Sheppard_Charles_Auchester.txt topic ['13', '324', '378', '393']
CHAPTER I.
I never wrote a long letter in my life. It
is the manual part I dislike ; arranging the
paper, holding the pen in my fingers, and
finding my arm exhausted in carrying it to
and from the inkstand. It does not signify,
though; for I have made arrangements with
my free will to write more than a letter ^a
life, or rather the life of a life ; let none
pause to consider what this means, neither
quite Germanly mysterious, nor quite Sax-
only simple like my origin.
There are many literiS presentations of
ordinary personages, in books, which I am
informed and I suppose I am to assure my-
self, are introduced expressly to intensify
and illustrate the chief and peculiar interest,
where an interest is ; or to allure the atten-
tion of the implicit, where it is not. But
how does it happen, that the delineations
Of the gods among men, the heroic gifted
few, the beings of imaginative might or
genius, are so infinitely more literal ? Who
worshipping, if not strong enough to
serve the Ideal }an endure the graceless
ignorance of his subject^ betrayed by many
a biographer, accepted and accomplished in
his style? Who, so worshipping, can do
anything but shudder at the meagre, crude,
mistakable portraits of Shakspeare, of Yeru-
1am, of Beethoven ? Heaven send my own
may not make me shudder first ; and that
in my attempt to recall, tlirough a kind of
artistic interlight, a few remembered linea-
ments, I be not self-condemned to blush for
the spiritual craft, whose first law only I
have learned.
I know how many notions grown persons
entertain of their childhood as real, which
are factitious, and founded upon elder expe-
rience until they become confounded with
it; but I also feel that in great part we ne-
^.ect our earliest impressions as vague,
which were the truest and best we ever
had. I believe none can recall their cbWd-
mbIi eatimAte or essence, without identifying
with it their preeeui intimate '-elves. lu
my own case the analogy is perfect betweeo
my conceptions then, and my positive ex-
istence now. So every one must feel, who
is at all acquainted with the liabilities of
those who follow Art.
The man of power may manage to merge
his inviduality in his expansive association
with the individuality of others the mnn
of science quenches self-consciousness in
abstraction and not a few, who follow with
hot energy some worldly calling, become in
its exercise as itself; nor for a solitary mo-
ment are left alone with their personality to
remember even that, as separate and dis-
tinctly real.
But all artists, whether acknowledged oi
amateur, must have proved that for theni-
selves the gage of Immortality, in Life as in
Art;, consists in their self-acquaintance, their .
self-reliance, their exact self-appreciation
with reference to their masters, their models,
their one supreme Ideal.
I was born in a city of England farthest
from the sea, within whose liberties my
grandfather and father had resided, acquir-
ing at once a steady profit, and an honor-
able commercii^l fame. Never mind what
they were, or in which street or squaio
their stocked warehouses were planted, al-
luring the eyes and hearts of the pupils of
Adam Smith. I remember the buildings
well ; but my elder brother, the eldest of
our family, was established there when I
first recall them, and he was always there,
residing on the premises. He was, indeed,
very many years my senior, and I little
knew him, but he was a steady excellent
person with a tolerable tenor ""oice, and
punctilious filial observances tur/ards our
admirable mothtr. My father was born in
England, but though his ancestors were
generally Saxon, an infusion of Norman
blood had taken place in his family a gen-
eration or two behind him, and I always
suspected tba.t vi ^ q^ si^ \r ^3cv^ Ov^Ns^^'^^csns^
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
directly from our ratther. He was travel-
ling for the House, upon the Continent,
when he first found her out, imbedded like
a gem by a little German river ; and she
left with him, unrepininglj. her still but ro-
mantio home, not again to revisit it.
My mother must have been in her girl-
hood, as she was in her matnrest years, a
domestic presence ol pm-ity, kindliness, and
home-heartedL^3S8 ; she had been accns-
tomed to every kind of household manoeu-
vre, and her needlework was something
exquisite. From her German mother she
inherited the quietness of which grace is
born, the prudence with which wisdom
dwells, and many an attribute of virtue;
bat from her father she inherited the right,
to name herself of Hebrew origin. Herein
my chief glory lies, and whatever enlighten-
ment my destiny has boasted, streams from
that radiant point. I know that there are
Inany who would as genuinely rejoice in
ldscent from Mahomet, from Attila, or from
Robin Hood, as from any of Israelis chil-
dren; but I claim the golden link in my
genealogy as that which connects it with
Eternity, and with all that in my Faith i
glorious.
My mother had lived in a certain secln-
bion for some years before I first began to
realize ; for my father died before my first
year's close. We still resided near the
house of business not in it, for that was
my brother's noj**;' '*d Fred had lately
brought home a*'wiit^.* But we were quite
settled and at home in the house I first re-
member, when it breaks picture-like on my
dawning memory. I had three sisters ;
Clotilda was the eldest, and only a year
younger than Fred: she was an extraor?
dinarily clever person, though totally desti-
tute of art or artistic yearnings. She had
been educated unwontedly, and at least un-
derstood all that she had learned. Her fa-
vorite pursuits were reading, and compar-
ing lexicons and analyses of different lan-
guages, and endeavoring to find common
roots for all ; but she could and did, work
perfectly, write a fine close hand, and very
vigor6usIy superintend the household in my
mother's absence or indisposition. She had
rather a queer face, like one of the puritan
visages in antique portraits; but a very
cheerful smile, and perfect composure of
manner a great charm in mine eyes, oh
ye nymphs and graces I ^Millicent, three
years younger, was a spirit of gentle-
ness ^imperceptibly instructing me, she
must be treated with a sort of awe. Her
melancholy oval face, and her pale eyelids,
showed more of the Hebrew, than any of
08, excepting myself; only I was plain, and
she remarkably pleasing. Lydia, my young-
est sister, was rather showy than brilliant,
and rather bright than keen ; but not much
of either : and yet she was always kind to
me, ard I should have grieved to miss liei
round brown eyes at our breakfast table,
or her loud ringing laugh upstairs from the
kitchen ; for she had the pantry key.
Both Millieent and Lydia played and
sang, if not veiy powerfully, yet with su-
perior taste. Millicent^s notes, not many
in number, were as the notes of a cooing
dove. Before I wisis five years old, I used
to sit upon the old grand piano and watch
their faces while they sang on Sunday even-
ings : my mrther in a tremulous soprano,
with Fred's tenor, and the bass of a friend
of his. This did not please me; and here
let me say, that musical temperament as
surely asserts itself in aversion to discord-
ant or not pure, as in desire for sweet and
true sounds. I am certain this is true : I
was always happy when Millieent sang
alone, or even when she and Lydia mixed
their notes, for both had an .ear as accurate
for tune and for time as can be found iu
England, or indeed in Germany : but oh I I
have writhed beneath the dronings of
Hatchardson's bass, on quartette or chorale
an audible blemish ; and in a rare compo-
sition now and then the distorting and dis-
tracting point on which I was morbidly
obliged to fasten my attention. We had
no other music, except a little of the same
kind not quite so good, from various mem-
bers of families in the neighborhood, pro-
fessing to play or sing ; but I will not dwell
on those, for they are displaced by images
more significant.
I can never recollect a time when I did
not sing ; I believe I sang before I spoke :
not that I possessed a voice of miraculous
power, but that everything resolved itself
into a species of inward rhythm not respon-
sive to by words, but which passed into
sound, tone, and measure before I knew it
was formed. Every sights as well as all
that touched my ears, produced this effect.
I could not watch the smoke ascending, nor
the motions of the clouds, nor, subtler yet,
the stars peeping through the vaulted twi-
light, without the framing and outpouring
of exuberant emotion. in strains so express-
ive to my own intelligence, that it was en-
tranced by them completely. I was a very
ailing child for several years, and only the
cares I received preserved me then ; but
now I feel as if all healthfulness had been
engendered by the mere vocal abstraction
into which I was plunged a great part of
every day. I had been used to hear music
discussed, slightly it is true, but always rev-
erently, and I early learned there wert
those who followed that ^the supreme of
art in the very town we inhabited; in-
deed my sisters had taken lessons of a lady,
a pupil of dementi, but she hud left for
London before I knew my notes.
Qur piano had been a noble instrument,
one of the first and best that disi^l&ceJ the
fc to
CHARLES AUCHESTER.
Larpsicliords of Kirfoaan. Well worn, it
nad also been well used, and, when deftly
bandied, had still some delights eztrioable.
It stood in onr drawiDg-room a chamber
of the red brick house that held ns, rather
the envy of our neighbors, for it had a beau-
tiful ceiling, carved at the centre and in the
corners with bunches and knots of lilies;
was a high and rather a large room. It was
filled with old furniture, rather handsome
and exquisitely kept, and was a temple of
awe to me, because I was not allowed to
play there, and only sometimes to enter it ;
as, for example, on Sundays, or when we
Lad tea-parties, or when morning-callers
came, and asked to see me ; and whenever
I did enter, I was not suffered to touch the
rug with my feet, nor to approach the
sparkling steel of the fire-irons and fender,
nearer than its moss-like edge. Our draw-
ing-room was ij^ fact a carious confusion of
German stiffness and English comfort, but I
did not know this then.
We generally sate in the parlor looking
towards the street, and the square tower of an
ancient church ; the windows were draped
with dark-blue iQoreen, and between them
stood my mother^s dark-blue velvet chair,
always covi red with dark-blue cloth, except
on Sundays and on New Yearns Day, and at
the feast of Christmas.
