"Do you like that little song? It is the Chevalier's."
"A Sunday song," observed Josephine, as I mentioned.
"A Sunday song!" I cried, and started. "I have not heard a word!"
"Oh!" she said, not regretfully, but with excitement, "you must then hear it again; and Josephine shall sing it, that you may not think of my voice instead of the song."
I had not time to remonstrate, nor had I the right. The child began quite composedly, still holding her doll.She had a wonderful voice. But what have I to do with voices? I mean style. Josephine's voice was crude as a green whortleberry; its sadness was sour, its strength harsh; though a voice shrill and small as the cricket's chirp, with scarcely more music. But she sang divinely; she sang like a cherub before the Great White Throne.
The manner was her sister's; the fragrance another, a peculiar wood-like odor, as from moss and evanescent wild-flowers, if I may so compare, as then it struck me. I listened to the words this while, to the melody,—the rush of melodies; for in that composer's slightest effect each part is a separate soul, the counterpoint a subtle, fiery chain imprisoning the soul in bliss. Ineffable as was that air,—ineffable as is every air of his,—I longed to be convinced it had been put together by aman. I could not, and I cannot to this hour, associate anything material with strains of his. When Josephine concluded, I was about to beg for more; but the other left her harp, and kissing her little care, brought her with herself to the couch where she had quitted me. How strange was the sweetness, how sweet the change in her manner now!
"How pale you look!" said she; "I shall give you some wine. I can feel for you, if you are delicate in health, for I am so myself; and it is so sad sometimes."
"No wine, please; I have had wine, and am never the better for it. I believe I was born pale, and shall never look anything else."
"I like you pale, if it is not that you are delicate."
"I think I am pretty strong; I can work hard, and do."
"Do not!" she said, putting her loveliest hand onmy hair, and turning my face to hers, "do not,lieber, work hard,—not too hard."
"And why not? for I am sure you do."
"That is the very reason I would have you not do so. Imustwork hard."
"But if you are delicate, Fräulein Cerinthia?"
"God will take care of me; I try to serve him. None have to answer for themselves as musicians." She suddenly ceased, passed one hand over her face. She did not stir, but I heard her sigh; she arose, and looked from the window; she sat down again, as if undecided.
"Can I do anything for you?" I asked.
"No, I want nothing; I am only thinking that it is very troublesome the person who sent those fruits could not come instead of them. I ought to have kept it from you, child as you are."
"Child, indeed! why, what are you yourself?"
"Young, very young," she replied, with some passion in her voice; "but so much older than you are in every sense. I never remember when I did not feel I had lived a long time."
I was struck by these words, for they often returned upon me afterwards, and I rose to go, feeling something disturbed at having wearied her; for she had not the same fresh bloom and unfatigued brightness as when I entered. She did not detain me, though she said, "Call me Maria, please; I should like it best,—we are both so young, you know! We might have been brother and sister." And in this graceful mood my memory carried her away.
I need not say I looked upon Anastase with very different eyes next time I crossed his path. He had never so much interested me; he had never attracted me before,—he attracted me violently now, but not for his own sake. I watched every movement and gesture,—every intimation of his being, separable from his musical nature and dissociated from his playing. He seemed to think me very inattentive on the Monday morning, though, in fact, I had never been so attentive to him before; but I did not get on very well with my work. At last he fairly stopped me, and touched my chin with his bow.
"What are you thinking about this morning, sir?" he inquired, in that easy voice of his, with that cool air.
I never told a lie in my life, white or black. "Of you, sir," I replied. With his large eyes on mine, I felt rather scorched, but still I kept faith with myself. "Of the Fräulein Cerinthia."
"I thought as much. The next Sunday you will remain at home."
"Yes, sir; but that won't prevent my thinking about you and her."
"Exactly; you shall therefore have sufficient time to think about us. As you have not control enough to fasten your mind on your own affairs, we must indulge your weakness by giving it plenty of room."
Then he pointed to my page with his bow, and we went on quietly. I need not say we were alone. After my lesson, just before he proceeded to the next violin, he spoke again.
"You do not know, perhaps, what test you are about to endure. We shall have a concert next month, and you will play a first violin with me."
"Sir!" I gasped, "I cannot—I never will!"
"Perhaps you will change your note when you are aware who appointed you. It is no affair of mine."
"If you mean, sir, that it is the Chevalier who appointed me, I don't believe it, unless you gave your sanction."
He turned upon me with a short smile,—just the end of one,—and raised his delicate eyebrows. "Be that as it may, to-night we rehearse first, in the lesser hall; there will be nobody present but the band. The Chevalier will hold his own rehearsal the week after next, for there is a work of his on this occasion,—therefore we shall prepare, and, I trust, successfully; so that the polishing only will remain for him."
"Bravo, sir!"
"I hope it will be bravo; but it is no bravo at present," said he, in dismissing me.
I had never heard Anastase play yet, and was very curious,—I mean, I had never heard him play consecutively; his exhibitions to us being confined to short passages we could not surmount,—bar upon bar, phrase upon phrase, here a little, and there a very little. But now he must needs bring himself before me, to play out his own inner nature.
I found Delemann in his own place presently,—a round box, like a diminutive observatory, at the very top of the building, and communicating only with similarboxes occupied by the brass in general. I let myself in, for it would have been absurd to knock amidst the demonstrations of the alto trombone. He was so ardent over that metallic wonder of his that I had to pluck his sleeve. Even then he would not leave off, at the risk of splitting that short upper lip of his by his involuntary smile, until he had finished what lay before him. It was one great sheet, and I espied at the top the words: "Mer de Glace,—Ouverture; Seraphael." Madder than ever for a conclusion, I stopped my ears till he laid down that shining monster and took occasion to say, "That is what we are to have to-night."
"I know. But how abominable is Anastase not to let me have my part to practise!"
"Very likely it is not ready. The brass came this morning, and the strings were to follow. Mine was quite damp when I had it."
We went into rehearsal together, Franz and I. What a different rehearsal from my first in England! Here we were all instruments. Franz was obliged to leave me on entering, and soon I beheld him afar off, at the top of the wooden platform, on whose raised steps we stood, taking his place by the tenor trombone,—a gentleman of adult appearance who had a large mouth. I have my own doubts, private and peculiar, about the superior utility of large mouths, because Franz, of the two, played best; but that is no matter here.
Oursaalwas a simple room enough, guiltless of ornament; our orchestra deal, clear of paint or varnish; our desks the same, but light as ladies' hand-screens,—this was well, as Anastase, who was not without his crochet, made us continually change places with each other, and we had to carry them about. There were wooden benches all down thesaal, but nobody sat in them;there was not the glimmer of a countenance, nor the shine of two eyes. The door-bolts were drawn inside; there was a great and prevalent awe. The lamps hung over us, but not lighted; the sun was a long way from bed yet, and so were we. Anastase kept us at "L'Amour Fugitif" and "Euryanthe,"—I mean, their respective overtures,—a good while, and was very quiet all the time, until our emancipation in the "Mer de Glace." Hisfacedid not change even then; but there was a fixity and straightening of the arm, as if an iron nerve had passed down it suddenly, and he mustered us still more closely to him and to each other. My stand was next his own; and, looking here and there, I perceived Iskar among the second violins, and was stirred up,—for I had not met with him except at table since I came there.
