University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.
LUDICROUS AND MYSTERIOUS.

Arrived at New Orleans, I decided
on taking rooms at the St. Charles, and
making a short sojourn, in order to see
the city. My friend acquiesced in my
decision, but said that for himself there
could be nothing new here, as he had
visited the city divers times before.

“But I can the better act as guide to
you, therefore,” he concluded; “so my
dear Harry, leave all to me. I will select
the rooms, register the names, order
every thing, and, if you like, be your
private secretary.”

“I do not understand you in the latter
particular,” I answered.

“No? Well, no matter; do you
follow my counsel, when I give any,
and all will be well.”

I had no reason to complain of the
rooms my friend selected, for they were
among the best in that famous hotel;
but one little incident that occurred
shortly after my establishing myself in
them, I may as well relate, en passant.

It was after nightfall when the Neptune
arrived at the landing; and it
might have been a couple of hours later,
that I found myself seated in a splendidly
furnished parlor, which had been
assigned me, scanning the news of the
day from the columns of one of the local
journals. I was alone, for Harley
had made some excuse to go out by
himself. Presently a waiter entered,
and bowing very obsequiously, said:

“Will your lordship come down to
supper, or have it served here?”

“I will come down.”

The waiter bowed and withdrew, and
immediately after the gong sent its crashing
notes through all the house.

At supper I could not but observe
that very particular attention was paid
to me; but I only thought to myself,
the proprietors of the St. Charles know
how to make a stranger feel at his ease
and at home. On returning from the
table to my private parlor, Tom met
me, and said, with a grin:

“Massa Hal, I tink you got to be
great man all a sudden.”

“What do you mean, Tom?”

“In dar, you see;” and Tom pointed
to my private rooms, and grinned again.

I went in, and was somewhat surprised
to find several gentlemen, apparently
awaiting my return, for they all
rose on my entrance, and bowed obsequiously.
Then the foremost, or the
one nearest me, advanced, and said,
placing his hand on his heart, and inclining
his body to a bend he intended
should appear the height of politeness:

“My nam' is Jean Perouse. I sall
have le grand honour to measure your
lordship for one suit, a la mode.”

“Sir, I do not understand you! this
is some mistake,” I replied.

“No meestake, your lordship, I do
assure. I sall have done in one leetle
mineet;” and the man out with his
measuring tape, and began to apply it to
my person, adding; “It is all be right,
your lordship—it is all be right.”

He was very expeditious, and said,
as he finished, and bowed himself out:

“To-morrow night, I sall have le
grand honeur for to send your lordship
suit, a la mode. Adien.”

“Well, that is cool,” thought I, as I
started after the tailor.

“My name is Bantam, at your lordship's
service,” said a voice at my elbow.

I turned, and beheld another of my
visitors, a well-dressed man, just in the
act of making a low bow.

“My dear sir—” I began.

“It is all right, your lordship,” he
interrupted. “I am a hatter, your lordship,
and have called to take the measure
of your lordship's head;” and
forthwith he proceeded to cast a band
around my cranium,

“But, sir—”

“Twenty-three inches,” he interrupted
again; “all right, your lordship.
I will send round the hat to-morrow.
Meantime, I am your lordship's very
humble servant;” and with another low
bow, he went out.

“Confound the fellows! what do
they mean?” was my mental exclamation;
but I had not time to say anything,
when up came the third, and with the
same obsequious air, proceeded:

“My name is Smith, your lordship.
I am, by profession, a gentleman boot-maker.
If your lordship will only be
seated for a moment, I shall have the
honor to take the measure of your lordship's
foot.”

“My dear sir,” I replied, beginning
to get perfectly bewildered, “you shall
have the honor of measuring both feet,
if you will only explain what all this
means.”

“It is all right, I do assure your lordship.
Will your lordship please to be
seated, till I draw your lordship's boot?”

“But, sir! Mr. Jones—”

“Smith, sir—Smith is my name,
your lordship. Pray don't confound me
with the Jones's!—the Jones's in my
line are only snobs.”

