by Andrew Lang
CHAPTER III
MR. WOGAN INSTRUCTS THE IGNORANT PARSON IN THE WAYS OF WOMEN
Mr. Wogan then remained for two days closeted in his friend'slodgings, and was hard put to it to pass the time, since the Parson,who acted as secretary and right-hand man to Bishop Atterbury, wasever dancing attendance upon his lordship at Bromley or the Deanery ofWestminster. Wogan smoked a deal of tobacco, and, knitting his brows,made a strenuous endeavour to peruse one of George Kelly's books--atranslation of Tully's _Letters_. He did, indeed, read a completepage, and then being seized with a sudden vertigo, such as from hisextreme youth had prevented him from a course of study, was forced todiscontinue his labours. At this juncture Mrs. Barnes comforted himwith a greasy pack of cards, and for the rest of that day he playedgames of chance for extraordinary stakes, one hand against t'other,winning and losing millions of pounds sterling in the space of asingle hour. By bedtime he was sunk in a plethora of wealth and anextremity of destitution at one and the same time; and so, since hesaw no way of setting the balance right, he bethought him of anotherplan. On the morrow he would write out a full history of hisancestors, as a memorial of their valour and a shame to the men ofthis age.
The Parson, when he was informed of the notable design, quoted a scrapof Latin to the effect that it would be something more than a brazenproceeding. Wogan, however, was not to be dissuaded by any tag ofrhyme, and getting up before daylight, since he had but this one dayfor the enterprise, was at once very busy with all of Kelly'sspluttering pens. He began with the founder of the family, the greatChevalier Ugus, who lived in the time of my little Octavius Caesar, andwas commissioned by that unparalleled monarch to build the town ofFlorence. 'Ugus,' wrote Mr. Wogan in big round painful letters with aflourish to each, and, coming to a stop, woke up George Kelly to askhim in what year of Our Lord Octavius Caesar was born into this wearyworld. 'In no year of Our Lord,' grumbled George, a little churlishlyto Wogan's thinking, who went back to his desk, and taking up a newpen again wrote 'Ugus.' Thereupon he fell into a great profundity ofthought; so many philosophic reflections crowded into his head whilehe nibbled his pen, as he felt sure must visibly raise him in theestimation of his friends. So, taking his candle in one hand and hispen in the other, he came a second time to Kelly's bedside and sat himdown heavily upon his legs, the better to ensure his awakening. It isto be admitted that this time the Parson sat up in his bed, and sworewith all the volubility of a dragoon or even of my Lord Bishop ofRochester. But Wogan smiled amiably, knowing when he communicated histhoughts how soon those oaths would turn to cries of admiration.
'It is a very curious thing,' said Wogan, shifting himself a little sothat Kelly's shins should not press so sharply, 'how the mere inkingof one's fingers produces speculation. Just as great valorous deedsare the consequence of swords,' here he paused to snuff the candlewith his fingers, 'so great philosophic thoughts are the consequenceof pens. Put a sword in a man's hand! What does he want to do but cuthis neighbour right open from the chine to the ribs? Put a pen betweenhis fingers, on the other hand, and what does he want to do but goaway by himself and write down great thoughts?'
'Then, in Heaven's name, why don't you do it?' cried George.
'Because, my friend,' replied Wogan, 'out of the great love I bear foryou, I shall always, always communicate my thoughts first of all toyou.' Here the Parson groaned like a man giving up the ghost, andWogan continued:
'For instance, you have doubtless heard of my illustrious forbear theChevalier Ugus.' At this Kelly tried to turn on his side; but he couldnot do so, since his legs were pinned beneath Wogan's weight. 'TheChevalier Ugus,' repeated Wogan, 'who built and beautified the city ofFlorence to the glory of God in the reign of the Emperor Octavius. Howmany of the English have loitered in the colonnades, and feasted theireyes upon the cathedral, and sauntered on the bridges of the Arno? Howmany of them, I say, have drawn profitable thoughts and pleasurablesensations from the edifices of my great ancestor? And yet not one ofthem--if poor Nicholas Wogan, his degenerate son, were to poke hisnose outside of Mrs. Barnes's front door--not one of them but wouldtruss him hands and heels and hang him up to derision upon a nastygibbet.'