It is not in my power to describe my own sensations on my first introduction to Seraphael's orchestral definite creation. Enough to say that I felt all music besides, albeit precious, albeit inestimable, to have been but affecting the best and highest portion of myself, but as exciting to loftier aspirations my constant soul; but thathiscreation did indeed not only first affect me beyond all analysis of feeling, but cause upon me, and through me, a change to pass,—did first recreate, expurge of all earthly; and then inspire, surcharged with heavenly hope and holiest ecstasy. That qualitative heavenly, and this superlative holiest, are alone those which disabuse of the dread to call what we love best and worship truest by name. No other words are expressive of that music which alone realizes the desire of faith,—faith supernal alike with the universal faith of love.
As first awoke the strange, smooth wind-notes of the openingadagio, the fetterless chains of ice seemed to close around my heart. The movement had no blandnessin its solemnity, and so still and shiftless was the grouping of the harmonies that a frigidity actual, as well as ideal, passed over my pores and hushed my pulses. After a hundred such tense, yet clinging chords, the sustaining calm was illustrated, not broken, by a serpentine phrase of one lone oboe,pianissimoover thepianosurface, which it crisped not, but on and above which it breathed like the track of a sunbeam aslant from a parted cloud. The slightest possible retardation at its close brought us to the refrain of the simpleadagio, interrupted again by a rush of violoncello notes, rapid and low, like some sudden under-current striving to burst through the frozen sweetness. Then spread wide the subject as plains upon plains ofwater-land, though the time was gradually increased. Amplifications of the same harmonies introduced a fresh accession of violoncelli, and oboi contrasted artfully in syncopation, till at length the strides of theaccelerandogave a glittering precipitation to the entrance of the second and longest movement.
Then Anastase turned upon me, and with the first bar we fell into a tumultuouspresto. Far beyond all power to analyze as it was just then, the complete idea embraced me as instantaneously as had the picturesque chilliness of the first. I have called it tumultuous, but merely in respect of rhythm; the harmonies were as clear and evolved as the modulation itself was sharp, keen, unanticipated, unapproachable. Through every bar reigned that vividly enunciated ideal, whose expression pertains to the one will alone in any age,—the ideal that, binding together in suggestive imagery every form of beauty, symbolizes and represents something beyond them all.
Here over the surge-like, but fast-boundmotivo—onlylike those tossed ice-waves, dead still in their heaped-up crests—were certain swellingcrescendosof a second subject, so unutterably, if vaguely, sweet that the souls of all deep blue Alp-flowers, the clarity of all high blue skies, had surely passed into them, and was passing from them again.
Scarcely is it legitimate to describe what so speaks for itself as music; yet there are assuredly effects produced by music which may be treated of to the satisfaction of the initiated.
It was not until the very submerging climax that the playing of Anastase was recalled to me. Then, amidst long, ringing notes of the wild horns, and intermittent sighs of the milder wood, swept from the violins a torrent of coruscantarpeggi, and above them all I heard his tone, keen but solvent, as his bow seemed to divide the very strings with fire; and I felt as if some spark had fallen upon my fingers to kindle mine. As soon as it was over, I looked up and laughed in his face with sheer pleasure; but he made no sign, nor was there the slightest evidence of the strenuous emotion to which he had been abandoned,—no flush of cheek nor flash of eye, only the least possible closer contraction of the slight lips. He did nothing but find fault, and his authority appeared absolute; for when he reprimanded Iskar in particular, and called him to account for the insertion extraordinary of a queerappogiatura, which I did not know he had heard, that evil one came down without a smirk, and minced forth some apology, instead of setting up his crest, as usual. I was very thankful at last when the room was cleared, as it was infernally hot, and I had made up my mind to ask Anastase whether my violin were really such a good one; for I had not used it before this night.
When no one was left except he and I, I ventured to ask him whether I could carry anything anywhere for him, to attract his attention.
"Yes," said he, "you may gather up all the parts and lay them together in that closet," pointing to a wooden box behind the platform; "but do not put your own away, because you are going to look over it with me."
I did as he directed, and then brought myself back to him. But before I could begin, he took my fiddle from my arms, and turning it round and round, demanded, "Where did you get this?" I told him in a few words its history, or what I imagined to be its history. He looked rather astonished, but made no comment, and then he began to play to me. I do not suppose another ever played like him; I may, perhaps, myself a very little, but I never heard anybody else. The peculiar strength of his tone I believe never to have been surpassed; the firmness of hiscantabilenever equalled; his expression in no case approached. Santonio's playing dwindled in my mind, for Anastase, though so young, performed with a pointedness altogether mature; it was that on which to repose unshifting security for the most ardent musical interest; yet, with all its solidity, it was not severe even in the strictest passages. Of all playing I ever heard on my adopted instrument, and I have heard every first-rate and every medium performer in Europe, it was the most forceful,—let this term suffice just here. I said to him when he had finished with me, "How much fuller your playing is than Santonio's! I thought his wonderful until I heard yours." But with more gentleness than I had given him credit for, he responded, laying down my little treasure, "I consider his playing myself far morewonderful than mine. Mine is not wonderful; it is a wrong word to use. It is full, because I have studied to make it the playing of a leader, which must not follow its own vagaries. Neither does Santonio, who is also a leader, but a finer player than I,—finer in the sense of delicacy, experience, finish. Now go and eat your supper, Auchester."
"Sir, I don't want any supper."
"But I do, and I cannot have you here."
I knew he meant he was going to practise,—it was always his supper, I found; but he had become again unapproachable. I had not gained an inch nearer ground to him, really, yet. So I retired, and slipped into the refectory, where Franz was keeping a seat for me.
I was positively afraid to go out the next Sunday, and the next it rained,—we all stayed in. On the following Wednesday would come our concert, and by this time I knew that the Chevalier would be accompanied by certain of his high-born relations. But do not imagine that we covered for them galleries with cloth and yellow fringe. It was altogether to me one of my romance days; and, as such, I partook in the spirit of festivity that stirred abroad. The day before was even something beyond romance. After dinner we all met in the garden-house, as we called the pillared alcove, to arrange the decorations for our hall, which were left entirely to ourselves, at our united request. About fifty of us were of one mind, and, somehow or other, I got command of the whole troop,—I am sure I did not mean to put myself so. I sent out several in different directions to gather oak-branches and lime-boughs, vine-leaves and evergreens, and then sat down to weave garlands for the arches among a number more. Having seen them fairlyat work, I went forth myself, and found Maria Cerinthia at home; she came with me directly, and we made another pilgrimage in search of roses and myrtles. Josephine went too, and we all three returned laden from the garden of a sincere patroness down in the valley beneath the hill, of whom we had asked such alms.
