CHAPTER XXXII

When I returned from Leicestershire, Colonel Parker was arrived from Spain, and Worcester hourly expected with despatches. My father proposed separating himself from my mother, and retiring to his native country the Canton de Berne, should the expected peace be proclaimed; and he, as well as Lord Berwick, wished my mother to reside with the younger part of her family in France.

Lord Worcester, when he brought over the despatches shortly afterwards, appeared, from what my sister Fanny, whom he often visited, told me, to have taken rather a dislike to me, or he was trying to do so, and he strove hard to muster up another passion for another woman. The only flattering part of this melancholy fact was, that every woman he made up to had been reckoned like me in feature or expression.

The noble marquis made up to the late Miss Georgiana Fitzroy, who, as I have heard many people say, very closely resembled me. He danced with her and ogled her for a fortnight, and then he was obliged to return to his military duties in Spain. However, he first went, accompanied by the present Lord Glengall, to take a hasty leave of his new flame. Lord Glengall, who waited in an adjoining room, declared, as Amy says, that he heard Miss Fitzroy sobbing in hysterics; and I have some reason to believe that Lord Worcester could only sooth her by promises of marriage.

When this account was mentioned to the Duke of Leinster, His Grace asserted that Miss Fitzroy had tried hysterics with him as a bold stroke for a husband of high rank; but, that, though not wise, he was not quite so easily caught neither, as all that came to.

While Lord Worcester was in town, Fanny had permitted him to visit her, for the sole purpose of endeavouring to make him do something for me; but Lord Worcester seemed to have lost every atom of feeling in the wars, and, from a shy, sensitive, blushing, ardent boy, had returned a cold-blooded and most shameless profligate, like the great, the glorious wonder of his age, Wellington.

France being now open to us, Meyler expressed his intention of taking a trip to Paris. We had some very serious quarrels just at this time.

"Meyler," said I to him, a short time before we went abroad, "you and I cannot live together. You are honest enough to acknowledge that your temper is abominable; for my part, I do not believe that there exists a woman who could endure it. I hold myself no longer therefore under your protection, mind. I don't mean to say that I will be unfaithful to you; but from this hour I am my own mistress, and you, when we meet any visitors, are to be turned out the first moment you treat me with a want of politeness."

Meyler could not bear this plan for any length of time, and we had in one month mutually agreed to part at least twenty times over, and then made matters up again. The deuce was in us both. We really hated each other, and yet sheer jealousy kept us together. At last, Meyler assured me that, though he had often talked of parting, he had never been so determined till now; and to effect this object, and prevent the possibility of our reconciliation like fools, only to quarrel again the next instant, he should leave town and not return until we were both attached and engaged elsewhere.

This resolution made me, I do confess, very unhappy. To conceal my real feelings I dressed gaily, I went blazing to the opera and to every other place of resort where I might expect to meet Meyler's friends, one of whom told me that Meyler was actually staying at Melton quite alone, the hunting season being at an end. In about three weeks he came to town. I dreaded encountering him at the opera, since we were to cut each other dead, and yet the effort must be made. He shall see me merry, and surrounded with handsome admirers, if I am to die the next hour. The little, provokingly handsome sugar-baker must not know that I still remember him, and am dying for his kiss.

For several opera nights I saw Meyler in the Duchess of Beaufort's box, and in the round-room, and we mutually cut each other. At last, he came slyly up to our party and addressed my sister Fanny. His beautiful, white, _petit_ hand was held towards mine, and I pressed it, _malgré moi,_ for an instant, without speaking to him, and the next moment found myself seated in his carriage on our way home.

"Don't tell my friends," said Meyler. "I have so sworn never to speak to you again, that I shall not be able to support their incessant quizzing."

"We will not again attempt to live with each other," said I. "Our tempers never can assimilate, and I will be as free as the air we breathe; but you may, indeed you must, come and visit me."

"Swear then, upon your honour and soul, that you will acquaint me if you should prove unfaithful to me."

I did swear not to deceive him: and then we hoped to go on more comfortably under our new arrangement.

"I shall go to Paris in my own carriage, and establish myself in my own lodgings," said I; and to this proposition Meyler was obliged to agree. He promised to follow me, and be there a week after my arrival.

My dear mother had disposed of her house at Brompton very unwillingly, in compliance with the wishes of Lord Berwick and her husband. Her departure, as well as mine, was delayed by a circumstance which I will now relate.

