IV.
THE baron was certainly not fond of dancing, and his corpulence was by no means calculated to help him cut pigeon-wings; but in the “court-dances” which were usual at that period it was customary, and considered the proper thing to do, for even the gravest persons totake a part. The baron, who had been a widower for a long time, had given scarcely any entertainments during the life of his lawful heir; but when it became apparent that his name was in danger of perishing with him, and that his titles and estates would pass to a branch of his family which he hated, he had promptly resolved to marry again as early as possible; and, in choosing a wife, he had made up his mind to select, not a suitable and agreeable companion, for he felt no need of such a person, but some healthy young girl from whom he might expect children. He had accordingly furnished his mansion in a luxurious style, and had assembled together the ladies of the province, with the sole design of placing his baronial coronet upon the head of the prettiest among them who should be so kind as to offer to wear it.
The Countess Elfride had thought herself sure of the prize, but her plans had failed. The elderly suitor opened his eyes to the fact that he had been made to look ridiculous, and swore to be revenged both upon aunt and niece. Moreover, to this oath, which he registered in his mind with much promptitude, he appended a firm resolve not to be deceived twice; but, without admitting the interference of any third party, to offer himself to the first young lady of good family who should receive him with a sufficient degree of cordiality. This person turned out to be Olga, as he felt convinced when that young lady proceeded to tell him, in a confidential whisper, how Margaret had made over to her all right, title, and interest in his affections. She confided this pretty story to him with an assumed air of innocence and candor, as if it were the prattle of a child; and, really, she was a child in many respects, though none the less a woman, at once possessed and made cunning by ambition. The baron, who was by no means wanting in penetration, kept up the joke as if he saw nothing more in it; but, at the end of the dance, instead of taking Olga to her seat, he offered her his arm, and led her into the gallery, whose great extent rendered it quite suitable for confidential interviews. There, taking her burning hands between his icy cold ones, he said coldly:
“Olga, you are young and beautiful, but you are poor, and of too high rank to marry a handsome young fellow of low birth. It rests with you to turn your jest into earnest. I offer you my title and a brilliant position. Answer me seriously and without delay, or otherwise dismiss this subject forever from your mind.”
Olga was really young, beautiful, poor, vain, and ambitious. She took time by the forelock, and accepted at once.
“Very good,” observed Olaus, kissing her hand, “I thank you. Excuse me if I say not a word further. I should make myself ridiculous if I should undertake to talk to you about love, for you would imagine that I think myself a person who can be loved. We will be married—that is settled; and we both of us have decisive reasons for this resolution—that is certain. In the meanwhile, in case you really desire this marriage, I must request you to keep it an absolute secret for some days, above all from the Countess Margaret and her aunt. Can you promise me this? Remember, any indiscretion would break off our engagement.”
Olga had too much at stake not to give the required promise in good faith; and the baron handed her back to the great drawing-room.
Their absence had been so brief, that, even if observed, no particular conclusion could have been drawn from it. Yet the Countess d’Elveda felt uneasy at it, and went to find out what had become of her niece.
“Do not annoy yourself,” remarked Olga, “she was here this very moment.”
“She is hiding herself—she is still obstinate about dancing.”
“By no means,” said the baron, “she had consented to dance. It was I who declined to take advantage of her kindness.”
And offering his arm to the countess, he walked away with her, explaining, as they went, that he did not wish any one to be constrained to love him; that he was old enough to pay his addresses for himself, and that he begged her not to interpose further in the matter, lest she should be the means of his losing all hope, and evenof his giving up his design of marrying.
The countess consoled herself for this reprimand, by the recollection that it was the first time the baron had shown any decided purpose of seeking her niece’s hand. Intriguing and perfidious as she was, she was this time the dupe of the baron, whose only object was to deceive her as she had deceived him.
“It is astonishing,” said Cristiano to himself, as he set out to find the supper-room, “to watch these intriguers in high life, to see how foolish they are in their malignity, and how easily they are deceived! But that must necessarily be the case in matters of that kind, when one lays down the principle, to begin with, of absolute contempt for the human species. We cannot despise others without despising ourselves. He who does not think well of the work he is doing is made impotent by that very fact. It was a superb piece of comedy for that aunt to tell me so calmly, ‘have a niece to immolate; help me about it; be quick, and I will pay you by giving you a position as head valet in a good family!’”
Cristiano, however, put aside his philosophic reflections as he entered the room he was looking after, which he discovered by a really delicious odor of venison. It was a very handsome circular room, laid with small movable tables, with a view of temporarily assuaging impatient appetites while waiting for the grand supper. As everybody had done great honor to the baron’s table already at nine o’clock, the room was empty, except for one servant, who was fast asleep, and whom Cristiano took pains not to waken, lest he should be considered greedy and ill-mannered. Without stopping to select, he seized a plate of stuffed veal à la Française; but just as he made a cut into it with the vermilion-handled knife, the servant, startled out of his sleep, sprang up as if he had been moved by springs, and M. Stangstadius bustled in, rattling the glasses and crockery with the jar which his uneven, jerking step communicated to the floor.
“Parbleu!It’s you, is it?” he called out, on seeing Cristiano. “Glad to find you here! I don’t like to eat alone, and we can talkover serious matters while we satisfy the blind appetites of these poor human machines of ours. Pooh! you don’t mean to eat standing? Oh no! It’s extremely unfavorable to the digestion, and you don’t taste what you eat at all. Here, Karl, draw out that table—the largest. Very good. Now then, give us some of the best there is. How? Side-dishes? No, not yet. Something more solid; some good slices of that sirloin. After that you can bring the best cut out of that bear’s ham. It’s a Norway ham, I hope; they are the best smoked. Come, Karl, some wine! Give us some Madeira and Bordeaux, and you may bring a few bottles of champagne, too, for this young man; he’s likely to be fond of it. Very well, Karl. That’ll do, my boy; but don’t go, we shall want some dessert very shortly.”