The dark-blue drugget covered a polished
floor, whose slippery uncovered margin oc-
casioned me many a tumble, though it al-
ways tempted me to slide when I found
myself alone in the room. There were
plenty of chairs in the parlor, and a few
little tables, besides a large one in the cen-
tre, oyer which hung a dark-blue cover,
with a border of glowing orange. I was
fond of the high mantleshelf, whose orna-
ments were a German model of a bod Haus,
and two delicate wax nuns; to say nothing
C|f the China candlesticks, the black Berlin
screens, and the bronze pastille-box.
Of all things I gloried in the oak closets,
one filled with books, the other with glass
and china, on either side of the fireplace ;
nor did I despise the blue clotli stools beau-
tifully embroidered by Clo just after her
sampler days, in wool oak wreaths rich
with acorns. I used to sit upon these al-
ternately, at my mother's feet, for she would
not permit one to be used more than the
other ; and I was a very obedient infant.
My greatest trial was going to church, be-
cause the singing was so wretchedly bad,
that it made my ears ache. Often I com-
plained to my mother, but she always said,
we could not help it if ignorant persons
were employed to praise God ; that it ought
to make us more ready to stand up and
sing, and answer our very best, and that
none of us could praise Him really as the
angels do. TlAs was not anything of an
answer, but I persisted in iuestIoning her
that I might see whetnei she ever caagLt a
new idea upon tlie subject; bat no I and
thus I learned to lean upon my own opin-
ion before I was eight years old, for I never
went to church till I was seven. Olo
thought that there should be no singing in
church she had a dash of the Puritan io
her creed ; but Lydia horrified my mother
oftentimes by saying she shoald write to the
organist about revising the choir. But here
my childish wisdom crept in, and whispered
to me, that nothing could be done with snoh
a battered, used up, asthmatic machine as
our decrepit organ, and I gave up the sub-
ject in despair.
Still Millicent charmed me one night by
silencing Fred and Mr. Hatchardson, wheii
tliey were prosing of Sternhold and Hop-
kins, and Tate and Brady, and singing-gal-
leries and charity-children ; by saying :
^* You all forget that iuu8ic la the highest
gift which God bestows, and its facnlty the
greatest blessing. It must be the only fonn
of worship for those who are musically en-
dowed that is if they employ it aright."
Millicent had a meek manner of adminis-
tering a wholesome truth which another
would have pelted at the hearer ; but then
Millicent spoke seldom, and never unless it
was necessary. She read, she practised, she
made up mantles and caps k ravir, and she
visited poor sick people ; but still 1 knew
she was not happy, though I could not con-
ceive nor conjectu whv. She did no!
teach me anything, . --d I^ydia would first
have dreamed of scaling Parnassus; hut
Clo^s honorable ambition had always been
to educate me, and as she was really com-
petent, ray mother made no objection. I
verily owe a great deal to her. She taught
me to read English, French, and German,
between my eighth and tenth years, but
then we all knew German in our cradles,
as my mother had for us a nurse from her
own land. Clo made me also spell by a
clever system of her own, and she got mc
somehow into subtraction ; but I was a
great concern to her in one respect I never
got on with my writing. I believe she and
my mother entertained some indefinite no-
tion of my becoming, in due time, the ju-
nior partner of the Firm this prescience of
theirs appalled me not, for I never intended
to fulfil it, and I thought justly enough that
there was plenty of time before me to undo
their arrangements. I always went to my
lessons in the parlor from nme till twelve,
and again in the afternoon for an hour ; so
that I was not overworked ; but even wheD
I was sitting by Clo she, glorious creature,
deep in Ley Jen or Gesenius I used tu
chant my geography or my Telemachus tu
my secret springs of song, without knowing
how or why, but still chanting, as my o%'
istence glided. ^
1 bad to\taU%^^\Va. vcv. ^"^ Nftrv ^s*
OHARLES AUCHESTER.
Blxmt tliroagh the dasty laneB, with my sis-
ters or my Durse; for I was canons, and
to a ohild freshness is inspiration, and old
sights seen afresh, seem new.
I liked of all things to go to the chemist's,
when my mother replenished her little med-
icine-ohest. There was unction in the smell
of the paoketed, ticketed drags, in the rosy
cinnamon, the golden manna, the pnngent
vinegar, and the aromatic myrrh. How I
delighted in the copper weights, the spirit-
lamp, the ivory scales, the vast magazines
of lozenges, and the delicate lip-salve cases,
to say nothing of the glittering toilette bag-
atelles, and perfames and soaps. I mention
all this just because the only taste that has
ever become necessary to me in its cultiva-
tion, besides music, is chemistry; and I
could almost say I know not which I adhere
to most : but memory comes
** And with her flying finger sweeps my lip."
I forbear.
I loved the factories, to some of which I
had access. I used to think those wheels
and whirring works so wonderful that they
were like the inside of a man's brain. My
notion was nothing pathetic of the pale boys
and lank girls about ; for they seemed mere-
ly stirring or moveless parts of the mechan-
ism. Lam afraid I shall be thought very
unfeeling ; I am not aware that I was, nev-
ertheless.
I sometimes went out to tea in the town ;
I did not like it, but I did it to please my
mother. At one or two houses I was ac-
customed to a great impression of muffins,
cake, and marmalade, with coffee and cream ;
and the children I met there did nothing
adequately but eat At a few houses, again,
I fared better, for they only gave us little
loaves of bread and little cups of tea, and
we romped the evenifig long, and dramat-
ized our elders and betters until the servants
came for us. But I at least was always
ready to go home, and glad to see my short
wide bed beside my mother's vast one, and
my spotless dimity curtains with the lucid
muslin frills ; and how often I sang the best
tunes in my head to the nameless effect of
rosemary and lavender that haunted my
iarge white pillow.
We always went to bed, and breakfasted,
very early, and I usually had an hour before
nine wherein to disport myself as I chose.
It was in these hours Millicent taught me to
sing from notes, and to discern the aspect
of the key-board. Of the crowding asso-
ciations, the teeming remembrances, just at
infancy and early childhood, I reject all, ex-
cept such as it becomes positively necessary
I should recall ; therefore I dwell not upon
this phase of my life, delightful as it was.
And stamped with perfect purity, the reflex
c//" an anper verted temperament^ and of
Aindly tenderness.
CHAPTER II.
Wb had a town-hall, a very imposing
building of its class, and it was not five min-
utes' walk from the square-towered church
I mentioned. It was, I well knew, a focus
of some excitement at election-times and
during the assizes, also in the spring when
religious meetings were held there; yet 1
had never been in it, and seldom near it
my mother preferring us to keepas clear of
the town proper as possible. Yet I knew
well where it stood, and 1 had an inkling
now ieind then that music was to be heard
there: furthennore, within my remem-
brance, Millicent and Lydia had been taken
by Fred to hear Paganini within its pre-
cincts. I was too young to know anything
of the triennial festival that distinguished
our city as one of the most musical in Eng-
land, at that time almost tUe only one, in-
deed, so honored and glorified. I said, what
I must again repeat, that I knew nothing of
such a prospective or past event until the
summer in which I entered my eleventh
year.
I was too slight for my health to be com-
plete, but very strong for one so slight.
Neither was I tall, but I had an innate lov
of grace and freedom, which governed ray
motions ; for I was extremely active, could
leap, spring, and run with the best, though
I always hated walking. I believe I should
have died under any other care than that
expanded over me, for my mother abhorre'l
the forcing system. Had I belonged to
those who advocate excessive early culture,
ray brain would, I belJeve; have burst; so
continually was it teeming. But from my
lengthy idleness alternating with moderate
action, I had no strain upon my faculties.
How perfectly I recollect, the morning,
early in autumn, on which the Festival was
first especially suggested to me. It was a
very bright day, but so chilly that we had a
fire in the parlor grate, for we were all dis-
posed to be very comfortable as part of our
duty. I had said all my lessons, and was
now sitting at the table writing a small text
copy in a ruled book, with an outside mar-
bled fantastically brown and blue, which
book lay, not upon the cloth of course, but
upon an inclined plane, formed of a great
leather case containing about a quire of open
blotting-paper.
My sister Olotilda was over against me at
the table, with the light shaded from her
eyes by a green fan screen, studying, aa
usual in the morning hours, a Greek Testa*
ment full of very neat little black notes. I
remember her lead-colored gown, a rich
washing silk, and her clear white apron,
her crimson muffetees and short close black
mittens, her glossy hair, rolled round hei
handsome tovto\aft\\i\\ eom\^ lixv^ i3ti^\jiX5LTit\
I of rave t\\oug\i c^\xa\w\, ovwwrcvwiVa siA
CHARLES AdOHESTER.
fcojfl, riiigg, and lockets tliat balanced her
beantifal English watch. What a treasure
they would have been for a modem Chat-
elaine! my father having presented her
with the newest, and an antiqne aai t hav-
ing willed her the rest. She was verj mnch
like an old picture of a young person sit-
ting there.
For my part I was usually industrious
enough, because I was never persecuted
with long tasks; my attention was never
stretched as it were upon a last, so that it
was no meritorious achievement if I could
bend it towards all that I undertook, with
a species of elasticity peculiar 4;o the nervous
temperament. My mother was also busy.
She sat in her tall chair at the window, her
eyes constantly drawn towards the street,
but she never left off working, being deep
in the knitting of an enormous b^ack silk
purse for Lydia to carry when shf^ went to
market. Millicent was somewhere out of
the room, and Lydia, having given orders
for dinner, had gone out to walk.
