The school of Cecilia was not only at the summit of the hill, it was the only building on the summit; it was isolated, and in its isolation grand. There were cottages in orchards, vine-gardens, fertile lands, an ancient church, sprinkled upon the sides, or nestling in the slopes; but itself looked lonely and consecrated, as in verity it might be named. A belt of glorious trees, dark and dense as a Druid grove, surrounded with an older growth the modern superstructure; but its basis had been a feudal ruin, whose entrance still remained; a hall, a wide waste of room, of rugged symmetry and almost twilight atmosphere. A court-yard in front was paved with stone, and here were carriages and unharnessed horses feeding happily. The doorway of the hall was free; we entered together, and my companion left me one moment while he made some arrangements with the porter, who was quite alone in his corner. Otherwise silence reigned, and also it seemed with solitude; for no one peered among the strong square pillars that upheld as rude a gallery,—the approach to which was by a sweeping staircase of the brightest oak with noble balustrades. Two figures in bronze looked down from the landing-place on either hand, and as we passed between them I felt their size, if not their beauty, overawe me as the shadow of the entrance. They were, strange to say, not counterparts, though companion forms of the same head, the same face, the same dun laurelcrown; but the one gathered its drapery to its breast, and stretched its hand beckoningly towards the portal,—the other with outstretched arm pointed with an expression almost amounting to menace down the gallery. In niched archways there, one door after another met the eye, massive and polished, but all closed.
I implicitly trusted in my companion. I felt sure he possessed a charm to open all those doors, and I followed him as he still lightly, as if upon grass, stepped from entrance to entrance, not pausing until he reached the bend of the gallery. Here was a door unlike the others,—wider, slighter, of cloth and glass; and stealing from within those media, with a murmur soft as incense, came a mist of choral sounds, confusing me and captivating me at once, so that I did not care to stir until the mist dissolved and ceased, and I was yet by my companion's side without the door.
"We may enter now, I think," he said; for he had waited reverently as I, and he gently pushed those folds.
They slid back, and we entered a narrow lobby, very dim and disenchanted looking. Still softly we proceeded to another door within, which I had not discovered, and he touched that too with an air of subtile and still authority. I was dazzled the first instant; but he took my hand directly, and drew me forwards with him to a seat in some region of enchantment. As I sat by him there I soon recovered myself to the utmost, and beheld before me a sight which I shall not easily forget, nor ever cease to hold as it was presented to me on that occasion.
It was a vast and vaulted room; whether of delicate or decided architecture I could not possibly declare, such a dream it was of wreaths and mystic floral arches.Pillars twined with gold-bloomed lime-branches rose burdened with them to the roof, there mixing into the long festoons of oak-leaf that hung as if they grew there from the gray-brown rafters. Everywhere was a drooping odor that had been oppressive, most unendurably sweet, but for the strong air wafted and ruffling through the open windows on either hand.
We were sitting quite behind all others, on the loftiest tier of seats, that were raised step by step so gently upwards to the back, and beneath us were seats all full, where none turned nor seemed to talk; for all eyes were surely allured and riveted by the scenery to the fronting end. It was a lofty, arched recess, spanning the extreme width of the hall; a window, half a dome, of glass poured down a condensed light upon two galleries within, which leaned into the form of the arch itself, and were so thickly interlaced with green that nothing else was visible except the figures which filled them, draperied in white, side by side in shining rows,—like angels, so I thought. Young men and boys above, in flowing robes as choristers, overhung the maiden forms of the gallery below; and of these last, every one wore roses on the breast, as well as glistening raiment. These galleries of greenery were themselves overhanging a platform covered with dark-green cloth, exquisitely fluted at the sides, and drawn in front over three or four steps that raised it from the flooring of the hall. A band in two divisions graced the ground floor. I caught the sight immediately; but upon the platform itself stood a pianoforte alone, a table covered with dark-green velvet, and about a dozen dark-green velvet chairs. These last were all filled except one, and its late occupant had pushed that one chair back while he stood at the top of the table, with something glittering in hishand, and other somethings glittering before him upon the dark-green surface. As we entered, indeed, he was so standing, and I took in all I have related with one glance, it was, though green, so definite.
"Look well at that gentleman who stands," whispered my guide, most slowly; "it is he who is dispensing the prizes. He is Monsieur Milans-André, whom you wished to see."
I am blessed with a long sight, and I took a long survey; but lest I should prejudice the reader, my criticisms shall remain in limbo.
"When we heard the singing it was that he had just dispensed a medal; and it is so the fellow-competitors hail the successful student. If I mistake not, there is another advancing; but it is too far for us to hear his name. Do you see your master at the awful table? But soft! I think his face is not this way."
"Oh!" I thought, and I laughed in my sleeve, "he is dreaming I am safe at home, if he dreams about me at all, which is a question." But I was not looking after him; I took care to watch Milans-André, feeling sure my guide would prefer not to be stared upon in a public place like that.
The voice that called the candidates was high in key, and not unrefined; but what best pleased me was to see one advance,—a boy, all blushing and bowing to receive a golden medal, which Milans-André, his very self, with his own hands, flung round the youngling's neck by its long blue ribbon; for then the same sweet verse in semi-chorus sounded from the loftiest gallery, the males alone repeating it for their brother. I could not distinguish the words, but the style was quitealla Tedesca.
Then another youth approached, and received moreairily a silver token, with the same blue ribbon and songful welcome. Another and another, and at last the girls were called.
"See!" said my guide, "they have put the ladies last! That shall not be when I take the reins of the committee. Oh, for the Cecilian chivalry! what a taunting remembrance I will make it."
He was smiling, but I was surprised at the eagerness of his tones.
"Does it matter, sir?" said I.
"Signify? It signifies so much the more that it is a little thing, a little token. But it shall not grow; it shall not swell. See, see! look, Charles! what name was that?"
I had not heard it either, but the impetuosity in his tones was so peculiar that I was constrained to look up at him. His eye was dilated; a singular flash of light rather than flush of color glowed upon his face, as if glory from the noonday sun had poured itself through the impervious roof. But his gaze forbade my gaze, it was so fixed and piercing upon something at the end of the hall. Imperceptibly to myself I followed it. The first maiden who had approached the chair was now turning to re-pass into her place. She was clad, like the galleried ones, in white; but her whole aspect was unlike theirs, for instead of the slow step and lingering blush, her movement was a sort of flight, as if her feet were sandalled with the wind, back again among the crowd; and as she fled, you could only discern some strange gleam of unusual grace in a countenance drooping, but not bashfully, and veiled with waves, not ringlets, of hair more dark than pine-trees at midnight; also, it was impossible not to notice the angry putting back of one gloved hand, which crushed up the goldenmedal and an end of the azure ribbon, while the other was trailing upon the ground.
"She does not like it; she is proud, I suppose!" said I; and I laughed almost loud. "I thought you knew them all, sir?"
