LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2707, 11 December 1882, Page 4

LITERATURE.

A NIGHT OF DISASTER

Tt was in all the rush and excitement of ■the last “ Exposition Universolle,” at Paris, that a young Englishman was finding it rather slow in his spacious apartments in the Rue Royale. For one thing, Lo knew hardly a soul in that gay metro polis, and the few souls that he did know ■were away enjoying their summer holidays. You will ask why Bertram Wilde, the Englishman in question, stayed in Paris. The answer is that he was obliged to do so; or, if not really obliged, he thought he was, which comes to the same thing for all practical purposes. He was about twenty-five years old, and the son of a country gentleman down in well - wooded Hampshire. His father had wanted him to * enter the Church,’ but wilful Bertram had expressed himself decidodly averse to the idea. As a matter of fact there was not the least reason —pecuniarily speaking—why young Wilde should engage in any profession at all; but he was Inckily saved from idleness by his own native indisposition to rust and go to seed and do nothing. Well, here he was, settled in Paris, experiencing a mixture of sensations, in which the sense of loneliness and a desire to fly away were perhaps predominant. But he ■was not entirely melancholy ; far from it. Rather he was in that state of subdued excitement arising from being drawn in two different directions at the same time. A ■very strong attraction was pulling him in the direction of Antibes and the shores of the Mediterranean. Can you doubt what the attraction was ? Bertram Wilde was a lover, and an accepted lover, and at that delightful French watering place of Antibes, where even winter strikes with no icy blast, bat the blue tideless sea shines warm and bright in mid-December, there was a young English girl looking out for him and keeping up an exceedingly lively correspondence with the Rue Royale interval before he made his appearance. And now you can understand why time hung heavily on Bertie Wilde’s hands, and why ho chafed and fretted under the restraint and loneliness of bis solitary chambers. The English season at Antibes is the winter time, while the Preach season is the summer. ‘ Why did ho not go there V The Spaniards come regularly both summer and winter, to enjoy this smaller “ queen of Mediterranean watering places.* Bertie Wilde’s first visit to the place had been in the winter of 1877, and it was then that he saw, met, and was conquered: by Miss Helen Graham, who was living with, her family in a villa some miles from the town and close to the sea. Up to this time bis courtship had run smoother than it had .any right to do, as he had been happily betrothed with the full consent of Helen’s parents within a few weeks of first seeing ber. It is true there were other aspirants to ber hand. Two Englishmen had gone half •demented with admiration for her before Wilde appeared on the scene ; but they had been repulsed with severe loss, and had disappeared. Then a young Spaniard, Senor Basil Garcia, of the ‘bluest Castilian blood, was—Bertie knew—in love with her, and bad not by any means relinquished his attentions at the time of which I am writing. As an accepted lover he could of course snap his fingers at other suitors ; all the same, there where times when Bertie, iuowing tho fiery Spanish nature, and having special reasons to distrust Senor Basil, felt certain uncomfortable misgivings. Not for himself ; he was ns bold as a, lion ; but who knew what vengeance disappointed love, working in a fierce southern beart, might not possibly be led to wreak on another a good deal dearer to him than himself ?

Bat such thoughts Bertie always dismissed as too dreadful. After all, there was law in. France, and the Spaniard was a civilised being, who would not be likely to adopt desperate measures, and get himaelf guillotined for his pains. It so happened that mischief - making Fate had -brought 'Wilde and Senor Garcia into hostile contact, quite apart from any question with regard to Helen Graham. And this was how it occurred. There is—or was —a flourishing English club at Antibes, numbering in all about three hundred members. When Bertram Wilde was wintering at that place, he was asked to act temporarily as secretary, not a very onerous post. The real secretary was away for two months. Bertie yielded with his usual good humor, and acted in his official cap •- city tojthe satisfaction of the little English community of voluntary exiles gathered at Antibes in the December of 1877. But, as luck would have it, his lot fell on unquiet •times. The English club was not entirely confined to British subjects, as several French and Spanish gentlemen, and even ladies, were admitted as honorary members. A certain member of the old French aristocracy, Comtesse de Perpignan, took it into her head that she would like to be enrolled as honorary associate of this same club. So aho was ‘ put up’ for election by two obliging friends among the fEnglish community, and in due course was balloted for. Alas ! for the little reverence paid to rank in these levelling days. Two black halls were discovered in the box, and these two black bolls were sufficient to exclude the Comtesse de Perpignan. On inquiry it turned out that there was some method in the madness of the ungallant gentlemen Jwho had voted against the countess: there had been a scandal a long time before in Parisian society, which had orced her to leave the centre of French fashion and gaiety ‘ under a cloud. ’ The fact was that the countess’s husband had died in a mysterious and sudden manner, and suspicion had chosen to accuse the wife of having poisoned him. The suspicion had never got so far as a court of law, but the countess had thought it prudent to live away from Paris afterwards. This story had been got hold of by some members of the English club, who thereupon felt bound to .exclude here from the untainted atmosphere of its salons. The countess was indignant. She was an elderly dame, and had given great entertainments to the English visitors, and she naturally resented the affront. Senor Garcia was one of her intimate friends, and ahe took steps to carry her resentment into some practical shape. Not knowing who the actual persons were who had blackballed the countoss, all he could do was to call on the secretary of the club—at that time Bertie Wilde —and very politely challenge him to a duel.

