FOOTNOTES:[20]A better simile would be "as if charged with electricity," or "like sparks emitted from an electric machine," as this case, which is founded on fact, and which, together with other similar phenomena, is probably of electric origin. (VideMrs.Crow's"Nightside of Nature.") Yet we must bear in mind that we are speaking at a time before electricity created that furor in the world that succeeded the discoveries of Benjamin Franklin, and that it is only an unsophisticated country landlady who is speaking, whose science goes no further than the making of an apple pudding, roasting a leg of mutton, or frying a beefsteak.
[20]A better simile would be "as if charged with electricity," or "like sparks emitted from an electric machine," as this case, which is founded on fact, and which, together with other similar phenomena, is probably of electric origin. (VideMrs.Crow's"Nightside of Nature.") Yet we must bear in mind that we are speaking at a time before electricity created that furor in the world that succeeded the discoveries of Benjamin Franklin, and that it is only an unsophisticated country landlady who is speaking, whose science goes no further than the making of an apple pudding, roasting a leg of mutton, or frying a beefsteak.
[20]A better simile would be "as if charged with electricity," or "like sparks emitted from an electric machine," as this case, which is founded on fact, and which, together with other similar phenomena, is probably of electric origin. (VideMrs.Crow's"Nightside of Nature.") Yet we must bear in mind that we are speaking at a time before electricity created that furor in the world that succeeded the discoveries of Benjamin Franklin, and that it is only an unsophisticated country landlady who is speaking, whose science goes no further than the making of an apple pudding, roasting a leg of mutton, or frying a beefsteak.
"Wretched weather, eh?" remarked Mr. Oldstone. "We shall have to call for lights soon. Here, Cyanite, a game of chess, what do you say? A story from whom ever loses."
"Thank you," replied the Professor, "but I have a letter to write which is of some importance."
"Come now, Crucible, have atyou," quoth Oldstone.
"I have not played for years," replied Crucible, "and as I have no story wherewith to pay the penalty and am consequently out of practice and sure to lose and——"
"What do you say, Blackdeed?" asked Oldstone.
"Well, to say the truth," answered the chemist, "I find myself much in the same position as my friend Mr. Crucible, for were I to lose, an event which amounts to a dead certainty, I am perfectly sure I should not be able to pay the forfeit, even if I were to be imprisoned for it."
"Perhaps you'll oblige me, Hardcase," said the antiquary.
"Another time, thank you, Oldstone," replied the lawyer; "but the fact is that I've promised Bleedem a game of cards."
"Well really, gentlemen, I don't know what has come over you all," said Mr. Oldstone. "Perhaps Mr. Parnassus will oblige me, as nobody else will."
"Well, I never piqued myself upon being much of a chess-player," replied Parnassus, "but as the other gentlemen have refused, and I have nothing particular to do, I don't mind doing you a favour, and if I lose and don't happen to recollect a story, well I must owe it you."
"Agreed," said Oldstone. "Draw your chair to the table and set the board."
The game began. Hardcase and Bleedem also had taken their seats and commenced theirs. Professor Cyanite retired to write his letter, whilst Messrs. Blackdeed and Crucible drew their chairs up to the fire and talked politics.
A stillness reigned through the club as the last-mentioned gentlemen conversed together in a low tone and the rest remained absorbed in their several occupations. Suddenly, in the midst of this unusual silence, the triumphant voice of Mr. Oldstone was heard to cry out the magic word, "check-mate."
"Now then, Parnassus, my boy," said he, rubbing his hands, "a story, you know; there's no getting out ofit. Give us a little ode or ballad like that you gave us once before, on the night of our grand saturnalia."
"When I can think of one and a propitious moment presents itself, I am at your service, but these gentlemen, you see, are otherwise occupied; besides, here comes Helen to lay the cloth for supper."
"Well, Helen," cried Mr. Oldstone, "and what has become of your enamoured portrait painter?"
"Mr. McGuilp?" inquired Helen, blushing deeply. "Is he not here? I left him some time ago cleaning his palette and brushes."
"Ah! here he comes at last," exclaimed Crucible, halting in the middle of his politics. "Lucky dog! to be able to have so much beauty all to himself."
"Well, if hehashad Helen to himself all this time, we've had a story during his absence," said the antiquary.
"Ah, but so have we," said McGuilp. "Haven't we Helen?"
"Yes, we have indeed, and a long one," replied Helen.
"The deuce you have," said Crucible. "Upon my word, Mr. McGuilp, I think that's hardly fair; first robbing us of our lady and then telling her a story all to yourself, from which we are debarred."
"Come now," retorted McGuilp, "are we not quits? Have you already forgotten my story of the 'Scharfrichter,' with which I purchased a sitting from Helen? If Helen and I have had a story togetherfrom which you have been shut out, at least you have had one that we have not enjoyed."
"Yes, Crucible, I think it is all fair," said Oldstone, backing up his young friend.
The cloth now being laid, the members drew their chairs to the table, and the supper went off amidst laughter and jovial conversation. The bottle went round a few times at the last before the cloth was finally cleared, when each drew round the fire, which was now blazing fiercely, our host having just put on a fresh log, and each lighting his pipe, waited, according to custom, for someone to broach a new story.
"Now, Parnassus, my boy," said Oldstone, "we are quite ready for your story. What is it to be?"
"Well then, gentlemen, since I must pay my forfeit, I will, according to a wish expressed by Mr. Oldstone, sing you a little ballad of my own composing."
"Yes, yes; hear, hear! A song, a song! Make ready for a song."
The members re-settled themselves on their chairs, and pronounced themselves "all attention," while the young poet, throwing himself back carelessly in his chair and crossing one leg over the other, began in a clear rich voice, the following ditty.
A skiff is seen upon the main,The purple wave of Oman's sea;Her prow doth long to kiss againThe perfumed shores of Araby.A gentle Zephyr fills the sail.But, ah, too soft, too mild the galeFor one on board, who, mounted high,Scans the far shore with eagle eye.'Tis Selim's bark that, long away,Hath wandered on the salt sea foam,And brings him after many a dayBack to this land, though not his home.What in the distance glads his eye?A sight none other can descry—The kerchief he his mistress gaveNow from her casement high doth wave.The signal yet is but a speck,The cloud has vanished from his brow;Yet chafing still, he walks the deckImpatiently from helm to prow,As if his eagerness could urgeHis vessel faster through the surge.But as the craft now nigher drew,The signal note his swarthy crew.Now gaily speeds the gallant bark,Soon within grasp of land once more;The sun has set, yet 'tis not dark.Each swarthy sailor leaps ashore,Yet almost ere they can alightTheir captain scales a dizzy height,And in the moonlight hand in handTwo lovers at the casement stand."Oh, Selim! why this long delay?"A soft voice whispers 'neath the moon."I've wept for thee full many a day,Watching the sea from morn till noon,In hope— But hist! there're footsteps nigh;The Caliph keeps a watchful eye.The moon is up, thou must be gone—One kiss. Farewell. We meet at dawn."Zuleika to her bower turned—Her jasmine bower's perfumed shade;A fever in her bosom burned.That night upon her couch being laid,The nightingale that woos the roseBreaks not so much on her reposeAs the loud beating of her heartWith feelings she will ne'er impartTo mortal man, save him aloneWho wooed and won her from her sire.Her love in secret long hath grown,And much she fears her parents' ire;She knows her father sets his faceAgainst her lover's impious race,But still, her troth is plighted now."Or him or Death," thus ran her vow.