I had written about six lines in great
trepidation ^for writing usually fevered me
a little, it was such an effort; when my
great goose quill slipped through my fin-
gers thin as they were, and I made a des-
perate plunge into an O. I exclaimed aloud,
" Oh 1 what a blot I" and my lady Mentor
arose and came behind me.
" Worse than a blot, Ohai'les,'' she said,
or something to that effect; *^a blot might
not have been your fault, but the page is
very badly written ; I shall cut it out, and
you had better begin another."
" I shall only blot that, do ;" I answered,
and Clo appealed to my mother.
" It is very strange, is it not, that Charles,
who is very attentive generally, should be
so little careful of his wrfting. He will
never suit the post of all others the most
important he should suit."
'*What is thati" I inquired so sharply
that my mother grew dignified and re-
sponded gravely.
^' My dear Clotilda, it will displease me
very much if Charles does not take pains in
every point, as you are so kind as to in-,
struct him. It is but little such a young
brother can do to show his gratitude."
"Mother 1" I cried, and sliding out of my
chair, I ran to her's. "I shall never be
able to write ^I mean neatly ; Clo may look
over me if she likes, and she will know how
hard I try."
"But do you never mean to write,
Charles f "
" I shall get to write somehow, I suppose,
but I shall never write what you call a
beautiful hand."
My mother took my fingers and laid them
along her own which were scarcely larger.
" Bat four hands are very Jittle less than
jDj'ne, earely they can hold a pen.'
' " O yes, I can hold anything," and then T
laughed and said, "I could do something
witih my hands too." I was going to finish^
" I could play," but Lydia had just turned
the comer of the street, and my mother^s
eyes were watching her up to the door. So
I stood before her without finishing my
explanation. She at length said kindly,
"Well, now go and write one charming
copy, and then we will walk." ^
I ran back to the table, and climbed my
chair, Clo having faithfully fulfilled her
word, and cut out the offending leaf.
But I had scarcely traced once " Dq not
contradict your Elders," before Lydia came
in flushed and glowing, with a basket upon
her arm. She exhibited tlie contents to my
mother, who, I suppose, approved thereof,
as she said they might be disposed of in the
kitchen, and then with a sort of sigh began,
before she left the room, to remove her
walking-dress
"Oh I it is hopeless, the lowest price is a
guinea."
" I was fearful that it would be so, my
dear girl," replied my mother in a tone of
mingled condolence and authority she wa
fond of assuming; "it would be neither
expedient nor fitting that I should allow
you to go, though I very much wish it, but
should we suffer ourselves such an in-
dulgence, we should have to deprive our-
selves of comforts that are necessary to
health, and thus to well-being. I should
not like dear Millicent and yourself, young
as you are, to go alone to the crowded seats
in the Town Hall, and if I went with you
we should be three guineas out of pocket
for a month."
This was true; my mother's jointure was
small, and though we lived in ease, it was
by the exercise of an economy rigidly en-
forced and minutely developed. It was in
my own place indeed I learned how truly
happy does comfort render home, and how
strictly comfort may be expressed by love
from prudence, by charity from frugality,
and by wit from very slender competence.
" I do not complain, dear mother," Lydia
resumed in a livelier vein, " I ventured to
ask at the office, because you gave me leave,
and Fred thought there would be backseats
lowered in price, or perhaps a standing gal-
lory as there was at the last Festival. But
it seems the people in the gallery made so
much uproar last time, that the committee
have resolved to give it up."
This was gettin|g away from the point, so
I put in "Is the Testival to be soon then,
Lydia?"
" Yes, dear, it is only three weeks to-day
to the first performance."
" Will it be vftt^ ^Y%aA\"
"0\\ yea, t\\e ^tib\, w\5iL \wi^\ ^^ss^^^
we \\ave e\eT \\ti^?'' - ^
8
OHARLES AUOHEBTEE.
djeerfilness, weut to the door, and speedily
was DO more seen. No one spoke, and \
went on with my copy, bnt it was hard
work for me to do so, for I was in a prick-
ing palsation from bead to foot. It must
have been a physical prescience of mental
excitement, for I had scarcely ever felt so
much before. I was longing, nay crazy to
finish my page, tliat I might ran ont and
find Millicent, who, child as I was, I knew
ooold tell me what I wanted to hear better
than any one of them. My eagerness im-
peded me, and I did not conclude it to Olo's
genuipe satisfaction after all. She dotted
all my i^s, and crossed my t's, though, with
a condescending confession that I had taken
pains ^and then I was suffered to go ; but
it was walking-time, and my mother dressed
me herself in her room, so I could not catch
Millicent till we were fairly in the street
CHAPTER III.
I DO not pretend to remember all the con-
versations verbatim which I have heard
daring my life, or in which I have taken a
part, still there are many which I do re-
member word by word, and ^very word.
My conversation that morning with Milli-
cent I do not remember ; its results blotted
it out for ever, still I am conscious it was
an exposition of energy and enthusiasm, for
her^s kindled as she replied to my ardent
inquiries, and unknowingly she inflamed my
own. She gave me a tale of the orchestra,
its fulness and its potency ; of the five hun-
dred voices, of the Conductor, and of the
assembly ; she assured me that nothing
could be at all like it, that we had no con-
ception of its resources or its effects.
She was melancholy, evidently, at first,
but quite lost in her picturesque and pas-
sionate delineation ; I all the while wonder-
ing how she could endure to exist and not
be going. I felt in mvself that it was not
only a sorrow, but a shame to live in the
very place and not press into the courts of
music. I adored music even then, ay I not
less than now, when I write with the strong
heart and brain of manhood. I thought
how easily Millicent might do without a
new hat., a new cloak, or live on bread and
water for a year. But I was man enough
even then, I am thankful to say, to recall
almost on the instant that Millicent was a
woman, a very delicate girl too, and that it
would never do for her to be crushed
among hundreds of moving men and women,
Lor for Fred to undertake the charge of
more than one he had bought a ticket for
his wife. Then I returned to myself.
From tlie fir^t insUnt the slightest idea
of the Festival had been presented to me, 1
had seized upon it personally with the most
perfect confidence. I had even determined
how to go, for go I felt I must ; and I knew
if I could manage to procure a ticket, Fred
would take me in his hand, and my mother
would allow me to be disposed of in the
shadow of his coat-tails ; he was idways so
careful of us all. As I walked homewards
I fell silent, and with myself diacossed my
arrangements ; they were charming. The
Town Hall was not distant from our house
more than a quarter of a mUe. I was often
permitted to run little errands for my sis-
ters, to match a silk, or to post a letter.
My pecaniary plan was unique : I was al-
lowed two pence a-week, to spend as 1
would, though Clo protested I should keep
an account-book as soon as I had lived a
dozen years. From my hatred of copper
money I used to change it into silver as fast
as possible, and at present I had five six-
pences, and should have another by the
end of another week. I was to take this
treasure to the ticket office, and reqaest
whatever gentleman presided to let me have
a ticket for my present deposit ^and trust
^I felt a certain assurance that no one
would refuse me, I know not why, who had
to do with the management of musical af-
fairs. I was to leave my sixpences with
my name and address, and to call with fu
ture allowances until I had refunded all
It struck me that not many months must
pass before this desirable end might accom-
plish itself.
I have often marvelled why I was not
alarmed, nervous as I was, to venture alone
into such a place, with such a purpose ; but
I imagine I was just too ignorant, too in-
fantine in my notions of business. At all
events I was more eager than anxious for
the morrow, and only restless from excited
hope. I never manosuvred before, I have
often manoeuvred since, but never quite so
innocently, as I did to be sent on an errand
the next morning. It was very difficult, no
one wouid want anything, and at last in de-
spair I very dexterously carried away a
gkein, or half a skein, of brown sewing silk,
with which Lydia was hemming two ele-
gant gauze vei& for herself and for Millicent.
The veils were to be worn that day I knew,
for my mother had set her heart upon their
excluding a 'Uhoughf of east in the au*
tumnal wind, and there was no other silk ;
I managed to twist it into my shoe, and
Lydia looked everywhere for it, even into
the pages of Clo's book greatly to her dis-
comfiture.' But in vain, and at last said
Lydia, *' Here, Charles, you must buy me
another," handing me a penny. Poor
Lydia 1 she did not know how long it would
be before I brought the silk ; but imagining
I should be back not directly, I had the de-
cency to transfer my pilfered skein to the
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
Qnder surface of the rng; for I knew that
they would turn it up as usual in a search.
And then, without having been observed to
stoop, I fetched my beaver broad brimmer,
and scampered out.
I scampered th# whole way to the Hall.
It was a chilly day, but the sun had ac-
quired some power, and it was all summer
in my veins. I believe I had never been in
such a state of ecstasy. I was quite light-
headed, and madly expected to possess my-
sdif of a ticket immediately, and dance home
in triumph. The Hall I how well I remem-
ber it, looking very still, very cold, very
blank ; the windows all shuttered, the doors
all closed. But never mind : the walls were
glorious I They glittered with yellow pla-
cards, the black letters about a yard long,
announcing the day, the hour, the force,
the six foot long list of wonders and wor-
thies. I was something disappointed not to
find the ticket-office a Spanish castle, sud-
denly sprung from the stone-work of the
Hall itself, but it WfMi ^ome comfort that
it was in St. Giles^ street, which was not
fiir. '
I scampered off again I tumbled down,
having lost my breathe but I sprang again
to my feet ; I saw a perfect encampment of
placards, and I rusned towards it. How
like it was to a modern railway termiiius,
that ticket office ! in more senses than one
too. The door was not closed here but
wide open to the street ; within were green
baize doors besides, but the outer entrance
was ci^owded and those were shut not for
a minute together though, for I could not
complain of quiet here. Constantly some
one hurrying past nearly upset me, bustling
out or pushing in. They were all men, it
is true; but was I a girl? Besides, I had
seen a boy or two who had surveyed me
impertinently, and whom I took leave to
stare down. A little while I stood in the
entry, bewildered, to collect my thoughts
not my courage and then, endeavoring to
be all calmness and self-possession, I stag-
gered in. I then saw two enclosed niches,
counter-like, the one had a huge opening,
and was crammed with people on this side ,
the other was smaller, an air of eclecticism
pervaded it ; and behind each stood a man.