Entering Cecilia, after climbing the slope leisurely, we saw a coach at the porter's door,—the door where letters and messages were received, not the grand door of the school, which all day stood open for the benefit of bustling Cecilians. I thought nothing of this coach, however, as one often might have seen one there; but while Maria took back Josephine, I obtained possession of all the flowers which she had placed in my arms, promising to be with us anon in the garden-house. Past the professors' rooms I walked; and I have not yet mentioned the name of Thauch, our nominal superintendent, the appointed of the Chevalier, who always laughingly declared he had selected him because he knew nothing about music, to care for usoutof music. Thauch sat at the head of the middle table, and we scarcely saw him otherwise or spoke to him; thus I was astonished, and rather appalled, to be called upon by him when I reached his room, which was enclosed, and where he was writing accounts. I was not aware he even knew my name; but by it he called upon me. "Sir," I said, "what do you want?" as I did not desire to halt, for fear of crushing up my sweet fresh roses. He had risen, and was in the doorway, waiting, with true German deliberation, until I was quite recovered from my breathlessness; and then he did not answer, but took my shoulders and pushed me into his parlor, himself leaving the room, and shutting himself out into the passage.
Shall I ever forget it? For, gasping still, though I had thrown all my flowers out of my arms, I confronted the bright, old-fashioned, distinct, yet dream-like faces of two who sat together upon the chairs behind the door. You will not expect me to say how I felt when I found they were my own sister Millicent, my own Lenhart Davy, and that they did not melt away. I suppose I did something,—put out my hands, perhaps, or turned some strange color which made Davy think I should faint; for he rose, and coming to me, with his hilarious laugh put his arms about me and took me to my sister. When once she had kissed me, and I had felt her soft face and the shape of her lips, and smelled the scent of an Indian box at home that clung to her silk handkerchief yet, I cried, and she cried too; but we were both quiet enough about it,—she I only knew was crying by her cheek pressing wet against mine. After a few moments so unutterable, I put myself away from her, and began distinctly to perceive the strangeness of our position. Millicent, as I examined her, seemed to have grown more a woman than I remembered; but that may have pertained to her dress, so different from the style with which I associated her,—the white ribbons and plain caps under the quaint straw bonnet, and the black-silk spencer. Now, she wore a mantle of very graceful cut, and the loveliest pink lining to her delicate fancy hat; this gave to her oval countenance a blushful clearness that made her look lovely in my eyes. And when I did speak, what do you think I said? "Oh, Millicent, how odd it is! Oh, Mr. Davy, how odd you look!"
"Now, Charles," said he, in answer,—and how the English accents thrilled the tears into my eyes,—"now, Charles, tell me what you mean by growing so tall andbeing so self-possessed. You are above my shoulder, and you have lost all your impudence."
"No, Mr. Davy, I haven't—kiss me!" said I; and I threw my arms about him, and clung on there till curiosity swelled unconquerable.
"Oh, Mr. Davy, how extraordinary it is of you to come so suddenly, without telling me! And mother never said the least word about it. Oh, Millicent, how did you get her to let you come? And, oh," suddenly it struck me very forcibly, "how very strange you should come with Mr. Davy! Is anybody ill? No, you would have told me directly, and you would not be dressed so."
Millicent looked up at Davy with an unwonted expression, a new light in her eyes, that had ever slept in shade; and he laughed again.
"No, nobody is ill, and she wouldnotbe dressed so if I had not given her that bonnet, for which she scolded me instead of thanking me,—for it came from Paris."
"Oh!" I exclaimed, and I felt all over bathed in delight. I ran to Millicent, and whispered into that same bonnet, "Oh, Millicent! are you married to Mr. Davy?"
She pulled off one of her pale-colored gloves and showed me the left hand. I saw the ring—oh, how strange I felt,—hot and cold; glad and sorry; excited, and yet staid! I flew to my first friend and kissed his hand: "Dear Mr. Davy, I am so glad!"
"I thought you would be, Charles. If I had anticipated any objection on your part, I should have written to you first!"
"Oh, Mr. Davy!" I cried, laughing, "but why did they not write and tell me?"
"My dear brother, it was that we wished to spare you all disappointment."
"You mean I could not have come home. No, I don't think I could, even for your wedding, Millicent, and yours, Mr. Davy; we have been so busy lately."
Davy laughed. "Oh, I see what an important person you have become! We knew it; and it was I who persuaded your mother not to unsettle you. I did it for the best."
"It was for the best, dearest Charles," said Millicent, looking into Davy's face as if perfectly at home with it. She had never used to look into his face at all.
"Oh!" I again exclaimed, suddenly reminded, "what did you wear, Millicent, to be married in?"
"A white muslin pelisse, Charles, and Miss Benette's beautiful veil."
"Yes; and, Charles," continued Davy, "Millicent gratified us both by asking Miss Benette to be her bridesmaid."
"And did she come?" I asked, rather eagerly.
"No, Charles; she did not."
"I knew she would not," I thought, though I scarcely knew why.
"But she came, Charles, the night before, and helped them to dress the table; and so beautiful she made it look that everybody was astonished,—yet she had only a few garden flowers, and averyfew rare ones."
"But how long have you been married, Mr. Davy? and are you going to livehere? What will the class do? Oh, the dear class! Who sits by Miss Benette now, Mr. Davy?"
He laughed.
"Oh, Charles, if you please, one question at a time! We have been married one week,—is it not, Millicent?"
She smiled and blushed.
"And I am not going to leave my class,—it is larger now than you remember it. And I have not left my little house, but I have made one more room, and we find it quite wide enough to contain us."
"Oh, sir, then you came here for a trip! How delicious! Oh, Millicent, do you like Germany? Oh, you will see the Chevalier."
"Well, Charles, it is only fair, for we have heard so much about him. Nothing in your letters but the Chevalier, and the Chevalier, and we do not even know his name fromyou. Clo says whenever your letters come, 'I wish he would tell us how he sleeps;' and my mother hopes that Seraphael is 'a good man,' as you are so fond of him."
"But, Charles," added Davy, with his old earnestness and with a sparkling eye, "how, then, shall we see him, and where? For I would walk barefoot through Germany for that end."
"Without any trouble, Mr. Davy, because to-morrow will be our concert, and he is coming to conduct his new overture,—only his new overture, mind! He will sit in the hall most part, and you will see him perfectly."
"My dear, dear Charles," observed Millicent, "it is something strange to hear you say 'our concert.' How entirely you have fulfilled your destiny! And shall we hear you play?"
"Yes," I replied, with mock modesty, but in such a state of glowing pride that it was quite as much as I could do to answer with becoming indifference. "Yes, I am to play a first violin."
"A first violin, Charles?" said Davy, evidently surprised. "What! already? Oh, I did not predict wrong! What if I had kept you in my class? But,Millicent, we must not stay," he added, turning to her; "we only came to carry Charles away, as we are here on forbidden ground."