"No, Charles, I was never here before; but as I am to have something to do with what they do soon, I thought I had a right to come to-day."
"A right!" said I; "who else, if you had not the right, sir? But still I wonder how we got in so easily,—I mean I; for if you had not brought me, I could not, I suppose, have come."
"It is this," he answered smiling, and he touched his professor's cloak, or robe, which was now encircling his shoulders, and waved about him pliantly. "They all wear the same on entering these walls, at least who sit at the green table."
The choral welcome, meantime, had pealed from the lower gallery, and another had advanced and retired from the ranks beneath. My companion was intently gazing, not at the maiden troop, but at the deep festoons above us. He seemed to see nothing there though, and the very position of his hands, resting upon each other and entirely relaxed, bore witness to the languor of his abstraction. It occurred to me how very cool they were, both those who distributed, and those who received the medals; I felt there was an absence of the strict romance, if I may so name it, I had expected when I entered; for as we sat, and whence we saw, all was ideal to the sight, and the sense was even lost in the spiritual appreciation of an exact proportionateness to the occasion. Yet the silence alternating with the rising and abating voices, the harmony of the coloring and shadowing, the dim rustle of the green festoons, the wafturesof woody and blossomy fragrance, the indoor forest feeling, so fresh and wild,—all should have stood me in stead, perhaps, of the needless enthusiasm I should have looked for in such a meeting, or have witnessed without surprise. I was not wise enough at that time to define the precise degree and kind of enthusiasm I should have required to content me, but perhaps it would be impossible even now for any degree to content me, or for any kind not to find favor in my eyes, if natural and spontaneously betrayed. The want I felt, however, was just a twilight preparation of the faculties for the scene that followed.
The last silver medal had been carried from the table, the last white-robed nymph had sought her seat with the ribbon streaking her drapery, when both the choral forces rose and sang together the welcome in more exciting fulness. And then they all sat down, and a murmur of voices and motion began to roll on all sides, as if some new part were to be played over.
The band arose on either side, and after a short, deferential pause, as if calling attention to something, commenced with perfect precision Weber's "Jubel" overture.[15]It was my companion who told me its name, whispering it into my ear; and I listened eagerly, having heard of its author in every key of praise.
I did not much care for the effect, though it was as cool as needed to be after those cool proceedings. I dearly wanted to ask him whether he loved it; but it was unnecessary, for I could see it was even nothing to him by his face. He seemed passing judgment proudly, furtively, on all that chanced around him, and I couldnot but feel that he searched all, governed all with his eye from that obscure corner.
Immediately on the conclusion of the overture several professors left the table and clustered round the pianoforte. One opened it, and then Milans-André approached, and waving his creamy gloves, unclothed his hands, and stood at the front of the platform. Some boisterous shouts arose,—they began near his station, and were imitated from the middle benches; but there was an undemonstrative coldness even in these; they seemed from the head, not the heart, as one might say. The artist did not appear distressed,—indeed, he looked too classically self-reliant to require encouragement.
He was what might be called extremely handsome. There was a largeness about his features that would have told well in a bust,—they were perfectly finished; also a Phidias could not have planed another polish on the most oval nostril, a Canova could not have pumiced unparted lips to more appropriate curve. His eyes were too far for me to search, but I did not long to come at their full expression. He stood elegantly, while the plaudits made their way among the muffling leaves, and therein went to sleep; the golden flowers of the lindens hung down withering, smitten by the terror of his presence! My companion—to my surprise, my bewilderment even—applauded also, but, as it were, mechanically; he stood beside me on that topmost tier applauding, but his eyes were still fixed upon the roof. I heard his voice among the others, and it was just at that instant that some one, andthatsome one in a professor's robe, a gentleman of sage demeanor, started from one of the lower tiers and looked back suddenly at him; as suddenly fired, flushed, lighted, all over his face, wise and grave as it was.Hesaw not, still rapt,still looking upwards; but I saw and felt,—felt certain of the impressions received. A sort of whisper crept along the tier,—a portentous thrill; one and another, all turned, and before I could gather with my glance who had left them, several seats were voided beneath us.
In a few minutes I heard a long and silver thundering chord. I knew it was the reveille of the wonderful Milans-André; but so many persons were standing and running that I could not see, and could scarcely hear. Soon all must have heard less. As the keys continued to flash in unmitigated splendor, a rushing noise seemed arising also from the floor to the ceiling; it was, indeed, an earnest of my own pent-up enthusiasm that could not be repressed, for I found myself shouting, hurrahing beneath my breath, as all did around me. I was not mistaken; some one opened the door by which we had entered, gustily, violently, and drew my companion away. Before I thought of losing him, he was gone,—I knew not whether led or carried; I knew not whether aroused or in the midst of his high abstraction.
I pressed downwards, climbing over the benches, driving my way among those who stood, that I might see all as well as feel; but at length I stood upon a seat and beheld what was worth beholding, is bright to remember; but oh, how hopeless to record! Just so might a painter dream to pour upon his canvas an extreme effect of sunset,—those gorgeous effusions of golden flame and blinding roses that are dashed into dazzling mist before our hearts have gathered them to us, have made them, in beauty so blazingly serene, our own.
The sound of the keys, so brilliant, grew dulled as by a tempest voice in distance; not alone the hurrahs, the vivas, but the stir, the crash of the dividing multitude. And before almost I could believe it, I beheld movingthrough the cloven crowd that slight and unembarrassed form; but he seemed alone to move as if urged by some potent necessity, for his head was carried loftily, and there was not the shadow of a smile upon his face.
It was evident that the people, between pressing and thronging, were determined to conduct him to the platform; and it struck me, from his hasty step and slightly troubled air, that he longed to reach it, for calm to be restored. Milans-André, meantime,—will it be believed?—continued playing, and scarcely raised his eyes as my conductor at length mounted the steps, and seemed to my sight to shrink among those who now stood about him. But it was hopeless to restore the calm. I knew that from the first. He had no sooner trodden the elevation than a burst of joyous welcome that drowned the keys, that drenched the very ear, forced the pianist to quit his place. No one looked at him of young or old, except those who had confronted him at the table. They surrounded him, some with smiles and eager questions; some with provoking gravity. The other was left alone to stem, as it were, that tide of deafening acclaim; he slightly compressed his lip, made a slight motion forwards; he lifted his hand with the slight deprecation that modesty or pride might have suggested alike,—still hopelessly. The arrears of enthusiasm demanded to be paid with interest; the trampings, the shower-like claps, the shouts, only deepened, widened tenfold: the multitude became a mob, and frantic,—but with a glorious zeal! Some tore handfuls of the green adorning the pillars, and passing it forward, it was strewn on the steps. From the galleries hung the excited children, girls and boys, and dividing their bouquets, rained the roses upon his head, that floated, crimson and pink and pearly, to the green floor beneath hisfeet. With a sort of delicate desperation he shook his hair from those dropped flowers, and for one instant hid his face; the next, flung down his hands, and smiled a flashing smile,—so that, from lip to brow, it was as if some sunbeam fluttered in the cage of a rosy cloud, smiling above, below, and everywhere it seemed,—ran round the group of professors to the piano, and without seating himself, without prelude, began a low and hymn-like melody.
