CHAPTER IX.
The physician of the prison condescended to authorize on the morrow the Count de Charney’s resumption of his daily exercise. He was allowed the freedom of the little court, not only at the usual hours, but at any moment of the day. Air and exercise were considered indispensable to his recovery; and thus, the prisoner was enabled to apply himself anew to his long-interrupted studies.
In the view of committing to writing his scientific observations on the development of his plant, from the moment of its germination, he tried to seduce Ludovico into furnishing him with pens and paper. He expected, indeed, to find the jailer resume on this occasion an air of importance, and raise a thousand difficulties, but probably yield in the sequel out of love for his captive, or his god-daughter, or worldly pelf; for where perquisites were concerned, turnkey-nature was still uppermost. But to Charney’s great surprise, Ludovico received his propositions with the most frank good-humour.
“Pens and ink? Nothing more easy,Signor Conte!” said he, tapping his pipe and turning aside his head to keep it alive by a whiff or two; for he made it a point to abstain from smoking in presence of the Count, to whom the smellof tobacco was disagreeable. “I, for my part, have no objection. But you see, such little tools as pens and paper remain under the lock and key of the governor, not under mine; and if you want writing materials, you have only to memorialize the captain-commandant, and your business is done!”
Charney smiled, and persevered.
“But in order to frame my petition, good Ludovico,” said he, “pens, ink, and paper are, in the first instance, indispensable?”
“True,eccellenza, true! But we must drag back the donkey by the tail to make it get on—no uncommon method with petitions,” quoth the jailer, half aside, crossing his hands consequentially behind him. “I must go straight to the governor, and tell him you have a request to make, no matter about what. That is not my business, but his and yours. If inconvenient to him to visit you in person, he’ll send his man of business, who will furnish you with a pen and a piece of stamped paper, just one sheet, ruled in form for a petition, on which you must inscribe your memorial in his presence; after which, he places his seal on it in yours; you return the pen to him, he makes you a bow, and away he goes with the petition!”
“But it is not from the governor I ask for paper, Ludovico, ’tis from yourself.”
“From me? You don’t then happen to know my orders!” replied the jailer, resuming his accustomed severity. Then drawing a deep breath of his pipe, he exhaled the smoke with much deliberation, eying the Count askance during the process, turned on his heel, and quitted the room.
Next day, when Charney returned to the charge, Ludovico contented himself with winking his eye, shaking his head, and shrugging his shoulders. Not a word now was to be extracted from him.
Too proud to humiliate himself to the governor, but still bent upon his project, Charney now set to work to make a pen for himself out of a crow-quill tooth-pick. With somesoot, carefully dissolved in one of the golden cups of his dressing-case, he furnished himself with ink and inkstand; while his cambric handkerchiefs, relics of a former splendour, were made to serve for writing-paper. With these awkward materials, he resolved to record the peculiarities of Picciola; occupying himself, even when absent from his favourite, with details of her life and history.
What profound remarks already presented themselves for inscription! What pleasure would Charney have found in communicating his observations to any intelligent human being! His neighbour, the fly-catcher, might have been a satisfactory auditor; for Charney had now found occasion to admire the bland and benevolent expression of a countenance at first sight commonplace. Whenever the old man stood contemplating from his little window, with an inquiring and propitious eye, the beauty of Picciola, and the attentions of her votary, the Count felt irresistibly attracted towards his fellow-prisoner. Nay, smiles and salutations with the hand had been exchanged between them; and it was only the rigid interdiction of all intercourse between prisoners at Fenestrella, which prevented mutual inquiries after each other’s health and pursuits. The solitary explorers into the mysteries of nature were therefore compelled to keep to themselves their grand discoveries in botany and entomology.
First among those by which Charney was interested, after the flowering of his plant, was the faculty exhibited by Picciola of turning her sweet face towards the sun, and following him with her looks throughout his daily course, as if to imbibe the greatest possible portion of his vivifying rays. When clouds obscured the orb of day, or there was a prospect of rain, her petals instantly closed, like a vessel furling its canvas before a storm. “Are light and heat so necessary, then, to her existence?” mused the Count; “and why should she fear to refresh herself with a sprinkling shower? Why? why? Picciola will explain! I have perfect confidence in Picciola!”
Already his darling had fulfilled towards him the functionsof a physician. She was now about to become his compass and barometer, perhaps even his timepiece; for by dint of constantly inhaling her fragrance, Charney found he could discover that her perfumes varied in power and quality at different hours of the day. At first, this phenomenon seemed an illusion; but reiterated experiments convinced him that he was not mistaken; and he was soon able to designate to a certainty the hour of the day, according to the varying odour of the flower.[1]
[1]Sir James Smith notices this property in theAntirrhinum repens.Flora Britannica, vol. ii. p. 638.