While giving these orders, M. Stangstadius installed himself with his back to the stove, and applied himself to eating and drinking after so marvellous a fashion, that Cristiano cast away all shame, and began devouring with the whole force of his thirty-two teeth. As for the man of science, who had not more than a dozen, he manœuvred them so ably that he was not a whit behindhand, while all the while he continued talking and gesticulating with wonderful energy. Cristiano, astonished, inwardly compared him to some fantastic monster, half crocodile and half ape; and asked himself where could be the seat of this terrible vitality in a body so misshapen, apparently so feeble, and with diverging eyes incessantly moving, but with no expression whatever.
The conversation of the geologist soon did something to help solve the problem. The worthy gentleman had never loved a human being, nor even so much as a dog. Everything was perfectly indifferent to him beyond the circle of ideas in which he lived, so to speak, on himself; taking his own pleasure, admiring himself, flattering himself, and, in default of better material, finding nourishment in the perfumes of his own self-praise.
Cristiano felicitated him upon his magnificent health.
“Do you see, my dear fellow,” he replied, “when God made me he came to a full stop. I swear to you he could not have produced such another! Iknow nothing of the sufferings that others feel. To begin with, I have never known the vulgar and despicable infirmity of love. I never wasted one minute in my life in forgetting myself for one of those pretty dolls that you make idols of. A woman may be eighty or eighteen—it’s exactly the same to me. When I am hungry, if I am in a hovel, I eat whatever I can find, and if I find nothing, I occupy myself in thinking over my works; and I wait, without any uneasiness. If I am at a good table, I eat everything there is on it, and without feeling any inconvenience. I feel neither cold nor heat. My head is always burning, it is true; but it is with a sublime fire that does not consume the mechanism, but, on the contrary, nourishes and repairs it. I know neither hate nor envy. I am perfectly aware that no one knows more than I; and as to those who are jealous of me—there are a vast many of them—I crush them like the worms of the dust. They never recover after a criticism from me. In short, I am made of steel, gold, and diamond; I defy the entrails of the whole earth to supply a material more impassible or more precious than that of which I am made.”
At this comprehensive and frank declaration Cristiano could not help an immoderate explosion of laughter, which, however, did not at all disconcert or offend the Chevalier of the Polar Star. On the contrary, he took this hilarity to be a joyous homage to his own universal superiority; so that Cristiano perceived that his companion was, in some sense, a monomaniac of a curious species, whose infirmity might be defined as lunacy from excess of self-conceit. Cristiano questioned him in vain about such persons as interested him. As to the Baron de Waldemora, M. Stangstadius would only condescend to say that he had some aspirations towards science, but that, on the whole, he was simply an idiot. Margaret he set down as stupid for not accepting the first rich match that came along. He did, it is true, spare her a little, admitting that she must be more amiable than the rest of them, since she was in love with him. This he thought a proof of good sense, but he found it impossible to profit by this disposition of hers, sincescience was his wife and mistress at the same time.
“Really, Mr. Professor,” said Cristiano, “you seem to be admirably consistent in this wonderful logical system of yours.”
“Ah! I’ll answer for that,” replied M. Stangstadius; “I’m a different sort of man from your Baron Olaus, whom fools admire for his strength of will and coolness!”
“Mybaron? I assure you that I want nothing to do with him.”
“For my part I speak neither well nor ill of him,” returned the professor; “all men are poor creatures, more or less; but does he not pretend to be a free-thinker, and to have never loved?”
“Could he have ever really loved any one? If he could, his face is extremely deceptive.”
“I don’t know but he may have loved his wife, while she lived. She was a malignant she-devil.”
“Perhaps, then, he admired her.”
“I’m sure I don’t know. She managed him, however, as she chose; and after she was dead, he could not endure to be without her, and so he came to engage me to calcine and crystallize her ladyship, the baroness.”
“Ah! then the famous black diamond is your work?”
“You have seen it, then! Is it not a capital result of experiment! The lapidary who cut it was in perfect despair at not being able to discover whether it was the work of nature or of art. But I must tell you the method I pursued, and how I secured its transparency. I tookmy bodyand wrapped it in asbestos cloth, after the manner of the ancients, and placed it over an extremely hot fire of wood, coal, and bitumen, the whole well sprinkled with naphtha. Whenmy bodywas thoroughly reduced—”
Cristiano, finding himself condemned to undergo the history of the reduction and vitrification of the baroness, set about eating as fast as he could, and tried not to hear; but he had perfectly stuffed himself before the professor had ended his demonstration. This meeting was a sad disappointment to Cristiano, who had hoped for an interview with only Margaret and her governess. And he became more dissatisfiedstill, as a group of young officers of theindeltainvaded the hall.
These northern stomachs were far from being satisfied with the refreshments and cooling beverages provided in the ball-room, and so they came hither to warm their blood a little with good Spanish and French wine; and Cristiano observed with interest something peculiar in the way in which these men of the north drank their wine, and which he had never been able to notice to so good advantage. He began, moreover, to see something a little rude in their manners, and a rather rougher style of gayety than he found himself quite able to join in. But to make amends, the free-heartedness and cordiality of the young men were such as he entirely sympathized with. They all greeted him with eager kindness, and insisted on his drinking with them, until he found his head beginning to feel the liquor. He therefore stopped, fearing to go too far, but admiring the ease with which these robust sons of the mountains went straight on drinking the heady wine, without apparently feeling it at all.
