Worthy. A study of friendship

Preface

. It is with the greatest diffidence that I write even so much as a Preface to " Worthy; a Study of Friendship." This is a book condemned before publication, and what it will be after I cannot say. It was written some twelve years ago by my mother during her last illness ; there are, no doubt, some weak passages, and some parts of the book scarcely show the warmth of feeling which others express ; but the weak points, I feel sure, are due to the cloud of sickness which hung over the last days of my mother's life. The book, as it now stands, is exactly as it was when originally written, with the exception that a word or two here and there have been altered by me for the sake of clearness. Probably the weak ness is due to my not having found the right word or words where there was an evident slip or

PREFACE.

. VII omission in the original, and having failed to correct others. I believe that there is much in the book which is high and noble, much which is very true to life, and that it should not be lost, even if it is only read by few. The story is published as a tribute to love and friendship in many ways. My small part goes without saying — the authoress was my mother. I have seen the truth of the friendship depicted in these pages, and know its value. In re-writing the book, I have felt love and friendship grow and show themselves for what they are — the spring of happiness and life. My late mother's friends and my friends have done more : they have enabled me to bring this book to the light, and I cannot and shall not attempt to repay the debt of gratitude I owe. A debt to friendship is too valuable a thing to lose.

I might ask any who may criticise to do so truly, and in the same straightforward spirit as that in which the pages they read are written — not with a wish to praise, not with a wish to blame — to see the strong with the weak, and to remember that if it is a novel that they are reading ; it is also a study of friendship. The chief work of my mother's short life will, I fear, never see the light — at least, in her own words ; but I trust that those who believe in

PREFACE.

. friendship, may see, in these pages, a brightness which will not die in them. If such is the case the work of my mother's last days of illness will not have been thrown away. JOHN F. CADELL. 28th May, 1895. WORTHY.

Chapter I. Over The Hills To Corte

On a fine May morning, in the year 1867, the sun shone from a cloudless sky brightly down on the snowy summit of Monte d'Oro. The hill second of Corsican hills, sent up its sharp white peak into the clear blue air as if in some way enjoying the contrast it made there ; below, the peak ridges and bones of black rock peeped through the white and made another kind of contrast. The winter had been a severe one and the snow was still rather low down the mountain's side for the season of the year, reaching as far as the high road which, passing between Monte Rotondo and Monte d'Oro, there traverses the hills from Ajaccio to Corte, on its way to Bastia. B WORTHY. We do not like to believe that grand scenery has no value except as seen, and that the snowy peaks, the clear blue air and the pine forests have not some good from their beauty, but we shall never find out what it is.

At best life interests us more than beauty, and we turn sooner or later from the scene to the lookers-on. Two ladies were passing that day from Ajaccio to Corte, whence they hoped to reach the Orezza valley in the north of the island. After some weeks in Ajaccio they were seeking pleasanter spring quarters than that place was likely to prove, now that May sunshine had come, to turn to feverish unwholesomeness the low-lying lands round it. The ladies were both young, the older twenty five, and the younger a year or so less. The older one wore mourning of the dead black unorna mental kind familiar in foreign life, which seems to express more of regret than the fluffy crapes of England. She was dark and grave, with little colour, and had a still saddened expression, con trasting strongly with her companion, whose colouring made the best of a face which had ever found plenty of admirers.

She had bright auburn hair, and the dazzling clear complexion which generally goes with it — clear, with tender pink OVER THE HILLS TO CORTE. 3 shining through. She was tall and finely formed, her name Antonia Norman, her condition spinster, her profession — for she had one — artist. " Can we not pull up here now, Helen ? " she said, " I should like to draw that peak." "Better not," answered the other, "it is very cold, it would be madness to sit drawing in this air." " Perhaps, but it is a sin not to take away what one can of that." " The sin must be sinned to-day. It will be warmer down at Corte, and you will have a couple of days to sketch there." Antonia pouted a little, but seemed to acquiesce and Helen pulled the many wraps more closely round her friend, as if caring for others were a second nature to her.

No one would have dreamt of calling Mrs. Langston a girl ; she was every inch a woman, wife, and mother ; now, and that but lately, a widow. Her husband had died in the early part of the winter at Mentone ; her only child was in England with his father's people, and she was now helping a newly-found friend, who had much helped her in the time of her trouble. After passing the highest point of the pass, where a good deal of blackened snow still lay along the roadside, they quickened their pace as b — WORTHY. the descent commenced. It was gradual at first, but soon became a race down hill among the fir woods. The sun glanced through the trees on them, and flecked the roadway with light and shade. That was pleasant, but best of all was the view across the ever-widening valley to the pine-clad hill side, and the now towering peak of Monte d'Oro.

