The Serapion Brethren Volume Ii Part 38

"Poor, dear friend," said Euchar, laughing; "I see the full extent of your sufferings!"

"And yet," continued Ludwig, "all this was only the prelude to the most terrible of all events. You know that I have been for a long time applying my mind to arranging the figures of a '_seize_:' and you know of your own experience, how little I have made of the very considerable amount of china, gla.s.s, and stoneware that I have knocked off the tables in my lodgings here, in my practice of the intricacies of those 'tours, or figures,' that I might attain to the perfection of performance which was my dream. One of them is the most utterly glorious that the mind of man has ever hit upon, of its kind. Four couples stand, picturesquely grouped, the gentleman, balancing on his right tip-toe, places his right-arm about his partner, raising, at the same time, his left-arm in a graceful curve above his head--whilst the other couples make the 'ronde.' Such an idea never entered the heads of Vestris or Gardel. Very well. I had based my hopes of highest happiness upon this particular '_seize_.' I had been destining it for Count Walther Puck's birthday: I intended to whisper into Victorine's ear during this more than earthly 'tour'--'Most divine countess, I love you unutterably--I adore you! Be mine, angel of light!' that was the reason, dear Euchar, why I was so overwhelmed with joy when I got the invitation to the ball there, for I had had great doubts about it.

Count Walther Puck had appeared to be a good deal annoyed with me a little while ago, one day when I was explaining to him the theory of the mutual interdependence of things--the mechanism of the macrocosm--when he took it into his head that I was making out that he was a pendulum. He said it was a piece of chaff in very bad taste; but that he would take no notice of it in consideration of my youth, and he turned his back. Very well! The unfortunate Laendler came to an end. I did not dance any more, I went into the ante-room, and who should follow me but the good Cochenille, who at once opened a bottle of champagne for me. The wine sent fresh life into my veins. I didn't feel the pain any longer. The '_seize_' was just going to begin--I flew back to the dancing-room, darted up to Victorine, kissed her hand fiercely, and took my position in the 'ronde.' The 'tour,' which I have told you of, came on; I outdid myself! I hovered--I balanced--the G.o.d of the dance in person; I threw my arm round my partner. I whispered, 'Divine, heavenly Countess,' just as I had arranged with myself that I should do. My declaration of love went forth from my lips, I gazed ardently into my partner's eyes. Ruler of heaven! It was not Victorine I had been dancing with! It was somebody else altogether, some lady whom I didn't know in the least, though she was the same sort of person as Victorine in style and feature, and dressed exactly as she was. You may imagine that I felt as if smitten by a flash of lightning. Everything about me was swimming in a chaos. I didn't hear the music any longer; I dashed wildly through amongst the rows of people, hearing cries of pain here and there, till I found myself arrested and held tight by a pair of powerful arms, whilst a voice of fury droned into my ear, 'Death and d.a.m.nation, Herr Baron, are you out of your senses? Have you nine devils in you, or what?' 'Twas the very Consistorial President whom I had seen in my dream. He was holding me tight in a remote corner of the room, and he went on as follows: 'I was just getting up from the card-table, when you came bursting like a hurricane out of the middle of the dancing room, and jumped about like a creature possessed upon my unfortunate feet, till I could have roared like a bull with the pain of it, if I hadn't been a person of proper conduct. Don't you see what a disturbance you've been making here?' And, in fact, the whole of the '_seize_' was in confusion, the music had stopped, and I saw that some of the dancers were going about limping, ladies were being led to their seats, and people were holding smelling-bottles to their noses. I had been dancing the 'tour' of despair upon the poor people's feet, till the President, strong as a tree, had put a period to my fell career.

Victorine approached me with eyes sparkling with scorn: 'Verily, Herr Baron, a charming performance!' she said. 'You ask me to dance with you--you dance with another lady, and throw the whole room into confusion.' You may picture to yourself my apologies and excuses.

'These practical jokes are a speciality of yours, Herr Baron,'

Victorine went on, scarcely containing her anger. 'I know you--but I beg that you will not select _me_ as the object of that cutting irony of yours in the future.' With that she left me standing. The lady I had been dancing with then came up amiability--nay, I may say, even affectionateness--personified. The poor child had taken fire. I cannot wonder at it; but is it any fault of mine? Oh, Victorine! Victorine!