"Not at all, Mr. Davy," I cried, eager to do the honors of Cecilia. "A great many of them go out to see their friends and have their friends come to see them; but I had no one until now, you see."
"Yes, but, Charles," replied my sister, "we understand that no visitors are permitted entrance the day before a concert, and thought it a wise regulation too. They made an exception in our case because we came so far, and also because we came to take you away."
"Where are we going, then? Going away?"
"Only to the inn, where we have a bed for you engaged, that we may see something of you out of study. You must go with us now, for we have obtained permission."
"Whatever shall I do?"
"What now, Charles?"
"Well, Mr. Davy, you may laugh, but we are to decorate our concert-hall, and they are waiting for me, I daresay. All those flowers, too, that you made me throw down, were for garlands. If I might only go and tell them how it is—"
"See, Charles, there is some one wanting to speak toyou. I heard a knock."
I turned, and let in Franz. He could not help glancing at the pink lining, while he breathlessly whispered, "Do not mind us. Fräulein Cerinthia is gone to fetch her brother; and while they are at supper, we shall dress the hall under her directions, and she says you are to go with your friends."
"That is my sister, Delemann," said I; and then I introduced them, quite forgetting that Millicent hadchanged her name, which amused them immensely after Franz was gone, having gathered up my roses and taken them off. Then Davy begged me to come directly, and I hurried to my room and took him with me. How vain I felt to show him my press, my screen, my portmanteau full of books, and my private bed, my violin, asleep in its case; and last, not least, his china cup and saucer, in the little brown box! While I was combing my hair, he stood and watched me with delight in his charming countenance, not a cloud upon it.
"Oh, dear Mr. Davy, how exquisite it is that you should be my brother! I shall never be able to call you anything but Mr. Davy, though."
"You shall call me whatever you please. I shall always like it."
"And, sir, please to tell me, am I tidy,—fit to walk with a bride and bridegroom?"
"Not half smart enough! Your sister has brought your part of the wedding ceremony in her only box,—and, let me tell you, Charles, you are highly favored; for the muslin dresses and laces will suffer in consequence!"
"I don't believe that, sir," said I, laughing.
"And why not, sir?"
"Because, sir, my sisters would none of them travel about with muslin dresses if they had only one box."
"They would travel about, as Mrs. Davy does, in black silk," answered Davy, pursuing me as I ran; but I escaped him, and rejoined Millicent first, who was waiting for us with all possible patience.
There are a few times of our life—not the glorious eternal days, that stand alone, but, thank God! many hours which are nothing for us but pure and passive enjoyment, in which we exist. How exquisitely happywas I on this evening, for example! The prospect of the morrow so intensely bright, the present of such tender sweetness! How divine is Love in all its modifications! How inseparable is it from repose, from rapture!
As we went along the village and passed the shops, in the freshening sunbeams, low-shining from the bare blue heaven, I fetched a present for my brother and sister in the shape of two concert-tickets, which, contrary to Tedescan custom, were issued for the advantage of any interested strangers. I put them into Millicent's hand, saying, "You know I gave you no wedding-gift."
"Yes, Charles, you gave me this," and she looked up at Davy; "I should never have known him but for you."
"Which means, my love, that I am also to thank Charles for introducing me to you;" and Davy took off his hat with mock reverence.
"Oh! that won't do, Mr. Davy; for you said you had seen a beautiful Jewess at our window before you knew who lived in our house; and of course you would have got in there somehow, at last."
"Never!" said Davy, in a manner that convinced me he never would.
"Then Iamvery glad," said I,—"glad that I ran away one morning. The Chevalier says that nothing happens accidentally to such as I."
They laughed till they saw how serious I had grown again, and then smiled at each other. Arrived at our inn, we rested. Will it be believed that Davy had brought some of his own tea, besides several other small comforts? This much amused me. After our tea—a real home tea, which quite choked my unaccustomed faculties at first—Davy put his wife on the sofa, andwith a bright authority there was no resisting, bade her be still while he fetched my part of the ceremony. This consisted of half a dozen pairs of beautiful white kid gloves,—treasures these indeed to a fiddler!—a white silk waistcoat, a small case of Spanish chocolate, and a large cake, iced and almonded.
"That was made at home, Charles," said Millicent, "and is exactly like that we sent to our friends."
In those days it was not old fashion, gentle reader, to send out bride-cake to one's friends. I need only mention a white favor or two, and a frosted silver flower, because I reserved the same for Josephine Cerinthia.
In my box-bed at that flower-baptized inn, I certainly did not sleep so well as in my own nest at school. Here it was in a box, as ever in that country of creation; and in the middle of the night I sat up to wonder whether my sister and new-found brother thought thelocaleas stifling as I did. I was up before the sun, and dressed together with his arrangement of his beams. We had—in spite of the difficulty to get served in rational fashion—a right merry breakfast, thanks to the company and the tea. I had not tasted such, as it appeared to me, since my infancy.
How Davy did rail against the toilet short-comings,—the meagre, shallow depths of his basin! And he was not happy until I took him to my portion (as we called our sleeping-places at Cecilia), and let him do as he pleased with my own water-magazine. This was an artificial lake of red ware, which was properly a baking-dish, and which I had purchased under that name for my private need. If it had not been for the little river which flowed not half a mile from our school, and which our Cecilians haunted as a bath through summer, I could not answer, in my memory's conscience, for their morality if, as I of course believe, cleanliness be next to godliness.
After breakfast, and after I had taken Davy back, I returned myself alone to seek Maria and escort her.Davy and Millicent seemed so utterly indisposed to stir out until it was necessary, and so unfit for any society but each other's, that I did not hesitate to abscond. I left them together,—Davy lazier than I had ever seen him, andshemore like brilliant evening than unexcited morning. What am I writing? Is morning ever unexcited to the enthusiast? I think his only repose is in the magical supervention of the mystery night brings to his heart.
I was sorry to find that neither Maria, Josephine, nor Joseph was at home. The way was clear upstairs, but all the doors were locked, as usual, when they were out; and I went on to Cecilia in a pet. It was nine when I arrived,—quite restored. Our concert was to be at ten.
What different hours are kept in Germany; what different hearts cull the honey of the hours! Our dining-hall was full; there was a great din. Our garden-house was swept and garnished as I remembered it the day I came with one, but not quite so enticing in its provisions,—that is to say, there were no strawberries, which had been so interesting to me on the first occasion. I retreated to the library. No one was there. I might not go among the girls, whose establishment was apart, but I knew I should meet them before we had to take our places; and off I scampered to Franz's observatory. Will it be believed?—he was still at work, those brass lips embracing his, already dressed, his white gloves lying on his monster's cradle.
"My dear Delemann," I exclaimed, "for pity's sake, put that down now!"
"My dear Carl, how shall I feel when that moment comes?" pointing to the up-beat of bar 109, where he first came in upon the field of the score.