So far Wogan had flowed on when a sigh from Kelly's lips brought himto a pause. He leaned forward and held the candle so that the lightfell upon Kelly's face. Kelly was sound asleep.
'To be sure,' said Wogan in a soft voice of pity, on the chance thatKelly might be counterfeiting slumber, 'my little friend's jealous ofmy reflective powers,' and going back to his chair wrote 'Ugus' athird time with a third pen; and then, in order to think the moreclearly, laid his hand upon the table and closed his eyes.
It was Mrs. Barnes's hand upon his shoulder, some three hoursafterwards, which roused him from his so deep reflections, and to aman in Wogan's course of life the shoulder is a most sensitive member.She took the paper, whereon the great name was thrice inscribed, verydaintily between her forefinger and thumb, as though she touchedpitch; folded it once, twice, thrice, and set it on the mantelshelf.There Mr. Kelly, coming into the room for breakfast, discovered it,hummed a little to himself like a man well pleased, and turned overthe leaf to see what was written t'other side.
'That is all,' said Wogan, indifferently.
'And it is a very good night's work,' replied Kelly, with the politestgravity, 'not a letter--and there are precisely twelve of them inall--but is writ with scrupulous correctness. Such flourishes, too,are seldom seen. I cannot call to mind that ever I saw a _g_ sopictorially displayed. Ugus--Ugus--Ugus--' and he held the paper outat arm's length.
'I went no further with my work,' explained Wogan, 'because Ireflected--'
'What, again?' asked the Parson in a voice of condolence.
'That the mere enunciation of the name Ugus gives an epitome of theWogan family.'
'Indeed, it gives a history in full,' said the Parson.
'It comprises--'
'Nay, it conveys--'
'All that need be known of the Wogan family.'
'All that need be known, indeed, and perhaps more,' added George withthe air of a man turning a compliment Mr. Wogan was sensiblyflattered, and took his friend's words as an apology for thatdisrespect which he had shown towards Thomas Wogan two days before,and the pair seated themselves to breakfast in the best of goodhumour.
'We start at nine of the evening,' said George. 'I have commanded asober suit of grey cloth for you, Nick, since you cannot squeeze intomy coats, and it should be here by now. Meanwhile, I leave you to Mrs.Barnes's attentions.'
Of these attentions Mrs. Barnes was by no means sparing. For the buxomwidow of the bookseller, who, to her credit be it said, had her fullshare of good looks, joined to an admirable warmth of heart a lessadorable curiosity. With the best intentions in the world for herlodgers' security, she was always prying into their secrets. Nor didshe always hold her tongue outside her own doors, as Mr. Kelly hadbitter reason afterwards to know. In a word, she had all theinquisitiveness of her class, and sufficient wiles to make thatinquisitiveness difficult to parry. Not that Nicholas Wogan was at alltroubled upon this score, for if there was one quality upon which thegood man prided himself, it was his comprehension of the sex. 'Woman,'he would say with a sententious pursing of the lips and a nod of thehead; and again 'woman,' and so drop into silence; as who should say,'Here's a nut I could show you the kernel of were I so disposed.'
This morning, however, Mrs. Barnes made no demand upon Wogan'scunning. For she took the paper with the thrice iterated Ugus whichthe Parson had replaced upon the mantelshelf, and, with the samegingerly precautions as she had used in touching it before, dropped itinto the fire.
'And why that?' asked Wogan.
Mrs. Barnes flung out at him in reply.
'I have no patience with you,' she cried. 'What's Ugus, Mr. Wogan?Answer me that,' and she struck her arms akimbo. 'What's Ugus but oneof your cypher words, and you must needs stick it up on yourmantelshelf for a
ll the world to see?'
'It's no cypher word at all,' replied Wogan with a laugh.
'What is it then?' said she.