Oh, ill-starred '_seize_'--dance of the furies, which has consigned me to the depths of Orcus!"

Ludwig closed his eyes, groaned and sighed. His friend had the grace not to break out into irrepressible laughter.

When Ludwig had taken a cup or two of chocolate--without this time burning his lips--he seemed to recover himself to some extent, and bear his terrible fate with somewhat greater equanimity. Presently he said to Euchar, who had been interesting himself in a book which he had taken up. "You had an invitation to that accursed ball yourself, had you not?"

"I had," said Euchar, scarcely looking up from the page.

"And you never came--and you never told me that you had one, at all."

"I had another engagement," said Euchar, "as it happened, which prevented me from going to the ball--an engagement of far greater importance to me than any ball in the world, even had the Emperor of j.a.pan himself been the giver of it."

"Countess Victorine," Ludwig continued, "made the most particular inquiries as to why you didn't come. She was all anxiety, and kept looking towards the door. I should have been really very jealous. I should quite have thought that, for the first time in your career, you had touched a lady's heart, if the matter had not been explained. The fact is, I scarcely dare to tell you in what an unsparing manner the lovely Victorine spoke of you. She even went the length of saying that you were a cold-hearted piece of eccentricity, whose presence often marred all enjoyment: so that she had been dreading that you would act as her kill-joy on that evening as you so often had done before, and was quite delighted when she found that you were not coming. To speak candidly, my dear Euchar, I can't make out how it is that you, gifted by the heavens with so many bodily and mental excellences, should always be so unlucky with the other s.e.x--why I should always cut the ground from under your feet. Cold creature! I feel certain that you have no conception of the heavenly bliss of love, and that is why you are not beloved. Whereas I, on the other hand----Believe me when I tell you that Victorine's fiery indignation itself was engendered by the flames of love which blazed in her heart for me--the fortunate, the blessed one."

The door opened, and there came into the room a quaint little fellow, in a red coat with big steel b.u.t.tons, black silk breeches, heavily powdered _frisure_, and a little round pigtail.

"Good Cochenille!" Ludwig called out to him. "Dearest Monsieur Cochenille, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

Euchar, declaring that important engagements called him away, left his friend alone with the confidential servant of Count Walther Puck.

Cochenille, sweetly smiling, with downcast eyes, stated that their Countly Excellencies were quite convinced that the most honoured Herr Baron had been attacked, during the '_seize_,' by a malady which bore a Latin name something like Raptus, and that he, Monsieur Cochenille, was come to make inquiries as to his present state of welfare.

"Raptus! Raptus! Nothing of the kind." And he related, and detailed at length, how the whole matter had come about, ending by begging the talented Kammerdiener to put affairs in order as far as he possibly could.

Ludwig learned that his partner was a cousin of Countess Victorine, just arrived from the country for the occasion of the Count's birthday--that she and the Countess Victorine were one heart and one soul, and--inasmuch as the sympathies of young ladies often display themselves in the form of silks and c.r.a.pes--were often in the habit of dressing exactly alike. Cochenille was further of opinion that the vexation of Countess Victorine was not very genuine. He had handed her an ice at the end of the ball, when she was standing talking to her cousin, and had noticed that they were laughing tremendously, and had heard them several times mention the honoured Baron's name. The truth was, according to what he had been able to observe, that this cousin was of a temperament exceedingly disposed to the tender pa.s.sion, and would only be too delighted if the Baron would carry further what he had begun, namely, at once set to work to pay a.s.siduous attentions to her, and in due course put on _glace_ gloves, and lead her to the altar: but that he, for his part, would do everything he could to prevent such a course of events. The first thing in the morning, as he would be having the honour to _friser_ his Countly Highness, he would take an opportunity of laying the whole matter before him, and would also take the liberty of begging him, as an uncle regardful of his niece's best interests, to represent to her that the Herr Baron's declaration of love was merely a species of "flourish" belonging to the "tour" which he happened to be executing at the time--just as declarations of the kind generally were. That, he thought, would be of some service. Cochenille finally advised the Baron to go and see Countess Victorine as soon as possible, and told him there would be an opportunity of doing so that very day. Madame Bechs, the Consistorial President's lady, was giving an aesthetic tea that afternoon, with tea which (he had been told by the Russian Amba.s.sador's valet) had come direct overland from China through the Russian Emba.s.sy, and had an extraordinarily delicious flavour and scent. There he would find Victorine, and be enabled to put everything straight again.