Oh! that you had heard the lull, like a dream dying, dissolving from the awakening brain,—the deep and tremendous, yet living and breathing stillness,—that sank upon each pulse of that enthusiasm raised and fanned by him, and by him absorbed and hidden to brood and be at rest!
I know not which I felt the most, the passion of that almost bursting heart of silence, as it were, rolled together into a purple bud from its noon-day efflorescence by the power that had alone been able to unsheathe its glories,—or that stealing, creeping People's Song, that in few and simple chords, beneath one slender, tender pair of hands, held bound, as it were, and condensed in one voice the voice of myriads. For myself, I writhed with bliss, I was petrified into desolation by delight; but I was not singular on that occasion, for those around me seemed alone to live, to breathe, that they might receive and retain those few precious golden notes, and learn those glorious lineaments, so pale, so radiant with the suddenly starting hectic, as his hands still stirred the keys to a fiercer inward harmony than that they veiled by touch.
It was not long, that holy People's Song; I scarcely think it lasted five minutes,—certainly not more; but the effect may be better conceived, and the power of theplayer appreciated, when I say not one note was lost: each sounded, rang almost hollow, in the intense pervading silence.
"It is over," I thought, as he raised those slender hands, after a rich reverberating pause on the final chord, swelling with dim arpeggios on the harmony as into the extreme of vaulting distance,—"it is over; and they will make that dreadful noise unless he plays again." Never have I been so mistaken: but how could I anticipate aught of him? For as he moved he fixed his eyes upon the audience, so that each individual must have felt the glance within his soul,—so seemed to feel it; for it expressed a command sheathed in a supplication, unearthly, irresistible, that the applause should not be renewed.
There was perfect stillness, and he turned to Milans-André and spoke. Every one beneath the roof must have heard his words, for they were distinct as authoritatively serene. "Will you be so good as to resume your seat?" And as if swayed by some angel power,—such as drove the ass of Balaam to the wall,—the imperial pianist sat down, flushed and rather ruffled, but with a certain pomp it was trying to me to witness, and re-commenced the concerto which had been so opportunely interrupted. Attention seemed restored, so far as the ear of the multitude was concerned; but every eye wandered to him who now stood behind the player and turned the leaves of the composition under present interpretation.Heseemed attentive enough,—not the slightest motion of his features betrayed an unsettled thought. His eyes were bent proudly, but calmly, upon the page; the rose light had faded from his cheek as the sunset flows from heaven into eternity,—but how did he feel? Hopeless to record, because hopeless toimagine. Perhaps nothing; the triumph so short but bright had no doubt become such phantasm as an unnoticeable yesterday to one whose future is fraught with expectation.
The concerto was long and elaborately handled. I felt I really should have admired it, have been thereby instructed, had nothebeen there. But there is something grotesque in talent when genius, even in repose, is by. It is as the splendor of a festive illumination when the sun is rising upon the city; that brightness of the night turns pale and sick, while the celestial darkness is passing away into day. There was an oppression upon all that I heard, for something different had unprepared me for anything, everything, except something else like itself. The committee were again at the table, and when I grew weary of the second movement, I looked for my master, and found him exactly opposite, but certainly not conscious of me. His beard was delightfully trimmed, and his ink-black eyebrows were just as usual; but I had never seen such an expression as that with which he regarded theone. It was as if a stone had rolled from his heart, and it had begun to beat like a child's; it was as if his youth were renewed, like the eagle's; it was as if he were drinking, silently but deeply, celestial knowledge from those younger heavenly eyes. "Does he love him so well, then?" thought I. Oh that I had known it, Aronach, for then I should have loved you, have found you out! But of course you don't think we are worthy to partake such feeling, and I don't know but that you are right to keep it from us. "Would that concerto never be over?" was my next surmise,—it was about the longest process of exhaustion to which I had ever been subjected. As for me, I yawned until I was dreadfully ashamed; but when Ibethought myself to look round, lo! there were five or six just out of yawns as well, and a few who had passed that stage and closed their eyes. It never struck me as unconscionable that we should tire, when we might gaze upon the face of him who had shown himself ready to control us all; indeed, I do believe that had there been nothing going on, no concerto, no Milans-André, but that he had stood there silent, just as calm and still,—we should never have wearied the whole day long of feeding upon the voiceless presence, the harmony unresolved. But do you not know, oh, reader! the depression, the protracted suffering occasioned by the contemplation of any work of art—in music, in verse, in color, or in form—that is presented to us as model, that we coaxed to admire and enticed to appreciate, after we have accidentally but immediately beforehand experienced one of those ideal sensations that, whether awakened by Nature, by Genius, or by Passion suddenly elated, claim and condense our enthusiasm, so that we are not aware of its existence except on a renewal of that same sensation so suddenly dashed away from us as our sober self returns, and our world becomes again to-day, instead of that eternal something,—new, not vague, and hidden, but not lost?
So absorbed was I, either in review or revery, that I felt not when the concerto closed, and should have remained just where I was, had not the door swung quietly behind me. I saw who beckoned me from beyond it, and was instantly with him. He had divested himself of his cloak, and seemed ready rather to fly than to walk, so light was his frame, so elastic were his motions. He said, as soon as we were on the stairs:
"I should have come for you long ago, but I thought it was of no use until such time as I could find something you might eat; for, Carlomein, you must be very hungry. I have caused you to forego your dinner, and it was very hard of me; but if you will come with me, you shall have something good and see something pretty."
"I am not hungry, sir," I of course replied; but he put up his white finger,—
"I am, though; please to permit me to eat! Come this way."
He led me along a passage on the ground-floor of the entrance hall and through an official-looking apartment to a lively scene indeed. This was a room without walls, a sort of garden-chamber leading to the grounds of the Academy, now crowded; for the concerto had concluded, with the whole performance, and the audience had dispersed immediately, though not by the way we came, for we had met no one. Pillars here and thereupheld the roof, which was bare to the beams, and also dressed with garlands. Long tables were spread below, all down the centre, and smaller ones at the sides, each covered with beautiful white linen, and decked with fluttering ribbons and little knots of flowers. Here piles of plates and glasses, coffee-cups and tureens, betokening the purport of this pavilion; but they were nothing to the baskets trimmed with fruits, the cakes and fancy bread, the masses of sweetmeat in all imaginable preparation. The middle of the largest table was built up with strawberries only, and a rill of cream poured from a silver urn into china bowls at the will of a serene young female who seemed in charge. A great many persons found their way hither, and were crowding to the table, and the refreshing silence was only broken by the restless jingle of spoons and crockery. My guide smiled with a sprightly air.
