University of Virginia Library

16. CHAPTER XVI.
ADVANCE OF THE ENEMY UPON SIR ASINUS.

INSTEAD of listening further to the conversation of
Mowbray and Hoffland, let us follow Jacques, who,
mounted as we have seen on a beautiful horse, is gaily
passing down the street.

Jacques is clad as usual like a lily of the field, with
something of the tulip; he hums a melancholy love song
of his own composition, not having yet come into possession
of Hoffland's legacy; he smiles and sighs, and
after some hesitation, draws rein before the domicile of
our friend Sir Asinus, and dismounting, ascends to the
apartment of that great political martyr.

Sir Asinus was sitting in an easy chair tuning a violin;
his pointed features wearing their usual expression
of cynical humor, and his dress wofully negligent.

He had been making a light repast upon crackers and
wine, and on the floor lay a tobacco pipe with an exceedingly
dirty reed stem, which Jacques, with his usual bad
fortune, trod upon and reduced to a bundle of splinters.

“There!” cried Sir Asinus, “there, you have broken
my pipe, you awkward cub!”

“Ah,” sighed Jacques, gazing upon the splinters
with melancholy curiosity; “what you say is very
just.”

And sitting down, he gazed round him, smiling sadly.

“Nothing better could be expected from you, however,
you careless fop!”

And giving one of the violin pegs a wrench, Sir Asinus
snapped a string.

“There!” he cried, “you bring bad fortune! whenever
you come, I have the devil's own luck.”

Jacques laughed quietly, and stretching out his elegant
foot, yawned luxuriously.

“You are naturally unlucky, my dear knight,” he
said. “Hand me a glass of wine—or don't trouble yourself:
the exercise of rising will do me good.”

And leaning over, he poured out a glass of wine and
sipped it.

“I was coming along, and thought I would come in,”
he said. “How is your Excellency to-day?”

“Dying of weariness!”

“What! even your great Latin song——”

“Is growing dull, sir. How can a man live on solitude
and Latin? No girls, no frolics, no fun, no nothing,
if I may use that inelegant expression,” said Sir Asinus.

“Go back, then.”

“Never!”

“Why not?”

“Do you ask? I am a martyr, sir, to my great and
expanded political ideas; my religious opinions; my
theory of human rights.”

“Ah, indeed? Well, they ought to appreciate the
compliment you pay them, and console you in your
exile.”

“They do, sir,” said Sir Asinus.

“Delighted to hear it,” sighed Jacques, setting down
his glass. “Has Doctor Small called on you yet?”

“No. I fervently desire that he will call. We could
sing my Latin song together—he would take the bass;
and in three hours I should make of him a convert to my
political ideas.”

“Indeed? Shall I mention that you wish to see
him?”

“No, I believe not,” said Sir Asinus; “I am busy at
present.”

“At what—yawning?”

“No, you fop! I am framing a national anthem for
the violin.”

“Tune—the `Exile's Return,' eh?”

“Base scoffer! But what news?”

“A great piece.”

“What?”

“I am too indolent to tell it.”

“Come, Jacques—I'm dying for news.”

“I really could n't. You have no idea how weakly I
am growing; and as it deals in battle and blood, I cannot
touch upon it.”

“Ah! that is the character of a man's friends. In the
sunshine all devotion; in adversity——”

“And exile——”

“All hatred.”

“Very well,” said Jacques, “I can afford to labor
under your injustice. You are systematically unjust.
But I just dropped in as I passed—and, my dear Sir
Asinus, there is a visitor coming. I shall intrude——”

“No; stay! stay!”

“Very well.”

Sir Asinus laid down his violin; and stretching himself,
said carelessly:

“I should n't be surprised if you had brought some
dun in your train. Decidedly you possess the gettatura
—that faculty called the Evil Eye.”

The step ascended.

“Who is it—whose heavy step can that be?” said
Sir Asinus, rising; “it is not Randolph: it might be
yours coming from Belle-bouche's——”

Sir Asinus caught sight of a large cocked hat rising
from beneath, followed by a substantial person.

“O Heaven!” he cried, “it's Doctor Small! The
door—the door!”

“Too late!” said Jacques, laughing; “the Doctor will
find the stairs suddenly darkened if you close the door;
and then he will know you are not absent, only playing
him a trick!”

“True! true!” cried Sir Asinus in despair; “where
shall I go? I am lost!”

“The refuge of comedy-characters is left,” said Jacques
—“the closet!”

“You will betray me!”

“No, no,” sighed Jacques reproachfully; “bad as
you are, Sir Asinus——”

But the worthy knight had disappeared in the closet,
and Jacques was silent.

The cocked hat, as we have said, was succeeded by a
pair of shoulders; the shoulders now appeared joined to
a good portly body; and lastly, the well-clad legs of
worthy Doctor Small appeared; and passing along the
passage, he entered the room.

“Good morning, my young friend,” he said politely;
“a very beautiful day.”

And he sat down.

“Exceedingly beautiful, Doctor,” said Jacques sadly;
“and I was just thinking how pleasant my ride would
be. Did you pass our friend going out?”

“No; I was anxious to see him.”

“He was in the room a few minutes since,” said
Jacques; “what a pity that you missed him.”

“I regret it; for this is, I think, the third time I have
attempted to find him. He is a wild young man—a
very wild young man,” said the Doctor, shaking his
head.

“Yes, yes,” sighed Jacques, imitating the Doctor's
gesture; “I am sometimes anxious about him.”