Ludwig saw that it was nothing but unworthy doubt which had had the power of disturbing his love-happiness: and he resolved to make himself so marvellously charming at the "the" of Madame Bech, the Consistorial President's lady, that Victorine should never so much as dream of being at all "grumpy."

THE aeSTHETIC TEA. CHOKING COUGH OF A TRAGIC POET. THE STORY TAKES A SERIOUS TURN, AND TELLS OF b.l.o.o.d.y BATTLE, SUICIDE, AND SIMILAR MATTERS.

The courteous reader must be good enough to accompany Ludwig and Euchar to this aesthetic tea, which is now going forward at Madame Bech's, the Consistorial President's lady. About a dozen of the fair s.e.x, appropriately attired, are seated in a semi-circle. One is thoughtlessly laughing; another is immersed in a contemplation of the tips of her shoes, with which she is managing to practise the "pas" of a "Francaise," silently and un.o.bserved; a third appears to be sweetly sleeping (and dreaming more sweetly still); a fourth darts the fiery beams from her eyes athwart the room in all directions, with the intention that they shall impinge upon not one but all the men who are present. A fifth lisps forth "Heavenly! Glorious! Sublime!" and those utterances are for the behoof of a young poet, who is reading out with all possible pathos a new tragedy of destiny, tedious and silly enough even to be read aloud on such an occasion. A delightful feature of the affair was, that one heard a species of _obbligato_ accompaniment going on in the next room, a species of growling, like the rumble of distant thunder. This was the voice of the Consistorial President, who was playing piquet with Count Walther Puck, and making himself audible in this manner.

The poet read out, in the most dulcet accents at his command--

"Ah! but once more! once more only Let me hear thee, voice of beauty, Voice of rapture, voice of sweetness, Voice from out the deep abysses, Voice from out the heights of Heaven!

Hark! oh, listen----"

Here the thunder which had been rumbling so long broke out into a peal: "h.e.l.l and d.a.m.nation!" roared the Consistorial President's voice, re-echoing through the room, so that the people jumped up from their chairs, alarmed. But it was pretty that the poet, not suffering himself to be disturbed in the slightest, went on reading--

"Yea! it is the breath beloved, Music of those lips of nectar."

But a destiny higher than that which ruled in the poet's tragedy did not permit him to finish his reading. Just as he was going to raise his voice to the highest pitch of tragic power, to enunciate a terrible execration which his hero was going to utter, something, heaven knows what, got into his throat, so that he broke out into a frightful fit of coughing, by no means to be a.s.suaged, and had to be a.s.sisted out of the room, more dead than alive.

This sudden interruption appeared to be the reverse of disagreeable to the lady of the house, who had for some time been giving indications of weariness and annoyance. As soon as the tranquillity of the company was restored, she pointed out that it was time that a vivid narrative of something should take the place of reading, and thought Euchar ought really to make it his duty to undertake this, seeing that, in general, he was so obstinately silent, as to contribute little to the entertainment of the company.

Euchar said, modestly, that he was anything but a good story-teller, and that the tale which he thought of telling was of a very serious, perhaps even terrible description, and might be anything but enjoyable by the company. But four very young ladies immediately cried out, with one voice "Oh! something terrible, please! I do so love to be terrified!"

Euchar took his place in the chair of the narrator, and began as follows:--

"We have been pa.s.sing through a period in which events have swept athwart the stage of the world like a series of raging hurricanes.

Humanity, shaken to its depths, has given birth to things portentous, even as the storm-tossed ocean casts up to the surface of its seething surges the terrible marvels of its abysses. Whatever could be accomplished by lion-like courage, unconquerable valour, hatred, revenge, fury, and despair, was achieved during the Spanish war of independence. I should like to tell you of the adventures of a friend of mine, whom I shall call Edgar, who served in that war, under the banners of Wellington. He had left his native place in deep, bitter irritation, at the shame of his Fatherland, and gone to Hamburg, where he lived in a little room which he had taken, in a retired quarter. He had a neighbour, who lived in the next room to him, with only a wall between them, but he knew nothing more of him than that he was an old man, in infirm health, who never went out. He often heard him groan, and break out into gentle pathetic lamentations; but he did not understand the words he spoke. After a time, this neighbour begun to walk a.s.siduously up and down in his room, and it appeared to indicate returning health when he tuned a guitar one day, and began to sing in a soft voice, songs which Edgar recognized to be Spanish romances.

