I.
Archibald Malmaison was the second son of Sir Clarence Butt Malmaison, ofMalmaison, Sussex. He had the odd distinction of being born on the 29th ofFebruary, 1800. His elder brother, Edward, born 1798, died before him, aswill be hereinafter shown. There were no other brothers, but four girlsappeared after Archibald, two of whom died in childhood of scarlet fever,while the other two grew up to be married. They have nothing to do withthe story, and will not be mentioned again.
The Malmaisons, as their name denotes, were of French descent--Huguenots.Like many other emigrants, they yielded, in the course of a generation ortwo, to a barbarous mispronunciation of their patronymic, which came to bespoken of as if spelt "Malmsey."
How it happened that the chateau of the Empress Josephine was christened bythe same name, I know not; at all events, the Sussex Malmaisons have priorclaim to the title. The estate, which embraced between seven and eighthundred acres, lay in that portion of the county which borders upon thejunction line of Kent and Surrey. Colonel Battledown, the Peninsularsoldier, owned the adjoining estate in Kent; while the Surrey corner wasoccupied, at the epoch of this story, by the Honorable RichardPennroyal--he whose father, Lord Epsom, is said to have won ninetythousand pounds from Fox in a single night's play. The three families hadbeen on a friendly footing with each other ever since the early part ofthe reign of George III.
Sir Clarence had been an ally of the father of the Honorable Richard inParliament (they were both Whigs), and Colonel Battledown, though a Tory,was such capital company as not only to compensate for his politicalderelictions, but even to render them a matter for mutualcongratulation--they so enlivened the conversation! In truth, I supposethe three gentlemen must have had many a boisterous discussion over theirnightly three or four bottles apiece of claret, and after their hard dayacross country.
The Honorable Richard, by the by, was by far the youngest of the three; atthe time of Archibald's birth he was not much over twenty; but he had acool, strong brain, and quite as much gravity as his seniors, over whom,in fact, he seems to have exercised a species of ascendency. Possibly heinherited something of his noble father's ability--that of playing quietlyfor big stakes when all the odds were in his favor. At all events, in theyear 1801 he married Miss Jane Malmaison, the baronet's sister, who wasfifteen years older than he, but who brought him fifty thousand pounds--anot unimportant consideration to him at that time.
Mrs. Pennroyal has one claim upon our notice, and only one; seven yearsafter her marriage, at the age of forty-two, she completely lost hermemory, and became rather idiotic, and a few years later contrived to fallinto an ornamental fish-pond, and drowned there before her attendantsmissed her. She was buried with much stateliness; but it is to be fearedthat few persons missed her even then. She left no children.
Was poor old Jane the first member of the Malmaison line who had shown anyspecial weakness or peculiarity in the upper story? There was a hoarytradition to the effect that the son or grandson of the first emigrant hadmade some compact or other with the Evil One, the terms of which were thathe (the grandson) was to prolong his terrestrial existence for one hundredand forty years by the ingenious device of living only every alternateseven years, the intervening periods to be passed in a sort ofhibernation. In return for this accommodation he was, of course, to makeH.S.M. the usual acknowledgment!
The final upshot of this bargain--as is usually the way in these cases--isnot known. Did the worthy gentleman work his way into his third halfcentury? And had he, by that time, acquired astuteness sufficient to cheatthe other party to the contract of his due? History is silent; the onlything asserted with any appearance of confidence is that Sir Eustace deMalmaison possessed the power of vanishing at will from the eyes of men.Nay, he would seem to have bequeathed this useful accomplishment tocertain of his descendants; for there is among the family documents acurious narrative, signed and witnessed, describing how a member of thefamily, in the time (I think) of the Second Pretender, did, being hardpressed by the minions of the German Prince, and pursued by them into theextreme eastern chamber of his house of Malmaison, suddenly and withoutwarning render himself invisible, insomuch that nothing of him remainedsave his dagger, and the plume which he bore in his cap. This easternchamber had, at the time, but one outlet, and that was into a room alreadyguarded by the soldiery.
The chronicle goes on to say that the disappearance was not final: themysterious fugitive reappeared on the third day, in the same spot where hehad vanished, but apparently rather the worse for wear. He was at firsttaken for a spirit, and all fled before him; but he, going hastily forwardto the dining hall, and finding a great sirloin of beef set out upon theboard, forthwith fell to, and, in a wondrous short time, devoured thewhole thereof, drinking also a gallon and a half of the wine of Burgundy.This exploit restored the belief of the household in the materialconsistency of their master, and thereupon was much thanksgiving,feasting, and rejoicing. But the secret of the disappearance never wasrevealed.