As soon as he could disengage himself from their friendly challenges, he took up a position near the door, in order to go out whenever he should perceive Margaret in the gallery outside. He supposed that when she saw the room full of young men drinking she would not go in. She however did go in, notwithstanding, and in a few moments was followed by other young ladies and their cavaliers, who took seats at different tables, those already sitting there hastening to give them places, and to wait upon them. And now the mirth began to be louder and more enthusiastic. They forgot to imitate Versailles; they talked Swedish, and even Dalecarlian: the voices grew loud; the young ladies drank champagne without making any faces over it, and even took Cyprus wine and port, without any fear of the consequences. There were present brothers and sisters, betrothed lovers, and cousins. It was like one numerous family; and the sexes mingled with a freedom which was innocent, warm-hearted, perhaps a little inelegant, but, on the whole,touching, from its chastity and simplicity.
“What good souls they are!” thought Cristiano. “What the devil is the reason that as soon as they begin to think about themselves they attitudinize as Russians or French, when they appear to so much better advantage in their own natural character?”
The peculiar charm of the little Countess Margaret was exactly that she was herself in whatever circumstances. Mademoiselle Potin had certainly formed her most judiciously, in thus preserving her natural and spontaneous. And what Cristiano found especially agreeable in her was, that she declined wine. Cristiano had some prejudices.
While the rest were all chattering and laughing around Stangstadius,—whose table, always in the same place, and always copiously served, became the centre and target of witticisms, by which he was not at all disconcerted,—Margaret found an opportunity of telling Cristiano in a confidential manner, which, as may be imagined, did not displease him, that her aunt had quite changed her demeanor to her, and, instead of finding fault, had become very good-natured.
“It must be,” she said, “that the baron has not mentioned my discourtesy; or else she knows of it, but means to try a different way to bring me into her plans. At any rate, I have a breathing-time. The baron is not attentive to me any more; and even if I am to be scolded again by my aunt to-morrow, or sent back for penance to my solitude at Dalby, I mean to enjoy myself to-night, and forget all my vexations. Yes, I intend to dance as gayly as I can; for, if you will believe it, Monsieur Goefle, this is the first ball I ever attended in my life; the first time I ever danced anywhere, except in my own room, with my good Potin. I am positively dying to try my little accomplishments in public; and I am frightened to death, at the same time, for fear of being awkward, and getting out in the figures of the French quadrille. I must find some obliging partner who will help me through, and lookafter me a little, so as to tell me all my mistakes in a charitable way.”
“I believe it will not be difficult to find him,” replied Cristiano; “and if you will venture to trust yourself to me, I guarantee that you shall dance as if you were at your hundredth ball.”
“Well, then, agreed. I accept, with thanks. Let us wait till twelve o’clock. We will make up a little separate ball all by ourselves, with these ladies and gentlemen here, at one end of the gallery. Then, perhaps, my aunt, who is dancing in the grand saloon with all the great people, will not see how suddenly my sprain has got well.”
Cristiano now began a brisk conversation with the young lady; and, being a little stimulated by the champagne, his gayety was gradually taking on a sentimental complexion, when a name, pronounced aloud close to him, made him start and turn around suddenly.
“Christian Waldo!” said a young officer, with an open and good-natured face; “who has seen him? where is he?”
“To be sure!” cried Cristiano, jumping up. “Where is Christian Waldo? Who has seen him?”
“Nobody,” answered some one from another table. “Who has ever seen Christian Waldo’s face, and who will ever see it?”
“You have never seen it, have you, Monsieur Goefle?” asked Margaret of Cristiano. “You do not know him?”
“No. But who is Christian Waldo, and how is it that it is impossible to see his face?”
“You must have heard him spoken of though, for his name seemed to strike you.”
“Yes, because I remember having heard it at Stockholm; but I did not pay much attention to it, and I do not even remember—”
“Come, major,” said a young lieutenant, “since you know this Waldo, tell us who he is, and what he does. I do not know anything about him.”
“Major Larrson knows a great deal if he can do that,” said Margaret. “For my part, I have heard so many different things said about Christian Waldo, that I promise beforehand not to believe a word ofanything that is going to be told.”
“But,” replied the major, “I am ready to make oath, upon my honor, that I say nothing about him except what I absolutely know. Christian Waldo is an Italian comedian, who travels about from one town to another, amusing people by his good-natured wit and inexhaustible gayety. His exhibition consists—”
“We know that,” interrupted Margaret, “and we know that he gives his representations sometimes in drawing-rooms and sometimes in taverns; to-day in a castle, and to-morrow in a hovel; and that he makes the rich pay high prices, while he often exhibits to the poor for nothing.”
“An absurd original enough,” said Cristiano; “a kind of mountebank.”
“Mountebank or not, he is an extraordinary man,” replied the major, “and a man of genuine nobility of character, too, which is more! Last month, at Stockholm, I myself saw him fight three furious drunken sailors, one of whom had been cruelly abusing a poor cabin-boy, when Christian Waldo, indignant at the cowardly outrage, rescued his victim. On another occasion, this Christian threw himself into the midst of a fire to save an old woman; and every day he gave away almost all he received to persons who excited his pity. Indeed, it was said that the people of the suburbs were so enthusiastic about him, that he had to leave secretly in order to avoid being carried in a triumphal procession.”
“And also,” observed Margaret, “to avoid being obliged to remove his mask; for the authorities began to feel uneasy about an incognito so very popular, and they fancied he might be some Russian agent who was preparing the ground in this way, so that when the time came he could excite a sedition.”
“Do you believe,” said Cristiano, “that this funny fellow—for it appears that he is a funny fellow—is a Russian spy?”
“I? No, I don’t believe it,” replied Margaret. “I am not one of thosepeople who prefer to think that goodness and charity cover wicked designs.”