There was a staircase in front, and painted
on the wall to its left I read ** Committee
room up stairs ; Ballotted places" but then
I returned to my counters and discovered,
by reading also, that I mast present myself
at the larger for unreserved central seats.
It was Qccapied so densely in front jast now
that it was hopeless to dream of an approach
or appeal ; I could never scale that human
wall. I retreated again to the neighborhood
of the smaller compartment, and was fasci-
nated to watch the swarming faces. Now
A stream poured down the staircase, all gen-
fc]emen and most of them passed out, nod-
ding and langhing among themselves. Not
all passed out. One or two strolled to the
inner doors and peeped through their glasi*
halves, while others gossipped in the entry.
But one man came and, as I watched him,
planted himself against the counter I leaned
upon the mart of the reserved tickets. He
did not buy any though, and I wondered
why he did not, he looked so easy, so at
home there. Not that I saw his face, which
was turned from me ; it struck me he was
examining a clock there was up on the
staircase wall I only noticed his boot?,
how bright they were, and his speckled
trousers, and that his hand which "hung
down was very nicely covered with a doe-
skin glove.
Before he had made out the time, a num-
ber of the stones in the human partition
gave way at once in other words I saw
several chinks between the loungers at the
larger counter. I closer clasped my 6i;c-
pences, neatly folded in paper, and sped
across the office. Now was my hour. I
was not quite so tall as to be able to look
over and see whom I addressed ; neverthe-
less I still spoke up.
I said, "If you please, Sir, I wish to
speak to you very particularly about a
ticket."
" Certainly," was the reply instantly
thrown down upon me, "One guinea, if
you please."
"Sir, I wish to speak about one, not to
buy it just this minute, and if you will allow
me to speak " I could not continue with
the chance of being heard, for two more
stones had just thrust themselves in and
hid my chink, they nearly stifled me as it
was, but I managed to escape, and stood out
clear behind. I stood out not to go, but to
wait ; determined to apply again far more
vigorously.
I listened to the rattling sovereigns as
they dropped, and dearly I longed for some
of that money, though I never longed for
money before or since. Then suddenly re-
minded, I turned, to see whether that no*
ticeable personage had left the smaller coun-
ter. He was there. I insensibly moved
nearer to him so attractive was his pres-
ence. And as I believe in various occult
agencies, and physical influences, I hold my-
self to have been actually drawn towards
him. He had a face upon which it was lifp
to look, so vivid was the intelligence it ra-
diated, so interesting was it in expression ;
and, if not perfect, so pure in outline. H^
was gazing at me too, and this no 7oubt
called out of me a glance. all imploring, as
so I felt, yea, even towards him, for a spark
of kindliest beam seemed to dart from un-
der his strong dark lashes, and his eyei
woke up ; he even smiled just at the cor-
ners of his small, but not thin lips. It wmp '
too much for m^. I t^w. ^2i'9a ^ixvi^^ ^^x^^.
r
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
took my etand beside him. I ihonght, and
I still think, he would have spoken to me
instantly, bat another man stepped up and
noke to him. lie replied in a voice I have
always eq)ecially affected calm, and very
clear, but below tone in uttering remarks
not intended for the public. I did not hear
a word. As soon as he limshed speaking, he
turned and looked down upon me. And then
he said, ^Oan I do an^thin^ for you ?"
[ was so cliarmed with his frank address,
I quite gasped for joy ; *^ Sir, I am waiting
to speak to the man inside over tliere about
*nv ticket.^'
'' Shall I go across and get itf"
" Why no, Sir, I must speak to him or
:f 3*ou would tell me about it"
' I will tell you anything say on."
^^Sir, I am very poor, and have not a
g;uiDea, bnt I shall have enough in time, if
you will let me bny one with the money I
Jave brought, and pay the rest bv degrees."
. I shall never forget the way he laid his
nand on my shoulder, and turned me to the
.ight, to scrutinize my developments I sus-
ject: for be stayed a moment or two be-
fore he answered, *^ I do think you look as
if you really wanted one, but I am afraid
they will not understand such an arrauge-
ment here."
*' I must go to the Festival," I returned,
looking into his eyes, ^^ I am so resolved to
go ; I will knock the door down if I cannot
get a ticket. Oh I I will sell my clothes, I
will do anything. If you will get me a
ticket, Sir, I will promise to pay you, and
you can come and ask my motlier whether
I ever break my word."
" I am sure you always keep it, or yon
would not love music so earnestly ; for you
are very young to be so earnest," he re-
3ponded, still holding me by the arm that
thrilled beneath his kindly pressure; "will
you go a little walk with me, and then I
can better understand you, or what you
want to do ?"
'* I won't go till I have got my ticket."
" You cannot get a ticket, my poor boy ;
they are not so easily disposed of. Why
not ask your mother ?"
"My sister as good as did; but my mo-
ther said it was too expensive."
" Did your mamma know how very much
you wished it 1"
"We do not say mamma, she does not
like it, she likes * liebe Mutter.' "
" Ah, she is German I Perhaps she would
allow you to go, if you told her j-our great
desire."^
"No, Sir, she -told Lydia that it would
put her out of pocket."
Mv new friend smiled at this.
"Now ju3t come outside, we are in the
way of many people here, and I have done
my business since I saw that gentleman I
vas talking to, when you crept so near me."
" Did you know I waited to come doM
to yon. Sir."
" Oh yes I and that you wanted to apeak.
I know the little violin face."
These words transported me. " Oh I do
yon think I am like a violin ? I w ish I weie
one going to the Festival."
*" Alas 1 in that sense yon are not one I
fear."
I burst into tears, bnt I waa very angry
with myself, and noiselessly put my wh(^
face into nr^ handkerchief as we moved te
the door. Once out in the street the wind
speedily dried these dews of my youth, and
I ventured to take my companion's . hand.
He glanced down at mine as it passed it-
self into his, and I could see that he was
examining it. I had very pretty hands and
nails, they were my only handsome point ;
my mother was very vain of them. I have
found this out since I have grown up.
" My dear little boy, I am going to do a
very daring thing."
"What is that, Sir?"
" I am going to run away with yon ; I am
going to take you to my little house, for I
have thought of something that I can only
say to you in a room. But, if you will tell
me your name, I will carry you safe home
afterwards, and explain everything to the
'liebe Mutter.'"
"Sir, I am so thankful to you that I can-
not do enough to make you believe it. I am
Charles Auchester, and we live at No. 14
Heme street, at a red house, with little win-
dows, and a great many steps up to the
door."
" I know the house, and have seen a beau-
tiful Jewess at the window."
" Everybody says that Millicent is like a
Jewess, Sir, do you mind telling me your
name ? I don^t want to know it unless you
like to tell it me."
"My name is not a very pre^y one, Len-
hart Davy."
" From David, I suppose ?" I said quickly.
My friend looked at me very keenly,
" Yon seem to think so at least."
" Yes I thought you came from a Jew, like \
us ; partly I mean. Millicent says we ought I
to be very proud of it, and I think so too, be- J
cause it is very ancient and does not alter."
I perfectly well remember making this
speech. Lenhart Davy laughed quietly, bnt
so heartily it was delightful to hear him.
" You are quite right about that. Come,
will you trust me ?"
" Oh Sir, I should like to go above all things
if it is not very far. I mean I must get baSj
soon, or they will be frightened about me."
" You shall get back soon. I am afraid
they are frightened now, do you think so ?
But my little house is on the way to yonrs^
though you would never find it out."
He paused, and we walked briskly for*
warrls.
c^
ly^
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
CHAPIER IV.
TuBNiKO ont of the market place a Dar-
row street presented itself; here were facto-
Hea and the backs of hon&es. Again we
threaded a narrow turning; here was an
ontskirt Of the town. It fronted a vast green
space; all bnildiog-gronnd enclosed this quiet
corner, for only a few small houses stood
about. Here were no shops, and no trafSc.
We went on in all haste, and soon my guide
arrested himself at a little green gate. He
unlatched it ; we passed through into a tiny
garden, trim as tiny, pretty as trim, and en-
chantingly after my own way of thinking.
Never shall I forget its aspect ; the round
bed in the centre edged with box as green
as moss ; the big rose-tree in the middle of
the bed, and lesser rose-trees round ; the
narrow gravel walk, quite golden in the sun ;
the outer edge of box, and outer bed of
heaths and carnations, and glowing purple
stocks. But above all the giant Iiolly hocks,'
one on each side of a little brown door,
whose little latticed porch was arched with
clematis, silvery as if moonlight. "Mina-
trost " were ever brooding upon that thresh-
old.
