And was there no effort at rescue? Could nothing be done? This idea will have crossed the reader's mind. It suggested many questions to me, with which I plied the boatman, who seemed to feel keenly in them the bitterness of unintended reproach. But his explanation—grievous as it was—was satisfactory. There was no boat, no raft, no means of reaching the spot. "Two of us," said he, "plunged up to our necks into the water, in the irrepressible desire to swim out to them; though we knew that it was certain death to go beyond our depth. Besides, Monsieur," he added with touching simplicity, "I can't help fancying that the poor lady was dead before she fell out of the boat. Monsieur knew her; doesn't he think that her heart was already broken?"
"God help her, and all of us, my brave friend; I have not the smallest doubt of it!"
From the French of Vicomte Ponson de Terrail.
The Marchioness was at her toilet. Florine and Aspasia, her two ladies'-maids, were busy powdering, as it were with hoar-frost, the bewitching widow.
She was a widow, this Marchioness, a widow of twenty-three; and wealthy, as very few persons were any longer at the court of Louis XV., her godfather.
Three-and-twenty years earlier, his Majesty had held her at the baptismal font of the chapel at Marly, and had settled upon her an income of a hundred thousand livres, by way of proving to her father, the Baron Fontevrault, who had saved his life in the battle of Fontenoy, that kings can be grateful, whatever people choose to say to the contrary.
The Marchioness then was a widow. She resided during the summer, in a charming little chateau, situated half-way up the slope overhanging the water, on the road from Bougival to Saint Germain. Madame Dubarry's estate adjoined hers; and on opening her eyes she could see, without rising, the white gableends and the white-spreading chestnut-trees of Luciennes, perched upon the heights. On this particular day—it was noon—the Marchioness, whilst her attendants dressed her hair and arranged her head-dress with the most exquisite taste, gravely employed herself in tossing up, alternately, a couple of fine oranges, which crossed each other in the air, and then dropped into the white and delicate hand that caught them in their fall.
This sleight-of-hand—which the Marchioness interrupted at times whilst she adjusted a beauty-spot on her lip, or cast an impatient glance on the crystal clock that told how time was running away with the fair widow's precious moments—had lasted for ten minutes, when the folding-doors were thrown open, and a valet, such as one sees now only on the stage announced with pompous voice—"The King!"
Apparently, the Marchioness was accustomed to such visits, for she but half rose from her seat, as she saluted with her most gracious smile the personage who entered.
It was indeed Louis XV. himself—Louis XV. at sixty-five; but robust, upright, with smiling lip and beaming eye, and jauntily clad in a close-fitting, pearl-grey hunting-suit, that became him to perfection. He carried under his arm a handsome fowling-piece, inlaid with mother-of-pearl; a small pouch, intended for ammunition alone, hung over his shoulder.
The King had come from Luciennes, almost alone, that is but with a Captain of the Guard, the old Marshal de Richelieu, and a single Equerry on foot. He had been amusing himself with quail-shooting, loading his own gun, as was the fashion with his ancestors, the later Valois and the earlier Bourbons. His grandsire, Henry IV., could not have been less ceremonious.
But a shower of hail had surprised him; and his Majesty had no relish for it. He pretended that the fire of an enemy's battery was less disagreeable than those drops of water, so small and so hard, that wet him through, and reminded him of his twinges of rheumatism.
Fortunately, he was but a few steps from the gateway of the chateau, when the shower commenced. He had come therefore to take shelter with his god-daughter, having dismissed his suite, and only keeping with him a magnificent pointer, whose genealogy was fully established by the Duc de Richelieu, and traced back, with a few slips in orthography, directly to Nisus, that celebrated greyhound, given by Charles IX. to his friend Ronsard, the poet.
"Good morning, Marchioness," said the King, as he entered, putting down his fowling-piece in a corner. "I have come to ask your hospitality. We were caught in a shower at your gate—Richelieu and I. I have packed off Richelieu."
"Ah, Sire, that wasn't very kind of you."
"Hush!" replied the King, in a good-humored tone. "It's only mid-day; and if the Marshal had forced his way in here at so early an hour, he would have bragged of it every where, this very evening. He is very aptto compromise one, and he is a great coxcomb too, the old Duke. But don't put yourself out of the way, Marchioness. Let Aspasia finish this becoming pile of your head-dress, and Florine spread out with her silver knife the scented powder that blends so well with the lilies and the roses of your bewitching face.... Why, Marchioness, you are so pretty, one could eat you up!"
"You think me so, Sire?"
"I tell you so every day. Oh, what fine oranges!"
And the King seated himself upon the roomy sofa, by the side of the Marchioness, whose rosy finger-tips he kissed with an infinity of grace. Then taking up one of the oranges that he had admired, he proceeded leisurely to examine it.
"But," said he at length, "what are oranges doing by the side of your Chinese powder-box and your scent bottles? Is there any connection between this fruit and the maintenance—easy as it is, Marchioness—of your charms?"
"These oranges," replied the lady, gravely, "fulfilled just now, Sire, the functions of destiny."
The King opened wide his eyes, and stroked the long ears of his dog, by way of giving the Marchioness time to explain her meaning.
"It was the Countess who gave them to me," she continued.
"Madame Dubarry?"
"Exactly so, Sire."
"A trumpery gift, it seems to me, Marchioness."
"I hold it, on the contrary, to be an important one; since I repeat to your Majesty, that these oranges decide my fate."
"I give it up," said the King.
"Imagine, Sire; yesterday I found the Countess occupied in tossing her oranges up and down, in this way." And the Marchioness recommenced her game with a skill that cannot be described.
"I see," said the King; "she accompanied this singular amusement with the words, 'Up, Choiseul! up, Praslin!' and, on my word, I can fancy how the pair jumped."
"Precisely so, Sire."
"And do you dabble in politics, Marchioness? Have you a fancy for uniting with the Countess, just to mortify my poor ministers?"
"By no means, Sire; for, in place of Monsieur de Choiseul and the Duc de Praslin, I was saying to myself, just now, 'Up, Menneval! up, Beaugency!'"