Colonel Parker, being one of those sort of animals whose constitution requires variety, had been, of late, cooling towards Fanny, his most amiable and, I will swear, most faithful companion, the mother of his child too, and merely because he had been in possession of her person too many months for his habit of variety. Having left her one morning to pay a visit to a relation of his, where he was to meet his cousin, Fanny asked him, in joke, if he was certain he should not make love to her.

"Love to her!" exclaimed Parker, "she is the greatest fright imaginable. I wish you could once see her. It would set your mind at rest for the remainder of your life, on that head at least." The lady's name was Popham, if I recollect right.

As Parker promised to return to Fanny in a week, she grew uneasy when almost a fortnight had elapsed without seeing or even hearing from him. At last, somebody told her that he was in town, and residing at an hotel in Vere Street. Fanny set off that very instant by herself and on foot to the hotel, declaring her conviction of its utter impossibility. She was, however, dreadfully agitated, _quand même_. She met Parker on the steps of the hotel, and placed her hand upon his arm, absolutely breathless and speechless.

"Fanny," said Parker, "you are no doubt surprised that I did not either go to you or inform you of my arrival in town." Fanny looked earnestly in his face,--"but," continued Parker,--and he hesitated.

"Pray, speak," said Fanny, and she pressed both her hands on her left side. She had of late often complained that she felt pain there; but at that moment it was agonising and seemed almost to produce suffocation, which might have been seen by the purple tint of her quivering lips.

"I have bad news for you," said Parker, rather confused than agitated. "I am going to be married," he continued, observing that Fanny could not speak.

At these words Fanny's whole countenance underwent such a violent change that Parker was terrified and, calling a hackney-coach, they stepped into it and came home together while I was sitting with Julia, at whose house Fanny still resided.

The little sitting-room which Fanny had furnished and fitted up for herself was a back parlour, looking into a garden. Her veil was down when she descended from the coach, and, though we expected they would have come upstairs, Julia and I determined not to interrupt them. I was to pass the day with Julia: and, when the dinner was on the table, the servant was desired to knock at Fanny's door and inform Colonel and Mrs. Parker that we were waiting. The servant brought us word that they must beg to be excused. I became uneasy and, without knocking or any further ceremony, entered the room. Fanny was sitting on the sofa with her head reclined on the pillow. She was not in tears and did not appear to have been shedding any; but her face, ears, and throat were visibly swollen, and her whole appearance so changed that I was frightened.

"My dear Fanny, what is the matter?"

Fanny did not even lift her eyes from their fixed gaze on the earth.

"Colonel Parker," said I, "for God's sake, tell me what has happened."

"She heard some unpleasant news too abruptly," said Colonel Parker.

"I implore you not to inquire," said Fanny, speaking with evident difficulty. "I would not be left alone this night, and I have been on my knees to entreat Parker to remain with me. He refuses."

"Surely you do not mean to leave her in this state;" said I, addressing Parker.

"I can do her no good. It is all too late, since my word is passed and in ten days I shall be the husband of another. My presence irritates her and does her harm."

"Fanny, my dear Fanny," said I, "can you make yourself so completely wretched for a man who acts without common humanity towards you?"

"Pray, pray, never expect to console me in this way," said Fanny impatiently. "I derive no consolation from thinking ill of the father of my dear child."

"Come to bed, dear Fanny," said I, taking hold of her burning hand.

"Yes, I shall be better in bed."

We assisted her upstairs. She seemed stupefied, and could neither speak nor shed tears. At about one Parker left her.

Fanny kept her bed for two days, and, on the third, she thought herself much better. "All I entreat of you is to keep secret from me the day of their marriage and everything connected with it," said Fanny. We promised to do our best to prevent her hearing a word more on the hateful subject.

Fanny changed the conversation immediately, and forced herself to go into society as usual; but her lips now assumed a blueish tint, whenever she made the slightest exertion, or hurried upstairs, or walked fast, and she would put her hand on her left side, and say, "There is something very wrong and odd about my heart, of that I am certain; and so, as it may be of use to others, perhaps to some of my sisters, I hope that when I am dead you will have my body examined."

There was a man, a brute I should rather say, whose passion she had good-naturedly laughed at, who actually brought her a piece of Parker's wedding-cake, and informed her of the day and hour on which they were married. Fanny almost went on her knees to implore us not to enter her bedroom for the whole of the next day. After that, she appeared nearly the same as usual, except that she coughed rather more, and began to discover that a single glass of wine always produced fever; but she looked as fresh and lovely as ever. Her character however was completely changed, from gay to serious, and she was always occupied in writing or reading.