I must not loiter here; it would have been
difficnlt to loiter in going about the garden,
it was so nnusually small ; and the house,
if possible was more dimiDUtive. It had
above the door two tiny casement windows,
only two ; and as my guide opened the little
door with a key he brought out of his pocket,
there was nothing to delay our entrance.
The passage was very narrojr, but light-
some, for a door was open at the 'end, peep-
ing into a lawny kind of yard. No children
were tumbling about, nor waa there any
kitchen smell, but the rarest of all essences,
a just perceptible cleanliness ^not moisture,
but freshness.
We advanced to a staircase about three
feet in width, uncarpeted, but of a rich
brown color, like chesnut skins; so also
were the balusters. About a dozen steps
brought us to a proportionate landing-place,
and here I beheld two other little brown
doors at angles with one another. Lenhart
Davy opened one of these, and led me into
a tiny room. Oh I what a tiny room ! It
was so tiny, so rare, so curiously perfect,
that I could not help looking into it as I
should have done into a cabinet collection.
The casements were uncurtained, but a green
green silk shade, gathered at the top and
bottom, was drawn half way along each.
The walls were entirely books in fact, the
first thing I thought of was the book-houses
1 used to build of all the odd volumes in
our parlor closet, during my quite incipient
years. But such books as adorned the sides
of the little sanctum were more suitable for
walls than mine, in respect of size, being as
they were, or as far as I could ^ee, all music
books, except in a stand between the cbm-
ments, where a few others rested one against
another. There was a soft gray drugget
upon the floor; and though, of course, the
book walls took up as much as half the
room (a complete inner coat they made for
the outside shell), yet it did not strike me
as poking, because there was no heavy fnr-
niture only a table, rather oval than round,
and four chairs ; both chairs and table of
the hue I had admired upon the staircase
a rich vegetable brown. On the table stood
a square inkstand of the same wood, and a
little tray fiUed with such odds as rubber, a
penknife, sealing-wax, and a pencil. The
wood of the mantel-shelf was the same tone,
and so was that of a plain piano that stood
to the left of the fireplace, in the only nook
that was not books from the floor to tlie
ceiling ; but the books began again over the
piano. All this wood, so darkly striking
the eye, had an indescribable soothing effect,
(upon me I mean,) and right glad was I to
see Mr. Davy seat himself upon a little brown
bench before the piano, and open it oare
fully.
" Will you take off your hat for a miaut
or two, my dear boy ?" he asked, before h\y
did anything else.
I laid the beaver upon the oval table.
" Now, tell me, can you sing at all ^ '
" Yesj Sir."
" From notes, or by ear ?"
" A great deal by ear, but pretty well !j
notes."
" From notes," he said, correotingly, and
I laughed.
He then handed me a little book of chor-
ales, which he fetched from some out of the
way hole beneath the instrument. They
were all German: I knew some of them
well enough.
'* Oh, yes, I can sing these, I think."
"Try 'Ein fester Burg ist unser Herr.
Can you sing alto ?"
" I always do. Millioent says it is proper
for boys."
He just played the opening chord slen-
tando, and I began. I was perfectly com-
fortable, because I knew what I was about,
and my voice, as a child^s, was perfect. I
saw, by his face, that he was very much
surprised, as well as pleased. Then he left
me^tlone to sing another, and then a third,
but at last he struck in with a bass, the
purest, mellowest, and most unshaken I have
ever heard, though not strong ; neither did
he derange me by a florid accompaniment
he made as we went along. When I con
eluded the fourth, Le turned, and took ra^
hand in his.
"I knew you could do something for
music, but I had no ^dea it would be so very
sweetly. I believe you will go to the Fes-
tival after all. You perceive I am very
poor, or peT\\a^^ "^'ou ^^^ \!ka\\^^^vM'^\^^'\s:x
12
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
ohildren see fairies in f ies. But look round
my little room. I have nothing valuable
except my books and my piano, and those
I boaght with hII the money I had several
years ago. I dare say yon think my house
IS pretty. Well, it was just as bare as a
barn when I came here, six months ago. I
made the shelves (the houses for my pre-
cious books) of deal, and I made that table,
and the chairs, and this bench, of deal, and
stained each afterwards; I stained my
shelves too, and my piano. I only tell you
this, that you may understand how poor I
am. I cannot afford to give, you one of
these tickets, they are too dear; neither
have I one myself; but if your mother ap-
proves, and you like it, I believe I can take
you with me to sing in the chorus."
This was too much for me to bear with-
out some sti'ong expression pr other. I took
my hat, hid my face in it, and then threw
my arms round Lenhart Davy^s neck. He
kissed me as a young father might have
done, with a sort of pride, and I was able
to perceive he had taken an instant fancy
to me. I did not ask him whether he led
the chords, nor what he had to do with it,
nor what I should have to do, but I begged
him joyously to take me home directly. He
tied on my hat himself, and I scampered all
the way down-stairs and round the garden
before he came out of his shell. He soon
followed after me, smiling ; and though he
asked me no curious question as we went
along, I couid tell he was nervous about
lomething. We walked very fast, and in
little less than an hour from the time I left
home, I fitood again upon the threshold.
CHAPTER V.
07 all the events of that marked day, none
moved me more enjoyably than the sight
of the countenances, quite petrified with
amazement, of my friends in the parlor.
They were my three sisters. Clo came
forward in her bonnet, all but ready lor a
sortie, and tiiough she bowed demurely
enough, she began at me very gravely :
"Charles, I was just about to set out and
search for you. My mother has alroady
sent a servant. She herself is quite ttlarmed,
and has gone up-stairs."
Before I could manage a reply, or to in-
troduce Lenhart Davy, ho had drawn or.t
his card. He gave it to the " heautifiil
Jewess." Millicent took it calmly, tljongh
the hlushed, as she always did when face
to face with strangers ; and she motioned
bim to the sofa. At this very instant my
inotber opened the door.
Tf- would not be posaible for me to recover
that con\'er8atic/n, but I remember how very
refined was the manner, and how amiably
deferential the explanation of cly guide, aa
he brought out everything snaootL and ap-
parent even to my mother^s ken. Lydia al
most laughed in his presence, she was so
pkased with him, and Millicent examined
him steadfastly with her usuaLy shrinking
gray eyes. My mother I knew was dis-
pleased with me, but she even forgave me
before he had done speaking. His voice
had in it a quality 0f I may so name it) ot
brightness ^a metallic purity when raised^
and the heroic particles in his blood seem-
ed to start up and animate every gesture as
he spoke. To be more explicit as to my
possibilities, he told us that he was in fact a
musical professor, though with little pat-
ronage in our town, where he had only a
few months settled ; that for the most part
he taught and preferred to teach in classes,
though he had but just succeeded in organ-
izing the first. That his residence and con-
nection in our town were authorized by his
desire to discover the maximum moral in-
fluence of music upon so many selected
from the operative rank^, as should enable
him by inference to judge of its moral power
over those same ranks in the aggregate. I
learned this afterwards of course, as I could
not apprehend it then; but I well recall
that his language even at that time bound
me as by a spell of conviction, and I even
appreciated his philanthropy in exact pro-
portion to his personal gifts.
He said a great deal more, and consider-
ably enlarged upon several points of stirring
musical interest, before he returned to th
article of the Festival. Then he told us
that his class would not form any section
of the chorus, being a private affair of hir
own, but that he himself should sing amon|.
the basses, and that it being chiefly ama-
teur, any accumulation of the choral force
was of consequence. He glanced expressly
at my mother when he said : ^
" I think your little boy's voice and train-
ing would render him a very valuable vote
for the altos, and if you will permit me to
take charge of him at the rehearsals, and to
exercise hnn once or twice alone, I am certain
Mr. St. Michel will receive him gladly."
"Is Mr. St. Michel the conductor, Mr.
Davy, then?" replied my mother with kind-
ness, " I remember seeing him in Germany
when a little theatre was opened in our vil-
lage, I was a girl then and he very
young."
"Yes, Madatn ; application was made to
the wonderful Milans-Andre, who has been
delighting Europe with his own compo-
sitions interpreted by himself; but he could
not visit England at present, so St. Michel
will be with us as on former occasions, and
lie \a a good condwcXwr^ Nt^ ^V^iadNx wvd uu
1 derstanda reVvftax^^X?"*
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
Ih
Let me Lere ftctidpate and obyiato a
uuestion. Wa8 not my mother afraid to
trost me in siieb a mixed mtdtitode, with
men and women her inferiors in cnltore and
position? My mother bad never trusted
me before with a stranger, bat I am certain,
at this distance of time, she could not resist
yiepnre tmthfulness and perfect breeding
of Lenhart Davy, and was forced into de-
airing such an acquaintance for me. P.r-
Laps, too, she was a little foolish over her
last born, for she certainly did indulge me
in a quiet way, and with a great show of
strictbess.
As Lenhart Davy paused, she first thanlc-
ed him, then rang the bell, was silent until
she had ordered refreshment ; sat still even
then a few minutei, and presently uttered
It deliberate consent. I could not bear it.
I stood on one foot for an instant behind
Clo's chair, and then fltmg royself into the
passage. Once up stairs, I capered and
danced about my motlier^s bed-room until
fairly exhausted, and then I lay down on
my own bed positively in my coat and
boots, and kicked the clothes into a heap,
untH I cried. This brought me to, and I
remembered with awe the premises I had
invaded. I darted to my feet-, and was oc-
cupied in restoring calm as far as possible
to the tumbled coverlid, when I was hor-
riiSed at hearing a step. It was only Milli-
cent, with tears in her good eyes.