“Well, Smith or Jones, snob or no
snob, it is all one to me,” I rejoined,
half-angrily, though a good deal amused
in spite of myself. “But, sir,—Mr.
Smith—there is some error here.”

“Oh! no, your lordship; it is all
right, I do assure you.”

“But I do assure you it is not all
right,” I replied, “and I think I ought
to know best. In the first place, I am
no lord.”

“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Smith;
“very good! clever! very clever! ha,
ha, ha!”

“Are you a fool? or a madman?”
cried I, growing indignant.

“Neither, your lordship,” answered
Smith, gravely, “but only a gentleman
boot-maker, at your lordship's service.
Will your lordship do me the honor to
sit?”

“My lordship will do you the honor
to kick you down stairs, directly, if you
persist in this foolery!” cried I.

“Nay, your lordship, on that, in this
country, I could found an action,” answered
Smith, quietly.

“Faith, man,” said I, “I think you
would find it an action already founded.
But tell me, now, seriously—who do
you take me for?”

“A gentleman, your lordship,” replied
Smith.

“But why do you wish to measure
my foot?”

“To make your lordship a pair of
boots.”

“But I do not want any boots.”

“All right, your lordship, if your
lordship will please to sit; I will scarcely
detain your lordship a minute.”

“Well, these fellows are either mad
or I am,” was my reflection, as I threw
myself on a sofa, and held out my foot
to Mr. Smith, who drew the boot and
took the measure with great expedition.

There were two others still in the
room, who had thus far kept quietly
back and said nothing; but the moment
the gentleman boot-maker took his
leave, one of these, a small man, advanced
rather timidly to where I was
sitting.

“Well, sir?” cried I, so savagely,
that he started, and took a step or two
backwards; but seeming to gather new
resolution, he again ventured forward,
and said, softly, bobbing his head like a
tip-up:

“May it please your lordship, my
name is Doty, at your lordship's very
humble service; and understanding that
your lordship would like a carriage—”

The men are either mad, or they
mean to insult me, I thought; and I
sprung to my feet just as the word
`carriage,' was trembling on Mr. Doty's
lips; who, divining no doubt from my
looks, that I intended to make an example
of him, left his speech unfinished,
and broke for the hall, which was the
last I ever saw of him. There was
still one remaining, and as I turned upon
him, I saw he looked very pale and un-easy,
and began to edge toward the
door. I stood and watched him, till he
got the door between me and him,
when, seeming to feel more at his ease,
he ventured:

“Your lordship—”

But he ventured no further; for seizing
a chair, I made at him, when, turning,
he fled, with a yell of terror I shall
never forget. The last I saw of him,
he was going down stairs, three at a
time, to the imminent danger of his legs
and neck, which fortunately all got off
safe, at least I never heard to the contrary.
I now espied Tom, leaning
against the balustrade, and holding his
sides; and putting down the chair, I
walked up to him, and taking him by
one arm, led him quietly into my parlor.
Then closing the door, I grasped
both arms, and shaking him till my own
arms ached, I exclaimed:

“So, boy, this is some of your doings,
eh? I'll teach you to play pranks
on your master, you rascal!”

“No, no, no,” cried Tom, who by
this time had found his tongue; “I neber
did um, Massa Hal—trute—'fore de
angels it is, massa.”

“Who did do it then, you black
imp?”

“Don' know, Massa Wal'on—'less—
'less Massa Harley do um.”

The truth now flashed upon me; and
throwing off Tom, with a force that
sent him spinning round the room, I exclaimed:

“Yes, Harley is at the bottom of it—
dunce that I am not to have thought of
him before.”

As I said this, I heard a suppressed
yell in my bed-room, which adjoined
the parlor; and hastily throwing open
the door, there I beheld Morton Harley,
rolling over and over on the bed, with
both hands upon his sides, apparently
in the last agonies of convulsions. The
moment he saw me, he gave vent to
such screams of laughter, that I really
began to fear he would burst a blood-vessel
and alarm the house, though neither
event happened.

“My dear sir, you deserve a horsewhipping,”
said I, as soon as I could
make myself heard.

“Don't! your lordship—don't!'
groaned Harley, catching his breath for
another fit. “Oh! my poor sides! Oh!
my poor sides!” and off he went
again, till he began to grow black in the
face.