A skiff is seen upon the main,The purple wave of Oman's sea;Her prow doth long to kiss againThe perfumed shores of Araby.A gentle Zephyr fills the sail.But, ah, too soft, too mild the galeFor one on board, who, mounted high,Scans the far shore with eagle eye.
'Tis Selim's bark that, long away,Hath wandered on the salt sea foam,And brings him after many a dayBack to this land, though not his home.What in the distance glads his eye?A sight none other can descry—The kerchief he his mistress gaveNow from her casement high doth wave.
The signal yet is but a speck,The cloud has vanished from his brow;Yet chafing still, he walks the deckImpatiently from helm to prow,As if his eagerness could urgeHis vessel faster through the surge.But as the craft now nigher drew,The signal note his swarthy crew.
Now gaily speeds the gallant bark,Soon within grasp of land once more;The sun has set, yet 'tis not dark.Each swarthy sailor leaps ashore,Yet almost ere they can alightTheir captain scales a dizzy height,And in the moonlight hand in handTwo lovers at the casement stand.
"Oh, Selim! why this long delay?"A soft voice whispers 'neath the moon."I've wept for thee full many a day,Watching the sea from morn till noon,In hope— But hist! there're footsteps nigh;The Caliph keeps a watchful eye.The moon is up, thou must be gone—One kiss. Farewell. We meet at dawn."
Zuleika to her bower turned—Her jasmine bower's perfumed shade;A fever in her bosom burned.That night upon her couch being laid,The nightingale that woos the roseBreaks not so much on her reposeAs the loud beating of her heartWith feelings she will ne'er impart
To mortal man, save him aloneWho wooed and won her from her sire.Her love in secret long hath grown,And much she fears her parents' ire;She knows her father sets his faceAgainst her lover's impious race,But still, her troth is plighted now."Or him or Death," thus ran her vow.
Zuleika's beauty from her birthHad been such as might well enticeThe saints above to visit EarthFrom Mahommed's gay Paradise;Her raven tresses shamed the night,Her step so proud and yet so light,'Twould seem as though she trod the air,Like Peri; nor was she less less fair.An eye that mocked the wild gazelle,A voice, although untrained by art,Sweet as a strain of Israfel,The strings of whose melodious heartA lyre are, with tones so sweetThat angels listen at his feet,And the stars sink to the groundWhen those living chords resound.That cheek that paled the rose in hueGrows pallid, and her bosom heaves;Those lips, like rosebuds in the dewEnclosing pearls within their leaves,Are trembling, and her fairy form,Like lily bending to the storm,Quivers as an aspen grove,With sore misgivings of her love.The Caliph was a man of might;Zuleika was his only child,He scarce could bear her from his sight,Nor was he of a temper mild;And woe to him, the caitiff GiaourWho fell in dread El Amin's power.Zuleika sighs, what fears appalHer soul, lest this should him befall.The maiden slumbered scarce that night,Or she slumbered but to dream,Such dreams as bravest souls affright;Then waking with a start or scream,She soon forsook her fitful sleep,O'er Selim's likely fate to weep,Till the morning star's dim rayNow heralds the approach of day.The morning shed a ghastly light,Appearing to Zuleika's eyeFull ominous. The clouds in sightLike streaks of blood across the sky,While gazing on the distance drear,Hark! what footsteps greet her ear?She spies afar at fullest speedHer lover on his Arab steed.
Zuleika's beauty from her birthHad been such as might well enticeThe saints above to visit EarthFrom Mahommed's gay Paradise;Her raven tresses shamed the night,Her step so proud and yet so light,'Twould seem as though she trod the air,Like Peri; nor was she less less fair.
An eye that mocked the wild gazelle,A voice, although untrained by art,Sweet as a strain of Israfel,The strings of whose melodious heartA lyre are, with tones so sweetThat angels listen at his feet,And the stars sink to the groundWhen those living chords resound.
That cheek that paled the rose in hueGrows pallid, and her bosom heaves;Those lips, like rosebuds in the dewEnclosing pearls within their leaves,Are trembling, and her fairy form,Like lily bending to the storm,Quivers as an aspen grove,With sore misgivings of her love.
The Caliph was a man of might;Zuleika was his only child,He scarce could bear her from his sight,Nor was he of a temper mild;And woe to him, the caitiff GiaourWho fell in dread El Amin's power.Zuleika sighs, what fears appalHer soul, lest this should him befall.
The maiden slumbered scarce that night,Or she slumbered but to dream,Such dreams as bravest souls affright;Then waking with a start or scream,She soon forsook her fitful sleep,O'er Selim's likely fate to weep,Till the morning star's dim rayNow heralds the approach of day.
The morning shed a ghastly light,Appearing to Zuleika's eyeFull ominous. The clouds in sightLike streaks of blood across the sky,While gazing on the distance drear,Hark! what footsteps greet her ear?She spies afar at fullest speedHer lover on his Arab steed.
One bound, and he is by her side;She greets him with a sorrowing eye."What ails thee now, my love, my bride,And wherefore dost thou deeply sigh?There is a shade upon thy browThat I have never seen till now.Shake off these moods, dispel all fear.Is't not enough that I am here?"Zuleika heaved a heavy sigh."Oh, Selim, if thou still art mine,Take me, and this instant flyUnto thy home across the brine;For if there's danger hovering nighWith thee, and not alone, I'd die.Set off at once, nor more delay;See how yon orb leads on the day.""Nay, loved one, but I have a vow.Seest thou yon peak where clouds do lower;That mountain doth contain, I trow,A talisman of mighty powerWithin its heart, and I have swornTo seize it ere to-morrow's dawn.When at thy feet the gem I lay,Then, but not erst, our wedding day."This is the vow I must fulfil,And ere we fly across the mainThe talisman, come good or ill,Is thine. I've sworn it thee to gain.It gives eternal life and youth,Annulling time's remorseless tooth.The mountain opens once a day;'Tis guarded by a Genii grey.""Thou shalt not run this risk for me,"Zuleika cried. But Selim's browGrew darker. "Never maid," quoth he,"Shall counsel me to break my vow.Know'st thou not a warrior's wordIs sacred ever as his sword?An thou wouldst be a chieftain's bride,Cease me for my vow to chide."Then round his neck her arms she flings."Oh, Selim, hear me once and stay.Azrael flaps his dusky wings,Al Hassan smiles and points the way."These words in boding tones she saith—"Thou ridest on to certain death.Last night I dreamed, my chieftain free,That Eblis ope'd its jaws for thee."Then with a smile he sought to lureHer fancies from their dark abode."Thy maiden fears to but conjureThese phantoms that the mind corrode."Then added, whilst his brows he bent,"Unworthy were I my descent,Could I be scared from this my themeBy warning through a word or dream."With thee I through the world would rove;But ere I seek to make thee mine,I'd prove me worthy of thy love,For I am of a Gheber line.The chieftain of a race whose breathFlows freer in the face of Death;No coward fear can e'er entwineIts coils around a heart like mine."Think'st thou a warrior bred in strifeAnd nurtured at the breast of woeCould bide a tame voluptuous life,Or stand in dread of mortal foe?I tell thee, girl, I live to braveThe hairbreadth chances of the grave;Full weary were my life to me,Were danger not a luxury."I carve my fate with my right arm,My life I dedicate to thee,I'll guard thee 'gainst the world from harm,And hold thee like a warrior free,Though Eblis' self should seek to wrestThee from this true and loving breast.The sun is high; cease to repine.Farewell. The charm ere eve is thine."
One bound, and he is by her side;She greets him with a sorrowing eye."What ails thee now, my love, my bride,And wherefore dost thou deeply sigh?There is a shade upon thy browThat I have never seen till now.Shake off these moods, dispel all fear.Is't not enough that I am here?"