"Ay, ay," returned the King; "and why the deuce would you have them jumping, those two good-looking gentlemen—Monsieur de Menneval, who is a Croesus, and Monsieur de Beaugency, who is a statesman, and dances the minuet to perfection?"
"I'll tell you," said the dame. "You know, Sire, that Monsieur de Menneval is an accomplished gentleman, a handsome man, a gallant cavalier, an indefatigable dancer, witty as Monsieur Arouet, and longing for nothing so much as to live in the country, on his estate in Touraine, on the banks of the Loire, withthe woman whom he loves or will love, far from the court, from grandeur, and from turmoil."
"And, on my life, he's in the right of it," quoth the King. "One does become so wearied at court."
"Aye, and no," rejoined the widow as she put on her last beauty-spot.... "Nor are you unaware, Sire, that Monsieur de Beaugency is one of the most brilliant courtiers of Marly and Versailles; ambitious, burning with zeal for the service of your Majesty; as brave as Monsieur de Menneval, and capable of going to the end of the earth ... with the title of Ambassador of the King of France."
"I know that," chimed in Louis XV., with a laugh. "But, alas, I have more ambassadors than embassies. My ante-chambers overflow every morning."
"Now," continued the Marchioness, "I have been a widow ... these two years past."
"A long time, there's no denying."
"Ah," sighed she, "there's no need to tell me so, Sire. But Monsieur de Menneval loves me ... at least he says so, and I am easily persuaded."
"Very well; then marry Monsieur de Menneval."
"I have thought of it, Sire; and, in truth, I might do much worse. I should like well enough to live in the country, under the willow-trees, on the borders of the river, with a husband, fond, yielding, loving, who would detest the philosophers and set some little value on the poets. When no external noises disturb the honey-moon, that month, Sire, may be indefinitely prolonged. In the country, you know, one never hears a noise."
"Unless it be the north-wind moaning in the corridor, and the rain pattering on the window-panes." And the King shivered slightly on his sofa.
"But," added the dame, "Monsieur de Beaugency loves me equally well."
"Ah, ah! the ambitious man!"
"Ambition does not shut out love, Sire. Monsieur de Beaugency is a Marquis; he is twenty-five; he is ambitious—I should like a husband vastly who was longing to reach high offices of state. Greatness has its own particular merit."
"Then marry Monsieur de Beaugency."
"I have thought of that, also; but this poor Monsieur de Menneval."...
"Very good," exclaimed the King, laughing: "now I see to what purpose the oranges are destined. Monsieur de Menneval pleases you; Monsieur de Beaugency would suit you just as well; and since one can't have more than one husband, you make them each jump in turn."
"Just so, Sire. But observe what happens."
"Ah, what does happen?"
"That, unwilling and unable to play unfairly, I take equal pains to catch the two oranges as they come down; and that I catch them both, each time."
"Well, are you willing that I should take part in your game?"
"You, Sire? Ah, what a joke that would be!"
"I am very clumsy, Marchioness. To a certainty, in less than three minutes Beaugency and Menneval, will be rolling on the floor."
"Ah!" exclaimed the lady; "and if you have any preference for one or the other?"
"No; we'll do better. Look, I take the two oranges ... you mark them carefully—or, better still, you stick into one of them one of these toilet pins, making up your own mind which of the two is to represent Monsieur de Beaugency, and leaving me, on that point, entirely in the dark. If Monsieur de Beaugency touches the floor, you shall marry his rival; if it happen just otherwise, you shall resign yourself to become an ambassadress."
"Excellent! Now, Sire, let's see the result."
The King took the two oranges and plied shuttle with them above his head. But at the third pass, the two rolled down upon the embroidered carpet, and the Marchioness broke out into a merry fit of laughter.
"I foresaw as much," exclaimed his Majesty. "What a clumsy fellow I am!"
"And we more puzzled than ever, Sire?"
"So we are, Marchioness; but the best thing we can do, is to slice the oranges, sugar them well, and season them with a dash of West India rum. Then you can beg me to taste them, and offer me some of those preserved cherries and peaches that you put up just as nicely as my daughter Adelaide."
"And Monsieur de Menneval? and Monsieur deBeaugency?" said the Marchioness, in piteous accents. "How is the question to be settled?"
Louis XV. began to cogitate.
"Are you quite sure," said he, "that both of them are in love with you?"
"Probably so," returned she, with a little coquettish smile, sent back to her from the mirror opposite.
"And their love is equally strong?"
"I trust so, Sire."
"And I don't believe a word of it."
"Ah!" said the Marchioness, "but that is, in truth, a most terrible supposition. Besides, Sire, they are on their way hither."
"Both of them?"
"One after the other: the Marquis at one o'clock precisely; the Baron at two. I promised them my decision to-morrow, on condition that they would pay me a final visit to-day."
As the Marchioness finished, the valet, who had announced the King, came to inform his mistress, that Monsieur de Beaugency was in the drawing-room, and solicited the favour of admission to pay his respects.
"Capital!" said Louis XV., smiling as though he were eighteen; "show Monsieur de Beaugency in. Marchioness, you will receive him, and tell him the price that you set upon your hand."
"And what is the price, Sire?"
"You must give him the choice—either to renounce you, or to consent to send in to me his resignation of his appointments, in order that he may go and buryhimself with his wife on his estate of Courlac, in Poitou, there to live the life of a country gentleman."
"And then, Sire?"
"You will allow him a couple of hours for reflection, and so dismiss him."
"And in the end?"
"The rest is my concern." And the King got up, taking his dog and his gun, and concealed himself behind a screen, drawing also a curtain, that he might be completely hidden.
"What is your intention, Sire?" asked the Marchioness.
"I conceal myself like the kings of Persia, from the eyes of my subjects," replied Louis XV. "Hush, Marchioness."
A few moments later, and Monsieur de Beaugency entered the room.
The Marquis was a charming cavalier; tall, slight, with a moustache black and curling upwards, an eye sparkling and intelligent, a Roman nose, an Austrian lip, a firm step, a noble and imposing presence.
The Marchioness blushed slightly, at sight of him, but offered him her hand to kiss; and as she begged him by a gesture to be seated, thus inwardly took counsel with herself.