'My dear woman, the merest mare's nest,' said he.
'Oh, you may "dear woman" me,' cried she, and sat herself down in achair, 'and you may laugh at a woman's fears; but, good lack, it was abad day when Mr. Kelly first found a lodging here. What with hisplottings here and his plottings there, it will be a fortunate thingif he doesn't plot us all into our graves.'
'Whisht,' interrupted Wogan. 'There are no plots at all, any more thanthere's sense in your talk.'
But the woman's eloquence was not so easily stemmed.
'Then if there are no plots, why is Mr. Kelly "Mr. Johnson," why isMr. Wogan "Mr. Hilton"; and why, oh why, am I in danger of my life andliberty, and in peril of my immortal soul?'
'Sure you are bubbled with your fears, answered Wogan. 'It issufficiently well known that since Mr. George Kelly ceased to ministerto souls he has adopted the more lucrative profession of a lacemerchant. There's some secrecy no doubt in his comings and goings, butthat is because he is most honourably engaged in defrauding therevenue.'
'A pretty lace merchant, upon my soul,' said she, and she began torock her body to and fro. The sight alarmed Nicholas Wogan, since heknew the movement to be a premonition of tears. 'A lace merchant whowrites letters in Latin, and rides in the Bishop of Rochester's coach,and goes a-visiting my Lord Oxford in the country. Thirteen shillingshave I paid for letters in one day. Laces, forsooth! It is hempenropes the poor gentleman travels in, and never was a man so eager tofit them to his own neck.' And, at the affecting prospect which herwords called up, the good woman lifted her apron to her eyes andforthwith dissolved into tears. Sobs tore her ample bosom, her softframe quivered like a jelly. Never did Mr. Wogan find his intimateknowledge of the sex of more inestimable value. He crossed the room;he took one plump hand into his left palm and gently cherished it withhis right. The tears diminished to a whimpering. He cooed a complimentinto Mrs. Barnes's ear, 'A little white dove of a hand in a brownnest, my dear woman,' said he, and affectionately tweaked her ear.Even the whimpering ceased, but ceased under protest! For Mrs. Barnesbegan to speak again. Wogan, however, kissed the tearful eyes andsealed them in content.
'Hoity-toity, here's a set out,' he said, 'because my Lord Oxfordwants a pair of Venice ruffles to hide his gouty fingers, or a newmantilla for his new spouse,' and so, softly chiding her, he pushedher out of the room.
At nine o'clock to the minute the chaise drove up to the door. Mr.Kelly took a stroll along the street to see the coast was clear; Mrs.Barnes was in two minds whether to weep at losing her lodgers, or tosmile at their prospects of security, and compromised between heremotions by indulging them alternately; and finally the two friends inburgess dress entered the chaise and drove off. Mr. Wogan thrust hishead half out of the window, the better to take his fill of the coolnight air, but drew it back something of the suddenest at the cornerwhere Ryder Street debouches into St. James's.
'Sure the man's a spy,' said he, flinging himself back. Parson Kellyleaned cautiously forward, and under an oil-lamp above the porch of adoor he saw Captain Montague. The Captain was standing in anindecisive attitude, tapping with his stick upon the pavement andlooking up and down the street.
'I doubt it,' returned Kelly. 'I have ever heard he was the mostscrupulous gentleman.'
'But he's a Whig. A Whig and a gentleman! But it's a contradiction interms. Whigging is a nasty insupportable trade, and infects a man likea poison. A Whig is a sort of third sex by itself that combines allthe failings of the other two.'
However, this time it was evident that Captain Montague had taken nonote of Nicholas Wogan. He could not but reflect how it was at thisvery spot that he had come upon the captain before, and mighty glad hewas when the lights of Knightsbridge had sunk behind them, and theywere driving betwixt the hedgerows. Then at one spring he jumped tothe top of his spirits.