Meanwhile, my anger subsiding, Ibegan
to view the whole affair as a capital
joke, though rather too much at my expense
for me to appreciate it as I would
had another been the victim. However,
by the time that Harley had recovered
so as to sit up and talk soberly, I had
forgiven him in so much as my angry
feelings were concerned, though I had
determined to pay him off in his own
coin sooner or later. I rang the bell,
and ordered champaigne; and as we
filled our glasses—

“Here's to the genius of Morton
Harley!” said I.

“Thank you! here's to your lordship!”
he returned.

“To his lordship, then, for the first
and last time,” I rejoined, and emptied
my glass.

“Not so fast,” said Harley, draining
his cup; “you must not dismiss your
nobility so soon, and resolve yourself
into plain mister. You have begun
your part well, considering—pray carry
it out—nothing like making a sensation.
True, I think you can improve upon it,
for in your debut, you rather over-acted,
and were too cholerie—but then you
know, my dear fellow, one cannot arrive
at perfection immediately.”

“No, no, Harley—a joke is a joke,
and so let it end. But tell me how you
succeeded in making the ether characters

play their parts so well; for no
matter what I said or did, they seemed
not in the least astonished, but to take
it all as a matter of course, declaring it
was all right. Were they really tradesmen?”

“To be sure they were, and they
really believe you to be an English
nobleman, very eccentric, and slightly
touched here;” and Harley tapped his
forehead. “I got them all together, and
told them exactly how to proceed, and
not to seem surprised at any thing you
might say or do; and that even if you
denied your rank, or asked what it
all meant, or in any way became refractory,
to persist in their purpose, and
only answer you by saying it was all
right.”

“But the waiter,” said I, “when he
came to know if I would have my supper
here, or would go below, he addressed
me in the same style.”

“Very likely, for you are registered
as Lord Harcourt, England.”

“By Jove! this must not be!” cried
I: “I will not pass for other than I
am.”

“Very well, my dear Harry, I will
right it, since you do not like it: and
perhaps it will be as well, now that
I have had my joke and champaigne.”

“Do it now, then—this instant.”

Harley went out, and was gone some
quarter of an hour.

“Well?” said I, on his return.

“I have done it, and saved your
credit. I told the clerk you wished to
remain incog., and were very much
offended because I had thoughtlessly
made known your rank; so he crossed
out Lord Harcourt, and wrote under it
plain Henry Walton. I hope now you
are satisfied.”

“But this tailor, hatter, and gentleman
bootmaker?” said I.

“Oh, if you do not want the articles,
I will countermand the orders.”

“Very well, see that you do it, or
else take them yourself! it is right you
should have a little trouble for being so
officious.”

I spent several days in New Orleans,
and was delighted with the city, its
sights, and the climate. The weather
was beautiful, just warm enough to be
comfortable, and as everything was new
to me, I enjoyed myself beyond my
anticipation. I generally rode out
through the day, and at night visited
some theatre, ball, or masquerade.

Thus had passed my time for a
week, when, one morning, feeling rather
the worse for wear, to use a common
phrase, I kept my bed, refused my
breakfast, and declined a walk with my
friend, who went out alone. I was not
ill, only slightly indisposed, and fasting
and rest soon set me right. I arose
about one, and having perused the daily
journals, was just in the act of dressing
for dinner, when Harley burst into
my room, pale, excited, out of breath,
and covered with dust from head to foot.

“Good Heavens!” cried I, in alarm:
“what is the matter? what has happened?”

“I have seen her!” he exclaimed,
wildly: “I have seen her! I have
seen her! Oh! that I had known she
was here before!”

“Seen who?” asked I, all amazement.

“Yes! yes! yes!” he cried, pressing
his temples with both hands, and
fixing his eyes upon the ceiling, with
an abstracted gaze. “Yes, it is so—it
should be so—it shall be so! Yes, it
was not for nothing I saw her—there
is fate in it: Heaven wills, fortune
smiles, and I will follow the beck of
destiny, though all the fiends of darkness
conspire against me!”

