Du Maurier George
The Martian: A Novel
Then up came the long, full train, and their luggage was swallowed, and they got in, and the two guards blew their horns, and they left Malines behind them – with a mixed feeling of elation and regret.
They had not been very happy there, but many people had been very kind; and the place, with all its dreariness, had a strange, still charm, and was full of historic beauty and romantic associations.
Passing Louvain, Barty shook his fist at the Catholic University and its scientific priestly professors, who condemned one so lightly to a living death. He hated the aspect of the place, the very smell of it.
At Verviers they left the Belgian train; they had reached the limits of King Leopold's dominions. There was half an hour for lunch in the big refreshment‐room, over which his Majesty and the Queen of the Belgians presided from the wall – nearly seven feet high each of them, and in their regal robes.
Just as the Rohans ordered their repast another English party came to their table and ordered theirs – a distinguished old gentleman of naval bearing and aspect; a still young middle‐aged lady, very handsome, with blue spectacles; and an immensely tall, fair girl, very fully developed, and so astonishingly beautiful that it almost took one's breath away merely to catch sight of her; and people were distracted from ordering their mid‐day meal merely to stare at this magnificent goddess, who was evidently born to be a mother of heroes.
These British travellers had a valet, a courier, and two maids, and were evidently people of consequence.
Suddenly the lady with the blue spectacles (who had seated herself close to the Rohan party) got up and came round the table to Barty's aunt and said:
"You don't remember me, Lady Caroline; Lady Jane Royce!"
And an old acquaintance was renewed in this informal manner – possibly some old feud patched up.
Then everybody was introduced to everybody else, and they all lunched together, a scramble!
It turned out that Lady Jane Royce was in some alarm about her eyes, and was going to consult the famous Dr. Hasenclever, and had brought her daughter with her, just as the London season had begun.
Her daughter was the "divine Julia" who had refused so many splendid offers – among them the little hunchback Lord who was to have a thousand a day, "including Sundays"; a most unreasonable young woman, and a thorn in her mother's flesh.
The elderly gentleman, Admiral Royce, was Lady Jane's uncle‐in‐law, whose eyes were also giving him a little anxiety. He was a charming old stoic, by no means pompous or formal, or a martinet, and declared he remembered hearing of Barty as the naughtiest boy in the Guards; and took an immediate fancy to him in consequence.
They had come from Brussels in the same train that had brought the Rohans from Malines, and they all journeyed together from Verviers to Düsseldorf in the same first‐class carriage, as became English swells of the first water – for in those days no one ever thought of going first‐class in Germany except the British aristocracy and a few native royalties.
The divine Julia turned out as fascinating as she was fair, being possessed of those high spirits that result from youth and health and fancy‐freedom, and no cares to speak of. She was evidently also a very clever and accomplished young lady, absolutely without affectation of any kind, and amiable and frolicsome to the highest degree – a kind of younger Barty Josselin in petticoats; oddly enough, so like him in the face she might have been his sister.
Indeed, it was a lively party that journeyed to Düsseldorf that afternoon in that gorgeously gilded compartment, though three out of the six were in deep mourning; the only person not quite happy being Lady Jane, who, in addition to her trouble about her eyes (which was really nothing to speak of), began to fidget herself miserably about Barty Josselin; for that wretched young detrimental was evidently beginning to ingratiate himself with the divine Julia as no young man had ever been known to do before, keeping her in fits of laughter, and also laughing at everything she said herself.
Alas for Lady Jane! it was to escape the attentions of a far less dangerous detrimental, and a far less ineligible one, that she had brought her daughter with her all the way to Riffrath – "from Charybdis to Scylla," as we used to say at Brossard's, putting the cart before the horse, more Latino!
I ought also to mention that a young Captain Graham‐Reece was a patient of Dr. Hasenclever's just then – and Captain Graham‐Reece was heir to the octogenarian Earl of Ironsides, who was one of the four wealthiest peers in the United Kingdom, and had no direct descendants.
When they reached Düsseldorf they all went to the Breidenbacher Hotel, where rooms had been retained for them, all but Barty, who, as became his humbler means, chose the cheaper hotel Domhardt, which overlooks the market‐place adorned by the statue of the Elector that Heine has made so famous.
He took a long evening walk through the vernal Hof Gardens and by the Rhine, and thought of the beauty and splendor of the divine Julia; and sighed, and remembered that he was Mr. Nobody of Nowhere, pictor ignotus, with only one eye he could see with, and possessed of a fortune which invested in the 3 per cents would bring him in just £6 a year – and made up his mind he would stick to his painting and keep as much away from her divinity as possible.