They watched the hill, as long as it was in sight, with admiration, which increased as they seemed to know it better. At last, on turning a corner they lost sight of it with regret, but there was a good deal of pleasure left in the mere motion, the rattling pace down hill and round sharp corners. There was just a spice of the ex citement of danger in this, for the driver was rather intoxicated, with the good-humoured, capable drunkenness of an Italian. The horses, happily, knew their way, were quite accustomed to him and to the pace which they seemed to enjoy too, and it was with a splendid effort that at last they galloped into Vivario, where their stage ended. While fresh horses were being brought — a pro cess that seemed to take some time — the travellers were stared at by the villagers and a few French soldiers.

We most of us know the stare of those OVER THE HILLS TO CORTE. 5 southern peoples — not insolent, hardly ever rude, it has evidently no rude intent, but is a glance with which they would take account of the qualities of a picture or a statue — looking up, down, round, firmly, intelligently, unconcernedly, apparently unconscious that the object is living and may have opinions about, or receive impressions from them. Helen did not trouble herself at all, her attention was caught by a bright, hand some little boy. The child was well dressed in village style, and seemed a personage. As she watched him her face darkened. Antonia had noticed this. " Handsome, impudent little fellow that — he must be about your Bertie's age, Helen." "A year or so younger. I feel just now as if I would rather not see too many nice little boys."

" Dear, don't look like that, or I shall vote him a young nuisance. He is a picturesque little creature, and must be a great man in this place. Is he like Bertie ? " " Not a bit, Bertie is pink and white and gold, quite as self-absorbed, not half so conceited, with less aplomb and more reserve. You see Bertie is Scotch. I am very glad the boy is not here and yet — I don't like other folk's bairns just now." " Don't be morbid, Helen," retorted her friend, WORTHY. " it would not do if yours were the only nice little boy in the world. It will do you more good than anything now to go to him." " Not yet, he is bright and happy where he is. I will not sadden the child more than need be, and just now I do not feel as if I could stand him. If you knew how I shrink from anything that belongs to the old life — however, it is such a help to me that you do not."

" I think I know that at least," said Antonia, " but you have to meet it, and I think your boy must certainly be the best shape it could take." " Yes and no, he is the very essence of it all. I will not see the boy until 1 can talk to him naturally of his father." Antonia was silent. It seemed to her that Helen could talk quite naturally of her husband, though she certainly very rarely did so ; and she wondered what it cost her. It was the thing in life she least understood: these close human ties, they puzzled her in their strength and their inner force. She took her impressions from the outside and found them more than enough. In Mrs- Langston's position she felt she would have gone to the boy at once, cried over him plentifully, and taken comfort. She found it difficult to realise OVER THE HILLS TO CORTE 7 that Helen was in no way anxious for comfort on the subject of her loss.

She drove on in silence for sometime and did not recur to dangerous subjects. They lunched as they drove on bread and broccio, a sort of clotted cream of goats' milk, famous all over the island, and quite the best thing it produces. The scenery was quieter now, but lovely still. They skirted for miles the side of a broad green valley, and towards evening a sudden turn brought them within sight of and close to Corte. They crossed the Tavignano by a steep bridge, as they entered the town, and as they slackened pace to cross it, they had time to notice a group of French officers leaning over the parapet, who, of course, turned round to look at them. They specially remarked one for his fair hair and un mistakeable northern appearance. He was a small man, very fair, with peculiar blue grey eyes, which now regarded our travellers with an air of un friendly curiosity.

" Those are compatriots of yours, de Vaudrey," said one of them. " By no means." answered the fair man, " any of the Britain I have in me disappears at once at the sight of the British tourist." " But surely you exclude women such as these WORTHY. from any unfavourable category. It is one of the charming points of Albion : the perfect freedom it gives to young and handsome women to race round the universe unprotected. Imagine, it has given us something to look at this weary after noon, and a hope of something to look at at dinner time." However little of the Briton there was in M. le Commandant de Vaudrey, there was enough to make him unwilling to discuss Englishwomen in that tone, and he changed the subject. " That man is surely a Scotchman," said Antonia, as they mounted the hill towards the town.

