As I had visited him purely upon a matter of business, I dispatchedit, and then rose to take my departure. But he urged me with persistentcordiality, not to desert him. He saw few persons, he said; I must stayand dine with him. I had business? Then I could attend to it, and woulddo him the favor to return.
Looking at my watch, I found that it was nearly two o'clock--he hadinformed me that he dined at four--and, not to detain the reader withthese details, recurring to a very retentive memory, I found myself, twohours afterward, seated at table with the editor of the _Examiner_.
The table was of ancient, and brilliantly-polished mahogany. The dinnerconsisted of only two or three dishes, but these were of the bestquality, excellently cooked, and served upon china of the most costlydescription. Coffee followed--then a great luxury--and, not only thesugar-dish, cream-jug and other pieces of the service were of silver;the waiter upon which they rested was of the same material--heavy,antique, and richly carved.
We lingered at table throughout the entire afternoon, my host havingresisted every attempt which I made to depart, by taking my hat from myhand, and thrusting upon me another excellent Havana cigar. Cordialityso extreme, in one who bore the reputation of a man-hater, was at leastsomething _piquant_--and as my host had appealed to my weak side, bygreatly praising a slight literary performance of mine ("he would beproud," he assured me, "to have it thought that _he_ had written it),"I yielded, surrendered my hat, lit the cigar offered me, and we went ontalking.
I still recall that conversation, the last but one which I ever had withthis singular man. Unfortunately, it does not concern the narrativeI now write, and I would not like to record his denunciations andinvective directed at the Government. He handled it without mercy, andhis comments upon the character of President Davis were exceedinglybitter. One of these was laughable for the grim humor of the idea.Opening a volume of Voltaire--whose complete works he had justpurchased--he showed me a passage in one of the infidel dramas of thegreat Frenchman, where King David, on his death-bed, after invokingmaledictions upon his opponents, declares that "having forgiven all hisenemies _en bon Juif_, he is ready to die."
A grim smile came to the face of the journalist, as he showed me thepassage.
"That suits Mr. Davis exactly," he said. "He forgives his enemies _enbon Juif_! I believe I will make an editorial, and quote the passage onhim--but he wouldn't understand it!"
That was bitter--was it not, reader? I raised my pen to draw a linethrough the incident, but it can do no harm now.
The solitary journalist-politician spoke freely of himself and hisintentions for the future. With a few passages from our talk on thispoint, I will terminate my account of the interview.
"You see I am here chained to the pen," he said, "and, luckily, I havethat which defies the conscript officers, if the Government takes afancy to order editors into the ranks."
Smiling slightly as he spoke, he showed me his right hand, the fingersof which he could scarcely bend.
"I was wounded at Cold Harbor, in June, 1862," he added; "not muchwounded either; but sufficient to prevent me from handling a sword ormusket. It is a trifle. I should like to be able to show an honorablescar[1] in this cause, and I am sorry I left the army. By this time Imight have, been a brigadier--perhaps a major-general."[2]
[Footnote 1: His words.]
[Footnote 2: His words.]
"Possibly," I replied; "but the position of an editor is a powerfulone."
"Do you think so?"
"Don't you?"
"Yes, colonel; but what good is the _Examiner_ doing? What can all thepapers in the Confederacy effect? Besides, I like to command men. I lovepower."[1]
[Footnote 1: His words.]
I laughed.
"I would recommend the philosophic view of things," I said. "Whynot take the good the gods provide? As a soldier, you would be infetters--whatever your rank--to say nothing of the bullet that might cutshort your career. And yet this life of the brain is wearing too,--"
"But my health is all the better for it," he said. "A friend was hereto see me the other day, and I startled him by the observation 'I shalllive to eat the goose that eats the grass over your grave.'[1] When heinquired my meaning, I replied, 'For two reasons--I come of a long-livedrace, and have an infallible sign of longevity; I never dream, and mysleep is always sound and refreshing.'"[2]
[Footnote 1: His words.]
[Footnote 2: His words.]