“But his mask,” said one of the young ladies, who had been eagerly listening to the officers; “why does he always wear a black mask when he enters his theatre and leaves it? Is it to represent the Italian harlequin?”
“No, for he does not appear himself in the representation which he exhibits to the public. There is some reason, which no person knows.”
“Perhaps,” observed Cristiano, gravely, “it is to hide a leprosy, or something of the kind.”
“Some say his nose is cut off,” remarked one of the young people.
“And others, again,” added a third, “say that he is the handsomest young fellow in the world; and that he has permitted himself to be seen in the faubourg, and by some persons with whom he has formed a friendship.”
“It would appear,” resumed the major, “that he does not wear his mask at all within his own establishment; but reports are very conflicting about his face. A young boatwoman, who was almost ill with curiosity, managed to induce him to remove the mask, and fell quite ill with fright at seeing a death’s head.”
“Certainly this Waldo must be the devil himself,” said Margaret, “if he can appear as a handsome young man or a frightful spectre. Young ladies, don’t you all want to see him?”
“Do you, Margaret?”
“Let’s all confess that we are wild to see him, and that at the same time we are terribly afraid!”
“They say he is coming here, do they not?” asked one of the young girls.
“He is here now, according to the latest accounts,” answered the major.
“What, really?” cried Margaret; “has he come already? Shall we see him? Is he in the ball-room now?”
“Oh,” said Cristiano, “that would be rather a difficult matter.”
“Difficult? Why?”
“Because a mountebank would not venture to present himself in the character of an invited guest, among such a company as this.”
“Bah!” said the major; “it seems the fellow is not afraid to do anything. His mask, his exhibition, and his name, belong together; but it is asserted, and it seems quite probable, that, under another name, and without any mask, he comes and goes as he likes, and goes all over Stockholm; and that, in the public promenades and most frequented taverns, those who talk about him can never be certain that he is not just at their elbow, or perhaps the very person they are speaking to.”
“But then,” said Cristiano, “how do we know that he is not even in this very room?”
“Oh no!” answered Margaret, though not until she had glanced all round the room, “all of us who are here know each other.”
“But I? No one knows me? Perhaps I am Christian Waldo!”
“Then where is your death’s head?” said one of the young girls, laughing. “Without either mask or death’s head, you are only an apocryphal Waldo. And by the way, gentlemen, can any one tell us how it is known that he has arrived?”
“I can tell you,” replied the major, “how I found it out myself. It seems that an unknown person applied for accommodations here, and, the house being full, was directed to the farm-house. He gave his name, and showed the letter in which Johan, the major-domo, by order of his master, the baron, invited him hither for the amusement of the guests here assembled. I don’t know whether they have accommodated him in some corner of the chateau or elsewhere; but it is certain that he has come.”
“Who told you so?”
“The major-domo himself.”
“And he wore his mask?”
“He wore his mask.”
“And is he tall or fat? well formed or bandy?”
“I did not ask any of those questions; for as I saw him with my owneyes at Stockholm—masked, it is true—I know him to be tall, well made, and as lithe as a deer.”
“Probably he may be some ex-rope-dancer,” suggested Cristiano, who appeared to take no more interest in the conversation than politeness required.
“Oh no!” said Margaret; “he has received a capital education. Everybody is struck by the style and wit of his comedies.”
“But how do you know that they are his own?”
“People familiar with all the ancient and modern literatures, assert that nothing in them is stolen; and these little comedies of his—sometimes sentimental, it is said, also—have been a real literary event at Stockholm.”
“Will he exhibit to-morrow, do you think?” was asked on every side.
“It is to be presumed,” replied the major, “but if these young ladies are desirous to know, I shall be very happy to undertake to find him out and inquire.”
“At midnight?” said Cristiano, looking at the clock. “The poor devil is asleep. I believe the Countess Margaret had a more important plan to suggest to the company.”
“Yes, indeed,” cried Margaret. “I want to propose a little ball, all to ourselves. I am a new comer here—a perfect savage, I confess; you have only met me within these two or three days; but every one has been so kind and good to me, that I am not afraid to confess—what M. Goefle will be so good as to tell you—”
“This is it,” said Cristiano. “The Countess Margaret, as she herself just told you, is a perfect savage. She knows nothing in the world, not even how to dance; she is as awkward as possible, and limps at least as much as our illustrious master Stangstadius. Besides, she is clumsy, absent-minded, short-sighted. In fact, it would require a most Christian dose of charity to reconcile one’s self to the idea of dancing with her; for—”
“Enough! enough!” cried Margaret, laughing. “You have done me the honor to describe me with a great deal of humility. Please to accept mythanks, however; for they will all expect something so frightful now, that if I succeed only tolerably well everybody will be enchanted with me. The end of the matter is that I wish to make my first appearance before this small party; and that—if you all say so—we will go and dance in the gallery. The music in the grand saloon will be abundantly loud enough for us to dance by.”
Several of the young men hastened towards Margaret, to ask for her hand. She thanked them, but said that M. Christian Goefle had already devoted himself to be the victim.
“It is quite true, gentlemen,” said Cristiano, gayly, as his gloved hand received the little hand of Margaret; “all please to pity me, and so lead on to the torture.”
Places were taken in an instant, and the quadrille was formed. Margaret begged not to be one of the first four.
“You are curiously agitated,” said Cristiano to her.
“I am,” she replied; “my heart beats as if I were a bird launched out of the nest for the first time, and not quite sure that it has wings at all.”
“The first quadrille,” remarked the adventurer, “is, I see, an important event in the life of a young lady. In a year from now, when you have attended a hundred balls or so, do you suppose you will remember at all the name and face of the humble individual who enjoys the happiness and glory of directing your first dance?”