"I don't think you will feel different if you practise half an hour more, any how."
"Yes, I shall; I want rubbing up. Besides, I have been here since six."
"Oh, Delemann, you are a good boy! But I don't feel nervous at all."
"You, Carl! No, I should think not. You will have no more responsibility than the hand of a watch, with that Anastase for the spring,—works, too, that never want winding up, and that were bought ready made by our patroness."
"Dear Franz, do come; I am dying to see the hall."
"I don't think it is done. Fräulein Cerinthia went out to get some white roses for a purpose she held secret. The boughs are all up, though."
"My dear Franz, you are very matter of fact."
"No, I am not, Carl; the tears ran down my face at rehearsal."
"That was because I made a mouth at you, which you wanted to laugh at, and dared not."
"Well," said Franz, mock mournfully, "I can do nothing with you here, so come."
He rolled up his monster and took up his gloves. I had a pair of Millicent's in my pocket.
"We must not forget to call at the garden-house for a rose to put here," said Franz, running his slight forefinger into his button-hole. We accordingly went in there. A good many had preceded us, and rifled the baskets of roses, pinks, and jasmine, that stood about. While we were turning over those still left, up came somebody, and whispered that Anastase was bringing in the Cerinthias. I eagerly gazed, endeavoring, with my might, to look innocent of so gazing. But I onlybeheld, between the pillars, the clear brow and waving robes of my younger master as he bent so lowly before a maiden raimented in white, and only as he left her; for he entered not within the alcove. As he retreated, Maria advanced. She was dressed in white, as I have said; but so dazzling was her beauty that all eyes were bent upon her. All the chorus-singers were in white; but who looked the least like her? With the deep azure of our order folded around her breast, and on that breast a single full white rose, with that dark hair bound from the arch of her delicate forehead, she approached and presented us each also with a single rose, exquisite as her own, from the very little basket I had carried to her that Sunday, now quite filled with the few flowers it contained. "They are so fresh," said she, "that they will not die the whole morning!" And I thought, as I saw her, that nothing in the whole realm of flowers was so beautiful, or just then so fresh, as herself!
A very little while now, and our conductor, Zittermayer, the superior in age of Anastase, but his admirer and sworn ally, came in and ordered the chorus forwards. They having dispersed, he returned for ourselves,—the gentry of the band. As soon as I aspired through the narrow orchestra door, I beheld the same sight in front as from the other end at the day of my initiation into those sceneries, or very much the same,—the morning sun, which gleamed amidst the leafy arches, and in the foreground on many a rosy garland. For over the seats reserved for the Chevalier and his party, the loveliest flowers, relieved with myrtle only, hung in rich festoons; and as a keystone to the curtained entrance below the orchestra, the Cecilia picture—framed in virgin roses by Maria's hand—showedonly less fair than she. At once did this flower-work form a blooming barrier between him and the general audience, and illustrate his exclusiveness by a fair, if fading, symbol.
The hall had begun to fill; and I was getting rather nervous about my English brother and sister, who could not sit together, however near, when they entered, and found just the seats I could have chosen for them. Millicent, at the side of the chamber, was just clear of the flowery division; for I gesticulated violently at her to take such place.
I felt so excited then, seeing them down there,—of all persons those I should have most desired in those very spots,—that I think I should have burst into tears but for a sudden and fresh diversion. While I had been watching my sister and brother, a murmur had begun to roll amidst the gathered throng, and just as the conductor came to the orchestra steps, at the bottom he arrested himself. The first stroke of ten had sounded from our little church, and simultaneously with that stroke the steward, bearing on his wand the blue rosette and bunch of oak-leaves, threw open the curtain of the archway under us and ushered into the appropriated space the party for whose arrival we auspiciously waited. I said Zittermayer arrested himself,—he waited respectfully until they were seated, and then bowed, but did not advance to salute them further. They also bowed, and he mounted the steps.
I was enchanted at the decorum which prevailed at that moment; for, as it happened, it was a more satisfactory idea of homage than the most unmitigated applause on the occasion. The perfect stillness also reigned through Cherubini's overture, not one note of which I heard, though I played as well as any somnambule,for I need scarcely say I was looking at that party; and being blessed with a long sight, I saw as well as it was possible to see all that I required to behold.
First in the line sat a lady, at once so stately and so young looking, that I could only conjecture she was, as she was,hismother. A woman was she like, in the outlines of her beauty, to the Medicis and Colonnas, those queens of historic poesy; unlike in that beauty's aspect which was beneficent as powerful, though I traced no trait of semblance between her and her super-terrestrial son. She sat like an empress, dressed in black, with a superb eye-glass, one star of diamonds at its rim, in her hand; but still and stately, and unsmiling as she was, she was ever turned slightly towards him, who, placed by her side, almost nestled into the sable satin of her raiment. He was also dressed in black, this day, and held in those exquisite hands a tiny pair of gloves, which he now swung backwards and forwards in time to the movement of our orchestra, and then let fall upon the floor; when that stately mother would stoop and gather them up, and he would receive them with a flashing smile, to drop them again with inadvertence, or perhaps to slide into them his slender fingers. Hardly had I seen and known him before I saw and recognized another close beside him. Ifhewere small and sylphid, seated by his majestic mother, how tiny was that delicate satellite of his, who was nestled as close to his side as he to hers. It was my own, my little Starwood, so happily attired in a dove-colored dress, half frock, half coat, trimmed with silver buttons, and holding a huge nosegay in his morsels of hands. I had scarcely time to notice him after the first flush of my surprise; but it was impossible to help seeing that my pet was as happy as he could well be, and that he was quite at home.
Next Starwood was a brilliant little girl with long hair, much less than he, nursing a great doll exquisitely dressed; and again, nearest the doll and the doll's mamma, I perceived a lady and a pair of gentlemen, each of whom, as to size, would have made two Seraphaels. They were all very attentive, apparently, except the Chevalier; and though he was still by fits, I knew he was not attending, from the wandering, wistful gaze, now in the roof, now out at the windows, now downcast, shadowy, and anon flinging its own brightness over my soul, like a sunbeam astray from the heavens of Paradise. When at length the point in the programme, so dearly longed for, was close at hand, he slid beneath the flowery balustrade, and as noiselessly as in our English music-hall, he took the stairs, and leaned against the desk until the moment for taking possession. Then when he entered, still so inadvertent, the applause broke out, gathering, rolling, prolonging itself, and dissolving like thunder in the mountains.
I especially enjoyed the fervent shouts of Anastase; his eye as clear as fire, his strict frame relaxed. Almost before it was over, and as if to elude further demonstrations, though he bowed with courteous calmness, Seraphael signed to us to begin. Then, midst the delicious, yet heart-wringing ice tones, shone out those beaming lineaments; the same peculiar and almost painful keenness turned upon the sight the very edge of beauty. Fleeting from cheek to brow, the rosy lightnings, his very heart's flushes, were as the mantling of a sudden glory.