"Decidedly, I believe that the test is useless; it is Monsieur de Beaugency whom I love. How proudshall I be to lean upon his arm at the court-fêtes! With what delight shall I keep long watches in the cabinet of his Excellency the Ambassador, whilst he is busy with his Majesty's affairs!"
But after this "aside," the Marchioness resumed her gracious and coquettish air; as though the woman comprehended the mission of refined gallantry which was reserved for her seductive and delicate epoch by an indulgent Providence, that laid by its anger and its evil days for the subsequent reign.
"Marchioness," said Monsieur de Beaugency, as he held in his hands the rosy fingers of the lovely widow, "it is fully a week since you received me!"
"A week? why, you were here yesterday!"
"Then I must have counted the hours for ages."
"A compliment which may be found in one of the younger Crebillon's books!"
"You are hard upon me, Marchioness."
"Perhaps so, ... it comes naturally ... I am tired."
"Ah, Marchioness! Heaven knows that I would make of your existence one never-ending fête!"
"That would, at least, be wearisome."
"Say a word, Madam, one single word, and my fortune, my future prospects, my ambition!"—
"You are still then as ambitious as ever?"
"More than ever, since I have been in love with you."
"Is that necessary?"
"Beyond a doubt. Ambition—what is it but honours, wealth, the envious looks of impotent rivals, the admiration of the crowd, the favour of monarchs?... And is not one's love unanswerably and most triumphantly proved, in laying all this at the feet of the woman whom one adores?"
"You may be right."
"I may be right, Marchioness! Listen to me, my fair lady-love."
"I am all attention, sir."
"Between us, who are well-born, and consort not with plebeians, that vulgar and sentimental sort of love, which is painted by those who write books for your mantuamakers and chambermaids, would be in exceedingly bad taste. It would be but slighting love and making no account of its enjoyments, were we to go and bury it in some obscure corner of the Provinces, or of Paris—we, who belong to Versailles—living away there with it, in monotonous solitude and unchanging contemplation!"
"Ah!" said the Marchioness, "you think so?"
"Tell me, rather, of fêtes that dazzle one with lights, with noise, with smiles, with wit, through which one glides intoxicated, with the fair conquest in triumph on one's arm ... why hide one's happiness, in place of parading it? The jealousy of the world does but increase, and cannot diminish it. My uncle, the Cardinal, stands well at court. He has the King's ear, and better still, the Countess's. He will, ere long, procure me one of the Northern embassies. Cannot you fancy yourself Madame the Ambassadress,treading the platform of a drawing-room, as royalty with royalty, with the highest nobility of a kingdom—having the men at your feet, and the women on lower seats around you, whilst you yourself are occupant of a throne, and wield a sceptre?"
And as Monsieur de Beaugency warmed with his own eloquence, he gently slid from his seat to the knees of the Marchioness, whose hand he covered with kisses.
She listened to him, with a smile on her lips, and then abruptly said to him:
"Rise, sir, and hear me in turn. Are you in truth sincerely attached to me?"
"With my whole soul, Marchioness!"
"Are you prepared to make every sacrifice?"
"Every one, Madam."
"That is fortunate indeed; for to be prepared for all, is to accomplish one, without the slightest difficulty; and it is but a single one that I require."
"Oh, speak! Must a throne be conquered?"
"By no means, sir. You must only call to mind that you own a fine chateau in Poitou."
"Pooh!" said Monsieur de Beaugency, "a shed."
"Every man's house is his castle," replied the widow. "And having called it to mind, you need only order post-horses."
"For what purpose?"
"To carry me off to Courlac. It is there that your almoner shall unite us, in the chapel, in presence of your domestics and your vassals, our only witnesses."
"A singular whim, Marchioness; but I submit to it."
"Very well. We will set out this evening.... Ah! I forgot."
"What, further?"
"Before starting, you will send in your resignation to the King."
Monsieur de Beaugency almost bounded from his seat.
"Do you dream of that, Marchioness?"
"Assuredly. You will not, at Courlac, be able to perform your duties at court."
"And on returning?"
"We will not return."
"We will—not—return!" slowly ejaculated Monsieur de Beaugency. "Where then shall we proceed?"
"Nowhere. We will remain at Courlac."
"All the winter?"
"And all the summer. I count upon settling myself there, after our marriage. I have a horror of the court. I do not like the turmoil. Grandeur wearies me.... I look forward only to a simple and charming country life, to the tranquil and happy existence of the forgotten lady of the castle.... What matters it to you? You were ambitious for my love's sake. I care but little for ambition; you ought to care for it still less, since you are in love with me."
"But, Marchioness—"
"Hush! it's a bargain.... Still, for form's sake, I give you one hour to reflect. There, pass out that way; go into the winter drawing-room that you will find atthe end of the gallery, and send me your answer upon a leaf of your tablets. I am about to complete my toilet, which I left unfinished, to receive you."
And the Marchioness opened a door, bowed Monsieur de Beaugency into the corridor, and closed the door upon him.
"Marchioness," cried the King, from his hiding place and through the screen, "you will offer Monsieur de Menneval the embassy to Prussia, which I promise you for him."
"And you will not emerge from your retreat?"
"Certainly not, Madame; it is far more amusing to remain behind the scenes. One hears all, laughs at one's ease, and is not troubled with saying any thing."
It struck two. Monsieur de Menneval was announced. His Majesty remained snug, and shammed dead.
Monsieur de Menneval was, at all points, a cavalier who yielded nothing to his rival, Monsieur de Beaugency. He was fair. He had a blue eye, a broad forehead, a mouth that wore a dreamy expression, and that somewhat pensive air which became so well the Troubadours of France in the olden time.
We cannot say whether Monsieur de Menneval had perpetrated verse; but he loved the poets, the arts, the quiet of the fields, the sunsets, the rosy dawn, the breeze sighing through the foliage, the low and mysterious tones of a harp, sounding at eve from the light barkshooting over the blue waters of the Loire—all things in short that harmonize with that melodious concert of the heart, which passes by the name of love.