" Scotchmen used to go into all armies ; perhaps there are some still in France." "A strange place in which to see so home-like a face," Helen answered, and soon they pulled up at the door of the best hotel in Corte.

Chapter II

A WALK. The Hotel Paoli at Corte, was not an attractive place, a meagre-looking house, consisting only of rez de chaussee and two upper stories. It stood facing the main street a little beyond the " Place." It was certainly gloomy, dirty and unpromising. Our travellers were obliged to share a room, and had not in the course of much travelling seen one they liked so little. It was a huge barrack of a place, low roofed, with naked rafters, floored with unplaned and unwashed planks. It had four beds and two windows. The beds had been used recently, and the windows seemed to have been closed for weeks. "This will not do," said Helen, trying vainly to open a window, "we shall choke here." " We must make it do, I fancy," said her friend, coming to her assistance, and at last, when they WORTHY. had opened both windows, the place seemed more tolerable.

The salle a manger was a pleasant surprise after the abominations of the bedroom. There were mirrors, gay curtains, and a smooth floor, the tablecloths looked fairly white, and the glasses reasonably clean. There seemed preparations for a large number of guests, and as our two friends sat waiting for dinner, the room gradually filled. A large table in the centre was the last occupied, and then by a party of officers, whose epaulettes showed them to be above the rank of lieutenant, amongst whom they soon noticed the fair-haired man they had seen on the bridge. Elsewhere were parties of officers of lower rank ; married officers, with wives and children ; it appeared as if the garrison had the habit of eating here. Some civilians, too, but all French. Nothing was Corsican but the name of the hotel, its landlord, and the bedroom.

They could here learn nothing of Corsica, but the fact that her rulers formed a colony apart. The travellers were astir early next morning, and soon established themselves on a pleasant slope on the Bastia Road, where they could get a good view of the picturesque town, and the fine A WALK 11 panorama of the hills behind. Antonia sketched, Helen read and talked, the latter brightly enough, inspired by the fresh beauty of the morning, with its keen air and bright sunshine. Antonia worked away ; art was the constant occupation and the highest pleasure in her life, not her daily bread, for that was safe without it ; but it made most of her comfort, and all her happiness. She was very much alone in life. Having plenty of relations, but none very near, it had been more easy for her in that way to go through her art education unmolested.

Of course, there had been in the family elderly women to warn, and to look some what askance at her, as she lived alone in London and worked at the Academy, but she was an orphan, with an income, and if she would, she would ; and in the end people got used to her. She was not advanced, she was not blue, she was not radical, but she was every inch an artist and all that that means — over and above she was very handsome, and very distinctly a lady. She had real talent, much will if of a wayward sort, independence of character, and was working heartily and honestly to really brilliant results. So the morning passed in pleasantness for both, active for the one, idle for the other, and when the afternoon came, and Antonia returned WORTHY. to her work, or rather set up another sketch where the changing light and shade tempted her most, Helen was moved to activity in the only form she was able for it then, the physical, and rambled off alone up the gorge of the Tavignano.

She was a good walker, fond of it, and neither feared nor disliked solitude. Soon after leaving her friend, she chanced upon a narrow goat path lead ing down from the higher level of the town, towards the river. When she reached the river level, she was rather chilled with the natural gloom around her, contrasting with the sparkling brightness of the spring day. It was very dismal, as she looked back to the citadel rock. The town built upon its smoother face was out of sight ; she could see nothing but walls of black rock and the dingy, crumbling ram parts of the fort at the top. Close to her were a dozen deserted houses, ruined, nettlegrown, more desolate than the rest of Nature's solitudes. Turning quickly from these, she proceeded up the river gorge. It was narrow, lonely enough, but not so gloomy.

Here were plenty of spring shrubs in flower, all kinds of rock plants, and a wealth of wild flowers. Above her, among the rocks which formed the steep side of the glen grew trees, sapling oaks, and young chestnuts, and as A WALK 13 she got farther from the town, she saw, at no great distance beyond and above her the thick "macchia," a brushwood often ten to fourteen feet high, which covers so many ofthe hills of these districts. The path rather improved as she went on. At first but a goat track, it had since been joined by one or two other paths, and now was evidently the main road of the valley, passable for four footed beasts — of wheeled traffic there was no question, and perhaps no demand for it, on any body's part in the region to which this gorge was tending. The pleasure of unknown ground, of being loose on the face of the earth and natural beauty, was what she had wanted and had come for.