[1]Sir James Smith notices this property in theAntirrhinum repens.Flora Britannica, vol. ii. p. 638.
[1]Sir James Smith notices this property in theAntirrhinum repens.Flora Britannica, vol. ii. p. 638.
Innumerable blossoms already studded his beautiful plant: towards evening their exhalations were as delicious as they were potent; and at that moment, what a relief to the weary captive to draw near to his favourite! He now constructed a rude bench, with some planks derived from the munificence of Ludovico, and pointed a few logs, which he contrived to insert into the interstices of the pavement. A rough plank, nailed transversely, afforded him a leaning place, as he sat for hours musing and meditating in the fragrant atmosphere of his plant. He was happier there than he had ever felt on his silken ottomans of former days; and hour after hour would he sit reflecting on his wasted youth, which had elapsed without the attainment of a single real pleasure, or genuine affection! withering away in the midst of vain chimeras and premature satiety.
Often, after such retrospections, Charney found himself gradually soothed into reveries between sleep and waking; his senses subdued into a sort of apathetic torpor, his imagination excited to a visionary ecstasy, perplexing the desolate Count with scenes of days past and days to come.
He sometimes fancied himself in the midst of those brilliant fêtes, where, though himself the victim of ennui, he used to lavish upon others all the pleasures and luxuries of life. He seemed to stand gazing, some night of the Carnival, beside the illuminated façade of his hotel in the Rue de Verneuil,the rolling of a thousand carriages vibrating in his ear. One by one, they entered, by torchlight, his circular courtyard, depositing successively in the vestibule, covered with rich carpets, and protected by silken hangings, the fashionable belles of the day, enveloped in costly furs, under which was audible the rustling of satin or brocade; the beaux of the imperial court, with their high-crowned hats, cravats up to their ears, and redundant knee strings; artists of eminence, with naked throats, Brutus-heads, and a costume half French, half Greek; and men of science or letters, wearing the distinctive academic collar of green. A crowd of lackeys clustered on all sides, insolently defying, under their new liveries, the absolute decrees of the once puissant conventional republic of France.
The fancy of Charney next ascended to the crowded saloons in which were assembled all that was illustrious or notorious of the capital. The toga and chlamyda were jumbled together with jackets, or frock-coats. High-heeled shoes, with rosettes, trod the same floors as jockey-boots, with spur on heel, nay, even with the caliga and cothurnus. Men of the law, the pen, the sword, moneyed men and moneyless, artists and ministers of state, all were confounded in thisolla podridaof the Directory. An actor stood hand in glove with an ex-bishop, aci-devantpeer with aci-devantpauper; aristocracy and democracy were united like twin brothers; wealthy ignorance paraded itself arm in arm with starving erudition. Such was the regeneration of society, rallying round a common centre in masses, of which each felt itself still too feeble to stand alone. The marshalling of the crowd was deferred to some more convenient season; there would be a time for that hereafter! Such is the system of a play-ground, where all classes of a school mingle together under the impulse of a common thirst after amusement. As the boys grow older, the powerful influence of the spirit of social order insensibly estranges them from unbecoming companions, and high and low mechanically range themselves under their appointed banners.
A reverie.
A reverie.
A reverie.
With a silent smile did Charney contemplate this phantasmagoric display of piebald civilization. That which had once excited the bitter sneers of the man of the world, now served to divert him, as the memento of the wasted years spent by his native country in shallow, theoretic experiments, exposing it to the contempt of Europe.
At times, brilliant orchestras appeared to strike into animating and joyous measures; and lo! the opening of the ball! Charney fancied he could recognise the favourite airs of former days, but more impressive than at their first hearing. The glittering radiance of the lustres, their prismatic reflection in the numerous mirrors, the soft and perfumed atmosphere of a ball-room—the aroma of a banquet—the mirth of the guests—the wild hilarity of the waltzers, who rustled against him in the mazy round—the light and frivolous topics which excited their merriment, all tended to stimulate him to a degree of joyousness such as the reality of the dream had never succeeded in producing.