"Come! we must find means to approach as well, for the strawberry pyramid will soon not have left one stone upon another."
I made way instantly to the table, and with no small difficulty smuggled a plate and had it filled with strawberries. I abjured the cream, and so did he to whom I returned; but we began to wander up and down.
"Let me recommend you," said he, "a slice of white bread; it is so good with strawberries; otherwise you must eat some sausage, for that fruit will never serve alone,—you might as well starve entirely, or drink dew-water."
"I don't see any bread," I answered, laughing; "it is all eaten."
"Oh, oh!" he returned, and with the air of Puck he tripped across the pavilion to a certain table from whichthe fair superintendent had flown. The ribbons and wreaths danced in the breeze, but the white linen was bare of a single loaf.
"Imusthave some bread for thee, Carlomein; and I, indeed, myself begin to feel the want unknown to angels."
Could this be the same, it struck me, who discoursed like an angel of that high throng? So animated was he, such a sharp brightness sparkled in his eyes.
"Somebody has run away with the loaf on purpose," he continued, with his dancing smile; "I saw a charming loaf as I came in, but then the strawberries put it out of my head, and lo! it is gone."
"Iwillget some bread!" and off I darted out of the pavilion, he after me, and all eyes upon us.
It was a beautiful scene in the air: a lovely garden, not too trim, but diversified with mounds and tree-crowned slopes, all furnished with alcoves, or seats and tables. Here was a hum of voices, there a fragment of part-song scattered by a laugh, or hushed with reverent shyness as all arose, whether sitting or lying, to uncover the head as my companion passed. There were groups of ten or twelve, five or six, or two and two together; many sat upon the grass, itself so dry and mossy; and it was upon one of these parties, arranged in half Elysian, half gypsy style, that my companion fixed his thrilling eyes.
He darted across the grass. "I have it! I see it!" and I was immediately upon his footsteps. These were all ladies; and as they wore no bonnets, they could not uncover, but at the same time they were not conscious of our approach at first. They made a circle, and had spread a linen cloth upon the fervid floor: each had a plate, and almost every one was eating, except a younggirl in the very middle of the ring. She was dispensing, slice by slice, our missing bread-cake. But I did not look farther, for I was lost in observing my guide; not understanding his expression, which was troubled and fallen, while his light tones shook the very leaves.
"Ah, the thieves, the rogues, to steal the bread from our very mouths! Did I not know where I should find it? You cannot want it all: give us one slice, only one little slice! for we are starving, as you do not know, and beggars, as you cannot see, for we look like gentlemen."
I never shall forget the effect of his words upon the little group; all were scared and scattered in a moment,—all except the young lady who held the loaf in her lap. I do not say she stirred not, on the contrary, it was the impulsive grace of her gesture, as she swayed her hand to a little mound of moss by her side, just deserted, that made me start and turn to see her, that turned me fromhisface a moment. "Ah! who art thou?" involuntarily sounded in my yet unaverted ear. He spoke as if to me, but how could I reply? I was lost as he, but in far other feelings than his,—at least I thought so, for I was surprised at his ejaculatory wonder.
"I will cut some bread for you, sir, if you will condescend to sit," said a voice, which was as that of a child at its evening prayer, so full it was of an innocentidlesse, notnaïveté, but differing therefrom as differs the lisp of infancy from the stammer of diffident manhood.
"I should like to sit; come also, Carlomein," replied my companion; and in defiance of all the etiquette of social Germany, which so defiantly breathes ice between the sexes, I obeyed. So did he his own intention; for he not only remained, but knelt on one knee, while gazing with two suns in his eyes, he recalled the scattered company.
"Come back! come back!" he cried; "I order you!" and his silent smile seemed beckoning as he waved his elfin hand. One strayed forward, blushing through the hair; another disconcerted; and they all seemed sufficiently puzzled.
The gathering completed, my conductor took up the basket and peeped into every corner, laughed aloud, handed it about, and stole no glance at the maiden president. I was watching her, though for a mighty and thrilling reason, that to describe in any measure is an expectation most like despair. Had she been his sister, the likeness between them had been more earthly,—less appalling. I am certain it struck no one else present, and it probably might have suggested itself to no one anywhere besides, as I have since thought; butmeit clove through heart and brain, like a two-edged sword whose temper is light instead of steel. So I saw and felt that she partook intimately, not alone of his nature, but of his inspiration; not only of his beauty, but his unearthly habit. And now, how to breathe in words the mystery that was never explained on earth! He was pure and clear, his brow like sun-flushed snow high lifted into light,—her own dark if soft, and toned with hues of night from the purple under-deeps of her heavy braiding hair. His features were of mould so rare that their study alone as models would have superseded by a new ideal the old fresh glories of the Greek marble world,—hers were flexibly inexpressive, all their splendor slept in uncharacteristic outline, and diffused themselves from her perfect eyes, as they awoke on her parted lips.
His eyes, so intense and penetrative, so wise and brilliant, with all their crystal calm and rousing fire, were as unlike hers as the sun in the diamond to the sun uponthe lonely sea. In hers the blue-green transparence seemed to serve alone as a mirror to reflect all hues of heaven; in his, the heaven within as often struggled with the paler show of paradise that Nature lent him in his exile. But if I spoke of the rest,—of the traits that pierce only when the mere veiling loveliness is rent asunder,—I should say it must ever bid me wonder to have discovered the divine fraternity in such genuine and artless symbol. It was as if the same celestial fire permeated their veins,—the same insurgent longings lifted their very feet from the ground. The elfin hands of which I spoke were not more rare, were not more small and subtile, than the little grasping fingers she extended to offer him the bread, and from which his own received it. Nor was there wanting in her smile the strange immortal sweetness that signalized his own,—hers broke upon her parted lips like fragrance, the fragrance thathisseemed to bear from the bursting buds of thought in the sunshine of inward fancy. But what riveted the resemblance most was the instancy of their sympathetic communion. While those around had quietly resumed their occupation, too busy to talk,—though certainly they might have been forgiven for being very hungry,—he, no more kneeling, but rather lying than sitting, with his godlike head turned upwards to the sky, continued to accost her, and I heard all they said.
"I knew you again directly, you perceive, but you do not look so naughty now as you did in the school; you were even angry, and I cannot conceive why."
"Cannot you, sir?" she replied, without the slightest embarrassment. "I wonder whetheryouwould like to be rewarded for serving music."
"Itrewardsus, you cannot avoid its reward; but Iagree with you about the silver and the gold. We will have no more medals."
"They like them, sir, those who have toiled for them, and who would not toil but for the promise of something to show."
"And the blue ribbons are very pretty."
"So is the blue sky, and they can neither give it us nor take it from us; nor can they our reward."
"And that reward?" asked he.
"Is to suffer for its sake," she answered.
He lifted his eyebrows in a wondering archness. "To suffer? To suffer, who alone enjoy, and are satisfied, and glorify happiness above all others, and above all other things?"