"I am so glad for you, Charles," she
said, "I hope you will do everything in
your power to show how grat^ul you are."
" I will be grateful to everybody," I an-
wered, **but do tell me, is he gone ?"
"Dear Charles, do not say * ft* ' of such a
man as Mr. Davy."
JTow, Millicent was but seventeen, still
8hi& had her ide&, girlishly chaste and
charming, of what men ought to be.
" I think he is lovely," I replied, dancing
round and round her, till she seized my hands.
" Yes, Mr. Davy is gone, but he is kindly
coming to fetch you to-morrow, to drink tea
witii him, and mother has asked him to
dine here on Sunday. He showed her a
letter that he has from the great John An-
demach, because mother said she knew him,
and she says Mr. Davy must be very good,
88 well as very clever, from what Mr. An-
demach has written."
"I know he is good! just think of his
noticing mef I knew I should go ! I said
I would go I" and I pulled my hands away
to leap again.
The old windows rattled, the walls shook,
and in came Clo.
" Charles, my mother says if you do not
kesep yourself still, she will send a note after
Mr. Davy. My dear boy, you must come
and "he put to rights. How rough your head
is/ wb^ hare yon been doing to make it
to r and abe marcbed me off; I was quelled
directly, and it was indeed very kind of
them to scold me, or I should have ecsta-
sised myself ill.
It was hard work to get through that day,
I was so impatient for the next ; but Milli*
cent took me to sing a little in the evening,
and I believe it sent me to sleep. I must-
mention that the Festival was to last three
days. There were to be three grand mom*
ing performances, and three evening con-
certs ; but my mother informed me she had
said she did not like my being out at night,
and that Lenhart Davy had answered, the
evening concerts were not free of entrance
to him, as there was to be no chorus, so be
could not take me. I did not care. For
now a new excitement, child of the first and
very like its parent, sprang within my breast.
To sing myself it was something too grand
^tlie veins glowed in my temples as I
tiiought of my voice so small and thin,
swelling in the cloud of song to heaven
my side throbbed and fluttered. To go was
more than I dared to expect but to be ne-
cessary to go was more than I deserved^t
was glory.
I gathered a few very nice flowers to give
Lenhart Davy, for we had a pretty garden
behind the house, and also a bit of a green*
house in which Millicent kept our geran-
iums all the winter. She was tying up the
flowers for me with green silk, when he
knocked at the door, and would not como
in, but waited for me outside. Amiable
readers, everybody was old-fashioned twenty
years ago, and many somebodies took tea
at five o^clok. Admirable economy of bo*
cial life to eat when you hunger, and to
drink when you thirst I But it is polite to
invent an appetite for made dbhes, so we
complain not that we dine at eight now-a-
days ; and it is politic too, for complexions
are not what they used to be, and maiden
heiresses with all their thousands, cannot
purchase Beauty-Sleep I Pardon my digress-
ion, while Davy is waiting at the door. I
did not keep him so long, be certain. We
set out. He was very much pleased with
ray flowers, and as it was rather a cfiilly af-
ternoon he challenged me to a race. We
ran together, he striding after me like a
child himself in play, and snapping at my
coat; I screaming all the while with ex-
quisite sensation of pleasurable fun. Then
I sped away like a hound, and still again
he caught me and litted me high into the
air. Such buoyancy of spirits I never met
with such fluency of attitude ^I cannot
call them or their effect animal. It was
rather as if the bright wit pervaded the
bilious temperament, almost misleading Uie
physiologist to name it nervous. I have
never described Lenhart Davy.^iior cws. I^
but to Tiaft \)i^ 'kftBU'et ^Qt^ ^\ \K^ \3cv^8sc^
lD\ima;\io -woB wift Qi iXife \stfsa. *^^ v5s2R^
t4
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
CHAPTER VI.
AmtiTED at hiB honee, that house Jast
what a house should he to the purpose in
every respeot I flew in as if quite at home
I was rather amazed that I saw no woman-
creature ahout, nor any kind of servant.
The door at the end of the passage was still
open, I still saw out into the little lawny
yard, hut nohody was stirring. *^ The house
was haunted."
I helieve it ; hy a ohoir of glorious Ghosts.
"Boar alto, you will not be alarmed to be
locked in with me I hope, will you?*'
'^ Frightened, Sir ? oh no, it is delicious."
I most truly felt it delicious. I preceded
Iiim up the staircase, he remaining behind
to lock the little door. I most truly felt it
delicious. Allow me again to allude to the
appetite. I was very hungry, and when I
entered the parlor I beheld such preparation
upon the table as reminded ip.e it is at times
satisfactory as well as necessary to eat and
drink. The brown inkstand and company
were removed, and in their stead I saw a
little tray of an oval form, upon which tray
^tood the most exquisite porcelain service
tor two I have ever seen. The china was
small and very old ^I knew that, for we
were rather curious in china at home ; and
I saw how very valuable these cups, that
ci eam-jng, those plates must be. They were
of pearly clearness, and the crimson and
purple butterfly on each rested over a sprig
of honey-suckle entwined with violets.
'^ Oh, what beautiful china I" I exclaimed ;
I could not help it, and Lenhart Davy smiled.
*^ It was a present to me from my class in
Germany."
" Did you have a class. Sir, in Gtermany ?"
" Only little boys, Charlie, like myeelf."
" Sir, did you teach when you were a lit-
tle boy ?"
"I began to teach before I was a great
boy, but I taught only little boys then."
He placed me in a chair while he left the
room for an instant. I supposed he entered
the next, for I heard him close at hand.
Coming back quickly he placed a little spirit-
lamp upon the table, and a little bright ket-
tle over it ; it boiled very soon. He made
such tea I I shall never forget it, and when
I told him I very seldom had tea at home,
he answered, '^I seldom drink more than
one cup, myself, but think one c^not hurt
even such a nervous person as you are, and
besides, tea improves the voice did yon
know that?" *
I laughed and drew my chair close to his.
Nor sh5l I ever forget the tiny loaves, ^hite
and brown, nor the tiny pat of butter,
nor the thin transparent biscuits, crisp as
hoar-frost, and delicate as if made of Israel-
Itish manna. Davy ate not much himself,
but he seemed delighted to see me eat, nor
would ho allow me to talk.
"One nevor shonld," said he, ^* while eat^
mg."
Frugal as he was, he never for an inst&m
lost his cheery smile and companionable
manner, and I observed he watched me very
closely. As soon as I had gathered up and
put away my last crumb, I slipped out of
my chair and pretended to poll him from
his seat
*^Ahl you are right we have much to
do."
He went out again, and returned lad^
with a wooden tray, on which he piled all
the things and carried them down stairs.
Returning he laughed and said,
^^ I must be a little put out to-night as I
have a visitor, so I shall not clear up until I
have taken you home."
" My mother is going to send for me, Sir,
but I wish I might help you now."
^^ I shall not need help, I want it at least
in another way ; will you now come here ?**
We removed to the piano. He took down
from the shelves that overshadowed it, three
or four volumes in succession. At length,
selecting one, he laid it upon the desk and
opened it. I gazed in admiration. It was
a splendid edition in score of Pergolesi^s
" Stabat Mater." He gathered from within
its pages a separate sheet ^the alto part
beautifully copied and handed it to me,
^saying, " I know you will take care of it."
So I did. We worked very hard, but I think
I never enjoyed any exercise so much. He
premised with a cunning smile that he
should not let roe run on at that rate if I had
not to be brushed up all in a hurry, but then,
Ihough I was ignorant, I was apt tnd very
ardent. I sang with an entire attention to his
hints, and though I felt I was hurrying on
too fast for my ^^ understanding," to keep
pace with my " spirit," yet I did get on very
rapidly in the mere accession to acquaint-
ance with the part. We literally rushed
through the Stabat Mater, which was for
the . first part of the first grand morning,
and then for the other we began the ^^ Det-
tingen Te Deura." I thought this very easy
after the "Stabat Mater," but Davy silenced
me by suggesting, " You do not know the
difficulty until you are placed in the choir."
Our evening's practice lasted about two
hours and a half. He stroked my hair gent-
ly then, and said, he feared he had fatigued
me. I answered by thanking him with all
my might, and begging to go on. He shook
his head.
"I am afraid we have done too much
now. This day week the * Creation,' that is
for the second morning; and then, Charles,
then, the ^ Messiah,' last and best."
" Oh, the * Messiah 1' I know some of the
songs ; at least, I have heard them ; and are
we to hear that ? and am I to sing, in ^ Halle-
lujah V I had known of it from my cradle,
and loving it before 1 heard it, how did I
CHARLES AU0HE8TER.
n
feel for ifc, when it was to be brought so
near me I I think that this Oratorio is the
most beloved of any by children and child-
like soals. How strangely in it all spirits
take a part I
Margaret, onr ancient nnrse, came for
me at half-past eight. She was not sent
away, but Davy would accompany us to our
own door. Before I left his house, and while
she was waiting in the parlor, he said to
me, "Would you like to see where I sleep ?"
and called me into the most wonderful little
room. A shower-bath filled one corner,
there was a great closet one whole side,
filled with every necessary, exactly enough
for one person. The bed was perfectly plain,
with no curtains and but a head-board, a
mattrass looking as hard as the ground, and
a very [singular portrait over the head, of a
gentleman, in line-engraving, which does
not intellectualize the contour. This worthy
wore a flowing wig and a shirt bedecked
with frills.