'George, what a night!' cries he. 'Sure I was never designed to livein a house at all, but to be entirely happy under the blue roof-treeof the sky. Put me out on a good road at night and the whole universeconverses with me on the most familiar terms. Perhaps it's a bush thatthrows out a tendril and says, "Smell that, you devil, and good luckto you." Or, maybe it's the stars that wink at me and say, "Here's aworld for you, Nick, my little friend. Only wait a moment, and we'llshow you a bit of a moon that'll make a poet of you." Then up comesthe moon, perhaps, in a crescent like a wisp of fire, and, says she,"It's all very well here, Nicholas, but take my word for it, I canshow you as good on the sea and better. For you'll have all this, andthe hiss of the water under your lee besides, and the little bubblesdancing on the top." But what troubles you, George?'
But Kelly made little or no reply, being sunk in the consideration ofsome difficulty. For two days he remained closeted with his trouble,and it was not until they had got to Worcester that he discovered it.They changed horses at the 'Dog and Turk' and drove through the townunder the Abbey clock.
'It is five minutes to twelve,' said Wogan, looking at the clock.
'Yes,' said Kelly with a sigh, 'the face is very plain to read.' Thenhe sighed again.
'Now, if the clock were a woman,' said he, 'it might be half-past fourand we still thinking it five minutes to twelve.'
'Oh, is it there you are?' said Wogan.
'Why, yes,' replied Kelly. 'Lord Oxford, do you see, Nick, is ahalf-hearted sort of trembler--that we know and are ready for him. Butwhat of my lady?'
Wogan crossed his legs and laughed comfortably. Here was matter withwhich he could confidently deal.
'Well, what of her?' he asked.
'You heard what Fanny Oglethorpe said. She is a kinswoman of Mr.Walpole's. How shall we be sure of her at all? A woman, Nick, is acreature who walks in the byways of thought. How shall an obtuse manfollow her?'
Wogan took a pinch of snuff.
'It is very well, George,' said he, 'that I took this journey withyou. I'll make your conduct plain to you as the palm of my hand. Inthe first place, there was never a woman yet from Cleopatra downwardsthat cared the scrape of a fiddle for politics. 'Twas never more thana path that led to something else, and is held of just as smallaccount as the road a girl dances down when she goes to meet herlover. Look at Fanny Oglethorpe, Olive Trant, and the rest of them inParis! D'you think it's the Cause they ever give a thought to? If youdo you're sadly out, my friend. No; what troubles their heads issimply that the Chevalier is a romantical figure of a man, and wouldlook extraordinarily well with a gold crown on the top of his periwig.Now I'm wagering it will be just the same with my Lady Oxford. Youhave all the qualifications down to your legs, and let my lady oncetake a liking to your person she will gulp your politics without agrimace.'
Mr. Kelly turned a startled face towards his instructor.
'You would have me pay court to her?' says he.
'Just that,' says Wogan, imperturbably. 'Keep your politics for mylord and have a soft word ready for my lady. Pen her a delicate ode inLatin. To be sure the addresses of an erudite man have somethingparticularly flattering to the sex. Or drop out a pretty compliment onher ear.'
'Oh, on her ear?' said Kelly, beginning to smile. 'Of what sort?'
'Faith, George, but you exasperate me,' said Nick. 'Isn't there aninfinity of images you could use? For instance--,' said he, and hummeda little.
'Well, for instance!' said Kelly, urging him on.
'For instance,' returned Wogan, 'you can speak of its functions--'
'I understand. I am to tell her that it is a very proper thing for awoman to sit and listen to other people.'
'Tell her that,' cries Wogan, lifting up his hands, 'and you will bedrubbed down the staircase pretty quick! No. Tell her there is never apoet laureate in the world would print a single one of his poems if hecould treasure his music within her ear.'
'Ah,' says Kelly. 'That is a compliment of quite a different kind,'and he repeated it three times to commit it
to memory. 'But one, Nick,will not suffice. I must have more sayings about her ear.'
'And you shall,' says Wogan. 'You can speak of its appearance.'
'Of its appearance?'
'And fit a simile to it.'
'Give me one,' said Kelly.
'You can say her ear is like a rosy shell on the sea-banks.'