"Not all suffer, only the faithful; and to suffer is not to sorrow, and of all joy the blossom-sorrow prepares the fruit."
"And how old are you whose blossom-sorrow I certainly cannot find in any form upon your maiden presence?"
"You smile, and seem to say, 'Thou hast not yetlivedthe right to speak,—purchased by experience the freedom of speech.' I am both young and old. I believe I am younger than any just here, and I know more than they all do."
"Was it pride," thought I, "that curled beneath those tones so flowery soft?" for there was a lurking bitterness I had not found inhim.
"Not younger than this one;" he took my hand and spread it across his knee. "These fingers are to weave the azure ribbon next."
"He is coming, I know, but is not come; his name is upon the books. I hope he will not be an out-Cecilian, because I should like to know him, and we cannotknow very well those who do not reside within the walls."
"He is one of my very friendly ones. Will you also be very friendly with him?"
"I always will. Be friendly now!" and she smiled upon me an instant, very soon letting fall her eyes, in which I then detected a Spanish droop of the lids, though, when raised, her glance dispelled the notion, for the brightness there shone all unshorn by the inordinate length of the lashes, and I never saw eyes so light, with lashes so defined and dark.
"So, sir, this azure ribbon which you admire is also to be woven for him?" she continued, as if to prolong the conversation.
"Not if symbols are to be the order of the day, for, Carlomein, your color is notblue."
"No, sir; it is violet, you said."
"We sayblue violets."
"Yes, sir," she responded quickly. "So we say the blue sky at night; but how different at night and by day! The violet holds the blue, but also that deeper soul by the blue alone made visible. All sounds seem to sleep in one, when that is the violin."
"You are speaking too well; it makes me afraid you will be disappointed," I said in my first surprise. Then, feeling I had blundered, "I mean in me."
"That would make no difference. Music is, and is eternal. We cannot add one moment to its eternity, nor by our inaptitude diminish the proper glory of our art. Is it not so, sir?" she inquired of him.
Like a little child somewhat impatient over a morning lesson, he shook his hair back and sprang upon his feet.
"I wish you to show me the garden before I go: is this where you walk? And where is the Raphael?"
"That is placed in the conservatory, by order of Monsieur Milans-André."
"Monsieur myself will have it moved. Why in the conservatory, I wonder? It should beat home, I think."
"It does look very well there to-day, as it is hung with its peculiar garland,—the white roses."
"Yes, the angel-roses. Oh, come, see, let us go to the angel-roses!" and he ran down the bank of grass, and over the lawn among the people.
I was very much surprised at his gleeful impatience, not knowing a whit to what they alluded; and I only marvelled that no one came to fetch him, that we were suffered so long to retain him. We followed, I not even daring to look at the girl who had so expressed herself in my hearing, as to make me feel there were others who alsofelt; and turning the corner of the pavilion, we came into the shadow of a lovely walk planted and arched with lindens. It ran from a side door of the school house to an indefinite distance. We turned into this grove, and there again we found him.
"How green, how ravishing!" he exclaimed, as the sunsprent shadows danced upon the ground. "Oh! that scent of scents, and sweetest of all sweetnesses, the linden flower! You hold with me there, I think?"
"Yes, entirely; and yet it seems just sweet enough to promise, not to be, all sweetness."
"I do not hold with you there. All that is sweet we cherish for itself,—or I do,—and I could not be jealous of any other sweetness when one sweetness filled up my soul."
"Yes," I thought; but I did not express it, even to myself, as it now occurs to me,—"thatis the difference between your two temperaments." And so indeed itwas:heaspired so high that he could taste all sweetness in every sweetness, even here;she—younger, weaker, frailer—could only lose herself between the earth and heaven, and dared not cherish any sweetness to the utmost, while here unsafely wandering.
"And this conservatory,—how do you use it?"
"We do not use it generally; we may walk round it: but on state occasions refreshments are served there to our professors and their friends. I daresay it will be so to-day."
"There will be people in there, you mean? In that case I think I shall remain, and sun myself on the outside. You, Carlomein, shall go in and look at the picture for me."
"Is it a picture, sir? But I cannot see it for you; I should be afraid. I wish you would come in, sir!"
"Ah, I know why! You are frightened lest Aronach should pounce upon you,—is it not?"
I laughed. "A little, sir."
"Well, in that case Iwillcome in. It does look inviting,—pretty room!"
We stopped at the conservatory door. It was rather large, and very long; a table down the centre was dressed with flowers, and overflowing dishes decked the board. There were no seats, but a narrow walk ran round, and over this the foreign plants were grouped richly, and with excelling taste. The roof was not curtained with vine-leaves, as in England, but it was covered with the immense leaves and ivory-yellow blossoms of the magnolia grandiflora, which made the small arched space appear expanded to immensity by the largeness of its type, and gave to all the exotics an air of home.
At the end of the vista, some thirty feet in length,there were several persons all turned from us; and as we crept along, one by one, until we reached that end, the odors of jasmine and tuberose were heavy upon every breath. I felt as if I must faint until we attained that point where a cool air entered; refreshing, though itself just out of the hottest sunshine I had almost ever felt. This breeze came through arched doors on either hand half open and met in two embracing currents where the picture hung. All were looking at the picture, and I instantly refrained from criticism. It was hung by invisible cords to the framework of the conservatory, and thence depended. About it and around it clustered the deep purple bells and exquisite tendrils and leaves of the maurandia, while the scarlet passion-flower met it above and mingled its mystic splendors. Other strange glories, but for me nameless, pressing underneath, shed their glowing smiles from fretted urns or vases; but around the frame, and so close to the picture as to hide its other frame entirely, lay the cool white roses, in that dazzling noon so seeming, and amidst those burning colors. The picture itself was divine as painting can render its earthly ideal, so strictly significant of the set rules of beauty. All know the "Saint Cecilia" of Raphael d'Urbino; this was one of the oldest copies, and was the greatest treasure of the committee, having been purchased for an extravagant sum by the president from the funds of the foundation,—a proceeding I did not clearly comprehend, but was too ignorant to tamper with. It was the young lady who enlightened me as I stood by her side. Of those who stood there I concluded the most part had already refreshed themselves; they held plates or glasses, and in a few moments first one and then another recognized our companion, and that with a reverential impressiveness it charmed me tobehold. It may have been the result of his exquisitely bright and simple manner, for he had wholly put aside the awful serene reserve that had controlled the crowd in public. Milans-André happened to be there; I beheld him now, and also saw that, taking hold upon that arm I should not have presumed to touch, he drew on our guide as if away from us. But this one stayed, and resting his hand upon the table, inquired with politeness for a court,—
"Where is your wife? Is she here to-day? I want to show her to a young gentleman."
Milans-André looked down upon him, for he was quite a head taller, though not tall himself. "She is here, but not in here. I left her with the Baroness Silberung. Come and see her in-doors. She will be highly flattered."
