Confessions Of Con Cregan, the Irish Gil Blas

From the “host of mine inn” I learned that the Spanish minister, whose receptions were little less splendid than those of the court itself, occupied a position which in countries of more rigid morality would have left his salons less crowded. In fact, it was asserted that he owed his eminent station to his having consented to marry a lady who had once been the rival of royalty itself in Spain, and whose banishment had been thus secured. Being still in the full pride of her beauty, and possessing great wealth, the “scandal” only added to her claim, in a society where notoriety of any kind is regarded as a distinction.

She was the reigning belle of the capital. Her word was law on every theme of fashion and taste; her opinions exerted a considerable influence on matters of high political bearing; and despite the ambiguity of her position, she was the arbitress of every claim to admission into that society which arrogated to itself the name of being “the best.”

It is needless to say that a station of the kind engenders a species of tyranny to which the world responds by inventing all manner of stories and strange histories; and thus the Marchesa de la Norada was by some proclaimed a natural daughter of the Emperor Napoleon, – by others, of an English Royal Duke. She was a widow, and the wife of half-a-dozen personages together. There was not an European court into which she had not brought discord, – not a cabinet where she had not sown intrigue. Her beauty had seduced, her gold corrupted, and her wiles entrapped half the great statesmen of the age; while there was scarcely a crime within the red catalogue of the law that was not laid to her charge; and yet, with all these allegations against her, she was more sovereign in that capital than the rightful queen of the land. This was the presence into which I was to be introduced to-night, and – I frankly own it – I would have rather confronted the searching scrutiny of the most penetrating of men than meet the careless, half-bestowed glances of that woman! nor was it at all unlikely that to such a test they wished now to subject me and my pretensions.

It is far easier for many men to confront a personal danger, the peril of life or limb, than to meet the trying difficulty of a slight before the world. To myself, the former would be as nothing in comparison. I could face any amount of peril in preference to the risk of a public mark of depreciation, and from a woman, too! where redress was as impossible as reply was useless.

It was already midnight ere I could muster courage to set out, – not that the hour was inappropriate, for the Marchesa’s receptions only began when the opera was over. As I drove along the Chiaia, the crowd of carriages told that this was a night of more than ordinary attraction, and more than one equipage of the Court passed by, showing that some members of the royal family would be present. This again terrified me. Was royalty to be among the witnesses of my shame? When a man’s thoughts do take the turn of self-tormenting, what ingenuity will they not exhibit, – what astonishing resources of annoyance! I am convinced that my greatest enemy in life could never have inflicted a tenth part of that suffering which now I experienced from my own fancies! Among the thoughts which crossed my mind, one kept continually recurring, and made an impression that my memory will probably never lose, – it was my doubt whether I ought not to return and exchange my uniform for plain clothes, and thus avoid exposing the epaulette of a French officer, and the proud cordon I wore, to the chances of open insult.

This question was yet unsolved in my mind as I drove into the court-yard of the palace. The turmoil and confusion of the scene – carriages interlocked, poles smashing panels, and horses rearing – was an actual relief to me, and I would have felt a heart-warm gratitude for any accident that might have upset half the company, and broken up the reception in disorder. Such “good-luck” was, however, not in store for me. My calèche at length drew up at the door, and I handed my card with my name to the major-domo, who stood at the top of the stairs with an army of liveried lacqueys around him. “Le Comte de Creganne!” resounded now through the spacious antechamber, and the voices of others took it up, and the echo without repeated it, every syllable falling upon my heart like the bang of a death-bell!

Although our progress was soon arrested by the dense crowd, and all chance of moving farther, for a time at least, out of the question, the lacquey continued to call my name aloud, with what I deemed a most needless importunity of announcement. At last he ceased, leaving me to the enjoyment of a momentary tranquillity in mixing with the crowd. It was indeed but momentary; for the young attaché had made his way through the throng, and whispered in my ear, “Let us retire this way, and I ‘ll lead you by another passage, otherwise you will run a great risk of never being presented to the Marchesa.” I could have told him that I would have borne even this misfortune like a man; but I did not, and merely followed him as he led the way through a suite of rooms, of which only one was occupied, and that by a card-party.

The buzz and hum of voices apprised me that we were again approaching the company, and suddenly, on opening a door, we found ourselves in a small but gorgeously furnished chamber, where three or four ladies and about a dozen men were assembled, while the main body of the guests passed through in defile, each stopping to salute and say a few words to a lady who did the honors of the reception. As her back was towards me, I could only mark that she was tall, and of an air that was queenly in state and dignity. The stars and decorations around her showed that some of the party were princes of the blood, and others, ambassadors and ministers of state.