"Do you believe in that dictum?" I said.
"Thoroughly," he replied, laughing. "I shall live long, in spite of theenmities which would destroy me in an instant, if the secret foes I havecould only accomplish their end without danger to themselves."
"You do not really believe, surely, that you have such foes?"
"Not believe it? I know it. _You_ have them, colonel, too. How longdo you think you would live, if your enemies had their way with you?Perhaps you think you have no enemies who hate you enough to kill you.You are greatly mistaken--every man has his enemies. I have them bythe thousand, and I have no doubt you, too, have them, though they areprobably not so numerous as mine."[1]
[Footnote 1: His words.]
"But their enmity comes to nothing."
"Because to indulge it, would bring them into trouble," he replied."Neither your enemies or mine would run the risk of murdering us in openday; but suppose they could kill us by simply _wishing it?_ I shoulddrop down dead before your eyes--and you would fall a corpse in MainStreet before you reached your home!"[1]
[Footnote 1: His words.]
"A gloomy view enough, but I dare not deny it."
"It would be useless, colonel. That is the way men are made. For myself,I distrust all of them--or nearly all."
He uttered the words with intense bitterness, and for a moment remainedsilent.
"This is gloomy talk," he said, "and will not amuse you. Let us changethe topic. When I am not discussing public affairs--the doings of thiswretched administration, and the old man of the sea astride upon thecountry's back--I ought to try and amuse myself."
"You find the _Examiner_ a heavy weight upon you?"
"It is a mill-stone around my neck."[1]
[Footnote 1: His words.]
"Why not throw it off, if you find it onerous?"
"Because I look to this journal as a father does to an only son--as mypet, my pride, and the support and honor of myself and my name in thefuture."
"You are proud of it."
"It has made me, and it will do more for me hereafter than it has everdone yet."
He paused, and then went on, with a glow in his swarthy face:
"Every man has his cherished object in this world, colonel. Mine is thesuccess and glory of the _Examiner_. I intend to make of it what theLondon _Times_ is in England, and the world--a great power, which shalllay down the law, control cabinets, mould parties, and direct events.It has given me much trouble to establish it, but _ca ira_ now! From the_Examiner_ I expect to realize the great dream of my life."
"The dream of your life? What is that?--if I may ask without intrusion."
"Oh! I make no secret of it, and as a gentleman speaking to a gentleman,can say what I could not in the society of _roturiers_ or common people.My family is an old and honorable one in Virginia--this, by way ofexplanation only, I beg you to note. We are thus, people of old descent,but my branch of the family is ruined. My object is to reinstate it; andyou will perhaps compare me to the scheming young politician in Bulwer's'My Novel,' who seeks to restore the family fortunes, and brighten upthe lonely old house--in Yorkshire, is it? You remember?"
"Yes," I said.
"Well, I always sympathized with that character. He is morally bad, yousay: granted; but he is resolute and brave--and his object is noble."
"I agree with you, the object _is_ noble."
"I am glad you think so, colonel. I see I speak to one who has the oldVirginia feeling. You respect family."
"Who does not? There are those who profess to care naught for it,
but itis because they are new-comers."
"Yes," was the journalist's reply, "mushrooms--and very dirty ones!"
I laughed at the speaker's grimace.
"For my own part," I said, "I do not pretend to be indifferent whetheror not my father was a gentleman. I bow as politely to the new-comeras if it were the Conqueror he came over with; but still I am glad myfather was a gentleman. I hope no one will quarrel with that."
"You are mistaken. They will hate you for it."
"You are right--but I interrupted you."
"I am glad the interruption came, colonel, for it gave you anopportunity of showing me that my views and your own are in exact accordon this subject. I will proceed, therefore, without ceremony, to tellyou what I design doing some day."
I listened with attention. It is always interesting to look into therecesses of a remarkable man's character. This human being was notablein an epoch filled with notabilities; and chance was about to give me aninsight into his secret thoughts.