"No, I am not coming; I have two children to take charge of. Where is Professor Aronach?"
"In the committee-room, and in a great rage,—with you, too, it appears, Chevalier."
"With me, is it? I am so glad!"
He stepped back to us.
"I do not believe that any one can make him so angry as I can! It is charming, Carlomein!"
Oh, that name, that dear investment! How often it thrilled me and troubled me with delight that day.
"I suppose, sir, I have something to do with it."
Before he could reply, Milans-André had turned back, and with scornful complacency awaited him near a glass dish of ices dressed with ice-plant. He looked revengeful, too, as he helped himself; and on our coming up, he said, "Do you eat nothing, Chevalier?" while filling a plate with the pink-frozen strawberry.
"Oh! I could eat it, if I would; for who could resist that rose-colored snow? But I have no time to eat; I must go find Aronach, for I dreamed I should find him here."
"My dear Chevalier, drink then with me!"
"In Rhine wine? Oh, yes, mein Herr Professor! and let us drink to all other professors and chevaliers in ourselves represented."
The delicately caustic tones in which he spoke were, as it were, sheathed by the unimpeachable grace of his demeanor as he snatched first one, and then another, and the third, of three tall glasses, and filling them from the tapering bottle to the brim, presented one to the lovely girl who had screened herself behind me, one to myself, and the third to himself; all the while regarding Milans-André, who was preparing his own, with a mirthful expression, still one of the very sweetest that could allure the gaze.
When André looked up, he turned a curious paleness, and seemed almost stoned with surprise. I could neither understand the one nor the other; but after our pledge, which we two heartily responded to, my maiden companion gave me a singular beckoning nod, which the instant reminded me of Miss Lawrence, and at the same time moved and stood four or five steps away. I followed to the pomegranate plant.
"Come even closer," she whispered; "for I daresay you are curious about those two."
If she had not been, as she was, most unusually beautiful to behold, I should dearly have grudged her that expression,—"those two;" but she constrained me by her sea-blue eyes to attentive silence.
"You see what a power has the greater one over the other. I have never seenhimbefore, but my brother hastold me about him; besides, here he is worshipped, and no wonder. The Cecilia School was founded by one Gratianos, aBachist, about forty years ago, but not to succeed all at once, of course; the foundations were too poor, and the intentions too sublime. Louis Spohr's works brought us first into notice, because our students distinguished themselves at a certain festival four years ago. The founder died about that time, and had not Milans-André put himself in the way to be elected president, we should have gone to nothing; but he was rich, and wanted to be richer, so he made of us a speculation, and his name was sufficient to fill the classes from all parts of Europe. But we should have worse than gone to nothing soon, for we were slowly crystallizing into the same order as certain other musical orders that shall not be named, for perhaps you would not know what I mean by quoting them."
"I could, if you would explain to me, and I suppose you mean the music that is studied is not so select as it should be."
"That is quite enough to the purpose," she proceeded, with quite an adult fluency. "About three months ago we gave a great concert. The proceeds were for enlarging the premises, and we had a great crowd,—not in the room we used to-day, which is new, but in the large room we shall now keep for rehearsals. After the concert, which André conducted, and at which all the prodigies assisted, the conductor read us a letter. It was from one we had all heard of, and whom many of us loved secretly, and dared not openly, for reasons sad and many,—from the 'Young Composer,' as André satirically chose to call him, the Chevalier Seraphael."
"Oh!" I cried, "is that his name? What a wonderfulname! It is like an angel to be called Seraphael."
"Hush! none of that now, because I shall not be able, perhaps, to tell you what I want you to know before you come here. Seraphael had just refused the post of Imperial pianist, which had been pressed upon him very earnestly; and the reason he gave for refusing it certainly stands alone in the annals of artistic policy,—that there was only one composer living to whom the office of Imperial pianist should be confided, and by whom it must be assumed,—Milans-André himself. Then it went on to insinuate that by exclusive exchange only could such an arrangement be effected; in short, that Milans-André, who must not go out of Austria, should be prevailed upon, in that case, to resign the humble position that detained him here, to the young composer himself. Now Milans-André did resign, as you may suppose; but, they say, not without a douceur, and we presented him with a gold beaker engraved with his own arms, when he retired,—that was not the douceur, mind; he had a benefit."
"That means a concert, with all the money it brought for himself. But why did you not see the Chevalier until to-day?"
"Some of ours did,—the band and the chorus; but I do not belong to either. You have no idea what it is to serve music under Milans-André; and when he came to-day, we all knew what it meant, who were wishing for a new life. It was a sort of electric snapping of our chains when he played to-day."
"With that Volkslied?"
"Yes," she responded, with tremulous agitation, "with that Volkslied. Who shall say he does not know all hearts?"
"But it is not a Burschen song,[16]nor like one; it is like nothing else."
"No, thank God! a song for the women as well as the men. You never heard such tones, nor I. Well it was that we could put words to them, everybody there."
"And yet it was a song without words," said a voice so gentle that it stole upon my imagination like a sigh.
"Oh, sir, is it you?"
I started, for he was so near to us I was afraid he might have been vexed by hearing. But she was unchanged, unruffled as a flower of the conservatory by the wind without. She looked at him full, and he smiled into her very eyes.
"I only heard your very last words. Do not be afraid, for I knew you were talking secrets, and that is a play I never stop. But, Carlomein, when you have played your play, I must carry you to your master, whom I might callours, and beg his pardon for all my iniquities."
"Oh, sir! as if you needed," I said; but the young lady answered,—
"Ishall retreat, then, sir,—and indeed this is not my place."
She courtesied lowly as to a monarch, but without a shadow of timidity, or so much as the flutter of one rose-leaf, and passed out among the flowers, he looking after her strangely, wistfully.
"Is not that a Cecilia, Carlomein?"
"If you think so, sir."
"You do not think it? You ought to know as well as I. As she is gone, let us go."
And lightly as she fled, he turned back to follow her. But we had lost her when we came into the garden. As he passed along, however, also among the flowers, he touched first one and then another of the delicate plants abstractedly, until at length he pulled off one blossom of an eastern jasmine,—a beautiful specimen, white as his own forehead, and of perfume sweetest next his breath.
"Oh!" said he gayly, "I have bereaved the soft sisterhood; but," he added earnestly, as he held the pale blossom between his fairest fingers, "I wonder whether they are unhappy so far from home. I wonder whether theyknowthey are away!"
"I should think not, sir, or they would not blossom so beautifully."
"That is nothing, and no reason, O Carlomein! for I have seen such a beautiful soul that was away from home, and it was very homesick; yet it was so fair, so very fair, that it would put out the eye of this little flower."
I could not help saying, or quickly murmuring rather, "It must be your soul then, sir."
"Is it mine to thee? It is to me another; but that does not spoil thy pretty compliment."
