LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

opinions of others on any subject. He knew no more of prizefighting than that it was a brutal and illegal practice, akin to cockfighting, and, like it, generally supposed to be obsolete. Knowing how prone Lydia was to suspect any received opinion of being a prejudice, he felt that he must inform himself more particularly. To Lord Worthington’s astonishment, he not only asked him to dinner next evening, but listened with interest while he descanted to his heart’s content on his favorite topic of the ring.

      As the days passed, Bashville became nervous, and sometimes wondered whether Lydia had met her cousin and heard from him of the interview at Downing Street. He fancied that her manner towards him was changed; and he was once or twice on the point of asking the most sympathetic of the housemaids whether she had noticed it. On Wednesday his suspense ended. Lucian came, and had a long conversation with Lydia in the library. Bashville was too honorable to listen at the door; but he felt a strong temptation to do so, and almost hoped that the sympathetic housemaid might prove less scrupulous. But Miss Carew’s influence extended farther than her bodily presence; and Lucian’s revelation was made in complete privacy.

      When he entered the library he looked so serious that she asked him whether he had neuralgia, from which he occasionally suffered. He replied with some indignation that he had not, and that he had a communication of importance to make to her.

      “What! Another!”

      “Yes, another,” he said, with a sour smile; “but this time it does not concern myself. May I warn you as to the character of one of your guests without overstepping my privilege?”

      “Certainly. But perhaps you mean Vernet. If so, I am perfectly aware that he is an exiled Communard.”

      “I do not mean Monsieur Vernet. You understand, I hope, that I do not approve of him, nor of your strange fancy for Nihilists, Fenians, and other doubtful persons; but I think that even you might draw the line at a prizefighter.”

      Lydia lost color, and said, almost inaudibly, “Cashel Byron!”

      “Then you KNEW!” exclaimed Lucian, scandalized.

      Lydia waited a moment to recover, settled herself quietly in her chair, and replied, calmly, “I know what you tell me — nothing more. And now, will you explain to me exactly what a prizefighter is?”

      “He is simply what his name indicates. He is a man who fights for prizes.”

      “So does the captain of a man-of-war. And yet society does not place them in the same class — at least, I do not think so.”

      “As if there could be any doubt that society does not! There is no analogy whatever between the two cases. Let me endeavor to open your eyes a little, if that be possible, which I am sometimes tempted to doubt. A prizefighter is usually a man of naturally ferocious disposition, who has acquired some reputation among his associates as a bully; and who, by constantly quarrelling, has acquired some practice in fighting. On the strength of this reputation he can generally find some gambler willing to stake a sum of money that he will vanquish a pugilist of established fame in single combat. Bets are made between the admirers of the two men; a prize is subscribed for, each party contributing a share; the combatants are trained as racehorses, gamecocks, or their like are trained; they meet, and beat each other as savagely as they can until one or the other is too much injured to continue the combat. This takes place in the midst of a mob of such persons as enjoy spectacles of the kind; that is to say, the vilest blackguards whom a large city can afford to leave at large, and many whom it cannot. As the prize-money contributed by each side often amounts to upwards of a thousand pounds, and as a successful pugilist commands far higher terms for giving tuition in boxing than a tutor at one of the universities does for coaching, you will see that such a man, while his youth and luck last, may have plenty of money, and may even, by aping the manners of the gentlemen whom he teaches, deceive careless people — especially those who admire eccentricity — as to his character and position.”

      “What is his true position? I mean before he becomes a prizefighter.”

      “Well, he may be a handicraftsman of some kind: a journeyman butcher, skinner, tailor, or baker. Possibly a soldier, sailor, policeman, gentleman’s servant, or what not? But he is generally a common laborer. The waterside is prolific of such heroes.”

      “Do they never come from a higher rank?”

      “Never even from the better classes in their own. Broken-down gentlemen are not likely to succeed at work that needs the strength and endurance of a bull and the cruelty of a butcher.”

      “And the end of a prizefighter. What is that like?”

      “He soon has to give up his trade. For, if he be repeatedly beaten, no one will either bet on him or subscribe to provide him with a stake. If he is invariably successful, those, if any, who dare fight him find themselves in a like predicament. In either case his occupation is gone. If he has saved money he opens a sporting public-house, where he sells spirits of the worst description to his old rivals and their associates, and eventually drinks himself to death or bankruptcy. If, however, he has been improvident or unfortunate, he begs from his former patrons and gives lessons. Finally, when the patrons are tired of him and the pupils fail, he relapses into the laboring class with a ruined constitution, a disfigured face, a brutalized nature, and a tarnished reputation.”

      Lydia remained silent so long after this that Lucian’s expression of magisterial severity first deepened, then wavered, and finally gave way to a sense of injury; for she seemed to have forgotten him. He was about to protest against this treatment, when she looked at him again, and said,

      “Why did Lord Worthington introduce a man of this class to me?”

      “Because you asked him to do so. Probably he thought that if you chose to make such a request without previous inquiry, you should not blame him if you found yourself saddled with an undesirable acquaintance. Recollect that you asked for the introduction on the platform at Wiltstoken, in the presence of the man himself. Such a ruffian would be capable of making a disturbance for much less offence than an explanation and refusal would have given him.”

      “Lucian,” said Lydia, in a tone of gentle admonition, “I asked to be introduced to my tenant, for whose respectability you had vouched by letting the Warren Lodge to him.” Lucian reddened. “How does Lord Worthington explain Mr. Byron’s appearance at Mrs. Hoskyn’s?”

      “It was a stupid joke. Mrs. Hoskyn had worried Worthington to bring some celebrity to her house; and, in revenge, he took his pugilistic protege.”

      “Hm!”

      “I do not defend Worthington. But discretion is hardly to be expected from him.”

      “He has discretion enough to understand a case of this kind thoroughly. But let that pass. I have been thinking upon what you tell me about these singular people, whose existence I hardly knew of before. Now, Lucian, in the course of my reading I have come upon denunciations of every race and pursuit under the sun. Very respectable and well-informed men have held that Jews, Irishmen, Christians, atheists, lawyers, doctors, politicians, actors, artists, flesh-eaters, and spirit-drinkers are all of necessity degraded beings. Such statements can be easily proved by taking a black sheep from each flock, and holding him up as the type. It is more reasonable to argue a man’s character from the nature of his profession; and yet even that is very unsafe. War is a cruel business; but soldiers are not necessarily bloodthirsty and inhuman men. I am not quite satisfied that a prizefighter is a violent and dangerous man because he follows a violent and dangerous profession — I suppose they call it a profession.”

      Lucian was about to speak; but she interrupted him by continuing,

      “And yet that is not what concerns me at present. Have you found out anything about Mr. Byron personally? Is he an ordinary representative of his class?”

      “No; I should rather think — and hope — that he is a very extraordinary representative of it. I have traced his history back to his boyhood, when he was a cabin-boy. Having apparently failed to recommend himself to his employers in that capacity, he became errand-boy to a sort of maitre d’armes at Melbourne. Here

Скачать книгу