Mr. Kelly began to laugh outright.
'Sure,' said he, 'I might as well tell her at once her hair is sandy.'
'Oh, she will not examine your words so nicely. She will just perceivethat you intend a compliment.'
'And take me for a very impertinent fellow.'
'George' said Wogan, 'for a parson you are a man of a most unnaturalmodesty.' In which remark Wogan did his friend no more than the merestjustice. For he had nothing in common with that usual foible of theyoung chaplains and tutors who frequent the houses of the great.
To listen to them over a bottle you would think them conquerors of allhearts, from the still-room maid to my lady and her daughters. But Mr.Kelly was in a different case. The Bishop of Rochester himself gavehim the character of being prudent and reserved beyond his years. Andperhaps it was by reason of that very modesty that he slid insensiblyinto the thoughts of more women than he knew of. Of these, however,Lady Oxford was not one.
It was about three in the afternoon of the next day when the chaisedrove up to the door of the great house at Brampton Bryan. The Parsonand Nicholas Wogan had barely stepped into the hall before an innerdoor opened and my lady came forward to greet them. She was for hersex uncommonly tall, and altogether of a conquering beauty, which asimple country dress did but the more plainly set forth. For, seeingher, one thought what a royal woman she would look if royally attired,and so came to a due appreciation of her consummate appearance.Whereas, had she been royally attired, her dress might have taken someof the credit of her beauty. She stood for a second between the twomen, looking from one to the other as though in doubt.
'And which is Mr. James Johnson? 'said she, with a sly emphasis uponthe name.
'I am,' said George, stepping forward, 'and your Ladyship's humbleservant.'
She gave him a smile and her hand. Mr. Kelly clicked his heelstogether, bent over the hand and kissed it reverentially.
The lady sighed a quick little sigh (of pleasure) as she drew her handaway.
'I have taken the liberty, your Ladyship,' said Kelly, 'to bring mysecretary, Mr. Hilton, with me,' and he waved a hand towards Wogan.
'Mr. Hilton,' she returned, 'is very welcome. For, indeed, we hear toofew voices in the house.' She bowed very graciously, but she did notgive her hand to Mr. Wogan. 'Gentlemen,' she continued, 'my lord bidsme make you his apologies, but he lies abed. Else would he havewelcomed you in person.'
'Your Ladyship,' said Kelley, 'if we come at an inopportune time--'
'By no means,' interrupted Lady Oxford. 'My lord is troubled with thegout, but the fit is passing. And if for a couple of days my poorhospitality will content you--'
'Your Ladyship,' protested Kelly, but that was all he said. Now, toMr. Wogan's thinking, here was as timely an occasion for a complimentas a man could wish. And since Mr. Kelly had not the tact to seize it,why, his friend must come to his help. Accordingly,
'So might the holy angels apologise when they open the gates ofParadise,' said Wogan with his hand on his heart, and bowed. As hebowed he heard some stifled sounds, and he looked up quickly. My ladywas crimson in the face with the effort to check her laughter.
'Mr. Hilton is too polite,' said she instantly, with an elaboratecourtesy, and turned again to Kelly with some inquiries about hisjourney. Wogan was shown up the stairs before the inquiries wereanswered. The staircase ran round the three sides of the hall up to alanding on the fourth, and as Wogan came to the first turn he saw LadyOxford cross to the great wood fire which was burning on the hearth;when he came to the second he saw that the Parson had crossed too andstood over against her; when he reached the third turn, my lady wasseated toasting a foot at the blaze; when he reached the landing, Mr.Kelly had drawn up a chair.
Wogan leaned for a moment over the balustrade. It was a very smallfoot with an admirably arched instep; Mr. Wogan had seen the like inSpain. Well, very likely she only thrust it out to warm it. Thefirelight coloured her face to a pretty rose hue, sparkled in her darkeyes, and searched out the gold threads in her brown hair. Mr. Woganwas much tempted to whisper a reminder to his friend concerning herear. But he resisted the temptation, for after all it seemed therewould be little to do about my lady's politics.