"O Martia, Martia!" he said, aloud, as he suddenly felt the north at the right of him, "I hope that you are some loving female soul, and that you know my weakness – namely, that one woman in every ten thousand has a face that drives me mad; and that I can see just as well with one eye as with two, in spite of my punctum cœcum! and that when that face is all but on a level with mine, good Lord! then am I lost indeed! I am but a poor penniless devil, without a name; oh, keep me from that ten‐thousandth face, and cover my retreat!"
Next morning Lady Jane and Julia and the Admiral left for Riffrath – and Barty and his aunt and cousin went in search of lodgings; sweet it was, and bright and sunny, as they strolled down the broad Allée Strasse; a regiment of Uhlans came along on horseback, splendid fellows, the band playing the "Lorelei."
In the fulness of their hearts Daphne and Barty squeezed each other's hand to express the joy and elation they felt at the pleasantness of everything. She was his little sister once more, from whom he had so long been parted, and they loved each other very dearly.
"Que me voilà donc bien contente, mon petit Barty – et toi? la jolie ville, hein?"
"C'est le ciel, tout bonnement – et tu vas m'apprendre l'allemand, n'est‐ce‐pas, m'amour?"
"Oui, et nous lirons Heine ensemble; tiens, à propos! regarde le nom de la rue qui fait le coin! Bolker Strasse! c'est là qu'il est né, le pauvre Heine! Ôte ton chapeau!"
(Barty nearly always spoke French with Daphne, as he did with my sister and me, and said "thee and thou.")
They found a furnished house that suited them in the Schadow Strasse, opposite Geissler's, where for two hours every Thursday and Sunday afternoon you might sit for sixpence in a pretty garden and drink coffee, beer, or Maitrank, and listen to lovely music, and dance in the evening under cover to strains of Strauss, Lanner, and Gungl, and other heavenly waltz‐makers! With all their faults, they know how to make the best of their lives, these good Vaterlanders, and how to dance, and especially how to make music – and also how to fight! So we won't quarrel with them, after all!
Barty found for himself a cheap bedroom, high up in an immense house tenanted by many painters – some of them English and some American. He never forgot the delight with which he awoke next morning and opened his window and saw the silver Rhine among the trees, and the fir‐clad hills of Grafenberg, and heard the gay painter fellows singing as they dressed; and he called out to the good‐humored slavy in the garden below:
"Johanna, mein Frühstück, bitte!"
A phrase he had carefully rehearsed with Daphne the evening before.
And, to his delight and surprise, Johanna understood the mysterious jargon quite easily, and brought him what he wanted with the most good‐humored grin he had ever seen on a female face.
Coffee and a roll and a pat of butter.
First of all, he went to see Dr. Hasenclever at Riffrath, which was about half an hour by train, and then half an hour's walk – an immensely prosperous village, which owed its prosperity to the famous doctor, who attracted patients from all parts of the globe, even from America. The train that took Barty thither was full of them; for some chose to live in Düsseldorf.
The great man saw his patients on the ground‐floor of the König's Hotel, the principal hotel in Riffrath, the hall of which was always crowded with these afflicted ones – patiently waiting each his turn, or hers; and there Barty took his place at four in the afternoon; he had sent in his name at 10 A.M., and been told that he would be seen after four o'clock. Then he walked about the village, which was charming, with its gabled white houses, ornamented like the cottages in the Richter albums by black beams – and full of English, many of them with green shades or blue spectacles or a black patch over one eye; some of them being led, or picking their way by means of a stick, alas!
Barty met the three Royces, walking with an old gentleman of aristocratic appearance, and a very nice‐looking young one (who was Captain Graham‐Reece). The Admiral gave him a friendly nod – Lady Jane a nod that almost amounted to a cut direct. But the divine Julia gave him a look and a smile that were warm enough to make up for much maternal frigidity.
Later on, in a tobacconist's shop, he again met the Admiral, who introduced him to the aristocratic old gentleman, Mr. Beresford Duff, secretary to the Admiralty – who evidently knew all about him, and inquired quite affectionately after Lady Caroline, and invited him to come and drink tea at five o'clock: a new form of hospitality of his own invention – it has caught on!