He was timid, but he passionately loved the beautiful widow; and his dearest dream was of passing his whole life at her feet, in well chosen retirement, far from those envious lookers-on who are ever ready to fling their sarcasms on quiet happiness, and who dissemble their envy under cloak of a philosophic scepticism.
He trembled, as he entered the Marchioness's boudoir. He remained standing before her, and blushed as he kissed her hand. At length, encouraged by a smile, emboldened by the solemnity of this coveted interview, he spoke to her of his love, with a poetic simplicity and an unpremeditated warmth of heart—the genuine enthusiasm of a priest, who has faith in the object of his adoration.
And as he spoke, the Marchioness sighed, and said within herself:
"He is right. Love is happiness. Love is to be two indeed, but one at the same time; and to be free from those importunate intermeddlers, the indifference or the mocking attention of the world."
She remembered, however, the advice of the King, and thus addressed the Baron:
"What will you indeed do, in order to convince me of your affection?"
"All that man can do."
The Baron was less bold than Monsieur de Beaugency, who had talked of conquering a throne. He was probably more sincere.
"I am ambitious," said the widow.
"Ah!" replied Monsieur de Menneval, sorrowfully.
"And I would that the man, whom I marry, should aspire to every thing, and achieve every thing."
"I will try so to do, if you wish it."
"Listen; I give you an hour to reflect. I am, you know, the King's god-daughter. I have begged of him an embassy for you."
"Ah!" said Monsieur de Menneval, with indifference.
"He has granted my request. If you love me, you will accept the offer. We will be married this evening, and your Excellency the Ambassador to Prussia will set off for Berlin immediately after the nuptials. Reflect; I grant you an hour."
"It is useless," answered Monsieur de Menneval; "I have no need of reflection, for I love you. Your wishes are my orders: to obey you is my only desire. I accept the embassy."
"Never mind!" said she, trembling with joy and blushing deeply. "Pass into the room, wherein you were just now waiting. I must complete my toilet, and I shall then be at your service. I will summon you."
The Marchioness handed out the Baron by the right-hand door, as she had handed out the Marquis by the left; and then said to herself:
"I shall be prettily embarrassed, if Monsieur de Beaugency should consent to end his days at Courlac!"
Thereupon, the King removed the screen and reappeared.
His Majesty stepped quietly to the round table, whereupon he had replaced the oranges, and took up one of them.
"Ah!" exclaimed the Marchioness, "I perceive, Sire, that you foresee the difficulty that is about to spring up, and go back accordingly to the oranges, in order to settle it."
As his sole reply, Louis XV. took a small ivory handled pen-knife from his waistcoat pocket, made an incision in the rind of the orange, peeled it off very neatly, divided the fruit into two parts, and offered one to the astonished Marchioness.
"But, Sire, what are you doing?" was her eager inquiry.
"You see that I am eating the orange."
"But—"
"It was of no manner of use to us."
"You have decided then?"
"Unquestionably. Monsieur de Menneval loves you better than Monsieur de Beaugency."
"That is not quite certain yet; let us wait."
"Look," said the King, pointing to the valet, who entered with a note from the Marquis, "You'll soon see."
The widow opened the note, and read:
"Madam, I love you—Heaven is my witness; andto give you up is the most cruel of sacrifices. But I am a gentleman. A gentleman belongs to the King. My life, my blood are his. I cannot, without forfeit of my loyalty, abandon his service——."
"Et cetera," chimed in the King, "as was observed by the Abbé Fleury, my tutor. Marchioness, call in Monsieur de Menneval."
Monsieur de Menneval entered, and was greatly troubled to see the King in the widow's boudoir.
"Baron," said his Majesty, "Monsieur de Beaugency was deeply in love with the Marchioness; but he was more deeply still in love—since he would not renounce it, to please her—with the embassy to Prussia. And you, you love the Marchioness so much better than you love me, that you would only enter my service for her sake. This leads me to believe that you would be but a lukewarm public servant, and that Monsieur de Beaugency will make an excellent ambassador. He will start for Berlin this evening; and you shall marry the Marchioness. I will be present at the ceremony."
"Marchioness," whispered Louis XV. in the ear of his god-daughter, "true love is that which does not shrink from a sacrifice."
And the King peeled the second orange and eat it, as he placed the hand of the widow in that of the Baron.
"I have been making three persons happy: the Marchioness, whose indecision I have relieved; the Baron, who shall marry her; and Monsieur do Beaugency, who will perchance prove a sorry ambassador. In all this, I have only neglected my own interests, for I have been eating the oranges without sugar.... And yet they pretend to say that I am a selfish Monarch?"
A DREAM OF THE ARCTIC SEAS.
This fanciful sketch was written and published, before the fate of Sir John Franklin and his Discovery Ships was known.
This fanciful sketch was written and published, before the fate of Sir John Franklin and his Discovery Ships was known.
There was not a curtain of any kind over the window.
Now, there are few things that I dislike more than this total want of privacy in a bed-room. Opposite to a dead wall at a foot's distance, so that none but bogies could peer within, or looking out through a port-hole over the lonely sea, I confess to an almost old-maidenish particularity in this respect. Failing, therefore, in sundry efforts to substitute a great coat for a curtain, or even to delude myself into a sense of seclusion, by planting an open umbrella upon a chair before the window, I finally abandoned my efforts, determined to brazen it out, blew out my light, and tumbled into bed, not in the best of humours.
You remember, perhaps, the bitter cold night and the flurry of a snow storm, that came abruptly upon us, a few weeks since. That was the time of which I write—the place was a country village. And what a freezing night it was! The east wind blew gustilyand drearily. It was moonlight, but dull and grey; and as I lay in bed, without raising my head from the starveling bolster vainly eked out by a meagre carpet bag, I could see a single pine tree, on a steep bank right opposite my window, nodding, and bowing at me by fits and by starts, as though the capricious spirit of the night wind had bid it mock me. How I longed for the sight of a chimney-pot!
There was no snow yet; but I listened to the rush of each driving blast, and shrunk, huddling under the clothes, from the chill it sent through me, as its keen edges forced their way through the crevices of the roof over my head. At length, and after much tumbling and tossing, I fell asleep—or believed that I did so; and presently I awoke again—or so it seemed to me. What was sleeping, and what was waking, I scarcely knew, that night.