He twirled a paper-cutter in his fingers, reflected a moment, andsaid:--
"I am still young--not very young either, for I will soon be forty--butI know no young man who has better prospects than myself, and few whohave done so well. I suppose I am worth now nearly $100,000 in goodmoney. I have more gold coin than I know what to do with. The _Examiner_is very valuable property, and is destined to be much more so. I expectto live long, and if I do, I shall be rich. When I am rich, I shall buythe old family estate in Stafford County, and shall add to it all theland for miles around. I shall build a house to my fancy, and, with allmy possessions walled in, I shall teach these people what they neverknew--how to live like a gentleman."[1]
[Footnote 1: This paragraph is in Mr. J.M. Daniel's words.]
The glow had deepened on the sallow face. It was easy to see that thespeaker had unfolded to me the dream of his life.
"Your scheme is one," I said, "which takes my fancy greatly. But why doyou intend to wall in your property?"
"To keep out those wolves called men."
"Ah! I forgot. You do not like those bipeds without feathers."
"I like some of them, colonel; but the majority are worse than my dogs,Fanny and Frank, yonder. Sometimes I think they are human--they biteeach other so!"
I laughed. There was something _piquant_ in the grim humor of thissingular personage.
"What is your ideal man?" I said, "for, doubtless, you have such anideal?"
"Yes. I like a man of bronze, who does not snivel or weep. I likeWigfall for his physique and his magnificent courage. It is the genuinething. There is no _put on_ there. He has native pluck--the actualarticle--and it is no strain on him to exhibit it. The grit is in him,and you can't shake him."[1]
[Footnote 1: This paragraph is in Mr. J.M. Daniel's words.]
"You would admit your men of bronze, then, into the walled-up domain inStafford?"
"I don't know," he said grimly. "With my violin, a good cook, Englishbooks and papers--I hate your Yankee trash--and occasional travel, Ithink I could get through life without very great ennui. I do not expectto be governor of Virginia for ten years yet!"
And smiling, the journalist said:--
"Let us change the subject. What are people talking about? I never askwhat is the news.[1] Is any thing said of evacuating Virginia? That is apernicious idea![2] Whom have you seen lately?"
[Footnote 1: His words.]
[Footnote 2: His words.]
"A queer set," I said.
And I gave him an account of my dinner at Mr. Blocque's.
"What a little wretch!" he said. "I think I will run a pin through thatbug, and impale him. He would make a fine dish served up _a la VictorHugo_. You have read _Les Miserables_ yonder? It is a trashy affair."
And taking up the elegantly bound volume, which must have cost him aconsiderable sum, he quietly pitched it out of the window.
As he did so, the printer's devil appeared at the door, holding proof inhis hand.
"You see I am never safe from intrusion, colonel. This _Examiner_newspaper keeps me at the oar."
I rose and put on my hat.
"Come and see me again soon, if it suits your convenience," he said. "Iam going to write an editorial, and I think I will serve up your host,Blocque."
"Do not use his name."
"Be tranquil. He will be the type only."
And, escorting me to the door, Mr. Daniel bestowed a courteous bow uponme, which I returned. Then the door closed.
VI.
AN EDITORIAL IN THE EXAMINER.
On the following morning I opened the _Examiner_, and the first articlewhich I saw was the following one, on
THE BLOCKADE-RUNNER.
"We owe to the kindness of SHEM'S Express Company, which has charge of the line between the front door of the State Department and the back door of the Tuileries kitchen, the advance sheets of a new novel by VICTUS HAUTGOUT, which bears the striking title, _Les Fortunes_, and which consists of five parts--ABRAHAM, ISAAC, JACOB, JUDAH, and BENJAMIN. Of course, the discerning reader will not suppose for a moment that there is any connection between _Les Fortunes_ and _Les Miserables_; between the chaste style of HAUTGOUT and the extravaganzas of HUGO; whose works, in former days, were not considered fit reading for an Anglo-Saxon public, whose latest and most corrupt fiction owes its success (let us hope) rather to the dearth of new literature than to the vitiated taste of the Southern people. How great the difference between the two authors is, can best be appreciated by comparing the description of the _gamin_ in _Marius_, with the following extracts from HAUTGOUT'S portraiture of the BLOCKADE-RUNNER:--
"Yankeedom has a bird, and the crocodile has a bird. The crocodile's bird is called the Trochilus. Yankeedom's bird is called the blockade-runner. Yankeedom is the crocodile. The blockade-runner is the Trochilus.