" That is John Sebastian Bach,'^ said Len-
hart Davy; ^^at least they told me so in
Dresden. I keep it because it meara to be
him."
" Ah !" I replied ; for I had heard ths jaw-
breaking name, which is dearer to many
(though they, alas I too few, are scattered)
than the sound of Lydian measures.
CHAPTER Vn.
ftp I permit myself to pay any more visits
to the nameless cottage, I shall never take
myself to the Festival, but must jnst say
tliat we entertained Davy the next Sunday
at dimier. I had never seen my mother en-
joy anybody's society so much, but I ob-
served be talked not so much as he listened
to her, and this may have been the secret.
He went very early, but on the Tuesday he
fetched me again. It was not in vain that
I sang this time either, my voice seemed to
deliver itself from something earthly ; it was
joy and ease to pour it forth.
When we had blended the bass and alto
of the * Creation' chorusses, with a long
spell at " The Heavens are telling," Davy
observed, " Now for the * Messiah,' but you
will only be able to look at it with me; to-
morrow night is rehersal at the Hall, and
your mother must let you go." Rehearsal at
the Hall ; what words were those 1 they rang
in my brain that night, and I began to grow
very feverish. MilUcent was very kind to
me, bnt I was quite timid of adverting to
my anspices ; and I dared not introduce the
subject, as none of them could feel as I did.
My mother watched me somewhat anxious-
ly ; and n/ wonder, for I was very much
excited. But when the morrow oame, my
self-importance made a man of me, and j
was calmer than I had been for days.
I remember the knock which came about
seven in the evening, just as it was growing
gray. I remember rushing from our parlor
to Lenliart Davy on the door-step. I re-
member our walk when our hands were so
cold, and my heart was so hot^ so happy. I
remember the pale, pearly shade that was
falling on street and factory the shop-lit
glare the mail-coach thundering down High
Street. I remember how I felt entering,
from the dim evening, the ohiaro oscuro of
the corridors just uncertainly illustrated by
a swinging lamp or two ; and I remember
passing into the Hall. Standing upon the
orchestra, giddy, almost fearful to fall for-
wards into the great unlighted chaos. The
windows looked like clouds themselves, and
every pillar, tier, and cornice, stood dilated
in the unsubstantial space. Lenhart Davy
had to drag me forward to my nook among
the altos beneath the organ, just against the
Conductor's desk. The orchestra was a
dream to me, filled with dark shapes, flitting
and hurrying, crossed by wondering sounds,
whispers and laughter. There must have
been four or ^ve hundred of us up there, but
it seemed to me like a lampless church, as
full as it could be of people struggling for
room.
Davy did not lose his hold upon me, but
one and another addressed him, and flying
remarks reached him from every quarter.
He answered in his hilarious voice, but his
manner was decidedly more distant than to
me when alone with him. At last, some
One appeared at the foot of the orchestra
steps with a taper, some one or other snatch-
ed it from him, and in a moment a couple
of candles beamed brightly from the Con-
ductor's desk. It was a strange, candle-light
effect, then. Such great, awful shadows
threw themselves down the Hall, and so
many faces seemed darker than they had
clustered in the glooming twilight. Again
some hidden hand had touched the gas,
which burst in tongues of splendor that
shook themselves immediately over us ; tJien
was the orchestra blaze defined as day but
still dark, and darkening like a vast abyss,
lay the Hall before us ; and the great chan-
delier was itself a blot, like a mystery hung
in circumambient nothingness.
I was lost in the light around me, and
striving to pierce into the mystery beyond,
when a whisper thrUled me, " Now, Charles,
I must leave you. You are Mr. Auchester
at present. Stand firm and sing on. Look
alone at the Conductor, and tliink alone of
your part. Courage I" What did he say
^^ courage" for? as if my heart oonld fail me
then and there.
I looked steadfastly on. I saw the man
of mafcy yeara' set's v \ii\2Gi^ ^w\&!^ ^1"^;!\^
16
CHARLES AUCIIESTEK.
looking frtsli as any joatli id the heyday of
his primal fancy. A white-haired man,
with a patriarchal staff besides, which he
Btrnck open the desk for silence, and tlien
raised, in calm, to dispel the silence.
I can only say, that my head swam for a
few minntes, and I was obliged to shnt my
eyes before I conld tell whether I was sing-
ing or not. I was very thankful when
somebody somewhere got out as a fngne
came in, and we were stopped, because it
gave me a breathing instant. But then
again breathless nerveless, I might say,
for I could not distinguish my sensations
we rushed on, or I did, it was all the same ;
I was not myself yet. At length indeed it
came, that restoring sense of self which is
BO precious at some times of our life. I re-
called exactly where I was ; I heard myself
singing, felt myself standing; I was as if
treading upon air, yet fixed as rock. I
arose and fell upon those surges of snstain-
\w^ sound, but it was as with an undulating
motion, itself rest. My spirit straitway
soared ; I could imagine my own voice,
nigh above all the others, to ring as a lark's
above a forest, tuneful with a thousand
tones more low, more hidden ; the attend-
ant harmonies sank as it were beneath me.
I swelled above them. It was my first idea
of Paradise.
And it is, perhaps, my last.
Let me not prose where I should most of
all be poetical. The rehearsal was consid-
ered very successful. St. Michel praised us.
He was a good old, man, and, as Davy had
remarked, very steady. There was a want
of unction about his conducting, but I did
not know it, certainly not feel it, that night.
Tiie Messiah was more hurried through than
it should have been, because of the late
hour, and also because, as we were remind-
ed, "it was the most generally known."
Besides there was to be a full rehearsal with
the band before the Festival, but I was not
to be present Davy considerately deeming
the full effect would be lost for me, were it
in any sense to be anticipated.
I feel I should only fail if I should attempt
to delineate my sensations on the two first
days of pei*formance, for the single reason
that the third morning of that festival anni-
hilated the others so effectually, as to render
me only master at this moment of its un-
Earalleled incidents. Those I bear on my
eart and in my life even to this very hour,
&nd shall take them with me, yea, as a part
of my essential immortality.
CHAPTER VIII.
The second night I had not slept so well
%9 Gie &TBtf but on the third morning I was,
nathless, extraord narily fresh. 1 seeint^
to have lived ages, but yet all Blrack me in
perfect unison as new. I was only too in-
tensely happy as I left our house with Davy,
he having breakfasted with us.
He was very much pleased w th my
achievements. I wtus very much pleased
with everything. I was saturated with
pleasure. That day has lasted me, a Light,
to this. Had I been stricken blind and deaf
afterwards, I ought not to have complained
7-8O far would my happiness, in degree and
nature, hate outweighed any other I can
imagine to have fallen to any other lot. Let
those who endure, who rejoice, alike pure
in passion, bless God for the power they
possess innate, unalienable) intransferable,
of suffering all they feel.
I shall never forget that scene. The Hall
was already crowded, when we pressed into
our places, half an hour before the appoint-
ed commencement. Every central speck
was a head, the walls were pillared with
human beings, the swarm increased, float-
ing into the reserved places, and a Btream
still poured on beneath the gallery.
As f to fling glory on music, not of its
own, it was a most splendid day the finest,
warmest, and serenest we had had for
weeks. Through the multitudinous panes
the sky was a positive blaze of blue; the
sunshine fell full upon the orchestra from
the great arched window at the end of the
vaulted building, and through that window's
purple and orange border radiated gold and
amethyst upon the countenances of the en-
tering crowd. The hands of the clock were
at the quarter now : we in the choras won-
dered that St. Michel had not come ; again
they moved, those noiseless hands, and the
" tongue " of iron told eleven. We all grew
anxious. Still, as all the clocks in the town
were, not alike, we might be the mistaken
ones by ours. It now struck eleven though
frogi the last church within our hearing,
and there was not yet St. Michel. We were
all in the chorus fitted in so nicely, that it
would have been difiicult for some to get
out, or if out impossible to 'get in. They
were all in the orchestra placed as closely
as possible, amidst a perfect grove of music-
stands. The reserved seats were full, the
organist was seated, the score lay wide open
upon the lofty desk ; but St. Michel did not
come 1
I shall never forget how we wearied and
wondered, and how I, at least, racked my-
self, writhed, agonized. The door beneath
the orchestra was shut, but every instant or
two a hand turned the lock outside one
agitated face peeped in then another ^but
were immediately withdrawn, I scarcely
suppose tlie perfect silence lasted three min-
utes, it was hke an electrical suspension^ and
as quickly snapped. The surcharging spleen
of the audience began to break in a mar
CHARLES AUOHESTEE.
17
mnriDg, hnmTiiing, and onzzing, from centre
to gallery. The confasion of forms and
faces became a perfect dream, it dazzled me
dizzy, and I felt quite sick. A hundred fans
began to ply in tlie reserved seats, the gen-
tlemen bent over the ladies ; the sound gath-
ered strength and portentous significance
from the non-explanatory calm of the or-
chestral force ; but all eyes were turned, all
chins lengthened towards the orchestra door.
At precisely a quarter past eleven that door
opened wide, and up came a gentleman in a
white waistcoat. He stood somewhere in
front, but he could not get his voice out at
^rst. Oh, the hisses then ! the shouts ! the
execrations I But it was a musical assem-
bly, and a few cries. of "Shame!" hushed
the pitorm sufficiently to give our curiosity
vent.
The speaker was a member of the com-
mittee, and very woe-begone be looked. He
had to say (and it was of course his painful
duty) that the unprecedented delay in the
commencement of the performance was oc-
casioned by an inevitable and most unex-
pected accident. Mr. St. Michel, in riding
from his house a few miles out, had been
thrown from his horse at the corner of the
market-place, and falling on his right arm,
had broken it below the elbow.