“Yes, certainly, Monsieur Goefle; the recollection will always be joined to that of the greatest emotions of my life: my fear of the baron, and my joy at being delivered from him, by an effort of courage that I should not have believed myself capable of, and with which I was certainly inspired by your uncle and yourself.”
“But do you know,” said Cristiano, “I am not at all certain of your aversion for the baron?”
“Why not?”
“You are assuredly much more frightened about dancing in public than you were about dancing with him.”
“Yet I did not dance with him, and I am going to dance with you!”
Cristiano involuntarily pressed Margaret’s small fingers; but she thought this merely an intimation that it was time for her to take her place, and, all rosy with pleasure and bashfulness, she stepped forward with him into the joyous circle, where she very quickly found herself entirely at her ease, as her grace and lightness entitled her to be.
“Well, I believe I am not afraid any more,” she said, as they returned to their place, while the other four began the first figure.
“You are a great deal too courageous,” replied Cristiano; “I hoped I should have been of some service, but you have learned so fast how to use your wings, that now you will be flying off with the first comer.”
“It will never be with the baron, though! But tell me why it was that you thought I exaggerated my dislike for him?”
“Mon Dieu!I see that you are passionately fond of balls—that is, of entertainments and luxury; and every passion is followed by certain consequences. Now, if pleasure is the object, wealth is the means of securing it.”
“What? Am I so silly and so homely that I shall never make a rich marriage unless with an old man?”
“Then you admit that you will not marry any one but a rich man?”
“If I should say yes, what would you think of me?”
“I should not think ill of you.”
“I know; I should be doing just as so many others do; and you would not think well of me either.”
This rather delicate discussion was resumed at the third pause of the quartette to which our two young friends belonged. Margaret seemed to want to test Cristiano’s sincerity.
“Confess, now,” she said, “that you despise girls who marry for riches; like Olga, for instance, to whom the baron looks so handsome through the facets of the great diamonds that she dreams about.”
“I despise nothing,” replied the adventurer; “I am naturally tolerant, or else the facets of what virtue I have are dulled by friction withthe world. I am enthusiastic for what is superior to the average; and I feel a philosophical indifference to whatever is adapted to the vulgar generality of people.”
“Enthusiastic, do you say? Is not enthusiasm a high price to pay for a thing so natural as disinterestedness? I shall not demand so much of you, Monsieur Goefle; I shall only ask your esteem. I hope you will believe that if I were free to choose, I would consult my heart alone, and not my interest. Even if I could never have any more lace to my sleeves, or satin bows to my dress—even if I could never dance any more in the light of a thousand candles, to the sound of thirty violins, hautboys, and double-basses—I feel that I am capable of making even so immense a sacrifice as that, for the sake of preserving my freedom of opinion and the approbation of my conscience.”
Margaret spoke with enthusiasm. Excited by the dancing, she said just what was in her heart: all the generosity and romance of her nature shone in her brilliant eyes; there was a sort of electrical life and inspiration in her radiant smile; in her attitude, like that of a bird eager to dart upwards again to the clouds; in her lovely fair hair, whose long curls wreathed over her lily-white shoulders as if they were alive; in the heart-felt tone of her voice—in short, in the whole of her charming little person. Cristiano was altogether dazzled, and, without being entirely conscious of what he was saying, he asked Margaret, as if he were dreaming, this strange question:
“You will never permit yourself to love any one not of your own rank, I know. But suppose that, in spite of yourself, you should find your affections drawn towards some poor devil, a person without a name, without a penny—Christian Waldo, for instance—would you not be extremely mortified, and consider it your duty to stifle your inclinations?”
“Christian Waldo!” said Margaret. “Why Christian Waldo? You choose a very strange person as an example!”
“Extremely so, and I do it on purpose. When one proceeds by an antithesis—But come; this is what I mean. Suppose that this Christian Waldo—whom I do not know at all—really possesses the courage, the intelligence, the generosity that have just been attributed to him here; and in addition to his other endowments, the poverty which must be the faithful attendant of his wanderings; and a name which, I presume, he does not claim in virtue of any old parchments.”
“And with his death’s head—”
“No, without his death’s head. Well, suppose that you had no choice of marriage, except between him and the Baron de Waldemora—”
“My choice would be very easily made. I would not marry at all!”
“Unless, of course, it should turn out that Christian’s mask concealed a young and handsome prince, who was obliged to conceal himself for reasons of state?”
“A fine idea that is!” said Margaret; “another Czarewitch Ivan escaped out of his prison, or another Philip III. escaped from his assassins!”
“In that case, apocryphal or not, he would find grace in your eyes.”
“What do you want me to say? An Italian buffoon is really not a good standard of comparison, if you are in earnest.”
“Too true,” replied Cristiano, “and here is the finale; let us tread it lightly, for it is the handful of earth cast upon the romance entitled ‘The First Quadrille’!”
But it was not ordained that this quadrille should end according to choregraphic laws. M. Stangstadius, having at last finished the copious repast, which he called a mere snack between the supper and the after-supper, just at this moment came out from the refreshment-room. Absorbed in some lofty conception awakened in his mind by the agreeable effort of prosperous digestion, and coming upon the young dancers in his progress, he marched unceremoniously straight through them, running against the cavaliers who were just exhibiting their graces in the“forward two,” and treading on the little feet of the ladies as if they had been so many pebbles. His extravagant limping rendered his gait so ridiculous that every one burst out laughing. The dance was quite broken up; and the young couples, taking hold of each other’s hands, executed a rapid and noisyrondoabout the chevalier of the polar star, who, not wishing to be behind the others in grace, undertook to execute a hopping movement in the opposite direction, to the immense amusement of the company. But, sad to tell, the laughing and singing became so noisy as to attract attention in the grand saloon.