And Jacques sighed and touched his forehead.

“Here, you know, Doctor.”

“Ah?” asked the Doctor, wiping his face with a silk
handkerchief, and leaning on his stick.

“Yes, sir; he has betrayed unmistakable evidences
of lunacy of late.”

The closet door creaked.

“It's astonishing how many rats there are in this
place,” said Jacques; “that closet seems to be their
head-quarters.”

“Indeed?” said the Doctor; “but you surprise me
by saying that Thomas has a tendency to insanity. I
thought his one of the justest and most brilliant minds
in college. Idle, yes, very idle, and procrastinating;
but still he is no common young man.”

The closet murmured: there was no ground for charging
the rats with this; so Jacques observed that “the
winds here were astonishing—they were stirring when
all else was still.”

“I did not remark it,” said the Doctor, “but this—”

“Affair of Tom's lunacy, sir?”

The Doctor nodded with a benevolent smile, and restored
his handkerchief to the pocket of his long, heavy,
flapped coat.

“Why, sir,” said Jacques, “there is a very beautiful
young lady in the immediate vicinity of town, who has
smiled on Tom perhaps as many as three times; and
would you believe it, sir, the infatuated youth thinks she
is in love with him.”

“Ah! ah!” smiled the Doctor; “a mere youthful
folly.”

“She cares not one pinch of snuff for him,” said
Jacques, “and he believes that she is dying for him.”

The Doctor smiled again.

“Oh,” he said, shaking his head, “I fear your charge
of lunacy will not stand upon such ground as that.
'T is a trifle.”

“I do not charge him with it,” said Jacques generously;
“Heaven forbid! I always endeavor to conceal
it, and never allude to it in his presence. But I thought
it my duty. You know, sir, there are a number of
things which may be told to one's friends which should
not be alluded to in their presence.”

“Yes, yes—of this description: it would be cruel;
but you are certainly mistaken.”

“I hope so, sir; but I consider it my duty further to
inform you that I fear Tom is following evil courses.”

“Evil courses?”

“Yes, sir!”

The door creaked terribly.

“You pain me,” said the Doctor; “to what do you
Allude?”

“Ah, sir, it is terrible!”

“How? But observe, I do not ask you to speak, sir.
If it be your pleasure, very well, and I trust what I shall
do will be for Thomas's good. But I do not invite your
information.”

“It is my duty to tell, sir; and I must speak.”

With which words Jacques paused a moment, enjoying
the dreadful suspense of the concealed gentleman,
who seemed about to verify the proverb that listeners
never hear any good of themselves. The closet groaned.

“I refer to political courses,” said Jacques, “and I
have heard Tom speak repeatedly lately of going to
Europe.”

“To Europe?”

“Yes, sir; in his yacht, armed and prepared.”

“Prepared for what?”

“That I do n't know, sir; but you may judge yourself.
It seems to me that the arms on board his yacht,
the `Rebecca,' might very well be used to murder his
most gracious Majesty George III., or the great Grenville
Townsend, or other friends of constitutional liberty.”

The Doctor absolutely laughed.

“Why, you are too suspicious,” he said, “and I cannot
believe Thomas is so bad. He has adopted many of
the new ideas, and may go great lengths; but assassination—that
is too absurd. Excuse my plain speaking,”
said the worthy Doctor, rising; “and pardon my leaving
you, my young friend. I have some calls to make, and
especially to go and see the young gentlemen who came
near fighting a duel yesterday. What a terribly wild
set of youths! Ah! they give me much trouble, and
cause me a great deal of anxiety! Well, sir, good day.

I am sorry I did not see Thomas; please say that I
called to speak with him—he is wrong to hold out
against the authorities thus. Good day—good day!”

And the worthy Doctor, who had uttered these sentences
while he was putting on his hat and grasping his
stick, issued from the door and descended.

Jacques put on his hat and followed him—possibly
from a desire to escape the thanks and blessings of Sir
Asinus.

In vain did the noble knight charge him, sotto voce,
from the closet with perfidy and fear; Jacques was not
to be turned back. He issued forth and mounted his
horse.

Sir Asinus appeared at the window like an avenging
demon.

“Oh! you villain!” he cried, first assuring himself
that Dr. Small had disappeared; “I will revenge myself!”

“Ah?” said Jacques, settling himself in the saddle
and smiling languidly.

“Yes; you're afraid to remain.”

“No, no,” remonstrated Jacques.

“You are, sir! I challenge you to return; you have
basely maligned my character. And that duel! You
have not condescended to open your mouth upon that
great event of the day, knowing as you did, all the time,
that circumstances render it necessary that I should remain
in retirement!”

“Did n't I mention the duel?” sighed Jacques, gathering
up his reins and looking with languid interest at
the martingale.

“No.”

“Ah, really—did I not?”

“No. Come now, Jacques! tell me how it was,”
said Sir Asinus in a coaxing tone, “and I'll forgive all;
for I'm dying of curiosity.”

“I would with pleasure,” said Jacques, “but unfortunately
I have n't time.”

“Time? You have lots!”

“No, no—she expects me, you know.”

“Who—not——?”

“Yes, Belle-bouche. Take care of yourself, my dear
knight,” said Jacques with friendly interest; “good-by.”

And touching his horse with the spurs, he went on,
pursued by the maledictions of Sir Asinus. He had
cause. Jacques had charged him with lunacy; said
he designed assassinating the King; kept from him the
very names of the combatants; and was going to see his
sweetheart!