Suddenly, there, between us—between myself, I mean, and the white, shining hill-side—came an object, undefined in form but palpable in substance, waving gently to and fro, passing and repassing before the window, and at last appearing almost to touch it. Finally it became stationary there, yet still undulating with that soft tremulous motion which you may have noticed in the humming-bird, when, poised upon his delicate wings, he darts his slender tongue into the petals of a favourite flower. "What in the world is it?" I exclaimed; and had just fancied that I could see a few slight cords reaching from it upwards, above the upper edge of the window, when I distinctly hearda rap upon the pane, and sprung from my bed, in wonderment, but not in fear. The glass melted away—frame-work to the casement there was none—I passed outwards, unconscious how or wherefore. I was seated, warmly and comfortably seated, springing aloft into the moonlit and starry sky.
Then I knew that it was a balloon. It rose at the instant, and sped rapidly through the air. The wind was strong, but blowing a steady gale; not in gusts now, as it had been. And I felt that it was from the south, for it was soft and balmy; and I knew that I was driving towards the Polar star, for I saw it; and saw it growing larger and more luminous.
Then my spirit yearned after the missing Mariners; and I prayed Heaven that I might be on my way to find them.
On we sped; but I was conscious, though the southerly gales were wafting me to the frozen regions of the North, that there was a spirit beneath or behind me, guiding the tiny car in which I was borne. I felt that he was there, though I strove in vain to detect his presence. Slily did I glance over my shoulder, abruptly did I turn my head, cautiously did I crane over the edge—I could not see him. I felt him directing my looks to what I beheld, shaping my thoughts whitherward they went; but it pleased him to remain invisible.
It was yet night. Many rivers did we cross in our progress, some looking inky-black as they flowed between snowy banks, others dimly made out, and lostin the one unvaried tone. Lakes were there, too, and cities sparcely scattered. The latter were mostly slumbering in the same quiet as the former; but ascending from one I heard the alarm of a bell, and glanced downwards at a herd of figures who seemed to be fussing and fuming around a fire.
And now, for a moment, I knew that I was dreaming; and oh, grievous disappointment, I half awoke to a consciousness that the vision was slipping away from me. How I clutched at it! how I hugged it, and refused to have a word to say to my senses! Did you never try this plan and succeed in it? If not, I would not give a fig for your dreams.
But I caught up the thread of mine. Bravo! It was a narrow escape, though. They told me, next day, that there had been a false alarm of fire in the village, during the night. I would have been roasted alive, rather than not have dreamed out my dream.
Day-light, and early summer, and we were hovering over the icy land and icy sea, scarcely now distinguishable, one from other. Nor can I, indeed, describe much of what I saw; for methought, that we were driving hither and thither, not only in the dreary realm of the Frost-king, but up, and down, and athwart the ordinary current of times and seasons. So was there much confusion. Anon it was that awful Winter, whose cold will eat, like red-hot iron, into the unguarded flesh, or more fatal still, will palm off Death upon his victim under the alluring disguise of Slumber—Winter, with his terrible silence, more fearful than the roar of his fiercest hurricanes—Winter, with his blinding mantle of unbroken white, and his snowdrifts wherein cities might be engulphed—Winter, with his one redeeming beauty, one attendant goddess, one Aurora, the Borealis, whose coruscations were so marvellous to behold, so changeful, so grand, so brilliant, that I smiled in looking on them, to think that ever human skill had fabricated fire-works, and that their display could throw spectators into ecstacies.
And anon it was the Arctic summer—and the blue waters peeped at intervals between giant pyramids of ice—pyramids, and pinnacles, and turrets, and all shapely and all shapeless masses. And these were floating in the sunlight—some majestically sailing through the ever opening spaces, coming never in contact with their fellows—others jarring, and crashing, and splintering into a thousand fragments, as the upheaving waves compelled them perilously to embrace each other; and their greeting was as the roar of thunder-storms. And uncouth walrusses were playing their clumsy antics on detached fragments of the ice, and the seal was basking in the sun, and the huge whale was spouting, and the seagull was skimming the surface of the loosened deep, dipping therein the tips of his wings, as though to assure himself that it was indeed liquid. Landward, too—for there was land, also, beneath us—I seemed to see the scanty blades of a dwarfish vegetation thrusting themselves pertinaciously through the snow; and anon the garb of the earth seemed changing from one universal white, to varied hues of brown and green.
Those things and other such, rare and beautiful, were visible to the bodily eye; but the eye of my mind was not therewith content. It strained its utmost, but saw not what it longed for; and my voice broke out in bitterness, "Oh, the ships and the men, the men and the ships, the good Sir John and his daring crews!"
Then I was conscious that my attendant spirit impelled the balloon in a direction hitherto unexplored, and lo! there beneath us was a ship—a ship, one of the objects of my search!
A ship! and my heart bounded within me at the first glimpse I caught of it. But ah! how the blood curdled in my veins, when, at the next moment, I saw that the ship had not, and could not have occupants. Poor, ill-fated, ill-treated vessel; never surely did typhoon or whirlwind so displace thee from thy proper bearings. The troubled waters of the Atlantic or the Caribbean Sea might indeed have reared thee upwards, and plunged thee downwards, and made thee reel to and fro, like a drunkard; but it was alone the frozen waters of the Arctic, that could have forced thee into this unnatural position, and then cruelly nailed thee there, to rot into decay.
Ay, stout shipErebusorTerror—I wot not which—there wert thou lying, or rather there didst thou stand upright, thy bows grovelling in the ice, thystern uplifted high in air, thy keel propped up against a sheer precipice of ice, thy bowsprit shivered into splinters, thy masts and yards, and tackle, fallen all, and tangled in most inextricable confusion. One stick alone remained set out horizontally from the deck. From it drooped the tattered remnant of a flag; it was the blood-red standard of England!
As the balloon glided downwards towards the wreck, I could have peered into the after-cabin windows; but a single glance had already satisfied me that no living being would be found on board. I have said that my blood curdled in my veins. Turning hastily with a sudden movement of indignation, I obtained a moment's glance at my guide—his form was shadowy; but by his hideous features I recognized him as Despair, and felt that he and I were one.