The orchestra had come to a pause in the music, but the young people did not notice it, and kept on singing and dancing around Stangstadius, who compared himself to Saturn in the middle of his ring.
Countess Elfride hastened to the spot, and, beholding the sudden cure of her niece, fell into a rage, which this time she could not restrain.
“My dear Margaret,” she said, shortly, in a sharp tone, “you are exceedingly imprudent. You forget your sprain; it is extremely dangerous to go on in such a way. I have just seen the baron’s physician, and he prescribes entire quiet to-night. Have the goodness to retire at once with your governess. She will assist you to go to bed, and put on some compresses. Believe me, you had best do so.”
She added in a low tone—
“Obey me!”
Margaret, who had been rosy with delight, turned quite pale, and, whether from anger or mortification, could not restrain two great tears which glittered a moment on her long eye-lashes, and rolled down her cheeks. The Countess Elfride snatched her hand and carried her off, saying, in an under-tone:
“I think you have taken an oath to do nothing to-night but make a fool of yourself. Now you must pay for it. I excused you for not dancing with our entertainer, for he really believes you were in pain; but after that, to dance with another person is to offer the baron an unheard-of, deliberate insult, and I will not allow you to keep upsuch conduct until he has perceived it.”
Cristiano followed along behind Margaret, trying to think of some means of disarming or diverting the wrath of her aunt, if he should perceive any favorable moment for addressing her, when he saw the baron approaching, and paused, leaning against the pedestal of a statue, to see what would take place among the three.
“What!” said the baron, “you are taking away your niece? It is too early. I thought she was just beginning to enjoy herself in my house. Permit me to beseech your indulgence for her; and since she has been dancing—as I am told—may I now beg her to dance with me? She certainly cannot refuse me now, and I am sure she will consent with pleasure.”
“If you insist upon it, baron, I consent,” said the countess.
“Come, Margaret, thank the baron, and go with him. Do you not see that he is offering you his arm for the polonaise?”
Margaret seemed to hesitate; her eyes met those of Cristiano, who did not know which feeling predominated—his desire to have her remain, or his fear that she would yield. Perhaps the last sentiment was most distinctly expressed in his looks, for Margaret answered steadily that she was engaged.
“To whom, pray?” cried the countess.
“Yes; to whom?” repeated the baron, with a singular inflection in his voice, and with a calmness that, Margaret thought, had something ominous in it.
She looked down, and was silent; for she did not understand what was passing in the mind of her persecutor, from whom she had thought herself quite safe.
The baron’s only object was to torment her and compromise her. He saw perfectly well her aversion for him, and cordially reciprocated it. Coldly hard-hearted and revengeful, he affected to jest; but said, speaking loud enough to be heard by many inquisitive ears:
“Where is the happy mortal with whom I must dispute you? for I certainly will do it. I have the right.”
“You have the right?” exclaimed Margaret, amazed and indignant; “you, baron?”
“Yes, I,” he answered, with cold, cruel irony; “you know very well I have. Come, where is this rival who is going to carry you off to dance from under my very beard?”
“Here!” exclaimed Cristiano, losing his self-control, and advancing upon the baron in a threatening manner, while all the spectators, stupefied into silence, looked on with curiosity and amazement.
It was very well known that the baron, in spite of his sluggish and blasé manner, was extremely irascible, and indomitably proud. Every one expected a violent scene; and, in fact, a greenish pallor overspread instantaneously the baron’s face, and he opened and shut his large and short-sighted eyes, as if to emit a flash of lightning for the annihilation of the audacious unknown who defied him so openly. But instantly the blood rushed back to his forehead, on which one large, engorged vein rose like a ridge, while his lips became more livid than the rest of his face. An indistinct cry escaped him, his arms extended convulsively, and he fell forward, exclaiming:
“There it is! There it is!”
He would have fallen upon the floor, had not twenty arms interposed. He had fainted; and they carried him to a window, and unceremoniously broke the panes to give him fresh air. Olga made her way through the crowd to bear him assistance. Margaret disappeared as if her aunt had whisked her off by conjuration; and Cristiano was rapidly led away by Major Osmund Larrson, who had taken a great liking to him.
“Come along with me,” said the good-natured young fellow; “I must speak with you.”
In a few moments Cristiano and Osmund were alone in an antique room on the ground-floor, warmed by an immense fire-place.
“We can smoke here,” said the major. “Here’s a rack, well filled; suit yourself with a pipe, and here’s the tobacco. That beer on the table is the best in the country, and here’s some capital old Dantzic brandy.My comrades will be down in a moment to tell us the latest news of the affair.”
“My dear major,” said Cristiano, “I see you think me extremely angry, but you are mistaken. Let the baron get over his attack; I will smoke here with you until he is ready for an explanation.”
“But for what purpose? to fight a duel?” said the major. “Bah! The baron never fights; he never has fought. You do not know him at all, then?”
“Not at all,” said Cristiano, calmly, as he smoked his pipe, and poured out a large goblet of beer. “Have I really, like a true Don Quixote, attacked a windmill? I did not know that I was making such a fool of myself.”
“You have done nothing of the kind, my dear friend. Quite the contrary, many persons will think that you have been exceedingly audacious to oppose the Snow Man; and certainly that is my opinion.”
“I should have thought that a man of snow would easily thaw.”
“That is not the case in this country. Men of that kind remain standing a long time.”
“I have been heroic, then, without knowing it.”