Zuleika heaved a heavy sigh."Oh, Selim, if thou still art mine,Take me, and this instant flyUnto thy home across the brine;For if there's danger hovering nighWith thee, and not alone, I'd die.Set off at once, nor more delay;See how yon orb leads on the day."
"Nay, loved one, but I have a vow.Seest thou yon peak where clouds do lower;That mountain doth contain, I trow,A talisman of mighty powerWithin its heart, and I have swornTo seize it ere to-morrow's dawn.When at thy feet the gem I lay,Then, but not erst, our wedding day.
"This is the vow I must fulfil,And ere we fly across the mainThe talisman, come good or ill,Is thine. I've sworn it thee to gain.It gives eternal life and youth,Annulling time's remorseless tooth.The mountain opens once a day;'Tis guarded by a Genii grey."
"Thou shalt not run this risk for me,"Zuleika cried. But Selim's browGrew darker. "Never maid," quoth he,"Shall counsel me to break my vow.Know'st thou not a warrior's wordIs sacred ever as his sword?An thou wouldst be a chieftain's bride,Cease me for my vow to chide."
Then round his neck her arms she flings."Oh, Selim, hear me once and stay.Azrael flaps his dusky wings,Al Hassan smiles and points the way."These words in boding tones she saith—"Thou ridest on to certain death.Last night I dreamed, my chieftain free,That Eblis ope'd its jaws for thee."
Then with a smile he sought to lureHer fancies from their dark abode."Thy maiden fears to but conjureThese phantoms that the mind corrode."Then added, whilst his brows he bent,"Unworthy were I my descent,Could I be scared from this my themeBy warning through a word or dream.
"With thee I through the world would rove;But ere I seek to make thee mine,I'd prove me worthy of thy love,For I am of a Gheber line.The chieftain of a race whose breathFlows freer in the face of Death;No coward fear can e'er entwineIts coils around a heart like mine.
"Think'st thou a warrior bred in strifeAnd nurtured at the breast of woeCould bide a tame voluptuous life,Or stand in dread of mortal foe?I tell thee, girl, I live to braveThe hairbreadth chances of the grave;Full weary were my life to me,Were danger not a luxury.
"I carve my fate with my right arm,My life I dedicate to thee,I'll guard thee 'gainst the world from harm,And hold thee like a warrior free,Though Eblis' self should seek to wrestThee from this true and loving breast.The sun is high; cease to repine.Farewell. The charm ere eve is thine."
He on the pommel lays his hand,And lightly leaps into his seat;His steed impatiently the sandIs pawing with his eager feet.Now forward, and away! away!Fast onward speeds that charger gay;Fleet as the wind is Selim's flightTo reach the goal ere fall of night.His charger's mettle's at the test,For until the setting sunGilds yonder slope he must not rest;His and his master's will are one.The journey will brook no delayTo stop for water on the way,So onward fly at fullest speedThe rider and his barb Djerid.Still onward flies the goaded steed;Full half the day is sped and gone.In foam and sweat the bold DjeridStill towards the mountain's base rides on.Now with a crash the mountain's sideIs rent in twain. A cavern wideDisplays to view a jewelled hall;'Tis guarded by a Genii tall.Arrived now at the mountain's base,One hour ere the set of sun,The cavern yawns before his face,And soon the charger's course is run.A voice of thunder from the cave,That shakes the mountain, utters, "Slave,Forbear this sacred soil to tread,Thy death be else on thine own head."But Selim draws from out his vestA bough, plucked from some distant shore—A magic bough, compelling restOn those whom he should wave it o'er.He waves it, and the Genii sleeps;No guardian now the threshold keeps.He enters; views the jewel brightSuspended from the cavern's height,One wrench, 'tis his, that jewel bright;That talisman, that oft of yoreSages have searched for day and night,And burned their midnight oil for.Caressing now his brave Djerid,Still mounted, yet spurs on his steed.Now, as the sun sinks 'neath the main,The cavern closes once again.But now the clouds eclipse the sky,The air grows sultry, and the windIs lulled, yet on Djerid doth fly;The mountain is left far behind."Zuleika! Oh, my love, my bride.Who now shall tear thee from my side?If not to-night, to-morrow's mornShall see this gem thy brow adorn."The lowering sky grew black as night,And vivid flashes rent the air,No human dwelling lay in sight—For miles and miles the plain seemed bare.An awful stillness reigned around,A horse's hoofs made all the sound,And even Selim 'gan to fearSome unknown danger hovering near.And still more sultry grew the air,And peal on peal of thunder rolled,No wild beast ventured from his lair;Yet onward sped that courser bold—O'er crags, through marshes, bush or briar,He trampling tore with feet of fire,When sudden, without shriek or yell,The horse was struck, the rider fell.
He on the pommel lays his hand,And lightly leaps into his seat;His steed impatiently the sandIs pawing with his eager feet.Now forward, and away! away!Fast onward speeds that charger gay;Fleet as the wind is Selim's flightTo reach the goal ere fall of night.
His charger's mettle's at the test,For until the setting sunGilds yonder slope he must not rest;His and his master's will are one.The journey will brook no delayTo stop for water on the way,So onward fly at fullest speedThe rider and his barb Djerid.
Still onward flies the goaded steed;Full half the day is sped and gone.In foam and sweat the bold DjeridStill towards the mountain's base rides on.Now with a crash the mountain's sideIs rent in twain. A cavern wideDisplays to view a jewelled hall;'Tis guarded by a Genii tall.
Arrived now at the mountain's base,One hour ere the set of sun,The cavern yawns before his face,And soon the charger's course is run.A voice of thunder from the cave,That shakes the mountain, utters, "Slave,Forbear this sacred soil to tread,Thy death be else on thine own head."
But Selim draws from out his vestA bough, plucked from some distant shore—A magic bough, compelling restOn those whom he should wave it o'er.He waves it, and the Genii sleeps;No guardian now the threshold keeps.He enters; views the jewel brightSuspended from the cavern's height,
One wrench, 'tis his, that jewel bright;That talisman, that oft of yoreSages have searched for day and night,And burned their midnight oil for.Caressing now his brave Djerid,Still mounted, yet spurs on his steed.Now, as the sun sinks 'neath the main,The cavern closes once again.
But now the clouds eclipse the sky,The air grows sultry, and the windIs lulled, yet on Djerid doth fly;The mountain is left far behind."Zuleika! Oh, my love, my bride.Who now shall tear thee from my side?If not to-night, to-morrow's mornShall see this gem thy brow adorn."
The lowering sky grew black as night,And vivid flashes rent the air,No human dwelling lay in sight—For miles and miles the plain seemed bare.An awful stillness reigned around,A horse's hoofs made all the sound,And even Selim 'gan to fearSome unknown danger hovering near.
And still more sultry grew the air,And peal on peal of thunder rolled,No wild beast ventured from his lair;Yet onward sped that courser bold—O'er crags, through marshes, bush or briar,He trampling tore with feet of fire,When sudden, without shriek or yell,The horse was struck, the rider fell.