I give these musty old details for what they are worth; they may perhaps beconstrued as an indication that the race of Malmaison had somepeculiarities of its own.
As for Archibald, he was rather neglected than otherwise. He was a dull andstolid baby, neither crying nor crowing much: he would sit all day over asingle toy, not playing with it, but holding it idly in his hands orbetween his knees. He could neither crawl, walk, nor talk till long afterthe usual time for such accomplishments. It seemed as if he had made uphis mind to live according to his birthdays--that is, four times as slowas other people. The only things he did do well were eating and sleeping:he never appeared to be thoroughly awake, nor was his appetite everentirely satisfied. As might be supposed, therefore, his body grew apace;and at seven years old (or one and three quarters, as the facetiousBaronet would have it) he weighed twelve good pounds more than his brotherEdward, who was two years his senior, though, to be sure, not a speciallyrobust child.
For the rest, poor Archibald seemed to be affectionate, in a dim,inarticulate way, though his sympathies were confined within somewhatnarrow limits. He loved a certain brindled cat that he had more thananything else: next to her, his little baby sister; and oddly enough, heconceived a sort of dog-like admiration for the Honorable RichardPennroyal--a compliment which that personage did nothing to deserve, andwhich he probably did not desire. He had also a distinct feeling forlocalities; he was never quite at his ease except in the nursery-roomwhere he slept; and, on the other hand, he never failed to exhibitsymptoms of distrust and aversion when he was carried into the Eastchamber--that in which his great-grandfather had effected his mysteriousself-effacement. But the only thing that was certain to make him cry wasto be brought into the company of little Kate Battledown, the colonel'sonly child, a year or two younger than Archibald, and universally admittedto be the prettiest and most graceful baby in the neighborhood. ButArchibald, up to his seventh year, would do anything to get away fromher--short of walking.
In a word, he exhibited such symptoms of a deficient and pervertedunderstanding as would have gained him--had he been of humblerbirth--the descriptive title of "natural." Being a son of Sir ClarenceButt Malmaison, he was considered to be peculiar only. The old wives ofthe village maintained that he was the sort that could see elves, andthat, if one but knew how, he might be induced to reveal valuable secrets,and to confer magic favors. But, looking the other way, he was to bedreaded as a possible (though involuntary) agent of evil; especiallyperilous was it, these venerable dames would affirm, to become the objectof his affection or caresses--a dogma which received appallingconfirmation in the fate of the brindled cat, who, after having beencaught by the leg in a trap intended for a less respectable robber ofhen-roosts, was finished by a bull-terrier, who took advantage of herembarrassed circumstances to pay off upon her a grudge of long standing.This tragedy occurred in January of the year 1807, and produced anoticeable effect upon Master Archibald Malmaison. He neither wept nortore his hair, but took the far more serious course of los
ing hisappetite.
The most remarkable part of the story is yet to come. No one had told himthat the cat was dead, and the cat, having adventurous propensities, hadoften been away from home for days at a time without leave or warning.Nevertheless, Archibald was immediately aware of her fate, and even seemed(judging from some expressions that escaped him) to have divined themanner of it. He then gave intimation of an earnest desire to view theremains; but in this he could not be gratified, for they had already beensecretly interred in an obscure corner of the back garden. Will it bebelieved that the "peculiar" child hereupon got upon his fat legs, and,without either haste or hesitation, deliberately ambled out of thenursery, along the corridor, down the stairs, across the hall, through thedoor, and so round to the back garden and to the very identical spot wherepoor Tabby had been deposited!
The fact is sufficiently well attested; I am not aware that it has everbeen accounted for. The boy had never in his life walked so far before,although his limbs were perfectly developed and able for much longerpilgrimages. He did not resist being led away; but, as has been said, heneglected his bread and milk, and every few days returned to the backgarden, and stood beside the grave in the cold, looking fixedly at it, butmaking no active demonstration whatever. This went on for about six weeks,and attracted a good deal of curiosity in the neighborhood. At length, inthe latter part of February, Archibald had a sort of fit, apparently of anepileptic nature. On recovering from it, he called for a glass of milk,and drank it with avidity; he then fell asleep, and did not awake againfor thirty-six hours.
By this time he was a personage of more importance at Malmaison than he hadever yet been in his small life. The wise folk who stood around his cribhazarded various predictions as to the issue of his unnatural slumber.Some said he would lose what little wit he had; others, that he wouldbecome an acknowledged wizard; others again, that he would never wake upat all. In short, like other prophets, they foretold everything exceptthat which was actually to happen; and they would have foretold that too,if they had thought of it in time.
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