But ho, a pleasant change! Down we floated, till my tiny car was almost on a level with the vessel's bows; and there—oh, joy of joys—were signs, palpable and undoubted, that the crew had fared better than their ship—that they had escaped, and were gone, and had carried what they pleased away with them. At one view I comprehended this—I read it in the aperture sawn through the doubled planking, and in the fragments of casks and cases with which the ice was bestrewn around. There was a board, too, with writing upon it, nailed up conspicuously; but I tried in vain to decipher it. Under the impulse of strong excitement, I again turned abruptly toward my guide; this time, I could not obtain a glimpse of him.Methought, however, that I heard a rustle like the sound of wings, and that the inflated silk over my head became suddenly tinted with the hues of the rainbow. And so I knew that I was under the guidance of Hope; and that Despair would trouble me no more. Whither my countrymen were gone I could not conjecture; but, at least, I deemed them safe.
Away, and away, we soared upwards and sped onwards; how far, and how long, I marked not. And lo, another object! not a ship—it is a house, this time; yes, a house in the lonely wilderness of that frozen ocean, a hut upon the waves of that boundlessmer de glace. And it was fashioned in rude form; and the material was rough blocks of ice; and snow seemed to have been used as their cement. The roof was formed by poles and spars; and across them yet hung a sailcloth covering. Roundabout the hut was a lofty wall, built apparently to shelter it from storms, and snowdrifts; and the wall was built with the same material as the house, for Nature's plentiful quarry fails not in those Polar regions, if man's hand and man's axe be brought there, to hew and shape. But for whom the shelter, and whither had they gone, who tenanted it? I knew well that the long lost had been here. None but they—no miserable, wandering tribe of Esquimaux—could have left such unmistakable marks of forethought, and skill, and energy. Near by, too, was plainly visible the icy cradle wherein a vessel had been lying, and on an even keel. But ships and men weregone—gone, but how gone, and whither? Earnestly did I gaze for some solution of this mystery; and at length I solved it, ay, plain enough; a line along the surface of the ice became distinctly visible, rugged and indented indeed, but straight, and stretching far away to the Westward. Then was I assured that Sir John and his brave comrades had been here, that they had cut out a channel for their barque, and that the ice had closed in behind them, so soon as they had passed on their way. Yes, I was on their track. And again I heard the soft rustling of the wings of Hope; and the rainbow-tinted hues of the balloon were three-fold more brilliant than before.
One other circumstance only could I note, ere we sped away again upon the search—all who came hither had not departed hence. Side by side, in a sheltered nook, beneath a towering pinnacle of ice, two wooden crosses, peering above the snow, told plainly that beneath it two of the Mariners were sleeping in death. And their names were rudely carved upon the crosses; but again my sight, though in some respects preternaturally sharpened, refused to satisfy my curiosity. Never mind, thought I, 'tis a small proportion in so large a company. We must all die once; and those who rest here, rest as well as though they were laid beneath the "long-drawn aisle;" and their bodies are more enduringly embalmed by the servants of the great Frost-King, than in olden days they could have been by the hand of the cunning men of Egypt.
Upwards, and onwards, and steering ever a Westwardly course. And lo, at length—oh, God be praised—yes I found the men I sought! Yes—no more doubt—there I saw them below me, although, with the caprice incident to dreams, I was prevented from dropping down in the midst of them, or rendering myself either visible or audible.
A strange scene it was, independent of its surpassing interest. Rocky islands—vast packs and floes of ice—a lone ship beset, impeded, entangled—a hundred pairs of lusty arms at work with ice-saws and axes, striving to extricate her, by cutting a channel in the direction where open water was visible. A little apart from the busy groups stood one whom I instantly recognised as the Chief. Care had furrowed his brow, and somewhat whitened his locks, and bowed his vigorous form; but manly resolution was stamped upon his features, and command was in every gesture. Bethink you how I strove to shout—how I struggled even to throw myself down into their arms; but the dream-spell was on me; I was invisible, perforce, and my tongue refused to give utterance.
How I watched them! and look, the burly seaman who is a few steps ahead of his comrades, tracking out the pathway to be dug—look, he starts as though a rattlesnake were issuing from the snow under his feet. What is it? He stoops, and I see his big brown hand tremble, as it assuredly would not have done, if picking up a burning grenade. What is it, bold tar, that moves thee thus? Ay, I see now, and know the cause,'tis yonder little slip of gay coloured silk on which are printed a few short words. Jack could not read, it was evident enough; but he held up his prize, and called out something which I could not hear, and his mess-mates bounded to the spot. Foremost in the race was an athletic young man, in the threadbare uniform of a Midshipman, who had left his father's halls, five years ago, a beardless boy. Nor was the Chieftain himself the last. How did it pass rapidly from hand to hand, that little silken slip! How did its fall amongst them seem to change the whole spirit of the scene! But look again, a gesture from the Chief, not as one of authority this time, but rather as one of suggestion. It is obeyed, however, and a hundred heads are bared; and by the movements of their lips, I could see that every living man amongst them ejaculated a hearty "amen" to the Chieftain's short but earnest thanksgiving to Heaven, for the assistance now known to be at hand. Then I remembered that the brave Sir John was a pious and a God-fearing man; and that the veriest infidel sneers not at religion in the mouth of him, whose heart is fearless and true.
Visible to me, if not audible, what extravagant demonstrations of joy ensued! I felt my little car vibrating to their force, as cheers, peal upon peal, came rolling up into the welkin. Singular was it, too, that though in my dream my ears were stopped, I could read in the expressive features of those rejoicing Mariners their varied emotions, as they vociferated their glee. I could see in their honest countenances, whichcheer was for Old England—which for their Queen—which for their homes—which for their wives and little ones. Then they burst forth into grotesque dancing, and slapping of each others' hands, and jumping on to each others' backs, and a thousand merry antics, as though they were children just let loose from school. And anon, in their mirth, running races hither and thither, one, an officer amongst them, picked up another printed silken slip, in general aspect like the former, but addressed, it seemed, to the Chieftain by name. A second look would have been sufficient to master its contents, but the young man looked not the second time, he hurried with it straightway to Sir John. Rare instance this, methought, of the working of a high sense of honour!