A lightning flash hath cleft a rock,And formed a chasm in the stone.Within the cleft, with mighty shock,Selim from off his steed is thrown.His limbs are jambed between its walls;In vain for aid he loudly calls.No earthly power now can saveThe victim from his living grave.In vain he puts forth all his strengthTo free him from the horrid cleft;Those limbs so free are bound at length,For of all power he's bereft.Eternal life is in his handTo live on thus dread Fate's command,His doom is sealed, he cannot die,But lingers through eternity.Zuleika waits the coming mornWith heaving breast and watchful eye.She scans the plain at early dawnBut nought of her lover can descry.No tidings through the livelong dayNo footsteps tread that haunted way;Day after day, yet no return;His fate she now herself will learn.Then mounting at the break of dayHer milk-white palfrey, leaves her homeBehind her, and away! away!Upon her lover's tracks to roam.The noontide sun's fierce glowing rayChecks not her palfrey's onward way;She goads him on, nor slacks his speedTill pants for thirst her jaded steed.No water near his thirst to slakeBeneath that glowing sultry sky.Her maiden fears now 'gin to wake,as were some threatening danger nigh.Her palfrey rears and ere a groanEscapes her, a stout arm is thrownAround her. As she calls aloudThe Genii stands half-fiend, half-cloud.Then whisking her high up in air,The fiend in voice of thunder cried,"Behold thy lover in his lair;Thou'st torn for ever from his side.Nought can avert his destiny,For ever through eternityWithin yon cleft he must abide.I claim thee now to be my bride.""Oh, Allah!" cried she, "hear my prayer:Help me this Genii to defy.If Selim's bride I may be ne'er,Take back my soul and let me die!"Her prayer is heard; her gentle soulNow wanders towards a higher goal,And in those realms of endless lightThe angels greet a sister sprite.Then Selim, gazing high in air,Beholds his loved one, hears her pray.He cries aloud in wild despair,The Genii clasps a thing of clay;Relaxing then his giant force,To Earth he hurls her lily corse.Now lie for ever side by sideTh' undying chief and his dead bride.Zuleika's palfrey wanders home,Alas! without its gentle freight.El Amin hath set out to roamFor tidings of his daughter's fate.Ne'er more to see her was his lot;The Genii guards that haunted spot,And close where his Zuleika lay,The chieftain lingers to this day.
A lightning flash hath cleft a rock,And formed a chasm in the stone.Within the cleft, with mighty shock,Selim from off his steed is thrown.His limbs are jambed between its walls;In vain for aid he loudly calls.No earthly power now can saveThe victim from his living grave.
In vain he puts forth all his strengthTo free him from the horrid cleft;Those limbs so free are bound at length,For of all power he's bereft.Eternal life is in his handTo live on thus dread Fate's command,His doom is sealed, he cannot die,But lingers through eternity.
Zuleika waits the coming mornWith heaving breast and watchful eye.She scans the plain at early dawnBut nought of her lover can descry.No tidings through the livelong dayNo footsteps tread that haunted way;Day after day, yet no return;His fate she now herself will learn.
Then mounting at the break of dayHer milk-white palfrey, leaves her homeBehind her, and away! away!Upon her lover's tracks to roam.The noontide sun's fierce glowing rayChecks not her palfrey's onward way;She goads him on, nor slacks his speedTill pants for thirst her jaded steed.
No water near his thirst to slakeBeneath that glowing sultry sky.Her maiden fears now 'gin to wake,as were some threatening danger nigh.Her palfrey rears and ere a groanEscapes her, a stout arm is thrownAround her. As she calls aloudThe Genii stands half-fiend, half-cloud.
Then whisking her high up in air,The fiend in voice of thunder cried,"Behold thy lover in his lair;Thou'st torn for ever from his side.Nought can avert his destiny,For ever through eternityWithin yon cleft he must abide.I claim thee now to be my bride."
"Oh, Allah!" cried she, "hear my prayer:Help me this Genii to defy.If Selim's bride I may be ne'er,Take back my soul and let me die!"Her prayer is heard; her gentle soulNow wanders towards a higher goal,And in those realms of endless lightThe angels greet a sister sprite.
Then Selim, gazing high in air,Beholds his loved one, hears her pray.He cries aloud in wild despair,The Genii clasps a thing of clay;Relaxing then his giant force,To Earth he hurls her lily corse.Now lie for ever side by sideTh' undying chief and his dead bride.
Zuleika's palfrey wanders home,Alas! without its gentle freight.El Amin hath set out to roamFor tidings of his daughter's fate.Ne'er more to see her was his lot;The Genii guards that haunted spot,And close where his Zuleika lay,The chieftain lingers to this day.
Scarce had the last word of the song died in the echo, than unbounded applause once more shook the old panelled walls of the "Headless Lady." After which Mr. Oldstone, rising and seizing the young poet by the hand, poured forth so warm an eulogium on his poetical talent as to make that young gentleman blush up to the roots of his hair.
The laurel crown was even hinted at again. This, however, Mr. Parnassus modestly but firmly refused, saying that he could not sit crowned in the midst of such a talented assembly merely because his weak endeavours to entertain the company were given out in rhyme instead of in prose; besides which, he added, that he had merely paid the forfeit agreed upon for losing at chess, and that he was entitled to no thanks or marks of honour for merely discharging his debt.
The laurel tree outside was therefore suffered to continue its growth until some future occasion, and after various comments on our friend Parnassus' poem, and much pleasant conversation, the company broke up for the night, and each lighting his candle, retired to his own chamber.
The following morning broke fine but frosty, and the members of the club being up sufficiently early for that time of the year, they all agreed to take a long stroll before breakfast in the adjacent wood. Indeed, the members of our club lived so thoroughly in an atmosphere of punch and tobacco-smoke that an outing every now and then was requisite in order to air their brains.
They strolled out, accordingly, by twos and threes, passing over fields glittering with hoar-frost, until they came to a stile, which having crossed over, they found themselves immediately in a wood.
It was a fine old place—that same ancient piece of woodland, where huge oaks and beeches were interspersed with the fir, pine and birch. The fantastic roots that shot out from the gnarled trunks of the majestic oaks, like giants' limbs writhing in mortal agony, were coated here and there in broad irregular patches of dank moss and variously-tinted lichen. Their distorted colossal branches, stripped of theirleaves and silvered at their extremities with the hoar-frost, seemed struggling to catch the first beams of a winter sun, while the shadowy outline of the misty purple mass of distant trees brought out in bolder relief and more vigorous hue the foreground thickly strewed with richly-tinted leaves of russet, scarlet and orange. The dank fungus, luxuriant in its foul growth, emerged from the velvet moss as if to outvie in glow the variegated richness of the dried leaves of the forest.
It was a scene to awaken the soul of a poet, to inspire a landscape painter with increased love of his art; and as our two friends McGuilp and Parnassus strolled arm-in-arm together through this region of enchantment, leaving their footprints in the crisp frost, which they traversed with the buoyant footsteps of youth, leaving the elder members considerably in the rear, each felt himself drawn towards the other by a bond of common sympathy. It is not necessary to record every expression of enthusiasm that escaped the lips of our two friends, nor to follow minutely the philosophic meditations of the more mature members of the club who brought up the rear, as at every step the scene unfolded new and fresh beauties to their view.
Let it suffice our reader that their morning's walk proved highly beneficial to them all, for they returned with marvellous appetites to the inn, where a sumptuous breakfast of eggs and bacon, coffee, hot rolls, etc., had just been spread for them by the fair hands of our Helen, who waited to greet them on the doorstep.
The usual merry bantering from each member of the club in turn succeeded, as a matter of course, and was replied to on Helen's part by a pretty rustic coyness or smart repartee. Our artist thought he had never seen her look to such advantage as now, glowing in the full morning light. He noticed, too, that she was more sprucely dressed than usual. What could it mean? As he asked himself this question, the church bells of the village began to chime. The mystery was out—it was Sunday, and McGuilp's hopes of a sitting fell to the ground.