"Couple these two ideas--Yankeedom and the crocodile. They are worth the coupling. The crocodile is asleep. He does not sleep on both ears; he sleeps with one eye open; his jaws are also open. Rows of teeth appear, sharped, fanged, pointed, murderous, carnivorous, omnivorous. Some of the teeth are wanting: say a dozen. Who knocked those teeth out? A demon. What demon? Or perhaps an angel. What angel? The angel is secession: the demon is rebellion. ORMUZD and AHRIMAN: BALDUR and LOKI: the DEVIL and ST. DUNSTAN. So we go.
"The Trochilus picks the crocodile's teeth. Does the crocodile object? Not he. He likes to have his teeth picked. It is good for his health. It promotes his digestion. It is, on the whole, a sanitary measure. 'Feed yourself,' he says,'my good Trochilus, on the broken meats which lie between my grinders. Feed your little ones at home. I shan't snap you up unless I get very hungry. There are Confederates enough. Why should I eat _you_?'
"This little creature--this _Trochilus obsidionalis_--this blockade-running tomtit--is full of joy. He has rich food to eat every day. He goes to the show every evening, when he is not on duty. He has a fine shirt on his back; patent-leather boots on his feet; the pick and choice of a dozen houses. He is of any age--chiefly of the conscript age; ranges singly or in couples; haunts auction houses; dodges enrolling officers; eats canvass-backs; smells of greenbacks; swears allegiance to both sides; keeps faith with neither; is hand and glove with ABE'S detectives as well as with WINDER'S Plugs; smuggles in an ounce of quinine for the Confederate Government, and smuggles out a pound of gold for the Lincolnites; fishes in troubled waters; runs with the hare and hunts with the hounds; sings Yankee Doodle through one nostril, and My Maryland through the other; is on good terms with everybody--especially with himself--and, withal, is as great a rascal as goes unhung.
"He has sports of his own; roguish tricks of his own, of which a hearty hatred of humdrum, honest people is the basis. He has his own occupations, such as running for hacks, which he hires at fabulous prices; crossing the Potomac in all kinds of weather;
rubbing off Yankee trade-marks and putting English labels in their stead. He has a currency of his own, slips of green paper, which have an unvarying and well regulated circulation throughout this gipsy band.
"He is never satisfied with his pantaloons unless they have a watch-fob, and never satisfied with his watch-fob unless it contains a gold watch. Sometimes he has two watch-fobs; sometimes a score.
"This rosy child of Richmond lives, develops, gets into and out of scrapes--a merry witness of our social unrealities. He looks on ready to laugh; ready also for something else, for pocketing whatever he can lay his hands on. Whoever you are, you that call yourselves Honor, Justice, Patriotism, Independence, Freedom, Candour, Honesty, Right, beware of the grinning blockade-runner. He is growing. He will continue to grow.
"Of what clay is he made? Part Baltimore street-dirt, part James River mud, best part and worst part sacred soil of Palestine. What will become of him in the hands of the potter, chance? Heaven grant that he may be ground into his original powder before he is stuck up on our mantel-pieces as a costly vase, in which the choice flowers of our civilization can but wither and die."
Admire that grim humor, reader--the firm stroke with which thisAristophanes of 1864 drew my friend, Mr. Blocque. See how he reproducedevery trait, delineated the worthy in his exact colors, and, at the footof the picture, wrote, as it were, "Here is going to be the founder of'one of the old families,'--one of the ornaments of the future, whowill come out of the war rich, and be a costly vase, not a vessel ofdishonor, as at present."
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