The Daltons; Or, Three Roads In Life. Volume II. Lever Charles James

The Daltons; Or, Three Roads In Life. Volume II - Lever Charles James


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reward in itself. It is rare to find that combination of excellence which can command all the homage of fashion, and yet win the approbation of a poor priest.”

      There was a humility, deep enough to be almost painful, in the tone in which these words were uttered; but Frank had little time to dwell on them, for already the Abbé had taken a seat on the sofa beside him, and was deep in the discussion of all Kate’s attractions and merits.

      There was a sincerity, an ardor of admiration, chastened only by the temper of his sacred character, that delighted the boy. If allusion were made to her beauty, it was only to heighten the praise he bestowed on her for other gifts, and display the regulated action of a mind proof against every access of vanity. Her correct judgment, her intuitive refinement, the extreme delicacy of her sensibilities, – these were the themes he dwelt upon, and Frank felt that they must be rare gifts indeed, when the very description of them could be so pleasurable.

      From what the Abbé said, so far from her marriage with the great Russian being a piece of fortune, she had but to choose her position amid the first houses of Europe.

      “It was true,” he added, “that the ‘Midchekoff’s’ wealth was like royalty, and as he united to immense fortune great claims of personal merit, the alliance had everything to recommend it.”

      “And this is so?” cried Frank, eagerly. “The Prince is a fine fellow?”

      “Generous and munificent to an extent almost fabulous,” said D’Esmonde, who seemed rather to resume his own train of thought than reply to Frank’s question. “The splendor of his life has already canonized a proverb.”

      “But his temper – his manner – his disposition?”

      “Like all his countrymen, he is reserved, almost cold to strangers; his intimates, however, talk of him as frankness and candor itself. Even on political themes, where Russians are usually most guarded, he gives his opinions freely and manfully, and, strange enough too, with a liberality which, though common enough in our country, must be very rare indeed in his.”

      “That is strange!” said Frank, thoughtfully.

      “Yes,” said D’ Esmonde, dropping into the tone of one who insensibly poured out his inmost thoughts in soliloquizing, – “Yes, he feels, what we all do, that this state of things cannot last, – disparity of condition may become too palpable and too striking. The contrast between affluence and misery may display itself too offensively! Men may one day or other refuse to sign a renewal of the bond of servitude, and then – and then – ”

      “A civil war, I suppose,” cried Frank, quietly; “but the troops will always give them a lesson.”

      “Do you think so, my dear young friend?” said the Abbé, affectionately; “do you not rather think that soldiers will begin to learn that they are citizens, and that, when forging fetters for others, the metal can be fashioned into chains for themselves?”

      “But they have an oath,” said the boy; “they ‘ve sworn to their allegiance.”

      “Very true, so they have; but what is the oath? – the one half of the compact which cannot be supposed binding when the other half be broken. Let the social policy of a government fail in its great object, – the happiness of a people; let a whole nation gradually cease to enjoy the advantages for the sake of which they assumed the responsibilities and ties of family; let them day-by-day fall lower in the scale of civilization and comfort, and after surrendering this privilege to-day, and that to-morrow, at last take their stand on the very verge of the precipice, with nothing but abject slavery beneath, – what would you say of the order to charge them with the bayonet, even though the formality of a recruiting oath should seem to warrant the obedience?”

      “I ‘d do it; if I was ordered,” said Frank, sternly.

      “I don’t think you would,” said D’Esmonde, smiling. “I read your nature differently. I can trace, even in the flashing of your eye this instant, the ambition of a bold and energetic spirit, and that when the moment came you would embrace the losing cause, with all its perils, rather than stand by tyranny, in all its strength. Besides, remember, this is not the compact under which you entered the service, although it might, under certain peculiar circumstances, appeal to your sense of duty. An army is not – at least it ought not to be – a ‘gendarmerie.’ Go forth to battle against the enemies of your country, carry the flag of your Vaterland into the plains of France, plant the double eagle once more in the Place da Carrousel, – even aggressive war has its glorious compensations in deeds of chivalry and heroism – But here is the Princesse,” said the Abbé, rising, and advancing courteously towards her.

      “The Abbé D’Esmonde!” cried Kate, with an expression of delight, as she held ont her hand, which the priest pressed to his lips with all the gallantry of a courtier. “How pleasant to see the face of a friend in this strange land!” said she. “Abbé, this is my brother Frank, of whom you have heard me talk so often.”

      “We are acquaintances already,” said D’Esmonde, passing his arm within the soldier’s; “and albeit our coats are not of the same color, I think many of our principles are.”

      A few moments saw him seated between the brother and sister on the sofa, recounting the circumstances of his journey, and detailing, for Kate’s amusement, the latest news of Florence.

      “Lady Hester is much better in health and spirits, too,” said the Abbé; “the disastrous circumstances of fortune would seem to have taken a better turn; at least, it is probable that Sir Stafford’s losses will be comparatively slight. I believe her satisfaction on this head arises entirely from feeling that no imputation of altered position can now be alleged as the reason for her change of religion.”

      “And has she done this?” asked Kate, with a degree of anxiety; for she well knew on what feeble grounds Lady Hester’s convictions were usually built..

      “Not publicly; she waits for her arrival at Rome, to make her confession at the shrine of St. John of Lateran. Her doubts, however, have all been solved, – her reconciliation is perfect.”

      “Is she happy? Has she found peace of mind at last?” asked Kate, timidly.

      “On this point I can speak with confidence,” said D’Esmonde, warmly; and at once entered into a description of the pleasurable impulse a new train of thoughts and impressions had given to the exhausted energies of a “fine lady’s” life. It was so far true, indeed, that for some days back she had never known a moment of ennui. Surrounded by sacred emblems and a hundred devices of religious association, she appeared to herself as if acting a little poem of life, wherein a mass of amiable qualities, of which she knew nothing before, were all developing themselves before her. And what between meritorious charities, saintly intercessions, visits to shrines, and decorations of altars, she had not an instant unoccupied; it was one unceasing round of employment; and with prayers, bouquets, lamps, confessions, candles, and penances, the day was even too short for its duties.

      The little villa of La Rocca was now a holy edifice. The drawing-room had become an oratory; a hollow-cheeked “Seminariste,” from Como, had taken the place of the Maestro di Casa. The pages wore a robe like acolytes, and even Albert Jekyl began to fear that a costume was in preparation for himself, from certain measurements that he had observed taken with regard to his figure.

      “My time is up,” said Frank, hastily, as he arose to go away.

      “You are not about to leave me, Frank?” said Kate.

      “Yes, I must; my leave was only till four o’clock, as the Field-Marshal’s note might have shown you; but I believe you threw it into the fire before you finished it.”

      “Did I, really? I remember nothing of that. But, stay, and I will write to him. I ‘ll say that I have detained you.”

      “But the service, Kate dearest! My sergeant – my over-lieutenant – my captain – what will they say? I may have to pass three days in irons for the disobedience.”

      “Modern chivalry has a dash of the treadmill through it,” said D’Esmonde, sarcastically; and the boy’s cheek flushed


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