"How say you—Sunday again?" exclaimed Mr. Oldstone, as he sat down to his hot coffee. "Dear me! how the week has passed away!" Then passing his hand over his chin, he said, "I omitted to shave this morning. My hand shook so, owing to the stiffness of my night-cap last night before I went to roost. It will not do to appear at church with a chin like Hamlet's 'fretful porcupine,' and as I cannot shave myself, I must inquire if there be not someone skilled in the noble science of barber-craft in the village. How say you, Helen, my girl, know you not some knight of the razor, some nimble and expert mower, who will rid me of this crop without finding it necessary to combine the art of the leech at the same time?"
"Aye, sir," answered Helen; "there is young Master Suds, the village barber, successor to Old Hackchin, whom folks say never was much account. Young Suds is lately from France, where he has been improvinghimself in his art. He has introduced into the village all sorts of new modes for trimming the hair and wigs, with numerous other French novelties. You would be sure to be pleased with him, sir."
"Humph!" muttered Mr. Oldstone, who was much too old-fashioned an English gentleman to be over partial to our friends across the channel. "I don't want my head frizzled, thank you, but a firm, steady, English hand to shave me—a man that is not above his business, and who will not bore me to death with his gossip."
"Oh, as to that, sir," replied Helen, "it is part of a barber's profession. Many folks think it a recommendation. I am sure our villagers are delighted with his store of news."
"No doubt, no doubt," said Oldstone, testily. "He had better cut it short, though, with me. However, send for this young blade, and tell him I wish to see a sample of his art. I shall be ready for him directly after breakfast."
And off tripped our landlord's pretty daughter in obedience to the antiquary's orders.
"'Pon my life! Crucible, this bacon is delicious," said he, helping himself afresh. "What say you, Blackdeed?"
Both gentlemen acquiesced, as did also the other members in turn.
"And the eggs divine," said Dr. Bleedem, bolting one at a mouthful.
"Excellent," joined in McGuilp and Parnassus, filling their plates.
The meal passed off pleasantly, and the last member at table had scarcely wiped his mouth with his napkin when Master Suds was announced.
"Here, Helen, my dear," said Oldstone, "you may clear away now, and then you may call in your gallant. I am sure you will excuse me, gentlemen, for making you spectators to my operation?"
"Certainly," answered the club all round.
"There, that will do, Helen; now call him in."
Helen disappeared with the breakfast things, when a timid knock at the door was heard.
"Come in," roared sundry voices at once, and Master Suds appeared upon the scene, with his shaving tackle in a bag, and having his hair frizzled up in a caricature of the latest French fashion.
"Bong jour, Mounseers," he began, with a flourish.
"Don't mounseer me, you young whipper-snapper," said the antiquary; "but learn to speak the king's English when Englishmen honour you with their custom."
"Pardong, mounseer—that is, I mean, I beg pardon, gentlemen; but habit, gentlemen—habit, you know—is rather difficult to get rid of, and when one has just come from foreign parts, like myself, one is apt to——"
"Cut it short, young shaver," said Oldstone, "and bend you to your task. Are your razors sharp?"
"Mais oui, mounseer—that is——"
"If I catch you mounseering me again, I'll make that French pate of thine and this English fist acquainted, so mind," said the insulted antiquary.
This terrible threat imposed temporary silence on our knight of the lather, who soaped and sudded away for a time without a word.
During this pause the spectators of the operation, who were seated or standing about the room, conversed together in groups in an undertone. Mr. Blackdeed and Mr. Crucible appeared to be particularly engrossed in conversation, but the tone they spoke in was inaudible to the ordinary listener. Not so, however, to Mr. Oldstone, whose ears were unusually sharp, and rendered more so on the present occasion from the position of forced quiet that he was obliged to maintain under the barber's hands. To judge by the tragedian's action, a looker-on might have supposed him quoting from one of his own melodramas, and imagined him to say, "Fly with me, dearest; leave for ever the roof of a tyrant father, and take shelter in the heart of one who is ready to lay down his life for thy sake." While Mr. Crucible might have been supposed to be rehearsing the lady's part, and to say, "Oh! tempt me not, Alonso; you know him not. I dare not fly with thee."
The ears of Mr. Oldstone, however, interpreted the gesticulations in a very different manner. Nothing could be more plain to the ears of this worthy than these words from the tragedian. "The political state of France will be a great interruption to all kinds of business." He could hardly believe his ears, or that anyone could dare to use such treasonable words within the sacred precincts of the club, so he listened again, and this time caughta few disconnected words in Mr. Crucible's tone of voice, such as 'stocks,' 'bonds,' 'premiums,' 'interest,' and the like.
Suddenly the whilom president of the grand saturnalia of the Wonder Club was observed to start violently.
"Why, you rascal, you've cut me!" he cried to the barber.
"Pardong Mounseer, mais ce n'etait pas ma faute," said the confused barber.
"What! French again, you monkey, to my face! Would you add insult to injury?" said the incensed antiquary.
But calming down at length, said, "Well, well, lad, I acquit you this time, for I verily believe that those two gentlemen in the corner there (pointing to Messrs. Blackdeed and Crucible) are more to blame than yourself for startling me out of my self-possession by the tenor of their conversation.
"Mr. Blackdeed, and you too, Mr. Crucible, you are both perfectly aware that such conversation is not to be tolerated in the club. I am surprised and grieved to be obliged to remind two such old members of our society of their duty, and in order to put a check upon such lamentable want of discipline, I condemn you Mr. Blackdeed to recite one of your own tragedies at full length, and you Mr. Crucible to be ready with a story when next called upon."
Both of the gentlemen addressed looked abashed,and muttered something in the shape of an apology. Having conscientiously discharged his duty, Mr. Oldstone re-settled himself on his chair, and the operation proceeded.
Master Suds was the first to endeavour to restore equanimity.
"A fine day, sir," he said, "for this time of the year."
"Humph!" grunted the antiquary, who was soaped up to the eyes, and was forced to keep his mouth shut to avoid having the lather rubbed down his throat.
"Yes, sir," continued the barber, "as you say, sir, itbefine weather surely, but it be still finer t'other side of the channel,à Paris; that is to say, where I have been staying for the last six months. Fine city Paris, sir, very.Mon Dieu, what streets! what shops! What a treat it be of a morning to rise early and take a promenade on the Bullyvards!"
"On the what?" inquired his customer.
"On the Bullyvards. Ah! I see, sir, you do not understand what that means. Well that is the name the French give to those streets as has trees a running alongside of 'em. Ah! sir, fine people the French, in their way—understand more of barber-craft than they do in this country. Why, an English barber who has never been out of his own country is quite an ignoramus alongside a French barber. But I could teach a trick or two to some of my countrymen in the line that would astonish them, having been over there long enough toget into the manners and customs of the natives. But I say, sir, what a nation they be for quarrelling amongst themselves, to be sure! There's this here revolution still going on. What it will all end in goodness only knows. What doyousay, sir?"
"I don't know, and I don't care," replied Mr. Oldstone, irritably. "They may all go to——"
A fresh rub of the lather over his mouth prevented the antiquary from finishing his sentence. The pertinacious barber was not to be put down.
"Ah, sir," he continued, "I could tell you some mighty strange tales about that same revolution."
"Oh, indeed!" broke in Mr. Hardcase. "The members of this club are fond of hearing tales, but they don't relish much anything connected with politics. In fact the tales permitted within these walls are almost entirely of the supernatural order."
"The supernatural!" ejaculated the barber. "Parbleu! is that still believed in this country? I promise you our French friends don't believe in that, or anything else, for aught I know."
"I know they don't, the infidel puppies," growled the antiquary; "but we do. Do we not, gentlemen?"
"Ay, indeed!" answered the members of the club with one accord.
