.
The instant Claude's eye fell on him, he perceived
that his polite and agreeable friend was no more;
but that the folly of his character, now brought out
by circumstances, had left in his place a very different
person. He scarcely knew whether to address
him or not; but, as he had yet received no cause to
withhold from him the ordinary courtesies of society,
he bowed as usual. The count looked him full

in the face without offering the least sign of recognition.
A slight laugh at his shoulder caused Claude
to turn; he found that it proceeded from Elkington.
At his side was the Countess Carolan. Calmly,
but proudly, Claude bowed to her. It seemed that
he required from each one the evidence that they
could so wantonly insult him before he could believe
it. His dignity and manly composure carried a
kind of conviction to the heart of the Countess Carolan.
She believed in that instant that he was calumniated,
and she bowed to him with her usual
kindness, and held out her hand. There is something
of intuitive perception in the eye of a sweet
woman, which, in such matters, reaches the truth
through the darkest clouds. Gratitude was one of
the strongest sentiments of Claude's soul, and it was
expressed in his countenance, as he took her hand
and returned her salutation. The change in his expression,
from haughty scorn to sincere pleasure,
was not lost upon her, and a perceptible moisture
in her eye betrayed the feeling with which she sympathized
with him in this, the most trying moment
of his life. At a little distance stood Ida. She was
very pale, and turned away her face as she perceived
that his eyes were directed towards her; but, as
if unable to complete the effort, she looked back
once again, and that look glanced to his heart, and
thrilled him with an unutterable delight, which was
instantly quenched in anguish as he remembered
what he had undertaken to do.

At this moment Thomson came up. This young
man had been so violently his friend as to have even
annoyed him with attentions. He had perceived
long ago the enmity growing between him and Elkington,
and had spoken to him in the strongest terms
of disgust of Elkington's character and insolence.
Claude, ill read in human nature, held out his hand
to him as one of whose support in the hour of need
he was secure; but, to his surprise and embarrassment,

the young man passed his extended hand
unnoticed, and, seizing that of Elkington, shook it
heartily, with many expressions of pleasure at seeing
him. A few moments afterward he saw him
taking Elkington's cup to carry it to a table, and ordering
a servant to bring his lordship more tea.

“And is this human nature?” thought Claude to
himself, as he quietly regarded the young sycophant,
and remembered the importunity with which he had
besieged him in a happier hour, and particularly
the expressions of contempt and disgust which he
had made use of to him concerning this very Elkington,
whom he was now serving with the assiduity
of a valet.

It was plain that a total change had taken place
in the general opinion respecting the once admired
Mr. Wyndham. Nearly all chilled him by the coldness
of their manner. Some, although gazing
through their glasses, found him as invisible as they
had found Digby. A few addressed him without
apparent knowledge of what was going on; and two
or three made it a point to come up to him, to speak
with him long and familiarly, and, by more than
usual kindness, seemed desirous of soothing his
feelings, of counteracting the effect of the conduct
of the rest, and of showing him that they gave no
credit to the calumnies in circulation. He remarked
that these persons were generally those who had
been the least forward to make his acquaintance
when he was in the meridian of favour. They
were the sensible, the amiable, and the truly virtuous,
of whom Providence has scattered a few
through the world, like flowers in a field, and who,
like flowers, often bloom unseen in retired places,
never courting the public gaze, and blessing with
their odorous breath and perfect beauty only those
who have the fortune to find and the heart to appreciate
them. Others there were who—probably
absorbed in more important subjects, mere spectators

of these scenes, where they came to divert
themselves from abstruse labours, and to make their
observations upon the world—met him exactly as
usual; one gentleman, a tall, noble-looking officer,
came up to him, and, giving his hand, said,

“Mr. Wyndham, without ceremony, I make myself
acquainted with you. I am General St. Hillaire.
I have heard certain calumnies respecting
you, which, by Madame Wharton, an old friend
of mine, I am taught to believe totally unfounded.
I learn also that you have had, from principle, the
magnanimity to refuse sending a challenge, and to
leave a slanderer to the contempt he merits. Sir,
I honour you for it. I wish other young men had
your firmness; although I have had no token of your
courage, I do not suspect you of cowardice, because
a coward in your situation would either fight or fly.
I shall esteem myself honoured if you will permit
me to cultivate your acquaintance.”

“I assure you, Monsieur le General,” said Claude,
“your words give strength to a resolution which almost
fails; but the approbation of one like you
would more than sustain me against the insults of
a thousand fools. It is such as you, sir, who give
morality a stamp, and prevent honest men from being
put out of countenance. I am aware that slander
has been busy with my name, and that I am not approved
in declining a duel, although I do so in obedience
to a principle which, right or wrong, I have
adopted. As for other matters, I owe it to your
generous confidence to assure you, that I have never
been guilty of an action or a thought which should
bring a blush to my cheek, and I am ready to give
such explanation respecting the points in dispute
as a natural curiosity may require or justice demand.”

“I require no proofs,” said General St. Hillaire.
“Madame Wharton has assured me that she knows
you—that is enough—and I only require to see you

to understand that she is right. I believe I have
had the honour of exchanging cards with you before,
but not of meeting you. That is a pleasure which,
however, I promise myself soon again.”

They were interrupted by the chambellan of the
Prince —, who addressed to the general a few
words, and then conducted him to his royal highness.
After some moments' conversation, during which
Claude could not help remarking the frank dignity
of General St. Hillaire's address to the prince, and
the easy and friendly familiarity with which he was
received by that distinguished person, the general
once more returned, and, taking Claude by the arm,
led him forward, and the chambellan presented him.

Although astonished at this unexpected proceeding,
Claude was pleased with an opportunity of receiving
such a compliment after the cold stiffness
perceptible in the manner of every one else. His
royal highness spoke of various subjects. His remarks
were lively and affable, and Claude replied
to them with a frankness which seemed to give pleasure.
The interview was prolonged beyond the
usual time generally allotted to similar conversations;
and, when the prince bowed at the conclusion,
and General St. Hillaire led him away, Claude saw
a new change in the demeanour of the company.
Several ventured so far as to say “Bon soir.” A
gentleman “très repandu,” who had looked him full
in the face several times before, without being able
to see any one there, although availing himself of
his glass, now came to him from across the room
with, “Eh bien, mon chèr; comment ça va-t-il?”
while even Thomson, with several irresistible salutations,
remarked that “it was horribly hot!” a
proposition innocent in itself, and so extremely true
that Claude did not offer any denial.