“Wait where you are,” whispered my companion; and he moved forward and entered the crowd. I stood an eager spectator of the scene, in which, despite all my anxieties, I could not but feel interested. It was the first great review I had ever witnessed of that fashionable world whose recognition and acceptance I so ardently coveted. Its slightest gestures, its least and most insignificant observances, were all matters of study to me. Every deep reverence, each motion of respectful courtesy, were things to mark and imitate, and I was storing up many a hint for future guidance, when I observed that a gentleman, whom I had rightly conjectured to be a royal prince, appeared to press some remark upon the “Marchesa,” to which at last she replied, “I believe I must follow your Royal Highness’s counsel, and take a few minutes’ rest;” and, so saying, she dropped back from the group, and retired within a few paces of where I stood.

“May I beg you to hand that chair, sir,” said the Prince to me, and in a tone in which I own a certain haughtiness seemed to rebuke my want of thoughtfulness in not presenting it unbidden. I hastened to perform this service. The lady turned to acknowledge it; our eyes met, and we stood fixed and rooted to the spot, each speechless and pale with emotion. In those few seconds I felt as if I had lived years.

“La Senhora Dias,” murmured I, unconsciously to myself.

“Lupo!” ejaculated she, as if in answer, and she trembled from head to foot.

“You have really over-exerted yourself,” said the prince, as, taking her hand, he pressed her down into a seat.

Her eyes never quitted me for an instant, and the expression of her features became almost that of agonizing pain as she motioned me to approach her. “Is it possible that I see before me my old friend the Duke of – ?” She stopped, and, with a look of entreaty I can never forget, intimated that I should fill up the blank.

“Le Comte de Creganne, Madame,” said I, coming to the rescue, “who is but too happy to find himself remembered by the Marchesa de la Norada.”

“Very true, Comte; I was confounding you with your constant companion, the Duke de la Breanza; I hope he is well, and the dear duchess. And you, – when did you arrive from the Brazils? I trust very lately, or you have treated me shamefully.”

Rapidly as these words were uttered, they were enough to give me the “consigne” of what rank my intimate friends held, in what class we met, and from whence I came. While I replied to her questions, she motioned me to a seat beside her, and, with a smile and a courteous apology to the prince for devoting herself to the old friend who had so unexpectedly presented himself, she dropped her voice to a whisper and said, “Not now, nor here, but to-morrow we will speak together.”

“Enough,” said I, rapidly; “I am your old and esteemed friend the Comte de Creganne; you are not compromised in calling me so.”

“Nor can your memory fail to recall me as a Lady of Honor at the Brazilian court!”

And now some of the company had gathered around us, to most of whom she presented me, always adding some few courteous expressions, indicative of our ancient friendship, and of the pleasure she felt at our unexpected meeting. If I have occasionally given way to those erratic flights of fancy which led me to believe myself a scion of a noble house, well born and nurtured, with wealth at my command and a high station in store, all these delusions were nothing to the creative efforts of her imagination, who commenced by reminding me of a hundred people who never existed, and places and incidents which were all as unreal. How we did bewail the death of some, rejoice over the good fortune of other “dear, dear friends” who had never breathed! and with what pleasant laughter we remembered eccentricities and oddities that once used to amuse us so much!

Never can I forget the look of astonishment of the young attache as he came up and found me seated on the ottoman beside the Marchesa, with her pet spaniel upon my lap, while my whole air was redolent of that triumphant expression so unmistakably denoting security.

“I perceive,” said he, with difficulty repressing his ill-humor, “that Madame la Marchesa is acquainted with the Comte de Creganne.”

“For many years, sir, the Comte and I have known each other, and I have only to own my surprise that none of my friends at Naples ever mentioned to me the arrival of one in every way so distinguished. But here is the Marquese; I must present you, Comte.” So saying, she introduced me to a tall, pompous-looking elderly gentleman, who, it is but fair to add, did not evince half so much satisfaction at sight of me as his wife showed. And now was I the lion of the evening. I, who had walked the Chiaia every day for weeks back without notice or recognition, and who might, had the idea occurred to me, have fallen down and died without one to pity me, – I became all of a sudden a most “interesting personage”! My African campaign was exalted into a perfect career of glory, and even my modesty was pushed hard to accept the praises most lavishly bestowed upon acts of heroism of which I had not even heard.

The Duke of Vallabretta, the younger brother of the king, was certain he had often heard of me from his “friend De St. Cloud.” He was quite positive that I was the officer of dragoons who, with one squadron of horse, captured “a Smala” defended by twelve hundred Arabs, while fully one half of the illustrious cruelties of the Oran war was generously laid to my charge. A dash of atrocity adds immensely to the charm of heroism in Italian estimation; and so I discovered that various acts of roasting prisoners, sending a cargo of noses to Toulon, and such like, were exceedingly popular with the ladies, who regarded me as a modern “Bayard.”

Not all these sensations of triumph, however, gave me one half the pleasure that I felt in trampling upon the little French attaché, whom I persecuted with a proud disdain that nearly drove him mad. All my ignorance of Neapolitan society, the obscurity in which I had lived hitherto, I laid at his door. I deplored most feelingly to the prince the inefficient mode in which we were represented at his court, and promised to use my influence in effecting a change. I fear my disposition is not so angelic as I usually conceive it, for I actually taxed my ingenuity for little subjects of attack against the unlucky diplomatist, and saw him at length retire from the salons crushed, crest-fallen, and miserable.

