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Updated: June 21, 2025
"Potz tausend! the man is fou!" shouted Mac. "Come, drink your wine, Ned, and we'll have our coffee. It is quite time, I think, and he used to be a three-bottle fellow," muttered my dear old friend, sotto voce. "'Heu, heu! tempora mutantur, et nos' well, well, well!" Clarian's Picture! What a gush of recollection the words evoke!
He may not die; his "moriamur" is answered by the reiterated "Depart" of the gods, the "Heu, fuge!" of the shade of Hector. The vision of the great circle of the gods fighting against Troy drives him forth in despair to a life of exile, and the carelessness of despair is over him as he drifts from land to land.
As I look over these last letters, which gush and throb with the fulness of his activity, and are so tenderly streaked with touches of constant affection and remembrance, yet are so calm and duly mindful of every detail, I do not think with an elder friend, in whom the wisdom of years has only deepened sympathy for all generous youthful impulse, of Virgil's Marcellus, "Heu, miserande puer!" but I recall rather, still haunted by Philip Sidney, what he wrote, just before his death, to his father-in-law, Walsingham, "I think a wise and constant man ought never to grieve while he doth play, as a man may say, his own part truly."
"Heu!" he muttered, "he ordered supper he will come back . . . SACRRE ANGLAIS!" he added, by way of protest against all this fuss for a mere Englishman. "But where is he now? Do you know?" she asked eagerly, placing her dainty white hand upon the dirty sleeve of his blue blouse.
There lay the extravagance of the attempt; its short-sightedness, if they did not see its civil tendencies; its audacity, if they did. It was one revolution marching to its object through another; it was a vote, which, if at all sustained, must entail a long inheritance of contests with the whole civil polity of Scotland. "Heu quantum fati parva tabella vehit!"
It wasn't new to me, this form of greeting, and I knew that she had acquired it at Newport, and that it denoted, all too accurately, the size of my importance in her eyes; she did it, as she did everything, with perfection. Then she turned to Eliza La Heu, whose face had become miraculously sweet. "Good morning," said Hortense.
When this love had begun, made no matter. Perhaps it began on the bridge, when the money was torn, and Eliza La Heu had appeared. The Kings Port version of Hortense's indifference to John before the event of the phosphates might well enough be true.
And so, making all this out by myself in the mountains after reading John's note, I ordered from the North the handsomest old china cake-dish that Aunt Carola could find to be sent to Miss Eliza La Heu with my card. I wanted to write on the card, "Rira bien qui viva le dernier"; but alas! so many pleasant thoughts may never be said aloud in this world of ours.
Her eyes were always toward the window. "That's my 'sacred trust." It made her look at me. "Yours?" "Not yours yet! It would be yours if you had won." I thought a slight change came in her steady scrutiny. "And, Miss La Heu, it was awful about the negro. It is awful. The young North thinks so just as much as you do. Oh, we shock our old people!
Miss La Heu stood them in water on the counter beside her ledger. She was looking lovely. "I expected you yesterday," she said. "The new Lady Baltimore was ready." "Well, if it is not all eaten yet " "Oh, no! Not a slice gone." "Ah, nobody does your art justice here!" "Go and sit down at your table, please."
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