But of his restless and radiant eyes I could not bear the stressful brightness, it dimmed my sight; whether dazzled or dissolved, I know not. And yet,—will it be believed?—affectionate, earnest, and devoted as was thedemeanor of those about me, no countenance glistened except my own in that atmosphere of bliss. Perhaps I misjudge; but it appears to me that pure Genius is as unrecognizable in human form as was pure Divinity. I encroach upon such a subject no further. To feel, to feel exquisitely, is the lot of very many,—it is the charm that lends a superstitious joy to fear; but to appreciate belongs to the few, to the one or two alone here and there,—the blended passion and understanding that constitute, in its essence, worship.
I did not wonder half so much at the strong delight of the audience in the composition. How many there are whoperceiveart as they perceive beauty,—perceive the fair in Nature, the pure in science,—but receive not what these intimate and symbolize; how much more fail in realizing the Divine ideal, the soul beyond the sight, the ear!
Here, besides, there were plenty of persons weary with mediocre impressions, and the effect upon them was as the fresh sea-breeze to the weakling, or the sight of green fields after trackless deserts. I never, never can have enough,—ismyfeeling when that exalted music overbrims my heart; sensation is trebled; the soul sees double; it is as if, brooding on the waste of harmony, the spirit met its shadow, like the swan, and embraced it as itself. I do not know how the composition went, I was so lost in the author's brightness face to face; but I never knew anything go ill under his direction. The sublimity of the last movement, so sudden yet complete in its conclusion, left the audience in a trance; the spell was not broken for a minute and a half, and then burst out a tremendous call for a repeat. But woe to those fools! thought I. It was already too late; with the mystical modesty of his nature, Seraphael had flowndownstairs, forgetting the time-stick, which he held in his hand still, and which he carried with him through the archway. As soon as it was really felt he had departed, a great cry for him was set up,—all in vain; and a deputation from the orchestra was instructed to depart and persuade him to return: such things were done in Germany in those days! Anastase was at the head of this select few, but returned together with them discomfited; no Seraphael being, as they asserted, to be found. Anastase announced this fact, in his rare German, to the impatient audience, not a few of whom were standing upright on the benches, to the end that they might make more clatter with their feet than on the firmer floor. As soon as all heard, there was a great groan, and some stray hisses sounded like the erection of a rattlesnake or two; but upon second thoughts the people seemed to think they should be more likely to find him if they dispersed,—though what they meant to do with him when they came upon him I could not conjecture, so vulgar did any homage appear as an offering to that fragrant soul. My dear Millicent and her spouse waited patiently, though they looked about them with some curiosity, till the crowd grew thin; and then, as the stately party underneath me made a move and disappeared through the same curtain that had closed over Seraphael, I darted downwards past the barrier and climbed the intervening forms to my sister and brother. Great was my satisfaction to stand there and chatter with them; but presently Davy suggested our final departure, and I recollected to have left my fiddle in the orchestra, not even sheltered by its cradle, but where every dust could insult its face.
"Stay here," I begged them, "and I will run and put it by; I will not keep you waiting five minutes."
"Fly, my dear boy," cried Davy, "and we will wait until you return, however long you stay."
I did notmeanto stay more than five minutes, nor should I have delayed, but for my next adventure. When I came to my door, which I reached in breathless haste, lo! it was fastened within, or at least would not be pulled open. I was cross, for I was in a hurry, and very curious too; so I set down my violin, to bang and push against the door. I had given it a good kick, almost enough to fracture the panel, when a voice came creeping through that darkness, "Only wait one little moment, and don't knock me down, please!" I knew that voice, and stood stoned with delight to the spot, while the bolt slid softly back in some velvet touch, and the door was opened.
"Oh, sir!" I cried, as I saw the Chevalier, looking at that instant more like some darling child caught at its pretty mischief than the commanding soul of myriads, "oh, sir! I beg your pardon. I did not know you were here."
"I did not suppose so," he answered, laughing brightly. "I came here because I knew the way, and because I wanted to be out of the way. It is I who ought to begthypardon, Carlomein."
"Oh, sir! to think of your coming into my room,—I shall always like to think you came. But if I had only known you were here, I would not have interrupted you."
"And I, had I known thou wouldst come, should not have bolted thy door. But I was afraid of Anastase, Carlomein."
"Afraid of Anastase, sir,—ofAnastase?" I could find no other words.
"Yes, I am of Anastase even a little afraid."
"Oh, sir! don't you like him?" I exclaimed; for I remembered Maria's secret.
"My child," said the Chevalier, "he is as near an angel as artist can be,—a ministering spirit; but yet I tell thee, I fear before him. He is so still, severe, and perfect."
"Perfect! perfect beforeyou!"
I could have cried; but a restraining spell was on my soul,—a spell I could not resist nor appreciate, but in whose after revelation the reason shone clear of that strange, unwonted expression in Seraphael's words. Thus, instead, I went on, "Sir, I understand why you came here, that they might not persecute you,—and I don't wonder, for they are dreadfully noisy; but, sir, they did not mean to be rude."
"It is I who have been rude, if it were such a thing at all; but it is not. And now let me ask after what I have not forgotten,—thy health."
"Sir, I am very well, I thank you. And you, sir?"
"I never was so well, thank God! And yet, Carlomein, thy cheek is thinner."
"Oh! that is only because I grow so tall. My sister, who is just come from England—" Here I suddenly arrested myself, for my unaddress stared me in the face. He just laid his little hand on my hair, and smiled inquiringly, "Oh! tell me about thy sister."
"Sir, she said I looked so very well."
"That's good. But about her,—is she young and pretty?"
"Sir, she is a very darling sister to me, but not pretty at all,—only very interesting; and she is very young to be married."
"She is married, then?" He smiled still more inquiringly.
"Yes, sir, she is married to Mr. Davy, my musical godfather."
"I remember; and this Mr. Davy, is he here too?" He left off speaking, and sat upon the side of my bed, tucking up one foot like a little boy.
"Yes, sir."
"And now, I shall ask thee a favor."
"What is that, sir?"
"That thou wilt let me see her and speak to her; I want to tell her what a brother she has. Not only so, to invite her—do not be shy, Carlomein—to my birthday feast."
"Oh, sir!" I exclaimed; and regardless of his presence, I threw myself into the very length of my bed and covered my face.
"Now, ifthouwilt come to my feast, is another question. I have not reached that yet."
"But please to reach it, sir!" I cried, rendered doubly audacious by joy.
"But thou wilt have some trouble in coming,—shalt thou be afraid? Not only to dance and eat sugar-plums."
"It is all the better, sir, if I have something to do; I am never so well as then."
"But thy sister must come to see thee. She must not meddle, nor the godpapa either."
"Oh! sir, Mr. Davy could not meddle, and he would rather stay with Millicent,—but he does sing so beautifully."
He made no answer, but with wayward grace he started up.
"I think they are all gone. Cannot we now go? I am afraid of losing myqueen."
"Sir, who is she?"