Women, too—ivory-shouldered, slender-waisted, swan-throated—women, arrayed in sumptuous brocades, gauzes striped with gold, and gems of sparkling lustre, thronged around him, smiling as they returned his salutations. One by one, he recognised those lovely beings; the grace and ornaments of his entertainments, when, opulent and free, the Count de Charney was cited as one of the favoured ones of the earth. There figured, unrivalled, the majestic Tallien, arrayed in the classic tunic of Greece, and covered with gems and costly rings, even to the toes of a foot from which might have been modelled that of some Venus of antiquity, naked but for the slight concealment of a golden sandal; the fair Recamier, to whom Athens would have erected altars; and Josephine,ci-devantCountess of Beauharnais, who, by dint of grace and affability, often passed for the fairest of these three graces of the Consulate. But even by the side of these, a hundred lovely women distinguished themselves, by their beauty or their elegance; and how exquisite did they now appear in the dreaming eyes of Charney! How much fairer,how much softer, than when they courted his smiles! How gladly had henowcommanded liberty of choice among so many consummate enchantresses!
Sometimes, in the wildness of his reveries, hedidventure on selection!—from the brilliant crowd he singled out one—undistinguished, however, by the lustre of ivory shoulders or a tiara of diamonds. Simple in attire as in deportment,hisbeauty lingered behind the rest, with downcast eyes, and cheeks suffused with blushes; a girl, a young girl, arrayed in simple white, and the no less spotless array of perfect innocence. She had never shone in his galas of other times; though now she stood out prominent on the canvas, while all others vanished into shade. At last, she seemed alone; and Charney began to reconsider her, charm by charm, feature by feature. His feelings were gently agitated by the lovely vision. But how much more when, on raising his eyes to the dark braids of her raven hair, he beheld a flower blooming there,hisflower, the flower of Picciola! Involuntarily he extended his arms towards the beauteous apparition, when, lo! all grew confused and misty; and the distant music of the orchestra became once more audible, as the fair maiden and fair flower appeared to melt into each other. The fragrant corolla, expanding, enclosed with its delicate petals the loveliest of human faces, till all was hidden from his view. Instead of the gorgeous hangings and gilded walls of the ball-room, a hovering exhalation presented itself to the eyes of the Count. The lustres gradually extinguished, vanished in the distance, emitting a feeble arch of light on the outskirts of the gathering clouds. Rude pavement replaced the smooth and lustrous floor; stern Reason reappeared to take possession of her throne; and the gracious illusions of fancy expired at her approach. A touch of the fatal wand of Truth dispelled at once the dream of the captive.
Charney woke to find himself musing on his rustic bench, his feet resting on the stones of the courtyard, and the daylight fading over his head. But Picciola—thanks be to Heaven, Picciola is still before him!
The first time the Count became conscious of this species of vertigo he noticed that it was only when meditating in the atmosphere of his plant that such gentle visions descended upon his mind. He recollected that the emanations of certain flowers are of so intoxicating a nature as even to produce asphyxia. It was, therefore, under the influence of his favourite, that these delicious dreams visited his imagination; and for his fête—his houris—his banquets—his music—he was still indebted to Picciola.
But the fair girl—the modest, gentle girl by whose image he had been so powerfully impressed—from whence has he derivedherimage? Did he ever behold her among the haunts of men? Is she, like the other divinities of his dream, the creature of reminiscence? Memory had nothing to reply! The past afforded no prototype for her charms! But the future—if the vision his fancy has created should be the creature of anticipation, of presentiment rather than of recollection? alas! of what avail anticipations—of what avail revelations of the future to the unfortunate Charney! In a sentence of imprisonment for life, the destinies of the captive are accomplished.
All human hope, therefore, must be laid aside. The young girl of blooming blushes, and draperies of virgin white, shall be the Picciola of his imagination—Picciola in the poetical personification of a dream—his idol, his love, his bride. The sweet countenance and graceful form revealed to him shall image forth the guardian spirit of his plant: with that, his reveries shall be brightened, and the aching void in his heart and soul filled up for ever! She shall dwell with him, muse with him, sit by his side, accompany his lonely walks, reply to him, smile upon him, enchant him with her ethereal love! She shall share his existence, his breath, his heart, his soul. He will converse with her in thought, and close his eyes to gaze upon her beauty! They shall form but one, in order that he may be alone no longer.
These emotions superseded the graver studies of the prisoner of Fenestrella, the enjoyments of the heart succeedingto those of the mind. Charney now gave himself up to all that poetry of existence, from whose sphere the soul returns laden with perfumes, as the bee, after extracting from the breast of the flower a harvest of honey. There was a life of daily hardship and captivity to be endured; there was a life of love and ecstasy to be enjoyed; and united, though apart, they completed the measure of existence of the once envied, but most unhappy Count de Charney. His time was shared between Picciola, his mortal flower, and Picciola, his immortal love: to reason, or rather reasoning, succeeded happiness and love!