When I went to France, Fanny's mind had been much relieved by some kind letters from Parker, assuring her that he would, on his return to town, always visit her and his child. He even led her to believe that his marriage had been merely a convenient one, in order to obtain promotion in the army, and that his heart had never changed.

Fanny talked soon of joining me in Paris. Meyler, with whom I had not once quarrelled since I had received him only as a visitor, promised to follow me in a week. As to Julia, she could not leave her dear long-backed Mr. Napier for a single day. Ladies on the wrong side of forty become so very tender!

Lord Frederick Bentinck drove me in his tilbury the two first stages on my road to Dover, and then, after a world of good advice and many questions as to where I expected to go after I was dead, he took his leave, and I continued my journey towards Paris, accompanied only by my _femme de chambre_, and my young provoking nephew, George Woodcock.

We were all three so weary when we reached Paris, that, having hired some handsome rooms in the Rue de la Paix, we kept our beds for about two days and a half. On the third day, we went out to look about us, and were much struck and pleased with the Place Vendôme, and many more places which have been sufficiently described by others; but, what astonished me most, was seeing the public walks and gardens filled with statues which had no broken noses, and full-blown roses which nobody meddled with. "John Bull then must be a very mischievous fellow," said I to myself; "or, what is worse, he has no respect for the fine arts."

_En attendant_ Monsieur Meyler, my landlord was kind enough to show me a few of the Paris Lions. We went to the Palais Royale, where I saw more fine women than were to be met with in any other part of Paris. We visited the Louvre, and there I saw many fine statues; but I have forgotten all about every one of them except the Apollo Belvidere, and that I shall remember for ever; not for its beauty, but for the appearance of life, fire, and animation, which never can be described nor imagined by anybody who has not seen it. The quivering lips--the throat! Surely there was life and pulsation about that statue! It is said, that a fair lady once sat by the Apollo, whom she could not warm, till she went raving mad, and in that state died. I really think that, if they had not come to divert my attention, I should have been in danger of following her example.

"We are free as air, you know, my dear," said Meyler, on the very first night of his arrival, in Paris. "I have been most true to you for more than two years, nor am I tired of you now in the least; but, never having had an intrigue with a Frenchwoman, and being here for the first time, of course I must try them merely for fun, and to have something to talk about. You know, a young man with thirty thousand a year must try everything once in his life; but I shall love you the better afterwards."

"A delightful plan," said I, striving with all the power of my mind to conceal my rage and jealousy, "provided it be mutually followed up, and I can conceive nothing more agreeable than our meeting, about once a week or so, and passing a day together for the sole purpose of hearing each other's adventures."

"Oh nonsense! Mere threats," said Meyler. "I don't believe you will ever be inconstant. You are in fact too constant for Paris. One has enough of all that hum-drum stuff in England. I am sure I have had enough of it for the last two years, and begin to wish there was no such thing as constancy in the world."

I could have almost murdered Meyler for this insulting speech; but that pride made me force myself to seem of his way of thinking.

"Where are you staying?" I inquired with affected carelessness.

"At the Hôtel de Hollande, exactly opposite your own door," he replied.

"Never mind," said I, "I shall not have time to watch you."

"What are you going to do this evening?" Meyler inquired, growing uneasy, and more in love as he began to believe in my indifference.

"I have made a charming new acquaintance already. An Italian lady who resides in this Hotel has invited me to dine with her," said I.

"Will you present me?" Meyler inquired.

"Why no, that would be too cool a thing to do till I know her better."

"To-morrow morning then, I suppose, you are to be found, in case I should not be otherwise engaged, at about two."

"Why no, not so, for my carriage is ordered at ten in the morning, and I shall be out the whole of the day, with a French party, seeing sights."

"Where shall I see you, then?" said Meyler, vexed, fidgety, and almost forgetting his project of making up to Frenchwomen, since the chief enjoyment and zest of such a pursuit was expected to arise out of my jealousy.

"Why, really, Meyler, this plan of as free as air, which you know you proposed, is so decidedly to my taste, that I cannot sufficiently express to you my obligation. I begin to wish with you, that there was no such thing as constancy in the world, particularly when I recollect how very Darby-and-Joan-like we lived together in London; but I dare say we shall meet at the Opera towards midnight, and, if we don't, never mind, love," said I, kissing my hand to him as I went towards the door.

"Where are you going then?" asked Meyler.

"To a party in the Hotel, to whom my Italian friend presented me yesterday. _Au revoir, mon voisin,_" said I, and then called Monsieur François, my new _laquais de place_, to conduct me where I was to pass the evening.