Barty lunched at the König's Hotel table d'hôte, which was crowded, principally with English people, none of whom he had ever met or heard of. But from these he heard a good deal of the Royces and Captain Graham‐Reece and Mr. Beresford Duff, and other smart people who lived in furnished houses or expensive apartments away from the rest of the world, and were objects of general interest and curiosity among the smaller British fry.
Riffrath was a microcosm of English society, from the lower middle class upwards, with all its respectabilities and incompatibilities and disabilities – its narrownesses and meannesses and snobbishnesses, its gossipings and backbitings and toadyings and snubbings – delicate little social things of England that foreigners don't understand!
The sensation of the hour was the advent of Julia, the divine Julia! Gossip was already rife about her and Captain Reece. They had taken a long walk in the woods together the day before – with Lady Jane and the Admiral far behind, out of ear‐shot, almost out of sight!
In the afternoon, between four and five, Barty had his interview with the doctor – a splendid, white‐haired old man, of benign and intelligent aspect, almost mesmeric, with his assistant sitting by him.
He used no new‐fangled ophthalmoscope, but asked many questions in fairly good French, and felt with his fingers, and had many German asides with the assistant. He told Barty that he had lost the sight of his left eye forever; but that with care he would keep that of the right one for the rest of his life – barring accidents, of course. That he must never eat cheese nor drink beer. That he (the doctor) would like to see him once a week or fortnight or so for a few months yet – and gave him a prescription for an eye‐lotion and dismissed him happy.
Half a loaf is so much better than no bread, if you can only count upon it!
Barty went straight to Mr. Beresford Duff's, and there found a very agreeable party, including the divine Julia, who was singing little songs very prettily and accompanying herself on a guitar.
"'You ask me why I look so pale?'" sang Julia, just Barty entered: and red as a rose was she.
Lady Jane didn't seem at all overjoyed to see Barty, but Julia did, and did not disguise the seeming.
There were eight or ten people there, and they all appeared to know about him, and all that concerned or belonged to him. It was the old London world over again, in little! the same tittle‐tattle about well‐known people, and nothing else – as if nothing else existed; a genial, easy‐going, good‐natured world, that he had so often found charming for a time, but in which he was never quite happy and had no proper place of his own, all through that fatal bar‐sinister – la barre de bâtardise; a world that was his and yet not his, and in whose midst his position was a false one, but where every one took him for granted at once as one of them, so long as he never trespassed beyond that sufferance; that there must be no love‐making to lovely young heiresses by the bastard of Antoinette Josselin was taken for granted also!
Before Barty had been there half an hour two or three people had evidently lost their hearts to him in friendship; among them, to Lady Jane's great discomfiture, the handsome and amiable Graham‐Reece, the cynosure of all female eyes in Riffrath; and when Barty (after very little pressing by Miss Royce) twanged her guitar and sang little songs – French and English, funny and sentimental – he became, as he had so often become in other scenes, the Rigoletto of the company; and Riffrath was a kingdom in which he might be court jester in ordinary if he chose, whenever he elected to honor it with his gracious and facetious musical presence.
So much for his début in that strange little overgrown busy village! What must it be like now?
Dr. Hasenclever has been gathered to his fathers long ago, and nobody that I know of has taken his place. All those new hotels and lodging‐houses and smart shops – what can they have been turned into? Barracks? prisons? military hospitals and sanatoriums? How dull!
Lady Caroline and Daphne and Barty between them added considerably to the gayety of Düsseldorf that summer – especially when Royces and Reeces and Duffs and such like people came there from Riffrath to lunch, or tea, or dinner, or for walks or drives or rides to Grafenberg or Neanderthal, or steamboatings to Neuss.
There were one or two other English families in Düsseldorf, living there for economy's sake, but yet of the world – of the kind that got to be friends with the Rohans; half‐pay old soldiers and sailors and their families, who introduced agreeable and handsome Uhlans and hussars – from their Serene Highnesses the Princes Fritz and Hans von Eselbraten – Himmelsblutwürst – Silberschinken, each passing rich on £200 a year, down to poor Lieutenants von this or von that, with nothing but their pay and their thirty‐two quarterings.
Also a few counts and barons, and princes not serene, but with fine German fortunes looming for them in the future, though none amounting to £1000 a day, like little Lord Orrisroot's!
Soon there was hardly a military heart left whole in the town; Julia had eaten them all up, except one or two that had been unconsciously nibbled by little Daphne.