‘What/ said Bertie, in perfect surprise at the idea j “ you want to call me out because somebody else has insulted somebody who is a friend of yours ? ' * Senor/ loftily replied the Spaniard, who, unlike most of his countrymen, spoke excellent English, ‘ an affront to the countess is an affront to me. There is nobody else I can appeal to for satisfaction but the president of this club. Alas ! there is no president ; so I must come to the secretary—to you/ with a profound bow. ‘ And what if I refuse to come out when you call me out ?' asked Bertie blandly. .Refuse ! The idea had not occurred to the foreigner. Refuse to fight a duel ! Such poltroonery was unimaginable- Yet Bertie did refuse, and was of course backed ■up in his refusal by all the English members of the slub, who made the quarrel with the Spaniard their own. Finally he was obliged to satisfy himself with the remark that * It must be an English custom, then, this insulting a lady and refusing to give satisfaction’—a remark for which -Bertie felt strongly inclined to kick him down the stone stops of the club. Senor Garcia went away with an ugly look in his eyee.

And this happened before the time that "Wilde made the acquaintance of Helen Graham, and therefore before he and Senor Basil Garcia were, or could possibly be considered, rivals in love matters. But it was aa unfortunate thing that luck should have made them enemies before there was any ■real cause for it. All that actually came of the black-balling affair at the time was that Garcia scowled at young Wilde whenever he happened to moot him, and Bertie, for about a month after the challenge, carried a revolver in his pocket. At about nine o’clock on the night of one of these same hot August days of 1878, Bertie was seated in his studio. The apartment was elaborately and artistically decorated, but as a general rule he did not patronise this room except when ho was actually painting. Opening out of the studio was a nicely furnished sitting-room, and this was his usual habitat. However, to-night he was ensconced in an easy chair in the studio, and was rather astonished when the pretty little femme-de-chaiabre appeared,

and announced that a gentleman was below and ‘ requested the honor of an interview with Mr Wilde.’

‘Ask him to send up his card,’ said Bertie and wondered which of his friends, or what begging impostor would call on him at that hour. Before the order could be executed, however, the visitor had stepped quickly and lightly into the room, had waved his hand loftily to dismiss the little chambermaid, and closed the door after her himself. Then ho turned to Wilde. His ‘get up’ was faultless, from top hat and cane held in his gloved left hand, to curled moustache and glossy silk cravat; and ho was smiling blandly. It was Garcia. Luckily for Bertie, his nonchalant nature prevented him starting or showing any lively marks of surprise. He rose from his seat, feeling—it must be confessed—a little uncomfortable, and, motioning to a chair, begged his visitor to bo seated. But Garcia remained standing, and still smiling; so Wilde stood also. ‘Senor will excuse the liberty,’ began the Spaniard ; ‘but I have a message, a letter, which I was requested to deliver to your hands, with my own. That is the reason of my venturing to intrude at this time.’ Then, as Bertie simply started —‘ Senor is surprised ?’ _ ‘Excuse me,’ said Bertie, recollect.ng himself, ‘do sit down ; you arc quite welcome at least,’ he went on, remembering the unpleasant incident connected with the balloting, the challenge, and the rivalry for Helen, and feeling bound to speak forcibly, ‘ you must be aware, senor, that I cannot forget

But Senor Garcia interrupted him. ‘All that is gone, as far as is in my power - to obliterate the past; I beg you will let bygones be bygones ; I have come here on a friendly mission; may I trust that senor will receive me as a friend ?’

‘ Willingly,’ said Bertie ; but ho still felt, in spite of himself, suspicious of this fair-spoken rival who had wished to make a target of him, and who now had such excellent additional reasons for hearing him ill-will.

To be continued.