On being closely questioned, the landlady confided to Edgar, that his neighbour was a French officer who had been invalided from the Romana corps, that he was under secret espionage, and very seldom ventured to go out.

In the middle of the night Edgar heard this Spaniard play on his guitar more loudly than before, and begin, in powerful strangely changing melody, the 'Profecia del Pirineo of Don Juan Baptista de Arriaja.'

There came the stanzas commencing--

"Y oye que el gran rugido, En ya trueno en los campos de Castilla," &c.

The glowing enthusiasm with which the old gentleman's singing was instinct, set Edgar's blood ablaze. A new world dawned on him. He knew, now, how to arouse himself from out his sickly mood, and under an impulse to deeds of valour, fight out the contest which was eating up his heart. He could not resist an eager desire to make the acquaintance of the man who had thus inspired him with new life. The door gave way at the pressure of his hand, but the moment he entered the room, the old man sprung from his bed with a cry of "Traidor" (traitor), and made straight at Edgar with a drawn dagger. Edgar succeeded in evading the well-aimed thrust by a skilful movement, and in grasping the old man, and holding him down on his bed.

While he thus held him, for he had but little strength at the time, he implored him in the most touching language, to forgive the stormy fashion of his entrance: he a.s.sured him that he was no traitor; but that on the contrary, what he had heard him sing had lighted up all the rage, the inconsolable pain, which had been tearing his breast asunder into an unslakeable desire for combat. He longed to hurry to Spain, there to fight for the freedom of the country. The old man gazed fixedly at him, and said, "Can it be possible?" and embraced Edgar, who, naturally, continued his a.s.surances that nothing could induce him to forego his resolve, at the same time throwing his dagger down on the ground.

Edgar now learned that the old gentleman's name was Balda.s.sare de Luna, and that he belonged to one of the most n.o.ble families of Spain. He was helpless and friendless, and had the prospect, unalleviated, of dragging out a miserable existence, far from home, without a friend or pecuniary resource. It was some time ere Edgar could succeed in infusing any hope or comfort into his heart: but when, at length, he most solemnly undertook to arrange for their escape to England together, new life appeared to circulate in the Spaniard's veins. He was no longer the old invalid, but an enthusiastic youth, breathing out defiance to his oppressors. Edgar kept his word. He succeeded in evading the vigilance of the spies, and in escaping with Balda.s.sare de Luna to England. But it was not the will of fate that this brave and luckless man should see his native land again. He was prostrated by another attack of illness, and died in London, in Edgar's arms. A spirit of prophecy gave him to see the coming glory of his rescued country. Amid the latest prayerful whisperings which issued with difficulty from his lips stiffening in death, Edgar distinguished the word "Vittoria," and an expression of heavenly beat.i.tude glowed on de Luna's countenance.

At the time when Souchet's victorious force was threatening to bear down all opposition and rivet the shameful foreign yoke more firmly than ever, to all eternity, Edgar arrived before Tarragona with Colonel Sterret's English brigade. It is matter of history that Colonel Sterret considered the position so insecure, that he would not disembark his troops. This our eager young soldier could not endure. He left the English force, and betook himself to the Spanish general Contreras, who was occupying the fortress with 8,000 Spanish soldiers. We are aware that Souchet's force took Tarragona by storm, notwithstanding the most heroic defence, and that Contreras himself, with a bayonet wound, fell into the hands of the enemy.

The scenes which pa.s.sed before Edgar's eyes, displayed all the terribleness of h.e.l.l itself. Whether it was on account of shameful treachery, or from incomprehensible carelessness on the part of those whose duty it was to attend to the matter, the troops who had to defend the princ.i.p.al _enceinte_ of the fort, soon ran short of ammunition.