“You must try and not find it out at your own expense. The baron does not fight, it is true; but he takes his revenge for all that, and he never forgets an injury. It doesn’t matter where you may be, he will pursue you with his hate; and it doesn’t matter what career you may want to follow, he will put obstacles in your way. If you get into some difficulty, as may happen to any high-spirited young fellow, he will contrive to make it dangerous for you; and if he once has you thrown into prison, there you will remain. My advice to you, therefore, is to depart at once, and to remain constantly on your guard as long as you live; at least, unless the devil chooses to wring the neck of his crony this very night, under the pretence of a fit of apoplexy.”
“Do you think the baron so ill?” inquired Cristiano.
“We shall soon know all about it. Here is my lieutenant, Erwin Osburn,who is my best friend, and who likes you as well as I do. How now, lieutenant, what is the latest news of the Snow Man? Are there any signs that the thaw is approaching?”
“No, it turns out to be nothing at all,” replied the lieutenant; “or, anyhow, so he pretends. He went to his room for a moment, and returned with such a good color, that I suspect him of daubing his pale cheeks with rouge. His eyes are dull, however, and he hesitates in speaking. I was curious enough to go up to him; and taking this as a mark of respect, he condescended to inform me that it was his wish that the dancing should go on, and that people should pay no further attention to him. He is seated in the grand drawing-room, and what convinces me that he is more uncomfortable than he confesses is, that he seems entirely to have forgotten the outbreak of rage that threw him into this fine state, and that nobody ventures to remind him of it.”
“Then the ball will go on,” said the major, “and you will see that it will be gayer than ever. It seems as if the people here wanted to shake off the thought of some approaching catastrophe, or as if the baron’s heirs could not contain their joy at finding that he is really ill, and has been so for some time. But you must tell us one thing, Christian Goefle. Under what form did you appear to the baron? or what spell did you cast over him? Are you a ghost or a sorcerer? Are you theman of the lake, who fascinates people with a look of his icy eyes? What is there in common between the baron and yourself, and why is it that he should have uttered, in swooning, his famous exclamation, which I heard to-day for the first time: ‘There it is! there it is!’”
“I wish you would explain it to me,” replied Cristiano; “for I have been trying in vain to recall where I could have seen him; if we ever did meet, the circumstances must have been very insignificant, since my memory of them is so confused. Let me see, has he been travelling in France or Italy since—”
“Oh, it is a long, long time since he left the north!”
“I am mistaken, then; I have never seen the baron before to-day. Andyet one would have said that he recognized me. May he not have been delirious when he cried: ‘There it is! there it is!’”
“Oh, that is a sure thing,” said the major. “I have a gardener in mybostoelle,[4]who was at one time one of his servants, and who has told me a good many curious things about him. The baron is subject to violent attacks, which his physician calls nervous attacks, and which come from a chronic liver complaint. While these spells last, he sometimes shows signs of the strangest fear. He, the sceptic, the jeering infidel, is as cowardly as a child. He sees ghosts, especially that of a woman, and it is at such moments that he cries: ‘There it is! there it is!’ meaning, I suppose, ‘There, my fit is seizing me!’ or, perhaps, ‘There is the ghost that haunts me!’”
“He seems to be tormented by remorse.”
“Some say it is the recollection of his sister-in-law.”
“Whom he assassinated?”
“They don’t say that he killed her, but merely that he caused her todisappear.”
“Yes, that is a more elegant expression.”
“It is quite possible that there is no foundation for either story,” resumed the major. “The fact is that we don’t know anything at all about it, and that the baron is perhaps perfectly innocent of a great many crimes of which he is accused. You know that we are living here on the classical soil of the marvellous. The Dalecarlians have the greatest horror of anything practical, and of natural explanations. You cannot strike against a stone in this country, without supposing that a goblin pushed it against you on purpose; if your nose itches, you must run to a sibyl to be cured of a dwarf’s poisonous bite; nor is there adriver who will mend the broken trace of a carriage or sleigh without saying, ‘Come, come, little goblin, leave us alone; we are not doing you any harm.’”
“You can readily imagine that the Baron de Waldemora could not become very rich, in the midst of such a superstitious people, without being considered an alchemist. Instead of supposing him to be paid by the empress for sustaining her political interests, it was thought more natural to accuse him of magic; and from this accusation to that of the blackest crimes there is only a single step. Every sorcerer drowns his victims in waterfalls, buries them in abysses, rides avalanches, attends the witches’ Sabbath, and at the very least eats human flesh, being thought quite moderate in his ferocious appetites if he only sucks the blood of infants. For my part, I have heard so many stories that I discredit them all, and confine myself to believing what I know; and what I know is, that the baron is a wicked man, too cowardly to strike another man; too well-fed and fastidious to drink blood; too cold-blooded to lie in wait for travellers under frozen lakes; but quite capable of sending his best friend to the gallows, if he had any personal interest in doing so, and had only to utter some wicked calumny to accomplish his purpose.”
“He is a great villain!” said Cristiano. “But allow me to express my surprise at seeing so many respectable persons at his house—”
“You are right,” replied Osmund, without giving him time to continue. “We are unquestionably to blame for coming to amuse ourselves at the entertainments of a man whom we all hate. You have for an excuse that you don’t know him, but as for the rest of us—”
“I did not make any personal allusions,” rejoined Cristiano.
“I know it, my dear fellow; but you should not be surprised to find that a tyrant has a court. You are, of course, familiar with the history of your country; but as you have been absent a number of years, you may have thought that the progress of philosophy has established a little equality between the different orders of the state. It is not so at all, Christian Goefle, not at all; as you will soon seewith your own eyes. The nobility is all-powerful; then comes the clergy, enlightened and austere, but also tyrannical and intolerant. The bourgeoise, so useful in the state, and so patriarchal in their manners, count for little, the peasantry for nothing at all, and the king for less than nothing. When a nobleman is rich, which luckily is very rare, he controls the interests and destinies of his whole province, and he either makes men do as he chooses or ruins them. You may rest assured that this would be the case with us young officers, if we should offer any discourtesy to the illustrious Seigneur de Waldemora. It is true that he could not deprive us of our rank, which can only be forfeited in case of actual crime; but, in spite of the inviolable laws of the indelta, we should be forced, by unheard-of persecutions, to abandon our cantonments, houses, estates and friends, as if we were a simple garrison.”
