Two Years Ago - BestLightNovel.com
You’re reading novel Two Years Ago Volume I Part 21 online at BestLightNovel.com. Please use the follow button to get notification about the latest chapter next time when you visit BestLightNovel.com. Use F11 button to read novel in full-screen(PC only). Drop by anytime you want to read free – fast – latest novel. It’s great if you could leave a comment, share your opinion about the new chapters, new novel with others on the internet. We’ll do our best to bring you the finest, latest novel everyday. Enjoy
"But they," said Stangrave, "are the portraits of men such as they saw around them; natures who were strong for good and evil, who were not ashamed to show their strength. Where will a painter find such among the poor, thin, unable mortals who come to him to buy immortality at a hundred and fifty guineas apiece, after having spent their lives in religiously rubbing off their angles against each other, and forming their characters, as you form shot, by shaking them together in a bag till they have polished each other into dullest uniformity?"
"It's very true," said Scoutbush, who suffered much at times from a certain wild Irish vein, which stirred him up to kick over the traces.
"People are horribly like each other; and if a poor fellow is bored, and tries to do anything spicy or original, he has half-a-dozen people pooh-poohing him down on the score of bad taste."
"Men can be just as original now as ever," said La Signora, "if they had but the courage, even the insight. Heroic souls in old times had no more opportunities than we have: but they used them. There were daring deeds to be done then--are there none now? Sacrifices to be made--are there none now? Wrongs to be redressed--are there none now?
Let any one set his heart, in these days, to do what is right, and nothing else; and it will not be long ere his brow is stamped with all that goes to make up the heroical expression--with n.o.ble indignation, n.o.ble self-restraint, great hopes, great sorrows; perhaps, even, with the print of the martyr's crown of thorns."
She looked at Stangrave as she spoke, with an expression which Scoutbush tried in vain to read. The American made no answer, and seemed to hang his head awhile. After a minute he said tenderly:--
"You will tire yourself if you talk thus, after the evening's fatigue.
Mrs. Mellot will sing to us, and give us leisure to think over our lesson."
And Sabina sang; and then Lord Scoutbush was made to sing; and sang his best, no doubt.
So the evening slipt on, till it was past eleven o'clock, and Stangrave rose. "And now," said he, "I must go to Lady M----'s ball; and Marie must rest."
As he went, he just leaned over La Cordifiamma.
"Shall I come in to-morrow morning? We ought to read over that scene together before the rehearsal."
"Early then, or Sabina will be gone out; and she must play soubrette to our hero and heroine."
"You will rest? Mrs. Mellot, you will see that she does not sit up."
"It is not very polite to rob us of her, as soon as you cannot enjoy her yourself."
"I must take care of people who do not take care of themselves;" and Stangrave departed.
Great was Scoutbush's wrath when he saw Marie rise and obey orders.
"Who was this man? what right had he to command her?"
He asked as much of Sabina the moment La Cordifiamma had retired.
"Are you not going to Lady M---- 's, too?"
"No; that is, I won't go yet; not till you have explained all this to me."
"Explained what?" asked Sabina, looking as demure as a little brown mouse.
"Why, what did you ask me here for?"
"Lord Scoutbush should recollect that he asked himself."
"You cruel venomous creature! do you think I would have come, if I had known that I was to see another man making love to her before my very eyes? I could kill the fellow;--who is he?"
"A New York merchant, unworthy of your aristocratic powder and ball."
"The confounded Yankee!" muttered Scoutbush.
"If people swear in my house, I fine them a dozen of kid gloves. Did you not promise me that you would not make love to her yourself?"
"Well--but, it is too cruel of you, before my very eyes."
"I saw no love-making to-night."
"None? Were you blind?"
"Not in the least; but you cannot well see a thing making which has been made long ago."
"What! Is he her husband?"
"No."
"Engaged to her?"
"No."
"What then!"
"Don't you know already that this is a house of mystery, full of mysterious people? I tell you this only, that if she ever marries any one, she will marry him; and that if I can, I will make her."
"Then you are my enemy after all."
"I! Do you think that Sabina Mellot can see a young viscount loose upon the universe, without trying to make up a match for him? No; I have such a prize for you,--young, handsome, better educated than any woman whom you will meet to-night. True, she is a Manchester girl: but then she has eighty thousand pounds."
"Eighty thousand nonsense? I'd sooner have that divine creature without a penny, than--"
"And would my lord viscount so far debase himself as to marry an actress?"
"Humph! Faith, my grandmother was an actress; and we St. Justs are none the worse for that fact, as far as I can see,--and certainly none the uglier--the women at least. Oh Sabina--Mrs. Mellot, I mean--only help me this once!"
"This once? Do you intend to marry by my a.s.sistance this time, and by your own the next? How many viscountesses are there to be?"
"Don't laugh at me, you cruel woman: you don't know; you fancy that I am not in love--" and the poor fellow began pouring out these commonplaces, which one has heard too often to take the trouble of repeating, and yet which are real enough, and pathetic too; for in every man, however frivolous, or even worthless, love calls up to the surface the real heroism, the real depth of character--all the more deep because common to poet and philosopher, guardsman and country clod.
"I'll leave town to-morrow. I'll go to the Land's-end,--to Norway,--to Africa--"
"And forget her in the bliss of lion-hunting."
"Don't, I tell you; here I will not stay to be driven mad. To think that she is here, and that hateful Yankee at her elbow. I'll go--"
"To Lady M----'s ball?"
"No, confound it; to meet that fellow there! I should quarrel with him, as sure as there is hot Irish blood in my veins. The self-satisfied puppy! to be flirting and strutting there, while such a creature as that is lying thinking of him."
"Would you have him shut himself up in his hotel, and write poetry; or walk the streets all night, sighing at the moon?"
"No; but the cool way in which he went off himself, and sent her to bed. Confound him! commanding her. It made my blood boil."