And the veteran, what did it convey to him? I saw not; but I saw a tear course down his furrowed cheek; and for the moment my ears were opened to hear his half-smothered ejaculation, "Jane, Jane, God bless thee—true wife, noble woman—we shall meet, thank God, we shall meet!"
So I watched the merry throng, and strove in vain to catch portions of their earnest talk. Suddenly, all eyes were turned upon the Captain; he was speaking, and pointing to the West. A few words only seemed to come from his lips; but those surely were words of command. In a moment, every man, though half delirious with delight, seized upon his axe or his saw. Work recommenced; labour was distributed in gangs. Every arm was vigorously plied. The watch, descended from the mast-head to hear the wondrous tidings, mounted lustily again to his look-out station. Each man was busy at his post; and though there was perchance some display of increased energy and activity, you would not have surmised that these patient labourers had just exchanged the gathering gloom of Despair for the radiant smiles of Hope. O gallant hearts of oak, thought I—resolute, unflinching, enduring, in the prospect of the dreariest of fates—orderly, obedient, loyal, in the thrill of unexpected deliverance.
The remainder of my dream came upon me in snatches.
Midway in a narrow strait, between lofty and sterile banks, a battered and crippled barque was steering South. I knew the place to be Behring's Straits, the vessel the Discovery Ship that I had just left amidst the ice. So bruised, however, was she, so rent, and strained, and maltreated, that but for the friendly aid of a consort's tow-rope, she could scarcely have adventured even on this comparatively easy navigation. At her peak floated the standard of England; but I strove in vain to make out the colours of her welcome escort. Once, I thought I saw plainly the Stars and Stripes of America; but these either faded away, or assumed the appearance of the double-headed eagle of Russia. Be that as it may, my sense of hearing was restored; and I could both hear and see signs of continuous rejoicing and festivity. Sounds of mirth, and song, and music, came upwards to me from thosepleasant waters. Many a canoe, too, filled with outlandish people, visited the ships; all was wonder, and delight, and congratulation.
Hitherto there had been some consistency in my dream; for if my mode of seeing were dream-like and fantastical, what I saw had the verisimilitude of reality. But this was over, or at least was changed. In place of being seated in the car of a balloon, I was now in the maintop of Sir John's battered and leaky ship, a witness to what could only have existence in the wild imaginings of a vision. For, methought we were still steering to the South, when on our larboard hand uprose a range of lofty hills, upon which it seemed to me that I could almost have jumped. Down their sides rolled hundreds of little streams; and in the waters, waist-deep, were myriads of human beings, delving, and scraping, and washing, and picking up what seemed to me to be gold. But they paused in their busy occupations, when they saw the approach of the ships; and, holding up shining masses of the golden ore, shouted to the long missing mariners to come to the mines, and gather a plentiful harvest after their toils. Yardarm were we to the glittering hill-sides, and the miners wore the air of men who rarely tempted in vain; but the crew of the worn-out ship gaily shook their heads, laughed a pleasant little laugh of defiance, and the words, "home, home," came floating up to me from her deck.
Another trial. The men had theirs, and were staunch. It was the master's turn. Heading still to the southwards, but almost becalmed, I saw a swift steamer ranging fast up with us from astern. This time the Stars and Stripes were plainly evident. She came alongside. Her captain was on our deck in a moment, and engaged in earnest conversation with the good Sir John. By the wave of his hand and a word caught here and there, I knew that the kindly American was pressing the veteran to take passage in his steamer. He drew a little almanac from his pocket, and there seemed to be some comparison as to dates; but Sir John finally, with a moistened eye, touched the other on the shoulder, pointed upwards to the British ensign, and firmly shook his head. Away rushed the friendly steamer, and the crowding passengers on her deck took leave of us with reiterated cheers.
My dream was drawing to a close; but I yet was housed snugly in my new position, when the look-out at the mast-head announced a sail. It might have been the same day, or the next, or a week later. But he announced a sail—then another—and another—and lastly a steamer under canvas. The squadron bore down upon us. It consisted of two line-of-battle-ships, a frigate, and a screw-propeller, under command of the British Admiral in the Pacific. The greetings and salutes were over, and official etiquette was somewhat relaxed under the intense excitement of the moment, when I heard in my dream, on the quarter-deck of theflag ship, the Admiral thus addressed the carpenter, with a certain meaning twinkle in his eye. "That leaky old tub can never swim round Cape Horn, Carpenter." "I think not, your Honour," discreetly replied Mr. Chips. "Youngster," continued the Admiral turning quickly to a little middy, "go to Captain B. with my compliments, and tell him to call an immediate survey on the Discovery Ship." The little middy touched his cap respectfully, and off he jumped with his message. "Mr. C.," cried the Admiral to the other midshipman who stood by the signal-locker, "signalize the propeller to light her fires, and get up all steam." In thirty seconds four bits of bunting flew out from the mizen royal-mast head.
The last object that I saw in my vision was the figure of a woman, walking the ramparts of an old Spanish city on the Pacific coast of Central America. Matronly, and dignified in her air and bearing, her featured bore the impress of past anxiety, but across them flitted at times the consciousness of approaching joy. She gazed wistfully ever and anon seaward; and my heart yearned to tell her all that I had so lately seen. The herd of vulgar gold-hunters, who thronged the battlements, respected her, for her long-continued sorrows, her abiding faith, her matchless perseverance. They pressed not on her steps.
I, too, who knew more than they did, how I longedto see the meeting—but no, no, 'twere better that it should be sacred.
I had not the choice; at this moment, forced upon my unwilling ears, through the key-hole came a tiny voice, "Please, Sir, mother says won't you get up; the stage will be here in ten minutes."
An Eastern Apologue—From the French.
----I read her my manuscript; I had been abusing woman I must confess. Not a single good word could I say for the sex; and long did my companion and I battle the point. Many truisms, much that was strictly veritable had I brought forward, and she had been obliged to yield to the justice of almost all my remarks, though disclaiming against my slander at the same time. Finally—"You intend to marry, yourself?" she asked.