"Do you indeed, gentlemen!" exclaimed the astonished barber. "Well, it ain't often that one finds gentlemen of your standing that will own so much, but as you gentlemenall declare you believe in such things, I don't mind telling you that I myself am also a believer."
"Ah!" said Mr. Oldstone, beginning to be interested.
"Yes, sir, I am indeed," replied the barber.
"Come, now," said Mr. Crucible, "if you could tell us of some experience of yours that bordered on the supernatural, I'd answer for Mr. Oldstone's listening to you."
By this time the antiquary was released from the clutches of the barber, and Mr. Hardcase, wishing to profit by the occasion, took his place on the chair, and a second edition of the lathering began.
"Well," said Oldstone, feeling himself considerably more comfortable, and throwing himself back complacently in an easy-chair, "you say—ahem!—that you—you, at least I have been given to understand that you have, at some period of your life, had some experience—ahem!—of the supernatural."
"There, I knew he was burning to hear a story," cried all the members at once, quizzingly.
"Well, Mounseer Suds, out with it, let's hear."
Thus encouraged, the barber put on a grave and important look, and began his story in these words.
Well then, gentlemen, since you deign to encourage me, I must next trespass on your patience whilst I enter upon some particulars about my family. I was born in this village some five-and-twenty years back, and at a very early age the genius of the barber began to develop itself in me. My father was a barber before me, and so was my grandfather and great-grandfather, too, as I haveheard my father say. In fact, from time immemorial the Suds have been barbers. Descended from a long line of this honourable profession, and literally reared in lather, having my youthful imagination fired by the tales of my father and grandfather of the great people they had shaved in their day, what wonder that, at a precocious age, I should yearn to wield the weapon of my ancestors, and even aspire to be more eminent in the line than any of my predecessors? It was the height of my father's ambition—who was great in his way, and added to the ordinary routine of business the higher branches of the art, such as bleeding, tooth drawing, quack salving, and the like—that I, his only son, should step into his shoes, and hand down the name of "Suds" in all its unblemished purity.
"Joe," he would say to me, "when I am gone to my long account, who will there be to support your poor mother unless you fix upon some honest trade for a livelihood?"
"And what trade should I fix upon, if not yours, father?" I would reply.
"Well, Joe, my boy," he would say, "if you would be a true barber, and uphold the honour of the family, recollect that no excellence is achieved without constant practice. The primary rules of barber-craft are simple. Keep your razors sharp and free from rust, your water boiling; spare not the lather, and rub it well in before you begin to shave; dip the razor in the boiling water, and work with a steady hand."
I promised him that I would abide by his instructions, and although up to a certain age I was not permitted to handle a razor, I was, nevertheless, always in my father's shop, and watched with admiring eyes the masterly way in which my progenitor finished off his customers. In the case of a tooth having to be drawn, or a vein opened, I was never missing, and great was my pride should my father call upon me now and then to render him some trifling assistance. I might have been about seven years old when I made my first essay.
It was about Christmas time, and my father had just killed a pig, which he had left hung up by the legs in the yard. Being left alone for a few minutes, a bright idea struck me. I would try my "'prentice han'" on the carcase of the porker. So, locking all the doors so as not to be interrupted, I mixed up a lather and, with one of my father's well-sharpened razors, I commenced operations. Whilst thus busily employed, I was attracted by the sound of smothered laughter, and looking up at the window of our next-door neighbour's house, which looked into our yard, I beheld some dozen of the neighbours, who had been called in to witness my performance. I thought they would have died with laughter. However, nothing daunted, I proceeded diligently with my task, until my father, rattling at the door, demanded instant admittance. I was forced to admit him, and when he saw what I had been about, he quickly snatched the razor from my hand, and calling me "a dirty young dog,"administered to me a slight kick behind, although I thought at the time, by the expression on his face, and likewise by that on my mother's, that my parents felt inwardly proud of their son.
An interval of two years now elapsed before I again put hand to razor. I remember that at this time I was nine years old, and it was when I was at this tender age that my poor father caught a fever and died.
As you may suppose, gentlemen, it was a terrible blow to my poor widowed mother, who, besides the grief she naturally felt for the loss of an affectionate husband, found herself now alone in the world with a growing lad to support as well as herself by the scanty proceeds of the business.
It was some little time before I could realise the fact that my father was actually dead. When my mother first brought me the startling news I heard it in a sort of stupor, resembling insensibility, out of which I did not awake until the undertaker arrived with the coffin, when the whole extent of our calamity seemed to dawn upon me for the first time, and I fairly howled for grief. Whilst thus indulging my sorrow, a few neighbours dropped in to see my father laid out in his coffin before he was nailed down. I heard my mother make something like an apology for showing her husband's body before it had been shaved. I stopped short in my sobbing and mused awhile. It was then the custom to shave a corpse before consigning it to its last home. Who was to perform this duty?
Here the instinct of the barber came over me. Not a moment was to be lost if I really intended to put my plan into practice. Yes, I myself would shave my father's corpse, and no other. Accordingly, as my mother was showing out the neighbours and listening to their well meant condolences on the threshold, I quickly locked myself into the room with the corpse, having previously procured the apparatus necessary for the operation. I bore in my mind my father's instructions, "Keep your razor sharp, and free from rust; let the water be boiling, and don't spare the lather, but rub it well in before you begin." I now proceeded to put my father's advice into practice; so, lathering well the face of the corpse, and rubbing the suds well in, I proceeded to wield the razor with a dexterity at first that surprised me with my own performance and encouraged me to attempt something of that "nonchalance" of style that I had observed my father adopt whilst shaving his customers, but which is not looked upon as quite safe until one has undergone considerable practice.
Now, this was only my second attempt; still, I was so elated at having gone through the shaving of both cheeks as well as the throat, without a single cut, that I already deemed myself a proficient in the art, and affected that air of ease and careless grace I have just alluded to whilst I attempted the scraping of the upper lip, when, oh, horror! the razor gave an untimely slip, and sliced my father's nose off! I dropped the razor in my fright, and I really wonder I did not go offin a fit on the spot, such was the thrill of terror that seized me as I gazed on the ghastly hideousness of my father's corpse as it lay noseless in its coffin. I staggered and almost fell to the ground, but mustering all my courage, I picked up the nose and clapped it on in its place. I remember that in my eagerness and hurry I stuck it on the wrong way, with the nostrils upwards, which gave an appearance at once fearful and ludicrous to its ghastly features. It rolled off, however, immediately, and I hastened to rectify my mistake, and after much care and adroitness, succeeded in poising the feature nicely in the centre of the face, in the hopes that it would adhere of its own accord to the spot, and proceeded with the operation; but, alas, no sooner had I begun to meddle with the upper lip, than off rolled the nose again, so I just let it be this time until I had completed the operation.
Having, with the exception of this trifling accident, shaved the corpse of my father to a nicety, I wiped off the lather, replaced the nose, and quitted the room, carrying back my shaving tackle to the shop.
Shortly afterwards my mother entered the room, and was surprised at finding the corpse already shaved. She had intended shaving it herself. I was silent on the subject, and she inquired no further into the matter, being too absorbed with her grief.
Presently the undertaker returned to nail up the coffin, and my mother hastened to give my father one last parting kiss before he was nailed up for ever. SuddenlyI heard a shriek, and rushing into the room, found my mother in hysterics. The cause was obvious. In approaching her lips to those of her defunct spouse, the nose had unexpectedly rolled off, causing a shock similar to that I experienced myself when I so unskilfully amputated my father's nasal protuberance. When my mother came to, I made a clean breast of my awkwardness, for which I received a severe scolding, accompanied by sundry boxes on the ear. At length the coffin was nailed up, and I followed it with my mother to the grave, but for nights afterwards, my noseless father haunted me in my dreams, carrying a basin of suds in one hand, and holding his nose between finger and thumb with the other, as if to reproach me with my awkwardness.