And on she went braced by the exercise, warmed by the sunshine, thinking very little at all, and was three or four miles from Corte before anything occurred to remind her that she was not the only inhabitant of these wilds. At last she met a little old woman clad in dark brown goats' hair cloth, carrying " broccio " down to Corte. Helen wished her good day and would have passed on, but the strange little figure burst into a voluble harangue of which she could make but little, but which was apparently a warning against the dangers of lonely walking. Helen answered in French, and the Corsican, in a somewhat spas- WORTHY. modic manner and with a good deal of pantomime, repeated her warning in that language, and then went on to ask questions. Helen was amused to find herself telling the other that she was English, was married, was five-and-twenty years of age, and had one son.

That was all very well for a little, but she resisted the old woman's wish that she should turn with her and went on. It was not quite easy to resume her dream where she had left it ; she was not quite loose apparently on the face of the earth : she questioned herself as to the value of the warning. She was very fearless, but it would not do to get into scrapes. As far as she could see, she and her late acquaintance had the gorge to themselves. She would go no farther, but it was too soon to return home, and she compromised the matter by going off the path to a little green turfed nook she saw below it. It was sheltered by shrubs, and almost carpetted with flowers, and there she sat down. She could not regain the feeling of perfect enjoyment of the wildness and the solitude, the old woman had broken it for her effectually, and her face saddened, she was again her everyday self, living in the shadow of a great sorrow, against which she had for the present no will to struggle.

Would the will ever come ? Probably, for she A WALK. 15 was young, strong — physically — and full of nervous force. She had a perception of things, thoughts, and people ; a great love of beauty, of all that was noble and true ; a good deal of practical ability ; some sense, marred now and then by a too enthusiastic belief in logic. She was ready, and self-confident, without being exactly conceited, a nature that for good or evil would have much to do in moulding its own life. And as she sat there, her strength knew how weak it was ; her love of happiness and power of enjoyment were weighted with the sense that they had no future; her energy was to beat itself vainly about in a world that no longer wanted her. What was it all worth ? How immensely convenient was the Hindu custom that got, decently, nay, gloriously, with a sense of duty done, the spare women out of the world, whom death had deprived of their husbands.

But then, the boy ? Motherhood was very low in Helen then. Still, she knew that his time would come, and beyond this thick black cloud was an unknown land, into which she would pass in time, inhabited by Bertie, and where she would much rather not travel ; but there was no hope, not the vaguest possibility, of her wishes going for any thing in the matter. Her thoughts became oppressive here, and she WORTHY. resolved to start homewards, when she heard some shots fired in rapid succession, and then much distant shouting. Presently, the sounds came nearer, and the baying of dogs was mingled with the rest. She now left her retreat, and climbed to a large rock, from whence she might see what was going on. At first there was not much to see, but the sounds came continually nearer. The hill side whence they came was covered with irregular brushwood, not impenetrable as the macchia, but bad enough, and it was only now and then that she could see a numberof men descendingthe slope with all possible speed and coming towards her.

Any personal fear Helen might have had in the matter was diminished by the sight ofthe French uniform worn by a good many of them. Of course, as they were evidently hunting something they might shoot her by accident, but she was not in a mood to care much for that risk and it was not very likely. But what were they chasing ? She soon learnt as the short, sharp, anxious bark of the dogs came nearer. They were evidently much tired by the fight through blinding, scratching brushwood, which, perhaps, from its superior weight, made less of a hindrance to their game. A rustle, a scramble, and a huge black boar leapt out of the bushes and came down on to the A WALK, 17 roadway not a hundred yards from where Helen stood. He was very fagged, for on reaching the path, he lost his footing and rolled over, and she saw that he was wounded by the marks of bright red blood.

The odds were heavily against the creature, and her sympathy went with him and against the hunters. The moments lost on the path pained her, they gave the dogs time to close up, and she was actually glad when the boar re gained his feet and dashed off the path, though he was certainly making rather straight for her. For a second she doubted if she should try to get out of the way, but concluded she was best where she was, the animal was hardly in a condition for rock climbing. Her point of rock was as safe as any place. As for shots, it was best to be seen. Someone must have seen her, for a well-aimed shot pierced the boars side before he could reach the rock. She did not feel grateful — the sight of the living mark and the shake when the bullet hit hurt her. She felt sick and angry ; the more that he was not killed, but only worse wounded.