"Cannot it be imagined by thee?"
"Well, sir, I only know ofone."
"Thou art right. A queen is onlyone, just like any other lady. Come, say thou the name; it is a virgin name, and stills the heart like solitude."
"I don't think that does still."
"Ah! thou hast found that too!"
"Sir, you said you wished to go."
He opened the door, the lock of which he had played with as he stood, and I ran out first.
The pavilion was crowded. "Oh, dear!" said Seraphael, a little piqued, "it's exceedingly hot. Canst thou contrive to find thy friends in all this fuss? I cannot findmine."
"Sir, my brother and sister were to wait for me in the concert-hall; they cannot come here, you know, sir. If I knew your friends, I think I could find them, even in this crowd."
"No," answered the Chevalier, decisively, as he cast his brilliant eyes once round the room, "I know they are not here. I do notfeelthem. Carlomein, I am assured they are in the garden. For one thing, they could not breathe here."
"Let us go to them to the garden."
He made way instantly, gliding through the assembly, so that they scarcely turned a head. We were soon on the grass,—so fresh after the autumn rains. Crossing that green, we entered the lime-walk. The first person I saw was Anastase. He was walking lonely, and looking down, as he rarely appeared. So abstracted, indeed, was he that we might have walked over him if Seraphael had not forced me by a touch to pause, and waited until he should approach to our hand.
"See," said the Chevalier gleefully, "how solemnhe is! No strange thing, Carlomein, that I should be afraid of him. I wonder what he is thinking of! He has quite a countenance for a picture."
But Anastase had reached us before I had time to say, as I intended, "I know of what he is thinking."
He arrested himself suddenly, with a grace that charmed from his cool demeanor, and swept off his cap involuntarily. Holding it in his hand, and raising his serious gaze, he seemed waiting for the voice of the Chevalier. But, to my surprise, he had to wait several moments, during which they both regarded each other. At last Seraphael fairly laughed.
"Do you know, I had forgotten what I had to say, in contemplating you? It is what I call a musical phiz, yours."
Anastase smiled slightly, and then shut up his lips; but a sort of flush tinged his cheeks, I thought.
"Perhaps, Auchester, you can remind the Chevalier Seraphael."
I was so irritated at this observation that I kicked the gravel and dust, but did not trust myself to speak.
"Oh!" exclaimed Seraphael, quickly, "it was to request of you a favor,—a favor I should not dare to ask you unless I had heard what I heard to-day, and seen what I saw."
It might have been my fancy, but it struck me that the tones were singularly at variance with the words here. A suppressed disdain breathed underneath his accent.
"Sir," returned Anastase, with scarcely more warmth, "it is impossible but that I shall be ready to grant any favor in my power. I rejoice to learn that such a thing is so. I shall be much indebted if you can explain it to me at once, as I have to carry a message from Spoda to the Fräulein Cerinthia."
Spoda was Maria's master for the voice.
"Let us turn back, then," exclaimed Seraphael, adroitly. "I will walk with you wherever you may be going, and tell you on the way." Seraphael's "I will" was irresistible, even to Anastase.
I suddenly remembered my relations, who would imagine I had gone to a star on speculation. It was too bad of me to have left them all that time. My impression that Seraphael had to treat at some length with my master, induced me to say, "Sir, I have left my brother and sister ever so long; I must run to them, I think."
"Run, then," said the Chevalier; "thou certainly shouldst, and tell them what detained thee. But return to me, and bring them with thee."
I conceived this could not be done, and said so.
"I will come to thee, then, in perhaps half an hour. But if thou canst not wait so long, go home with thy dear friends, and I will write thee a letter."
I would have given something for a letter, it is true; but I secretly resolved to wait all day rather than not see him instead, and rather thantheyshould not see him.
I ran off at full speed; and it was not until I reached the sunny lawn beyond the leafy shade that I looked back. They were both in the distance, and beneath the flickering limes showed bright and dark as sunlight crossed the shadow. I watched them to the end of the avenue, and then raced on. It was well I did so, or I should have missed Davy and my sister, who, astonished at my prolonged absence, were just about to institute a search.
"Oh, Millicent!" I cried, as I breathlessly attained a seat in front of both their faces, "I am so sorry, but I was obliged to go with the Chevalier." And then I related how I had found him in my room.
They were much edified; and then I got into one of my agonies to know what they both thought about him. Davy, with his bright smile at noonday, said in reply to my impassioned queries, "He certainly is, Charles, the very handsomest person I have ever seen."
"Mr. Davy! Handsome! I am quite sure you are laughing, or you would never call him handsome."
"Well, I have just given offence to my wife in the same way. It is very well for me that Millicent does not especially care for what is handsome."
"But she likes beauty, Mr. Davy; she likes whatever I like; and I know just exactly how she feels when she looks at your eyes. What very beautiful eyes yours are, Mr. Davy! Don't you think so, Millicent?"
Davy laughed so very loud that the echoes called back to him again, and Millicent said,—
"He knows what I think, Charles."
"But you never told me so much, did you, my love?"
"I like to hear you say 'my love' to Millicent, Mr. Davy."
"And I like to say it, Charles."
"And she likes to hear it. Now, Mr. Davy, about 'handsome.' You should not call him so,—why do you? You did not at the festival."
"Well, Charles, when I saw this wonderful being at the festival, there was a melancholy in his expression which was, though touching, almost painful; and I do not see it any longer, but, on the contrary, an exquisite sprightliness instead. He was also thinner then, and paler,—no one can wish to see him so pale; but his colour now looks like the brightest health. He certainlyishandsome, Charles."
"Oh, Mr. Davy, I am sorry you think so! But hedoes look well. I know what you mean, and I should think that he must be very happy. But besides that, Mr. Davy, you cannot tell how often his face changes. I have seen it change and change till I wondered what was coming next. I suppose, Mr. Davy, it is his forehead you call handsome?"
"It is the brow of genius, and as such requires no crown. Otherwise, I should say his air is quite royal. Does he teach here, Charles? Surely not."
"No, Mr. Davy, but he appoints our professors. I suppose you know he chose my master, Anastase, though he is so young, to be at the head of all the violins?"
"No, Charles, it is not easy to find out what is done here, without the walls."
"No, Mr. Davy, nor within them either. I don't know much about the Chevalier's private life, but I know he is very rich, and has no Christian name. He has done an immense deal for Cecilia. No one knows exactly how much, for he won't let it be told; but it is because he is so rich, I suppose, that he does not give lessons. But he is to superintend our grand examination next year."
"You told us so in your last letter, Charles," observed Millicent; and then I was entreated to relate the whole story of my first introduction to Cecilia, and of the Volkslied, to which I had only alluded,—for indeed it was not a thing to write about, though of it I have sadly written!
I was in the heart of my narration, in the middle of the benches, and, no doubt, making a great noise, when Davy, who was in front, where he could see the door, motioned me to silence; I very well knew why, and obeyed him with the best possible grace.