"Certainly," I replied; "to find a woman bold enough to take me, after having convinced her that I knew all the duplicity of the sex, will henceforward be the dearest of my hopes."
"Is this resignation or fatuity?"
"That is my secret."
"Well, then," she said, "most learned doctor of conjugal arts and sciences, permit me to relate to you a little Eastern apologue, that I read long ago in a small volume that was offered to us every year in the shape of an almanac." I bowed my delighted attention.The pretty creature threw herself back in herchaise longue, rested her little feet upon the fender, and fixed her arch dark eyes upon me.
"At the commencement of the Empire," she began, "the ladies brought into fashion a game which consisted in accepting nothing from the person with whom one agreed to play, without saying the word 'Iadeste.' An affair of this kind lasted, as you may suppose, whole weeks, and the height of cleverness was to surprise one another into receiving a trifle without uttering the magic word."
"Even a kiss?"
"Oh! I have twenty times gained 'Iadeste' in that way," said she, laughing. "It was, I believe, about this time, apropos of this game of which the origin is either Arabian or Chinese, that my apologue obtained the honours of print."
"But if I tell it to you," she interrupted, looking doubtfully at me, and passing her taper finger slowly across her lips, with a charmingly coquettish gesture, "promise me to insert it at the end of your book!"
"Will you not be bestowing a treasure? I owe you already so many obligations, I do not hesitate to add this; therefore, I accept it at once." She smiled maliciously, and went on in these words.
"A philosopher had compiled a very large collection of all the tricks our sex can play; and so, to guard himself against our wiles, he carried this constantly about him. One day, in travelling, he found himself near an Arabian encampment. A young woman, sittingunder the shade of a palm-tree, got up suddenly, on the approach of the stranger, and invited him so obligingly to repose under her tent that he could not resist accepting. The husband of this lady was then absent. The philosopher had scarcely established himself upon the soft carpets, when his graceful hostess presented him with fresh dates and a vessel full of milk; he could not help seeing the rare perfection of the hands which offered the beverage and the fruit. But to recover from the confusion into which the charms of the young Arabian had thrown him, and whose snares he began to dread, the wise man drew out his book and read! The enchanting creature, piqued at this disdain, said to him in the sweetest voice, 'That book must be very interesting, since it seems to be the only thing you consider worthy of notice. Would it be an indiscretion to ask the name of the science of which it treats!' The philosopher replied without raising his eyes, 'The subject of this book is beyond the comprehension of woman.' This refusal excited more and more the curiosity of the young Arabian. She put forward the prettiest little foot that ever left its transient trace upon the fleeting sands of the desert. The sage began to waver; his truant looks would wander toward those dainty feet till his eyes, too powerfully tempted, finally mingled the flame of their admiration with the fire that darted from the ardent and black orbs of the young Asiatic. Again, then, she asked in her soft low tones, 'what is the book?' and the charmed philosopher replied, 'Iam the author of this work. It contains a record of all the tricks that woman ever invented!'
"'What! all—absolutely all?' inquired the daughter of the desert.
"'Yes—all! And it is only in studying woman constantly, that I have been able to overcome my fear of them.'
"'Ah!' said the Arabian, dropping the long lashes of her snowy eyelids; and then throwing suddenly upon the pretended sage the full lustre of her Eastern eyes she made him forget in one instant his valuable book and its invaluable contents. Behold my philosopher the most impassioned of men!
"Thinking that he perceived in the manner of his young hostess a slight touch of coquetry, the stranger hazarded an avowal of his adoration. How could he have resisted? The sky was so blue, the sand shone in the distance like a blade of gold; the wind brought love upon its wings, and the wife of the absent Arab seemed to reflect all the brilliancy with which she was surrounded. Her bright eyes, too, became liquid; and she seemed, by a slight movement of her graceful head, to consent to listen to the honeyed words of the quondam philosopher.
"The wise man was in a full tide of eloquence when the distant gallop of a horse was heard rapidly approaching.
"'We are lost!' cried the alarmed Fatima; 'my husband is coming. He is jealous as a tiger, and still more fierce. In the name of the Prophet, and if youlove your life, hide yourself in this chest!' The frightened author, seeing nothing else to do, rushed into the chest; his hostess shut it down, locked it, and took the key. She went to meet her spouse, and after several caresses, which put him into the best of humour, 'I must tell you,' said she, 'a very singular adventure.'
"'I listen, my gazelle,' said the Arabian, seating himself upon a cushion and crossing big legs after the Oriental fashion.
"'There came here to-day a kind of philosopher; he pretended to have collected in a book all the treacheries of which my sex is capable; and this false sage—spoke—to—me of love!'
"'Well?'
"'I listened to him!' At these words the Arab bounded like a lion, and drew his kangiar. The philosopher, from the bottom of the chest, heard all, and sent to the devil his book, woman, and all the men of Arabia Petrea.
"'Fatima!' cried the husband, if you wish to live, answer! 'Where is the traitor?'
"Horrified at the storm she had raised, Fatima threw herself at the feet of her lord, and trembling under the menacing steel of the poniard, she pointed out the coffer, with a single look, as prompt as it was timid. Then rising, ashamed, she drew the key from her girdle and gave it to her jealous lord. But—as he turned furiously from her, the malicious beauty burst into a shout of laughter, and laying her white hand upon his shoulder, 'Iadeste!' she exclaimed; 'at last, Ishall have my beautiful gold chain! Give it to me; you have lost. Another time, Fazom, have a little better memory!' The husband stupefied, let fall the key, and presenting the golden chain, on his knees, offered his dear Fatima to bring her all the jewels of all the caravans that passed that year, if she would only give up such cruel methods of gaining the 'Iadeste.' Then, as he was an Arabian and did not like to lose his gold chain, though it was to his wife, he remounted his steed and went off, grumbling at his ease in the desert—for he loved Fatima too much to show her his regrets.
"At last, the young woman released the philosopher more dead than alive from his prison, and said to him, gravely,
"'Mr. Philosopher, don't forgot to insert this trick in your collection.'"