“Are you mad?” cried I, grasping
his arm: “if not, speak to me, and
answer my question! Whom have
you seen?”

“Eh?” he answered, turning his
gaze—cold, icy cold, and vacant—full
upon me, with a look that thrilled me
with horror.

“Speak!” I exclaimed; “put `speculation'
in those eyes, or I shall deem
you mad! Harley, my dear friend—
Morton Harley—speak to me, rationally,
in the name of Heaven!”

“Well,” he answered, as the intellect,
as we sometimes see the blood,
seemed to rush into his face, lighting
his whole countenance in an instant:

“Well, Harry, you need not speak so
loud, and get so excited; for if absentminded,
I am not deaf.”

“Pardon me, my friend! I was
alarmed, and did not regard the tone in
which I spoke. But do tell me what
this strange conduct means! I hope
you are playing no more jokes!” I
added, rather severely.

“Joke! do you think I could joke
on such a subject? Pshaw! the man
is a knave—”

“Do you apply that term to me, Mr.
Harley?”

—“Who could joke on a matter so
near his heart,” pursued Harley, finishing
the sentence, which another slight absence
of mind, or aberration of intellect,
had apparently interrupted. “No, no,
Harry,” he continued—“I did not apply
the term to you.”

“But, my dear friend, do, for Heaven's
sake, tell me what all this means!
Are you mad or sane?”

“Sane, Harry—sane! Ah, ha, ha!
they wanted to make me out mad, but
could not—I was too sane for them—
though I may be driven mad yet in consequence.”

“Well, then, if you are sane, my
friend, prove it, by answering my questions!”

“Speak!”

“Where have you been?”

“In the streets.”

“What doing?”

“Running.”

“And why did you run?”

“To keep up with the carriage.”

“What carriage?”

“The one that contained her.”

“Who?”

“Viola.”

“And pray who is Viola?”

“An angel! my blessing and my
bane.”

“Pray, drop metaphor, and give me
straightforward answers.”

“Harry, you are my friend,” said
Harley, abruptly—“at least I hope
so.”

“I am, sincerely, your friend.”

“Thank you! give me your hand.
There! yes, I know, by that pressure,
you speak from your heart. Well,
being my friend, I will make bold to
beg of you a favor.”

“You have only to name it.”

“Ask no more questions now, but leave
me here alone for a couple of hours.
I wish to lie down: I am fatigued, and
a little excited. There, go! not a word!
you can make your toilet in the parlor;”
and he gently pushed me from
the room, adding, as he closed the door
and locked it: “I shall not be down to
dinner.”

I remembered what my friend had
said on the Neptune, that when I saw
him in one of his peculiar moods, to
leave him alone; and therefore I felt
less anxiety about him now than I
should otherwise have done. But who
was Viola? Was she a reality? or a
phantom of the brain, that haunted him
at times like a living thing? There
seemed, as I have elsewhere remarked,
something mysterious about my friend,
as if something had occurred in his history
which he wished to banish from his
mind. I had never succeeded in getting
him to go back and touch upon his
early life. Whenever I broadched the
subject, he had always adroitly changed
it. In every other respect, he seemed
frank and communicative—but on this
point he would say nothing, or speak
so vaguely, that I learned nothing defi-nite.
Was he what he seemed? was
his real name Morton Harley? where
did he belong? what were his prospects
in life? why was he thus roaming
about, apparently without other object
than a desire for travel? had he parents
living?—all these were questions I
often asked myself, but could not answer.
Money he had in abundance;
and he spent it freely; spent much, of
it in charity; spent it like a man who
wished to enjoy the present, and let the
present drive both the future and the
past from his mind.

But who was Viola? “his blessing and
his bane.” I pondered upon it, as a man
always ponders upon mere conjecture
—coming out in the end exactly where
I set out—knowing no more when I
had done than when I began. Sometimes
I thought she was real, sometimes
ideal; and if the former, that my

friend was sane, but troubled; if the
latter, that he was not always in his
right mind. This was the first time I
had ever heard him speak of her, and I
felt I would give much to have the
mystery solved.

Thus I mused till summoned to
dinner.