As soon as I decently could, I turned and ran tomeet the Chevalier, who was advancing almost timidly, holding little Starwood in his hand. The instant Starwood saw me coming, he left his hold and flew into my arms; in spite of my whispered remonstrances, hewouldcling to my neck so fast that I had to present the Chevalier while his arms were entwined about me. But no circumstance could interfere with even the slightest effecthewas destined to produce. Standing before Davy, with his little hands folded and his whole face grave, though his eyes sparkled, he said, "Will you come to my birthday-feast, kind friends? For we cannot be strangers with this Carl between us. My birthday is next week, and as I am growing a man, I wish to make the most of it."
"How old, sir, shall you be on your birthday?" I asked, I fear rather impertinently, but because I could not help it.
"Ten, Carlomein."
"Oh, sir!" we all laughed, Millicent most of all. He looked at her.
"You are a bride, madam, and can readily understand my feelings when I say it is rather discomposing to step into a new state. Having been a child so long, I feel it soon becoming a man; but in your case the trial is even more obvious."
Millicent now blushed with all her might, as well as laughed, Davy, to relieve her embarrassment taking up the parable.
"And when, sir, and where, will it be our happiness to attend you?"
"At the Glückhaus, not four miles off. It is a queer place which I bought, because it suited me better than many a new one, for it is very old; but I have dressed it in new clothes. I shall hope to make Charles at homesome time or other before we welcome you, that he may make you, too, feel at home."
"It would be difficult, sir, to feel otherwise in your society," said Davy, with all his countenance on flame.
"I hope we shall find it so together, and that this is only the beginning of our friendship."
He held out his hand to Millicent, and then to Davy, with the most perfect adaptation to an English custom considered uncouth in Germany; Millicent looking as excited as if she were doing her part of the nuptial ceremony over again. Meantime, for I knew we must part, I whispered to Starwood,—"So you are happy enough, Star, I should suppose?"
"Oh, Charles! too happy. My master was very angry, at first, that the Chevalier carried me away."
"He carried you away, then? I thought as much. And so Aronach was angry?"
"Only for a little bit, but it didn't matter; for the Chevalier took me away in his carriage, and said to master, 'I'll send you a rainbow when the storm is over.' And oh! Charles, I practise four hours at a time now, and it never tires me in the least. I shall never play likehim, but I mean to be his shadow."
I loved my little friend for this.
"Oh, Charles! I am so glad you are coming to his birthday. Oh, Charles! I wish I could tell you everything all in a minute, but I can't."
"Never mind about that, for if you are happy, it is all clear to me. Only one thing, Star. Tell me what I have got to do on this birthday."
"Charles, it's the silver wedding, don't you know?"
"What, is he going to be married?"
"Who, Carlomein? Starwood won't tell!" said the Chevalier, turning sharply upon me and bending hiseyes till he seemed to peep through the lashes. "He knows all about it, but he won't tell. Wilt thou, my shadow? By the by, there is a better word in English,—'chum;' but we must not talk slang, at least not till we grow up. As for thee, Carlomein, Anastase will enlighten thee, and thou shalt not be blinded in that operation, I promise thee. 'Tis nothing very tremendous."
"Charles, I think we detain the Chevalier," observed Davy, ever anxious; and this time I thought so too.
"That would be impossible, after my detainingyou; but I think I must find my mother,—she will certainly think I have taken a walk to the moon. Come, Stern! Or wilt thou leave me in the lurch for that Carl of thine?"
"Oh! I beg pardon, sir; please let me come too." And I dearly longed to "come too," when I saw them leave the hall hand in hand.
"Now, Charles, we will carry you off and give you some dinner."
"I don't want any dinner, Mr. Davy; I must go to Anastase."
"I knew he was going to say so!" said Millicent. "But, Charles, duty calls first; and if you don't dine we shall have you ill."
"I don't know whether I may go to the inn."
"Oh, yes! Lenhart obtained leave of absence at meals for you as long as we are here."
"Oh! by the by, Millicent, you said you had only come for one week."
"But, Charles, we may never have such another opportunity."
"Yes," added Davy, "I would willinglystarvea month or two for the sake of this feast."
"Bravo, Mr. Davy. But then, Millicent?"
"Oh, Millicent! she shall starve along with me." We all laughed, and as we walked out of the courtyard into the bright country, he continued,—
"You know, Charles, I suppose, what is to be done, musically, at this birthday?"
"No, Mr. Davy, not in the least; and it is because I did not that I refused my dinner. After dinner, though, I shall go and call on Maria Cerinthia, and make her tell me."
"A beautiful name, Charles,—is she a favorite of yours?"
"She is the most wonderful person I ever saw or dreamt of, Millicent; she does treat me very kindly, but she is above all of us except the Chevalier."
"Is she such a celebrated singer, then?"
"She is only fifteen; but then she seems older than you are, she is so lofty, and yet so full of lightness."
"A very good description of the Chevalier himself, Charles."
"Yes, Mr. Davy, and the Chevalier, too, treats her in a very high manner,—I mean as if he held her to be very high."
"Is she at the school too?"
"She only attends for her lessons; she lives in the town with her brother, who teaches her himself and her little sister. They are orphans, and so fond of one another."
I was just about to say, "She is to marry Anastase;" but as I had not received general permission to open out upon the subject, I forbore. We dined at our little inn, and then, after depositing Davy by the side of Millicent, who was reposing,—for he tended her like some choice cutting from the Garden of Eden,—I set out on my special errand. On mounting the stairs to Maria's room,I took the precaution to listen; there were no voices to be heard just then, and I knocked, was admitted, and entered. In the bright chamber I found my dread young master certainly in the very best company; for Josephine was half lost in leaning out of the window, and side by side sat Anastase and Maria. I did not expect to see him in the least, and felt inclined to effect a retreat, when she, without turning her eyes, which were shining full upon his face, stretched out both her lovely hands to me: and Anastase even said. "Do not go, Auchester, for we had, perhaps, better consult together."
"Yes, oh, yes, there is room here, Carlino; sit by me."
But having spoken thus, she opened not her lips again, and seemed to wait upon his silence. I took the seat beside her,—she was between us; and I felt as one feels when one stands in a flower garden in the dusk of night, for her spiritual presence as fragrance spelled me, and the mystery of her passion made its outward form as darkness. Her white dress was still folded round me, and her hair was still unruffled; but she was leaning back, and I perceived, for the first time, that his arm was round her. The slender fingers of his listless hand rested upon the shoulder near me, and they seemed far too much at ease to trifle even with the glorious hair, silk-drooping its braids within his reach.Heleaned forwards, and looked from one to the other of us, his blue eyes all tearless and unperturbed; but there was a stirring blush upon his cheeks, especially the one at her side, and so deep it burned that I could but fancy her lips had lately left their seal upon it,—a rose-leaf kiss. Such a whirl of excitement this fancy raised around me (I hope I was not preternatural either) that I could scarcely attend to what was going on.