I never heard tones so sweet, so infantine. But we had reached the door of the glass chamber, and I then observed that he was gazing anxiously—certainly with inquiry—at the sky. At that moment it first struck me that since our entrance beneath the shadowy greenness the sun had gone in. Simultaneously a shade, as from a springing cloud, had fallen upon that brilliant countenance. We stepped out into the linden grove, and then it came upon me, indeed, that the heavens were dulled, and a leaden languor had seized upon the fresh young foliage. Both leaves and yellow blossom hungwearily in the gloom, and I felt the intense lull that precedes an electric shower. I looked at him. He was entirely pale, and the soft lids of his eyes had dropped,—their lights had gone in like the sun. His lips seemed to flutter, and he spoke with apprehensive agitation.
"I think it will rain, but we cannot stay in the conservatory."
"Sir, it will be dry there," I ventured.
"No, but if it should thunder."
At the very instant the western cloudland, as it were, shook with a quivering flash, though very far off; for the thunder was, indeed, but a mutter several minutes afterwards. But he seemed stricken into stillness, and moved not from the trees at the entrance of the avenue.
"Oh! sir," I cried,—I could not help it, I was in such dread for him,—"do not stand under the trees. It is a very little way to the house, and we can run."
"Run, then," he answered sweetly. "But I cannot; I never could stir in a storm."
"Pray, sir, oh pray, come!" the big drops were beginning to prick the leafy calm. "And you will take cold too, sir. Oh, come!"
But he seemed as if he could scarcely breathe. He pressed his hands on his brow and hid his eyes. I thought he was going to faint; and under a vague impression of fetching assistance, I rushed down the avenue.
I can never express my satisfaction when, two or three trees from the end, I met the magic maiden herself, all hooded, and carrying an immense umbrella.
"Where is this Chevalier of ours?" she asked me, with eagerness. "You surely have not left him alone in the rain?"
"I was coming for you," I cried; for such was, in fact, the case. But she noticed not my reply, and sped fleetly beneath the now weeping trees. I stood still, the rain streaming upon my head, and the dim thunder every now and then bursting and dying mournfully, yet in the distance, when I heard them both behind me. How astonished was I! I turned and joined them. They were talking very fast,—the strange girl having her very eyes fixed on the threatening sky, at which she laughed. He was not smiling, but seemed borne along by some impulse he could not resist, and was even unconscious of; he held the umbrella above them both, and she cried to me to come also beneath the canopy. We had only one clap as we crossed the lawn,—now reeking and deserted; but a whole levee was in the refreshment pavilion waiting for the monarch,—so many professors robed, so many Cecilians with their badges, that I was ready to shrink into a nonentity, instead of feeling myself by my late privilege superior to all. Every person appeared to turn as we made our way. But for all the clamor I heard him whisper, "You have donewith me what no one ever did yet; and oh! I do thank you for being so kind to the foolish child. But come with me, that I may thank you elsewhere."
"I would rather stay, sir. Here is my place, and I went out of my place to do you that little service of which it is out of the question to speak."
"You must not be proud. Is it too proud to be thanked, then?"
With the gentlest grace, he held out to her the single jasmine blossom. "See, no tear has dropped upon it. Will you take its last sigh?"
She drew it down into her hand, and, almost as airily as he moved, glided in among the crowd, which soon divided us from her.
Seraphael himself sighed so very softly that none could haveheardit; but I saw it part his lips and heave his breast.
"She does not care for me, you see," he said, in a sweet, half pettish manner, as we left the pavilion.
"Oh! sir, because she does not come with you? That is the very reason, because she cares so much."
"How do you make that out?"
"I remember the day I brought you that water, sir, how I was afraid to stay, although I would have given everything to stay and look at your face; and I ran away so fast because of that."
"Oh, Carlomein, hush! or you must make me vain. I wonder very much why you do like me; but, pray, let it be so."
"Like you!" I exclaimed, as we moved along the corridor, "you areallmusic,—you must be; for I knew it before I had heard you play."
"They do say so. I wonder whether it is true," said he, laughing a bright, sudden laugh, as brightly soundingas his smile was bright to gaze on. "We shall all know some time, I suppose. Now, Carlomein, what am I to say to this master of yours about you? For here we are at the door, and there is he inside."
"Pray, sir, say what you like, and nothing if you like, for I don't care whether he storms or not."
"'Storms' is a very fine word; but, like our thunder, I expect it will go off very quietly. How kind it was not to thunder and lighten much, and to leave off so soon!"
"Oh! I am so glad. I hate thunder and lightning."
"Do you? and yet you ran for me. Thank you for another little lesson."
He turned and bowed to me, not mockingly, but with a sweet, grave humor. He opened the door at that moment, and I went in behind him. The very first person I saw was Aronach, sitting, as if he never intended to move again, in a great wooden chair, writing in a long book, while other attentive worthies looked over his shoulder. His eyes were down, and my companion crept round the room next the wall as noiselessly as a walking shadow. Then behind the chair, and putting up his finger to those around, he embraced with one arm the chair's stubborn back, and stretched the other forwards, spreading his slender hand out wide into the shape of some pink, clear fan-shell, so as to intercept the view Aronach had of his long book and that unknown writing.
"Der Teufel!" growled Aronach, "dost thou suppose I don't know thy hand among a thousand? But thy pranks won't disturb me any more now than they did of old. Take it off, then, and thyself too."
"Oh! I daresay; but I won't go. I want to show thee a sight, Father Aronach."
He then drewmyarm forwards, and held my handby the wrist, as by a handle, just under Aronach's nose. He looked indeed now; and so sharply, snappishly, that I thought he would have bitten my fingers, and felt very nervous. Seraphael broke into one of his laughter chimes, but still dangled my member; and when Aronach really saw my phiz, he no longer snapped nor roused up grandly, but sank back impotent in that enormous chair. He winked indeed furiously, but his eyes did not flash, so I grew still in my own mind, and thought to speak to him first. I said, somehow, and never thinking a creature was by, except that companion of mine,—
"Dear master, I would not have come without your leave. But you know very well I could not refuse this gentleman, because he is a friend of yours, and you said yourself we must all obey him."
"Whippersnapper and dandiprat! I never said such words tothee. I regard him too much to inform such as thou with obedience. Thou hast, I can see very clearly, made away with all his spirit by thy frivolities, and I especially commend thee for dragging such as he up the hill in this heat. There are no such things as coaches in the Kell Platz, I suppose, or have the horses taken a holiday too?"
"Stop, stop, Aronach! for though I am a little boy," said the other, "I am bigger than he, and I brought him, not he me; and I dragged him thither too, for I don't like your coaches. And it is I who ought to beg pardon for taking him from work he likes so much better than any play, as he told me. But I did want to walk with him, that I might ask him about my English friends, with whom he is better acquainted than I am. He does know them, oh, so well! and had so many interesting anecdotes!"