At this moment two other young men came in to smoke, and Cristiano ventured to ask them whether Countess Elfride had returned to the ball-room.
“You are a sly fellow!” replied one of them; “you will not persuade us that you take such an interest in the wicked Countess Elfride. As for her lovely niece, she disappeared at the same time with yourself, and her aunt pretends that she is very lame.”
“Disappeared, did you say?” cried Cristiano, unreasonably alarmed at the word.
“Come!” said the major, good-humoredly, “do you feel uneasy about your beauty, my dear Goefle?”
“Excuse me, I have no right to speak so of Countess Margaret. She is certainly beautiful; but, unfortunately for me, she is notminein any sense of the word.”
“I meant no harm,” replied Osmund, “I merely saw, like everybody else, that she selected you for the partner of her first dance, and that you seemed to be chatting together in a very friendly way. If you are not in love with her you make a mistake, upon my honor, and if she don’t feel some little weakness for you, perhaps she also makes a mistake, for we all think you a capital fellow.”
“It would be altogether a mistake in me,” replied Cristiano, “to aspire to a star too far above me.”
“Bah! because you have no title? But your family has been ennobled, and your uncle, the lawyer, is a distinguished man in talent and character. He is quite as rich, moreover, as the beautiful Margaret. Love removes all obstacles, and if you have disagreeable relations, you can swear fidelity in secret. In our country, such betrothals are as sacred as any, and so, if you want to carry your point, we are all ready to help you.”
“To help me in what?” said Cristiano, laughing.
“To an immediate interview with the countess, unknown to her aunt. Well, comrades, what say you? here are four of us all ready. For my part, I know where their rooms are, and we can go there without a moment’s delay. If Mademoiselle Potin is frightened—pay her compliments, which she really deserves, as to that, for she is a charming person; and if a chambermaid screams, kiss her, and promise her ribbons for her hair. Then we demand a serious conversation with the Countess Margaret for Christian Goefle, in the name of M. Goefle, his uncle, from whom he brings an important communication! Ha!—that’s it. They will introduce us—but of course without our pipes—into a little drawing-room, where we will sit down quietly apart, while Christian Goefle addressesla diva contessinain a low voice, and offers her his heart; or, if he is too timid to do that, lets her divine what his sentiments really are, while he inquires about the dangers with which the peerless little lady is beset, and arranges with her to avert them. I am not laughing, gentlemen. It is quite evident that Madame d’Elveda wants to force the inclination of her ward, and that the cunning Olaus is trying to compromise her, so as to drive off all other suitors. Very well; the situation is magnificent for the man, who, in a crowded ball-room, took up the gauntlet for the victim of this odious and ridiculous plot. Come, Christian! come, gentlemen, are you ready?Parbleu!You shall have your turn! Another time, Christian, you shall be the one to assist us in love affairs as virtuous as your own; we ought to be able to rely upon each other tothat extent, we young folks. In Heaven’s name, what would have become of us before now, if we were not all devoted friends and confidants? Forward! To the assault of the citadel. Follow me, if you love me!”
All started up, even Cristiano himself, for he could not help being carried away by the proposition, but he paused at the door of the room, and stopped the others.
“Thanks, gentlemen,” he said, “and depend upon it that I will go through fire for you when necessary, but I have no right to introduce this sweet romance into my life. Nothing in the conduct of Countess Margaret authorized me to undertake her defence, which I did in a moment of thoughtless indignation, and I have no reason now to hope that she thanks me for my interference. She may be offended, on the contrary; and it belongs to M. Goefle the lawyer, and to him alone, to protect her from her aunt, by acquainting her with her rights. The best thing for me to do, since my beautiful partner has left off dancing, and my terrible rival does not fight, is to go and have a good sleep, of which I am really very much in need, since I have been upon my feet for more than twenty-four hours.”
Cristiano’s sentiments were approved of, and he was loudly applauded for his gallantry. They tried to make him stop and drink with them, supposing this to be an irresistible temptation, but Cristiano was sober, as the inhabitants of warm countries usually are. The night was advancing, and he thought it more prudent to put an end to the comedy performed hitherto with so much success. He shook hands with his new friends, bade them adieu, promised to return to breakfast while inwardly resolving to do nothing of the kind, and without giving them time to inquire what part of the new chateau he was stopping in, returned lightly and mysteriously over the frozen lake.
It was on purpose that he left Loki, and the sleigh of the doctor of laws, at the new chateau; he was afraid that they would be heard, and cause him to be observed. He walked along the shore, until too far to be seen from the windows of the chateau, and then crossed to the door of Stollborg, which he had left open, and which no one, Ulphilas leastof all, had thought of coming to fasten.
He took these precautions, because, to the pale light of the moon, which was no longer visible, had succeeded the fleeting but brilliant splendor of a magnificent aurora borealis. It was magnificent, at all events, for this region, although it is quite probable that it would have been a very ordinary display at a higher degree of north latitude; and yet the illumination towards the polar regions must have been unusually vivid at this moment, for it lighted up the whole country, and every object around the frozen lake. The snow, under its varying reflections, was showing a fantastic and magnificent succession of red and blue colors, and Cristiano, before entering the bear-room, remained for several moments at the door of the court, unable, in spite of the cold and solitude, to tear himself from this wonderful spectacle.