Another consideration, perhaps, added venom to my malignity: I knew not how short-lived might be my power, and determined to “make my running while the course was free.” The vicissitudes of fortune had often reversed in one short day all the prospect I trusted to be the most stable and certain; and, for the future, I was fully resolved never to forego the stroke to-day for which my arm might be too weak to-morrow. As I saw him depart, I felt like a naval hero when his enemy has struck, and, in the pride of victory, abandoned myself to pleasure.

If the Marchesa watched me at first with an uneasy and anxious eye, doubtful, perhaps, how I should acquit myself in that high and polished world, I soon saw that her fears were allayed as she saw the easy quietude of my manner, and that tranquil self-possession which is supposed to be only acquired by long admixture with the world of fashion. It was evident, too, that if any failure on my part would entail disgrace, success was just as certain to do her honor and credit, since I was a strong rebutting evidence against all those who denied that the Marchesa was ever known or recognized before in the high circles of a court.

“To-morrow, at noon,” said she, as I made my bow at parting; and it was not likely I should forget the appointment.

It was with very different feelings I drove up to the palace of the Marchesa on the day following, from those I had experienced on approaching it on the evening of the reception; nor was I long without perceiving that my confidence was well founded. The Groom of the Chambers received me with his most bland courtesy, and by his manner showed that he expected my arrival.

Preceding me through a suite of rooms whose magnificence I had not time to observe on the previous evening, he ushered me into a small chamber leading into a conservatory, from which the view extended over the wide Bay of Naples, and presented Vesuvius from base to summit. As I was left by myself here for some minutes, I had leisure to notice the varied elegance by which I was surrounded. Rare plants and flowers in jars of costly porcelain; alabaster statues and rich bronzes appeared amid the clustering foliage; and in the midst of all, two tiny swans, of the rare breed of Morocco, lay tranquilly in a little basin, whose water spouted from a silver fountain of most elaborate workmanship.

While yet gazing on the tasteful objects around, the Marchesa had entered, and so noiselessly that she was at my side ere I knew it. Paler than on the previous evening, she looked even handsomer; but in the sunken eye and the wearied expression of the mouth I could see that she had passed a sleepless night.

Having taken a seat upon a sofa, and motioned me to seat myself beside her, she looked fixedly at me for several minutes without a word. At last, in a voice of deep feeling, she said, “Do you remember the pledge with which we parted? Do you recollect the oath by which you bound yourself?’

“Perfectly, Señhora!” said I; “nor was I aware yesterday, till the very moment of our meeting, in whose presence I was standing.”

“But you had heard of me here?”

“Only as the Marchesa de la Norada, not as the Señhora.”

“Hush! let that name never escape your lips; I believe you and trust you. The commission I gave you was well and faithfully executed: were it otherwise, and did I deem you false, it would not be difficult for me to rid myself of the embarrassment. We live in a city where such things are well understood.” My blood ran cold at this threat, for I remembered the accusation which hung over her, in Mexico. She saw what was passing in my mind, and added, “You have nothing to fear; we shall be good friends while you remain here; but that time must be brief. I cannot, I will not, live a life of terror; a moment of impatience, an unguarded word, a hasty expression of yours, might compromise me, and then – When can you leave Naples?”

“To-morrow – to-day, if you desire it.”

“That would be too hurried,” she said thoughtfully. “We must not encourage suspicion. Why are you here?”

I gave the restoration of my health as the reason, and then alluded to the circumstances of my Spanish claim, which I had hoped Naples would have proved a suitable place for pressing.

“Who knows of this transaction? What evidence have you of its truth?” said she, hurriedly.

“The minister by whose order I was imprisoned, the Governor of Malaga, his official underlings, all know of it.”

“Enough. Now, by whom was the information given on which you were arrested?”

“A man who called himself the Consul at Campecho, and to whose early history I am disposed to suspect I have the clew, but to whom, unfortunately, in a hasty moment, I betrayed that secret knowledge.”

“And thus he dreads and hates you,” said she, fixing her dark eyes sternly on me.

“He rather fears me without reason,” said I.

“But still you would have traded on that fear, had it served your purpose?” reiterated she, with a pointedness that showed how the application to her own case was uppermost in her thoughts.

“You are less than just to me, Señhora!” said I, proudly. “A variety of circumstances led me to connect this man with a very unhappy incident which took place years ago in England, and wherein his conduct – supposing him to be the same – was base to the last degree. This suspicion I was weak enough to let escape me. His enmity was the consequence, and from it followed all the misfortunes I have suffered.”

“Was he a murderer?”

“No, – not that.”

“Nor a forger? – for methinks in English esteem such is the parallel offence.”