They for a long time resisted with the bayonet the incoming of the enemy through the gateway which had been forced: but when, ultimately, they had to retire before the urgency of his fire, they rushed across to the further gateway in wild disarray, and in confused ma.s.ses: and as this gate was too narrow to admit of their pa.s.sage, they had, therefore, to submit to a terrific ma.s.sacre. Yet some 4,000 Spaniards--Almeira's regiment, with which Edgar happened to be at the time--managed to force their way through. With the courage of despair they broke their pa.s.sage through the enemy's battalions which were there posted, and continued their flight towards Barcelona. They were fancying that they were in safety, when they were a.s.sailed by a terrible fire from some field-pieces, which the enemy had placed in position behind a trench cut across the road, bringing inevitable destruction into their ranks. Edgar was. .h.i.t, and fell to the ground.

A violent pain in the head was what he felt when he recovered consciousness. It was dark night, and all the terrors of death permeated him as he heard the hollow groans and the heart-piercing cries which surrounded him. He managed to get upon his legs and creep along. When at length the morning began to break he found himself close to a deep ravine; but as he was about to go down into it a troop of the enemy's cavalry came slowly up. It seemed an impossibility to avoid being taken prisoner; but suddenly shots came dropping out of the thickest part of the wood, emptying several saddles, and presently a party of Guerillas made an attack on the remainder of the troop. He shouted out to his deliverers in Spanish, and they welcomed him gladly.

He had only been struck by a spent ball, and soon recovered, so as to be able to join Don Joachim Blake's force, and enter Valenzia with it, after several engagements.

Who does not know that the plain watered by the Guadalquivir, where stands the beautiful Valenzia with her stately towers, is an earthly paradise? All the heavenly delightsomeness of a sky for ever fair penetrates and pervades the hearts and souls of the dwellers there, for whom life is an unbroken festa. And this Valenzia was now the theatre of a most bitter and b.l.o.o.d.y war. Instead of the dulcet tones of the lute, stealing like the cooing of doves up in the nights to the trellised windows, the place resounded with the hollow rolling of guns and ammunition waggons, the wild challenge of sentries, and the weird, mysterious murmur of soldiery marching through the streets. All joy was driven into dumbness. All the white faces, drawn by grief and horror, had written upon them the dread antic.i.p.ation of terrible things imminent. The most furious execrations, offspring of inward fury, were showered upon the enemy. The Alameda--at other times the haunt of the gay world--was now a parade ground for the troops. Here Edgar one day, as he was standing alone, leaning against a tree, reflecting on the dark, adverse destiny which seemed to weigh upon Spain, observed that a man, far advanced in years, tall, and of haughty demeanour, who was walking up and down near him with long steps, stopped and scrutinized him keenly each time that he pa.s.sed him. At last Edgar accosted him, enquiring courteously what in him had attracted such a share of his attention. "I see that I was not mistaken," he answered, whilst a gloomy fire flashed from beneath his black, bushy eyebrows. "You are not a Spaniard--and yet, if your coat does not belie you, I am bound to look upon you as one who fights on our side. And that strikes me as rather remarkable." Edgar, though nettled at the brusquerie of this gentleman's address, told him, temperately enough, what had brought him to Spain.

But scarcely had he mentioned the name of Balda.s.sare di Luna than the old man cried out in much excitement, "Balda.s.sare di Luna do you say?

My beloved cousin! the dearest and most intimate friend I have left in the world." Edgar repeated all that had happened, not failing to mention the heavenly hopes with which Balda.s.sare had taken leave of life.

The old man clasped his hands, raised his eyes to heaven--his lips moved--he seemed to be communing with his departed friend. "Forgive me," he said, "if a gloomy mistrust, which is foreign to my character, influenced me against you. Some time ago it was believed that the accursed knavery of the enemy had gone so far as to introduce foreign officers amongst our forces to act as spies. The incidents at Tarragona but too much encouraged suspicions of this kind, and the Junta has now determined to expel all foreigners. Don Joachim Blake, however, has insisted that foreign engineers, at all events, are indispensable to him, solemnly engaging, at the same time, to shoot down every foreigner at once who is subject to the slightest ground of suspicion. If you are a friend of my Balda.s.sare you are undoubtedly a man of valour and honour. At all events, I have told you everything, and you can act accordingly." With this he took his departure.