At the utterance of this small white fib I was almost in fits; but he still went on,—
"I know I have done very wrong, and I was an idle boy to tempt him; but you yourself could not help playing truant to-day. And, dearest master,"—here his sweet, sweet voice was retrieved from the airy gayety,—"do let me come back with you to-day, and have a story-telling. You have not told me a story for a sad long time."
"If you come back, Chevalier, and if we are to get back before bed-time, I would have you go along and rest, if you can, until I shall be free; for I shall never empty my hands while you are by."
Aronach did not say "thou" here, I noticed, and his voice was even courteous, though he still preserved his stateliness. Like a boy, indeed, Seraphael laid hold of my arm and pulled me from the room again. I cannot express the manly indignation of the worthies we left in there at such sportiveness. They all stood firm, and in truth theywereall older, both in body and soul, than we. But no sooner were we outside than he began to laugh, and he laughed so that he had to lean against the wall. I laughed too; it was a most contagious spell.
"Now, Carl," he said, "very Carlomein! we will make a tour of discovery. I declare I don't know where I am, and am afraid to find myself in the young ladies' bedrooms. But I want to see how things are carried on here."
We turned this way and that way, he running down all the passages and trying the very doors; but these were all locked.
"Oh!" he exclaimed, vivaciously, "they are, I suppose, too fine;" and then we explored farther. One end of the corridor was screened by a large oaken doorfrom another range of rooms, and not without difficulty we effected an entrance, for the key, although in the lock, was rusty, and no joke to turn. Here, again, were doors, right and left; here also all was hidden under lock and key that they might be supposed to contain; but we did at last discover a curious hole at the end, which we did not take for a room until we came inside,—having opened the door, which was latched, and not especially convenient. However, before we advanced I had ventured, "Sir, perhaps some one is in there, as it is not fastened up."
"I shall not kill them, I suppose," he replied, with a curious eagerness. Then with the old sweetness, "You are very right, I will knock; but I know it will be knocking to nobody."
He had then touched the panel with his delicate knuckles; no voice had answered, and with a mirthful look he lifted the latch and we both entered. It was a sight that surprised me; for a most desolate prison-cell could not have been darker. The window ought not to be so named; for it let in no light, only shade, through its lack-lustrous green glass. There was no furniture at all, except a very narrow bed,—looking harder than Lenhart Davy's, but wearing none of that air of his. There was a closet, as I managed to discover in a niche, but no chest, no stove; in fact, there was nothing suggestive at all, except one solitary picture, and that hung above the bed and looked down into it, as it were, to protect and bless. I felt I know not how when I saw it then and there; for it was—what picture do you think? A copy of the very musical cherub I had met with upon Aronach's wreath-hung walls. It was fresher, newer, in this instance, but it had no gold or carven frame; it was bound at its edge with fair blue ribbon only, beautifullystitched, and suspended by it too. Above the graceful tie was twisted one long branch of lately-gathered linden blossom, which looked itself sufficient to give an air of heaven to the close little cell; it was even as flowers upon a tomb,—those sighs and smiles of immortality where the mortal has passed forever!
"Oh, sir!" I said, and I turned to him,—for I knew his eyes were attracted thither,—"oh, sir! do you know whose portrait that is? For my master has it, and I never dared to ask him; and the others do not know."
"It is a picture of the little boy who played truant and tempted another little boy to play truant too."
And then, as he replied, I wondered I had not thought of such a possibility; for looking from one to the other, I could not now but trace a certain definite resemblance betweenthosefloating baby ringlets and the profuse dark curls wherein the elder's strength almost seemed to hide,—so small and infinitely spiritual was he in his incomparable organization.
"Now, sir, do come and rest a little while before we go."
He was standing abstractedly by that narrow bed, and looked as sad, as troubled, as in the impending thunder-cloud; but he rallied just as suddenly.
"Yes, yes; we had better go, or she might come."
I could not reply, for this singular prescience daunted me,—how could he tell it washervery room? But when we came into the corridor, I beheld, by the noonday brightness, which was not banished thence, that there was a kind of moist light in his eyes, not tears, but as the tearful glimmer of some blue distance when rain is falling upon those hills.
We threaded our way downstairs again,—for he seemed quite unwilling to explore farther,—and I wonderedwhere he would lead me next, when we met Milans-André in the hall. The Chevalier blushed even as an angry virgin on beholding him, but still met him cordially as before.
"Where are you staying, Chevalier? At the Fürstin Haus?"
"I am not staying here at all. I am going back to Lorbeerstadt to sleep, and to-morrow to Altenweg, and then to many places for many days."
"Oh! I thought you would have supped with me, and I could have a little initiated you. But if you are really returning to Lorbeerstadt, pray use my carriage, which is waiting in the yard."
"You are only too amiable, my dear André. We shall use it with the greatest pleasure."
Oh! how black did André look when Seraphael laid that small, delicate stress upon the "we;" for I knew the invitation intended his colleague, and included no one else. But the other evidently took it all for granted; and again thanking him with exquisite gayety, ran out into the court-yard, and cried to me to come and see the carriage.
"I have a little coach myself," he said to me and also to André, who was lounging behind along with us; "but it is a toy compared with yours, and I wonder I did not put it into my pocket, it is so small,—only large enough for thee and me, Carlomein."
"Why, Seraphael, you are dreaming. There are no such equipages in all Vienna as your father's and mother's."
"They are not mine, you see; and if I drove such, I should look like a sparrow in a hencoop. Oh, Carlomein, what quantities of sparrows there are in London! Do they live upon the smuts?"
At this instant the carriage, whose driver André had beckoned to draw up, approached; and then we both ran to fetch Aronach, who came out very grumbling, for the entry in the long book was scarcely dry; and he saluted nobody, but marched after us like a person suddenly wound up, putting himself heavily into the carriage, which he did not notice in the least. It was an open carriage, Paris-built (as I now know), and so luxuriously lined as not to be very fit for an expedition in any but halcyon weather. As for Seraphael, he flung himself upon the seat as a cowslip ball upon the grass, and scarcely shook the light springs; and as I followed him, he made a profound bow to the owner of the equipage, who, disconsolately enough, still stood within the porch.
"Now, I do enjoy this, Carlomein! I cannot help loving to be saucy to André,—good, excellent, and wonderful as he is."
I looked to find whether he was in earnest. But I could not tell, for his eyes were grave, and the lips at rest. But Aronach gave a growl, though mildly,—as the lion might growl in the day when a little child shall lead him.
"You have not conquered that weakness yet, and, I prophesy, never will."
"What weakness, master?" But he faltered, even as a little child.
"To excuse fools and fondle slaves."
"Oh, my master, do not scold me!" and he covered his eyes with his little blue-veined hands. "It is so sad to be a fool or a slave that we should do all for such we can do, especially if we are not so ourselves. I think myself right there."
His pleading tone here modulated into the stillauthority I had noticed once or twice, and Aronach gave a smile in reply, which was the motion of the raptured look I had noticed during the improvisation.