“Where is my home, Sir Knight of the midnight pen?”
“England is your home, Trevelyan.”
“No, sir; England was my home once; but I have taken the liberty accorded to me by my Creator of choosing a new country. Italy is now my nation, and Casalunga is my home.”
“Every tie you have in the world is in England.”
“I have no tie, sir;—no tie anywhere. It has been my study to untie all the ties; and, by Jove, I have succeeded. Look at me here. I have got rid of the trammels pretty well—haven’t I?—have unshackled myself, and thrown off the paddings, and the wrappings, and the swaddling clothes. I have got rid of the conventionalities, and can look Nature straight in the face. I don’t even want the Daily Record, Stanbury;—think of that!”
Stanbury paced the length of the terrace, and then stopped for a moment down under the blaze of the sun, in order that he might think how to address this philosopher. “Have you heard,” he said at last, “that I am going to marry your sister-in-law, Nora Rowley?”
“Then there will be two more full-grown fools in the world certainly, and probably an infinity of young fools coming afterwards. Excuse me, Stanbury, but this solitude is apt to make one plainspoken.”
“I got Sir Marmaduke’s sanction the day before I left.”
“Then you got the sanction of an illiterate, ignorant, self-sufficient, and most contemptible old man; and much good may it do you.”
“Let him be what he may, I was glad to have it. Most probably I shall never see him again. He sails from Southampton for the Mandarins on this day week.”
“He does—does he? May the devil sail along with him!—that is all I say. And does my much-respected and ever-to-be-beloved mother-in-law sail with him?”
“They all return together—except Nora.”
“Who remains to comfort you? I hope you may be comforted;—that is all. Don’t be too particular. Let her choose her own friends, and go her own gait, and have her own way, and do you be blind and deaf and dumb and properly submissive; and it may be that she’ll give you your breakfast and dinner in your own house—so long as your hours don’t interfere with her pleasures. If she should even urge you beside yourself by her vanity, folly, and disobedience—so that at last you are driven to express your feeling—no doubt she will come to you after a while and tell you with the sweetest condescension that she forgives you. When she has been out of your house for a twelvemonth or more, she will offer to come back to you, and to forget everything—on condition that you will do exactly as she bids you for the future.”
This attempt at satire, so fatuous, so plain, so false, together with the would-be jaunty manner of the speaker, who, however, failed repeatedly in his utterances from sheer physical exhaustion, was excessively painful to Stanbury. What can one do at any time with a madman? “I mentioned my marriage,” said he, “to prove my right to have an additional interest in your wife’s happiness.”
“You are quite welcome, whether you marry the other one or not;—welcome to take any interest you please. I have got beyond all that, Stanbury;—yes, by Jove, a long way beyond all that.”
“You have not got beyond loving your wife, and your child, Trevelyan?”
“Upon my word, yes;—I think I have. There may be a grain of weakness left, you know. But what have you to do with my love for my wife?”
“I was thinking more just now of her love for you. There she is at Siena. You cannot mean that she should remain there?”
“Certainly not. What the deuce is there to keep her there?”
“Come with her then to England.”
“Why should I go to England with her? Because you bid me, or because she wishes it—or simply because England is the most damnable, puritanical, God-forgotten, and stupid country on the face of the globe? I know no other reason for going to England. Will you take a glass of wine, Stanbury?” Hugh declined the offer. “You will excuse me,” continued Trevelyan; “I always take a glass of wine at this hour.” Then he rose from his chair, and helped himself from a cupboard that was near at hand. Stanbury, watching him as he filled his glass, could see that his legs were hardly strong enough to carry him. And Stanbury saw, moreover, that the unfortunate man took two glasses out of the bottle. “Go to England indeed. I do not think much of this country; but it is, at any rate, better than England.”
Hugh perceived that he could do nothing more on the present occasion. Having heard so much of Trevelyan’s debility, he had been astonished to hear the man speak with so much volubility and attempts at high-flown spirit. Before he had taken the wine he had almost sunk into his chair, but still he had continued to speak with the same fluent would-be cynicism. “I will come and see you again,” said Hugh, getting up to take his departure.
“You might as well save your trouble, Stanbury; but you can come if you please, you know. If you should find yourself locked out, you won’t be angry. A hermit such as I am must assume privileges.”
“I won’t be angry,” said Hugh, good humouredly.
“I can smell what you are come about,” said Trevelyan. “You and my wife want to take me away from here among you, and I think it best to stay here. I don’t want much for myself, and why should I not live here? My wife can remain at Siena if she pleases, or she can go to England if she pleases. She must give me the same liberty;—the same liberty—the same liberty.” After this he fell a-coughing violently, and Stanbury thought it better to leave him. He had been at Casalunga about two hours, and did not seem as yet to have done any good. He had been astonished both by