The fortune of arms appeared to have completely abandoned the Spaniards, and the very courage of despair itself could avail nothing against the rapidly-advancing foe. Valenzia was hemmed in more and more closely on all sides, so that Blake, pushed to extremity, determined to force his way out with twelve thousand chosen troops. It is known that few succeeded in getting through, that the remainder were in part killed, in part driven back into the town. It was here that Edgar, at the head of the brave Ovihuela Rifle Regiment, managed to give a momentary check to the enemy, thus rendering the wild confusion of the flight less disastrous. But, as at Tarragona, a musket bullet struck him down at the crisis of the engagement. He described his condition from that moment till he regained clear consciousness as one inexplicably strange. It often seemed to him that he was in the thick of fighting. He would seem to hear the thunder of the cannon, the wild cries of the combatants--the Spaniards would seem to be advancing victorious, but as he was seized on by the joy of battle and starting off to lead his battalion under fire, he would seem to become suddenly paralysed, and sink down in unconscious insensibility. Then he would become clearly aware that he was lying on some soft bed, that people were giving him cool drink--he heard gentle voices speaking softly, and yet could not arouse himself from his dreams. Once, when he thought he was back in the thick of the battle, it seemed to him that he was grasped firmly by the shoulder, whilst a rifleman of the enemy's fired at him, striking him on the breast, where the bullet in an incomprehensible manner went slowly boring its way into the flesh with the most unspeakable torments till all sense of feeling sunk away into a deep, deathlike sleep.

Out of this death sleep Edgar awoke suddenly into full and clear consciousness, but in such strange surroundings that he could not form an idea as to where he might be. The soft luxurious bed with its silken curtains, was quite out of keeping with the small, low-roofed, dungeon-like vault of undressed stones in which it stood. A dim lamp shed a feeble light around--neither door nor window was discernible.

Edgar raised himself with difficulty, and saw that there was a Franciscan friar sitting in a corner, seemingly asleep. "Where am I?"

Edgar cried, with all the energy which he could concentrate.

The monk started from his sleep, trimmed the lamp, took it up, looked at Edgar's face by the light, felt his pulse, and murmured something which Edgar could not understand. He was going to interrogate the monk as to what had happened to him, when the wall opened noislessly, and a man came in whom Edgar immediately recognized as the person who had spoken to him on the Alameda. The monk called out to this person that the crisis was over and all would now go well. "Praise be to G.o.d," said the old gentleman, and approached nearer to Edgar's bed.

Edgar wished to speak, but the old gentleman prevented him, a.s.suring him that the slightest exertion would be dangerous to him still. It was natural that he should be surprised at finding himself in such surroundings, but a few words would be sufficient, not only to put him at his ease, but to explain why it had been necessary to place him in this dreary prison.

Edgar now learnt all. When he fell wounded in the breast the intrepid "battle-brethren," in spite of the hotness of the fire, had taken him up and transported him into the town. It happened that in the thick of the confusion Don Rafaele Marchez (this was the old man's name) saw the wounded Edgar, and instead of his being sent to the hospital he was carried to Don Rafaele's own house at once, so that the friend of his Balda.s.sare might have every possible care. His wound was serious enough in itself, but the peculiar danger of his condition was the violent nervous fever, traces of which had previously displayed themselves, which now broke out in all its fury. It is matter of notoriety that a tremendous fire had been kept up on Valenzia for three days and nights with the most terrible effect, that all the terror and horror of this bombardment spread abroad in this city thronged to excess with people--that the self-same populace, excited to fury by the Junta, after insisting that Blake should keep up the defence to the very utmost, turned round and demanded an immediate surrender under the most violent threats--that Blake, with heroic self-command, drove the crowds asunder by Walloon Guards, and then made an honourable capitulation to Souchet. Don Rafaele Marchez would not allow Edgar, sick unto death, to fall into the enemy's hands. As soon as the capitulation was arranged and the enemy within the walls of Valenzia, Edgar was removed to the vault, where he was safe against discovery. "Friend of my sainted Balda.s.sare," (thus he finished his narrative) "be _my_ friend too. Your blood has flowed for my country--every drop of it has fallen seething into my breast, and washed away every vestige of the mistrust which cannot but arise in this fateful time. The same fire which enflames the Spaniard to the most bitter hatred flashes up in his friendship too, making him capable of every deed, every sacrifice, for his ally. My house is occupied by the enemy, but you are in safety, for I swear to you that whatever happens I will rather let myself be buried under the ruins of Valenzia than betray you. Believe me in this."