Barty did not join in these aristocratic revels; he had become a pupil of Herr Duffenthaler, and worked hard in his master's studio with two brothers of the brush – one English, the other American; delightful men who remained his friends for life.
Indeed, he lived among the painters, who all got to love "der schöne Barty Josselin" like a brother.
Now and then, of an evening, being much pressed by his aunt, he would show himself at a small party in Schadow Strasse, and sing and be funny, and attentive to the ladies, and render himself discreetly useful and agreeable all round – and make that party go off. Lady Caroline would have been far happier had he lived with them altogether. But she felt herself responsible for her innocent and wealthy little niece.
It was an article of faith with Lady Caroline that no normal and properly constituted young woman could see much of Barty without falling over head and ears in love with him – and this would never do for Daphne. Besides, they were first‐cousins. So she acquiesced in the independence of his life apart from them. She was not responsible for the divine Julia, who might fall in love with him just as she pleased, and welcome! That was Lady Jane's lookout, and Captain Graham‐Reece's.
But Barty always dined with his aunt and cousin on Thursdays and Sundays, after listening to the music in Geissler's Garden, opposite, and drinking coffee with them there, and also with Prince Fritz and Prince Hans, who always joined the party and smoked their cheap cigars; and sometimes the divine Julia would make one of the party too, with her mother and uncle and Captain Reece; and the good painter fellows would envy from afar their beloved but too fortunate comrade; and the hussars and Uhlans, von this and von that, would find seats and tables as near the princely company as possible.
And every time a general officer entered the garden, up stood every officer of inferior rank till the great man had comfortably seated himself somewhere in the azure sunshine of Julia's forget‐me‐not warm glance.
And before the summer had fulfilled itself, and the roses at Geissler's were overblown, it became evident to Lady Caroline, if to none other, that Julia had eyes for no one else in the world but Barty Josselin. I had it from Lady Caroline herself.
But Barty Josselin had eyes only (such eyes as they were) for his work at Herr Duffenthaler's, and lived laborious days, except on Thursday and Sunday afternoons, and shunned delights, except to dine at the Runsberg Speiserei with his two fellow‐pupils, and Henley and Armstrong and Bancroft and du Maurier and others, all painters, mostly British and Yankee; and an uncommonly lively and agreeable repast that was! And afterwards, long walks by moon or star light, or music at each other's rooms, and that engrossing technical shop talk that never palls on those who talk it. No Guardsman's talk of turf or sport or the ballet had ever been so good as this, in Barty's estimation; no agreeable society gossip at Mr. Beresford Duff's Riffrath tea‐parties!
Once in every fortnight or so Barty would report him‐self to Dr. Hasenclever, and spend the day in Riffrath and lunch with the good old Beresford Duff, who was very fond of him, and who lamented over his loss of caste in devoting himself professionally to art.
"God bless me – my dear Barty, you don't mean to say you're going to paint for hire!"
"Indeed I am, if any one will hire me. How else am I to live?"
"Well, you know best, my dear boy; but I should have thought the Rohans might have got you something better than that. It's true, Buckner does it, and Swinton, and Francis Grant! But still, you know … there are other ways of getting on for a fellow like you. Look at Prince Gelbioso, who ran away with the Duchess of Flitwick! He didn't sing a bit better than you do, and as for looks, you beat him hollow, my dear boy; yet all London went mad about Prince Gelbioso, and so did she; and off she bolted with him, bag and baggage, leaving husband and children and friends and all! and she'd got ten thousand a year of her own; and when the Duke divorced her they were married, and lived happily ever after – in Italy; and some of the best people called upon 'em, by George!.. just to spite the Duke!"
Barty felt it would seem priggish or even insincere if he were to disclaim any wish to emulate Prince Gelbioso; so he merely said he thought painting easier on the whole, and not so risky; and the good Beresford Duff talked of other things – of the divine Julia, and what a good thing it would be if she and Graham‐Reece could make a match of it.
"Two of the finest fortunes in England, by George! they ought to come together, if only just for the fun of the thing! Not that she is a bit in love with him – I'll eat my hat if she is! What a pity you ain't goin' to be Lord Ironsides, Barty!"
Barty frankly confessed he shouldn't much object, for one.
"But, 'ni l'or ni la grandeur ne nous rendent heureux,' as we used to be taught at school."
"Ah, that's all gammon; wait till you're my age, my young friend, and as poor as I am," said Beresford Duff. And so the two friends talked on, Mentor and Telemachus – and we needn't listen any further.