He staggered, and then went slowly on. It was horrible. Passing between the base of the rock on which she stood and the hillside, he evidently intended to use the rock as a backing in case he had to turn on his assailants. He had no more c WORTHY. pace in him, and they were very close. Helen felt herself in the veiy centre of nasty, brutal passions. The sullen, sore-wounded creature and the dogs rushing on his track, the men with shouts urging them on from above, pushing through the brushwood and leaping down from rock to rock, all eager for the crowning scene such as it was. No one dared to fire now, for they had all seen her. She too was wild with excitement which quite abolished fear, she took sides with the victim. After passing the end of the rock he gathered all his strength and leaped into the little flowery nook where Helen had sat, before the dogs reached him.

But then they came, he stood grimly at bay : the first to arrive received a dig from his tusk and fell back dead. The others paused a second, awed more by his eye than by their comrade's fall. Helen admired him and would have given or done anything to save him. The dogged courage with which he fought the hopeless fight was splendid. The dogs closed up again, and more and more of them, it was fearful the tearing and the noises, till at last a man swung himself down from above by a tree branch and buried a long hunting-knife in the poor beast's neck. He lay still then and Helen drew a deep breath of relief and thankfulness ; it was well that A WALK. 19 that should be over. More of the sportsmen came up, the dogs were beaten off, there was a clatter of voices, all became commonplace again after the pathos of the agony of the brave old boar.

After a little the man who had given the creature the coup de grace, the only one of them all for whom Helen felt any toleration or patience, came towards her and apologized for the incon venience she had had. He raised his cap as he spoke, and Helen recognized the fair officer they had noticed on the previous day. She was still trembling with excitement and did not answer, but proceeded to descend from her perch on the rock. The stranger gave her his hand which she accepted and soon stood beside him on the grass, her own pleasant flowery nook now stained all over with blood. M. Ie Com mandant looked curiously at her ; handsome she certainly was with the flush of excitement light ing up her face, but — but what was she thinking of? Certainly she did not look alarmed. " I am sorry," he said, " that all this should have hap pened here to disturb your walk and alarm you — at least we were all very much alarmed for you."

" I do not think I was in any danger but for a chance shot, and you were all good enough not to fire. But it was horrible." She looked white and c — WORTHY. sick, if not frightened. " The realities of the chase are more disagreeable than one would suppose. It is such a comfort it is over." As she spoke, her hearer knew that he had felt some repulsion mingled with his admiration for this very fearless woman. " You looked on from the side of the victim, madame," he said, with a look of bright intelli gence. "Yes, it was as if one were being hunted oneself. The poor beast, he was very brave, and had no chance of escape." She looked down to the blood-stained grass, and wished to get out of it. " I hope you will allow me to offer you the tusks, in memory of a Corsican boat hunt," said the Commandant.

" Thank you, very much," she answered, " but not just now, at least." Thinking that if they were going to extract them there and then, it would be worse than all the rest, and she looked round for a way of escape. M. de Vaudrey saw her intention, and helped her up to the mule track above, and walked with her till they were clear of the dogs and miscellaneous group of sportsmen, soldiers, and Corsican A WALK 21 beaters, to whom this little additional adventure of the strange lady had given grand satisfaction — though not quite of a sort Helen would like — and it would give food for much subsequent talk. Corte is a place where subjects of gossip are rare and very valuable. Helen paused, now expecting to leave the party. " I am afraid I must so far trouble you as to ask you to accept my escort back to Corte," said the officer.

" Oh ! thank you, no," she answered. " I am not at all alarmed ; there can be no real danger now — I was not wise to come here alone, I know." Helen very much disliked the notion of a chance acquaintance, and also to put herself under obli gations to a stranger. She took his measure as he stood before her, rifle in hand. He was well looking, slight, active, energetic, and certainly a gentleman. She felt more disposed to trust him for his fairness and his northern aspect. He was very like a countryman, but as he spoke such pure French, Helen concluded that she must give up that title of frendliness and protection. " Pardon me, madame," he said, after a moment's pause, in which he had rather wished he could agree with her ; but besides boars in the macchia, there were all sorts of queer people in the hunt, WORTHY. the woman could not be allowed to go alone.