When I related these dreams to my mother, she became uneasy in her mind, and declared that all through my awkwardness my father was unable to find rest in the tomb. She was a great believer in dreams, visions, omens, prophecies, and the like, and said that the dream boded no good. Being a mere child then, I became infected with her fears, though as I grew up I began to reason with myself that a dream of that sort might very well be accounted for by the excited state of my brain at the time and tendency of my waking thoughts, without jumping at once at the conclusion that there was anything supernatural in it.
For some time after my father's death I used to pester my mother with many of those questions thatchildren are so fond of asking, and mothers find so difficult to answer—viz., concerning Heaven, and a future state after death. She used to tell me that Heaven was a place for all good people, far, far away, high up above the stars, where good folks lived on for ever, and never grew old, and never to die any more; that they were very happy, and knew no more pain or sorrow, but became as the angels, and had wings and sang praises to God all day long on a cloud. Moreover, that it was very light and bright there, that all was endless sunshine, and the angels were dressed in shining garments, etc.
Still, I was anxious to know more about Heaven; how long it took to get there—being so far off; whether father wouldn't get tired flying all that distance, and if so, where he would stop to rest on the road; what sort of amusements there were in Heaven, and finally whether there was any shaving there. This last question was a puzzler. I was not to be put off by mother telling me that angels didn't require shaving, for then I argued that if father had gone to Heaven, he would be out of employment, and consequently miserable and not happy, for I knew what pleasure my father took in his business. Now if my father could not be happy without employment, the only employment he cared about being shaving, and if in Heaven that employment were not permitted or encouraged, it followed that my father could not be in Heaven, for who ever heard of a soul in Heaven and not happy?
My next question was whether there were any shaving in the other place. This was equally difficult to answer, for if my mother should admit that there was, then I should have argued that my father must be there, which would not have been a consoling idea, and if not, where should he be, since he could not be in either of these places? My mother was fain to confess that she did not know much about it, but said she would ask the minister. Whether she did or not, I never ascertained. I began to reflect for myself. The apostles were good men, as I had been given to understand, and good men always went to Heaven. Yet from their effigies upon the old stained-glass windows of the village church, they were all represented with long beards. Therefore barber-craft could not be encouraged in Heaven. Nothing could be more conclusive than this. My doubts were at rest for ever, but I felt less happy than before I began to argue on these matters.
Ever since my father's death the whole weight of the business fell upon my mother. Even in my father's lifetime she had so profited by his lessons as to be able to lend a helping hand occasionally when the customers were numerous and was thought to possess no inconsiderable skill in the art, but now that my father was no more, she had to put her shoulder to the wheel for her very bread. As for myself, it was long before our villagers could be induced to place any confidence in my shaving, the report of my father's unlucky amputation having spread like wildfire through the neighbourhood.
At length a strange gentleman passed through the village, and calling at our shop, demanded to be shaved. My mother not being in at the time, I offered my services, which were accepted, and acquitted myself to the entire satisfaction of my customer. The gentleman chancing to mention to someone that he had been shaved by a mere boy, and better than he had ever been shaved in his life, my fame began to spread in the village, and from that day we were in no want of customers.
Business went on swimmingly until I was twelve years old, when I had the misfortune to lose my poor mother. I was now quite alone in the world, so in order to instruct myself more fully in the higher branches of the art, such as wig making, hair-cutting, etc., I offered myself as apprentice under the late Mr. Hackchin, under whose tuition in the wig line I vastly improved, although even from the beginning my shaving was universally preferred to his. Lor, sirs! his razors were never sharp, his water always lukewarm, and his hand shook as with the palsy. The fact was, he was getting old, was my poor employer, and ought, in my opinion, to have given up business long before he did, when he might have retired from the field with all due honours, and handed down his name unstained to posterity.
Well, gentlemen, not to wear out your patience, I will at once proceed to the very heart of my story—plunge into the very thick of the lather, as my poorfather used to say—being about the time of my going abroad, and the reason of it. It was now some time since I had begun to cast sheep's eyes on the pretty Sally Snip, daughter of Simon Snip, the village tailor. We met by stealth, took long walks together of a Sunday in the green lane, danced together on the green on holidays, exchanged tokens, breathed vows of eternal fidelity, and all the rest of it. Our interviews were detected at length by Sally's parents, who looked on our attachment with no favourable eyes. Old Snip was ambitious, and designed quite another match for his daughter than a penniless young barber like myself, and gave me plainly to understand that if I did notsheeroff he wouldbastemy broadcloth for me. I was in a rage, but smothered it for prudence sake, yet didn't I wish in that moment that I had the shaving of him—wouldn't I have scraped him, that's all! Well, words grew high; I protested that my intentions were strictly honourable, etc., etc., but all to no purpose; the obstinate old parent wouldn't see what was for his daughter's good, and I left him very much disgusted. A few stolen interviews were attempted after this, but were all frustrated, and I soon saw we were not destined for one another, so we met for the last time, wept, embraced, and vowed still to love each other to eternity.
Now, there is no knowing but I might still have sought to renew my interviews, had not an extraordinary circumstance occurred to alter my determination. Onthe very night after our parting I was tossing restlessly on my bed, between sleeping and waking, when all of a sudden—whether it was a dream, I know not, but I fancy that I was awake—all at once there stood by my bedside the spirit of my father in the habiliments of the grave, unblemished in whiteness as the suds he used in his lifetime, and, approaching me solemnly, said,
"My son, all that has happened is for the best. Stick to thy trade, and rival the most illustrious of thy ancestors, to which end thou must visit Paris. I will guide thy steps. Practise incessantly. We shall meet again."
With these words the vision vanished, and I felt myself bathed in a cold sweat.
I slept no more that night, but rose early the following morning. My determination was fixed, for a parent's command from the other side of the tomb was not to be combated, so I scraped together my slender earnings, tied up my bundle, took leave of my employer, and paid my passage over to Paris.
Soon after my departure Sally Snip became the wife of Daniel Nimble, an aspiring apprentice of old Simon's. This was my first love, and, like most first loves, ended miserably. Few men there are I wot who can boast of having loved but once, and of having lived uncrossed in that love to the end of the chapter. But I digress.
No sooner arrived in Paris than I began searching out the names and addresses of the most celebrated menin the hair line of the day with a view of offering my services as assistant. The day after my arrival I passed a large and handsome shop, evidently a first-rate business, with a large printed card in the window. Now, although at that time I had not the remotest knowledge of the French language, and consequently could not possibly understand what was written on the card, yet an indescribable I-don't-know-what, an inexplicable "je-ne-sais-quoi" (perchance a spiritual dig in the ribs from my father), induced me to interpret the words, "A boy wanted." I was as certain as I am of my own existence that the proprietor was in want of an assistant and that my services would be accepted, so I entered the shop, addressed the proprietor in English, which, it is needless to say, was perfectly unintelligible to him. However, by expressive signs, I told him I was an adept, and that he couldn't do better than engage me. He smiled, the bargain was struck, and from that day I commenced my career in a foreign land.
My employer was one Pierre le Chauve, a hair-dresser who had an extensive business in the Rue St. Honorè, and who was especially renowned for the neatness and elegance of his wigs. He also cut hair, manufactured fancy soaps, hair oil, hair dye, perfumery, and the like. He had one daughter, Mademoiselle Pauline, of some eighteen summers, as neat a little grisette as ever trod the Champs Elysées or the Bois de Boulogne on Sundays, and who presided at the counter and sold articles of perfumery to the Parisian exquisites, withwhom she chatted with the most charming ease and grace and bewitching naïveté.
Pauline was the thorough type of a French girl. Eyes of dark hazel, set wide apart in her head, nez retrousee, rather wide mouth and exceptional teeth, small hand and foot, jimp waist, and a countenance capable of every possible shade of expression, while her voice, by nature pitched in a high key, rose to shrillest treble when under any excitement.
Besides myself, there was another assistant, one Jacques Millefleurs, a conceited French puppy, who fancied himself irresistible, and used to persecute his employer's daughter with the most marked attentions whenever her father's back was turned, and which she, it must be confessed, did not appear to be entirely indifferent to, although, at the same time, she gave him plainly to understand that she intended to flirt with whomever she liked without askinghispermission, and that he had no right whatever to monopolise her. Jacques was of an exceedingly jealous temper, and could ill brook this tone from the object of his affections; this she knew well, and often took a malicious delight in provoking him by putting on her best airs and graces and being doubly fascinating whenever a handsome customer came to the shop. It was then that Jacques would grow pale, and dart vicious side glances from the corners of his eyes; but Pauline took no notice of him whatever, but flirted more and more, as if to aggravate him. After the customer had departed they wouldhave a lovers' quarrel, and then they would make it up again, and so on from day to day.
Now, all this could be of very little interest to me, even if I had understood their conversation, for had I not my own secret grief? Was it to be supposed that I could forget Sally in a day? No; whilst I in silence counted and separated the hairs destined to be woven into the scalp of a wig, or whilst shaving a customer or cutting his hair, my soul was in the green lane with Sally, or behind her at church, or under her window at night, watching for a momentary glimpse of her shadow on the window blind. In fact, whatever happened to be my employment, Sally was ever uppermost in my thoughts, and still continued to be so, even some time after the sad news reached me that she had married Daniel Nimble. This shock at first was terrific, but, gradually subsiding, I resolved at length that, as she had so soon forgotten me, not to think of her any more, which in time I succeeded in doing. From being moody and silent, I now became more talkative, for I had begun to pick up a few phrases in French.
Mademoiselle Pauline encouraged me in my progress, and was pleased to take a great interest in me, much to the disgust of her admirer, Jacques Millefleurs, who began to look upon me as a probable rival. I daily improved in the French language under my fair tutor, and day by day she gained upon me, for she certainly had the most winning manners. The more I talked with her, the less I thought of Sally, till at lastshe succeeded in completely supplanting her in my heart, and I found myself, before I was well aware of it, head over ears in love with the fascinating grisette.
Here was a to do. Murder will out. Love and a cough are two things one can't hide, as the proverb says.
The odious Jacquesmustdiscover my passion ere long, and a quarrel will be inevitable. Not that I feared the likes of him, gentlemen. Don't suppose it for a moment. Why, I'd take half a dozen or so of such fellows one off and another on, and thrash the whole lot of them as easy as a game of ninepins. Well, but to proceed, gentlemen. What I foresaw soon happened. One day while taking my French lesson under Mademoiselle Pauline, and we were chatting away merrily enough without taking any notice of Jacques, who was arranging pots of bears' grease on the shelves in the background, our heads drew very close together, and we were looking very fondly into each other's eyes and whispering rather low.
Now, I knew that there was no engagement between her and Jacques, therefore I had every right to pay her just the same attention that he did, and I intended to let him know it. Well, my head might have touched hers, or my locks may have intermingled with hers as we pored over the French grammar together. However this may have been, something or other seems to have exasperated my rival, for I heard him mutter to himself something likeCochon d'un Anglais. I was getting onin my French now and understood the words, so turning round, I said,
"Did your remark refer to me, Monsieur Jacques?"
"Oui à vous," he said, furiously, now losing all command over himself, and heedless of the consequences; "and I repeat my remark."
Here he repeated his obnoxious epithet with an invective against my countrymen in general.
"Hold there!" I cried, for I began to feel my English blood boil in my veins, and in the best French I could muster, said,
"Retract your words. I give you one chance to apologise, and if you refuse——"
Before I could finish my rival's legs had formed a right angle, and I received asavâtin the eye. Stung by the pain, and still more by the insult, I felt the strength of our whole line of barbers rush into my veins, and clenching my fist convulsively I let forth so terrible a blow in the chest of my adversary as to make him measure his length upon the floor, and cause the back of his head to resound against it like a cocoanut. Miss Pauline screamed, but the next moment my rival had bounced upright upon his feet, and seized a razor. Another scream from Pauline as he was making towards me, razor in hand, but this time I took up a chair and with it gave him such a blow over the knuckles as made him drop the razor and yell in agony. I laid down the chair, thinking that the fight was now over, but the Frenchman sprang on to me again like a hungry tiger,and so unexpected was the movement that I nearly lost my balance, but with great adroitness I managed to trip him up, and he fell under me.
He now began to bite and to scratch, but I seized his hair and banged his head against the ground several times. He then clutched me anew, and we began rolling over and over on the floor, Pauline screaming all the while, but extricating myself at length from his grasp, I bounded to my feet, and before he had time to rise placed one foot upon his throat. At this moment my employer attracted by his daughter's screams, entered.
"Mille diables!" he cried, fiercely, "ques-ce-que ce tappage la? Ah! ça, Monsieur Godam," said he, turning full upon me, "esce que vous êtes entré chez moi pour ensegner le box à mes eléves?"
Here Pauline broke in.
"No, I assure you, dear papa, it was not the Englishman's fault. Millefleurs began the quarrel. I saw him kick the Englishman in the eye."
"Ha! Monsieur Jacques, you did kick the Englishman in the eye?" inquired my employer; "and what for did you kick the Englishman in the eye?"
"Because he used undue familiarity towards Mademoiselle," said Jacques, doggedly.
Le Chauve glanced suspiciously first at me then at his daughter, but Pauline, stung at Jacques' mean attempt at exposing me as well as herself to her father's obloquy, rose in all the pride of injured womanhood,as if to take the whole burden of defence upon herself, and standing erect with compressed lips and white with passion, cried,
"It is false, 'tis a base lie! The Englishman never treated me otherwise than with the greatest respect, nor have I ever received at his hands any of those attentions that in my indulgence I have permitted from yourself. Think not, however, Master Jacques, that this calumny will serve your turn, or that I am blind to the paltry motives that prompted it. Your absurd jealousy is seen through, and has met with its just chastisement. What was it to you, I pray, even if the Englishmanhadpaid me attention? Must you be the only one to pay me attention? You know very well that I have never granted you any right to monopolise me, however your conceit may have deluded you. Beware, therefore, in future how you attempt to calumniate either myself or this Englishman, for as sure as you are born you will not succeed in your scheme, and know, once for all, Monsieur Jacques Millefleurs, that for the future I wish all those attentions that you have been pleased to lavish upon me so profusely whenever my father's back was turned, to cease. Respect me as your employer's daughter, for I vow never to be anything more to you."
She ceased; but during her harangue, Pauline's deportment was majestic—it was sublime. No longer was she the little grisette with the cock-nose and the wide mouth, but a tragedy queen pronouncing amalediction. She appeared now at least half a head taller, so imposing was her attitude. The roses and smile had deserted her countenance, and were supplanted by a ghastly pallor, while from her dark eyes flashed a withering scorn, under which Jacques appeared to quail like a whipped hound, but which feeling his natural pride sought to overcome.