The suddenness of the event would ac-
count for the delay sufficiently; all means
at present were being employed to secure
the services of an efficient resident profess-
or, and it was trusted he would arrive
shortly. Otlierwise should there among the
enlightened audience be present any pro-
fessor able eind willing to undertake the re-
sponsible oflice of Conductor, pro tempore,
the committee would feel A hurri-
cane of noes tore up the rest of the sen-
tence in cpntempt, and flung it in the face
of the gentleman in the white waistcoat.
^e still stood-^it was well known that not
a hand could be spared from the orchestra;
but of course a fancy instantly clutched me,
of Lenhart Davy. I looked up wistfully at
him, among tne basses, and endeavored to
persuade him with my eyes to come down,
tie smiled upon rne and his eye was kin-
dled ; otiierwise he seemed determined to
remain as he was. Davy was very proud,
tjbough one of the most modest men I ever
knew.
A fresh volley of hisses broke from the
very heart of the hall, still it did not circu-
late, .tlioagh the confusion seemed increas-
ing in the centre, and it was at that very
instant, before poor Merlington had left
.,his apc!ogitic stand, that a form, gliding
light as ir on air, appeared hovering on the
Bteps at tbe aidd of the orchestra.
It was a'mar. at least, if not a spirit ; but
I had not seen where thft gliding form came
from, with its light aii^l stealthy speed.
Swift as a beam of morning he Fprnng up
B
the steps, and with one hand upon the ba.ii-
trade, bowed to the audience ^in a moment
silence seemed to mantle upon the hall.
He stood before the score, and as he
closed upon the time-slick those pointed
fingers, he raised his eyes to the chorus and
let them fall upon the band. Those pierciujf
eyes recalled us. Every hand was on tht
bow, every mouthpiece lifted. There was
still silence, but we "heard" no "voice."
He raised his thin arm : the overture began.
The curiosity of the audience had dilated
with such intensity that all who had been
standing still stood, and not a creature
stirred. The calm was perfect upon which
the " Grave " broke. It was no interpreta-
tion alone; it was inspiration. All know
that " Grave "but few have heard it as it
spoke that day. It was then we heard
a voice "a voice from heaven." There
seemed not a string that was not touched by
fire.
The tranquil echo of the repeat enabled
me to bear it sufficiently to look up and
form some notion of him on whom so much
depended. He was slight, so slight that he
seemed to have grown out of the air. He
was young, so young that he could not
have numbered twenty summers ; ^but the
heights of eternity were fore-shadowed in
the forehead^s marble dream.
A strange transparence took the place of
bloom upon that face of youth, as if from
temperament too tender, or blood too rare
fied ; but the hair betrayed a wondrous
strength, clustering in dark curls of excess-
ive richness. The pointed fingers were pale,
but they grasped the time-stick with an
energy like naked nerve.
But not until the violins woke up, an-
nouncing the subject of the allegro, did I
feel fully conscious of that countenance ab-
solved from its repose of perfection, by an
excitement itself divine.
It would exhaust thought no less than
words to describe the aspect of music, thus
revealed, thus presented. I was a little
child then, my brain was unused to strong
sensation, and I can only say I remembered
not how he looked after all was over. The
intense impression annihilated itself, as a
white* dazzling fire struck from a smith's
anvil dies without ashy sign. I have since
learned to discover, to adore, every express
lineament of that matchless face ; but then
I was lost in gazing, in a spiritual ebbless
excitement ^then I was only conscious of
the composition that he made one with him-
self, that became one with him.
The fire with which he led, the energy,
the speed, could only have been safely com-
municated to an English orchestra by such
accurate force. The perfection with which
the Conductor was endued must surely have
passed electrically into every player : there
fell not a note to the ground '^ suck ^t^
18
CHABLES AUOHESTER.
cision was well nigh oppressive, one felt
some hand most drop.
From heginning to end of the allegro not
h didtorbing sound arose throughout the
hall, but on the closing chord of the over-
ture, there burst one deep' toll of wonderful
applause. I can only call it a toll ; it was
simultaneous. The Oondnctor looked over
his shoulder and slightly shook his head.
t was enough, and silence reigned as the
heavenly symphony of the recitative trem-
bled from those strings surcharged with
Ire. Here it was as if he whbpered
*^ Hush I'^ for the sobbing staccato of the
accompaniment I never heard so low ; it was
silvery, almost awful. The bSiton stirred
languidly, as the stem of a wind-swept lily,
in those pointed fingers.
Nor would he suffer any violence to be
done to the solemn brightness of the aria.
It was not until we all arose that he raised
bis arm, and impetuously, almost impe-
riously, fixed upon us his eyes. He glanced
not a moment at the score, he never turned
a leaf, but he urged the lime mtgestically,
and his rapturous beauty brightened as the
voices firmly, safely, swelled over the sus-
taining chords, launched in glory upon those
waves of sound.
I almost forgot the Festival. I am not
certain that I remembered who I was, or
where I was, but I seemed to be singing at
every pore. I seemed pouring out my life
instead of my voice ; but the feeling I had of
being irresistibly borne along was so trans-
porting, that I can conceive of nothing else
like it, until after death.
CHAPTER IX.
The chorus, I learned afterwards, was
never recalled so proudly true, so perfect,
so flexible ; but it was not only not difficult
to keep in, it was impossible to get out. So
every one said among my choral contem-
poraries, afterwards.
I might recall how the arias told, invested
with that same charm of subdued and soft-
ened fulness; I might name each chorus,
bent to such strength by a might scarcely
mortal ; but I dare not anticipate my after-
acquaintance with a musician who, himself
supreme, has alone known how to interpret
the works of others. I will merely advert
to the extraordinary calm that pervaded
the audience during the first part.
Tremendous in revenge, perfectly tre-
mendous, was the uproar between the parts,
for there was a pause and clearance for a
quarter of an Lour, I could not have moved
for some momenta if I hAd wished it; as it
^ae I waa nearly pressed to death. Every-
body was talking ; a clamor filled the air. I
saw Lenhart Davy afar of^ but he oould
not get to me. He looked quite white, and
his eyes sparkled. As for me, I could not
help thinking the world was coming to ao
end, so thirsty I felt, so dry, so shaken from
head to foot. I could scarcely feel the
ground, and I could not lift my knees, they
were so stiff.
But still with infatuation I watched the
Cknductor, though I suffered not my eyes
to wander to his face ; I dared not look at
him, I felt too awful. He was suddenly
surrounded by gentlemen, the members of
the committee. I knew they were there,
bustling, skurryiug, and I listened to their
intrusive tones. As the chorus pressed by
me I was obliged to advance a little, and I
heard, in a quiet foreign accent, delicate as
clear, these words : *^ Ko thing, thank you,
but a glass of pure water."
Trembling, hot, and dizzy, almost mad
with impatience, I pushed through the
crowd; it was rather thinner now, but I
had to drive my head against many a knot
and when I could not divide the groups I
dived underneath their arms. I cannot tell
how I got out, but I literally leaped the
stairs ; in two or three steps I cleared the
gallery. Once in the refreshment room, I
snatched a glass jug that stood in a pail
filled with lumps of ice, and a tumbler, and
made away with them before the lady who
was superintending that table had turned
her head. I had never a stumbling footi-
step, and though I sprang back again, I did
not spill a drop. I knew the hall was half
empty, so taking a short way that led me
into it, I came to the bottom of the orches-
tra. I stood the tumbler upon a form, and
filling it to the brim left the beaker behind
me, and rushed up the orchestra stairs.
He was still there, leaning upon the scorer,
with his hands upon his face and his eyes
hidden. I advanced very quietly, but he
heard me, and without raising himself from
the desk let his hands fall, elevated his
countenance, and watched me as I approach-
ed hiin.
I trembled so violently then, taken with a
fresh shudder of excitement, that I could
not lift the tumbler to present it. I saw a
person from the other side advancing with
a tray, and dreading to be supplanted, 1
looked up with desperate entreaty. The
unknown stretched his arm and raised the
glass, taking it from me, to his lips. Around
those lips a shadowy half-smile was play-
ing, but they were white with fatigue or
excitement^ and he drank the water instant-
ly, as if athirst.
Then he returned to me the glass emp^,
with a gentle but absent air, paused one
moment, and now, as if restored to himself,
f nWy regaTdfe^L ta^, wi^ ixjJ^^ ^cecXic^^.
CHAliLES AUCI5ESTER.
10
on me Aeeincd distant as the stars of heav-
en ; but there was an almost pitying
sweetness in his tone as he addressed me.
I shall never forget that tone, nor how my
eyelids qnivered with the longing want to
weep.
" It was very refreshing," he said. " How
mncli more strengthening is water than
wine I Thank yon for the trouble you took
^o fetch it. And yon, you sang also in the
cnorus. It was beautifully done."
^^May I tell them so. Sir?" I asked him,
eagerly, without being able to help speaking
In some reply.
"Yes, every one, but above all the little
ones," ^and again he faintly smiled.
Then he turned to the score, and droop-
ing over the desk, seemed to pass back into
himself, alone, by himself companioned.
And in an agony of fear lest I should intrude
for a moment even, I sped as fast I had en-
tered, from his mysterious presence.
To this hour I cannot find in my memory
the tones in which he spoke that day.
Though I have heard that voice so often
since have listened to it in a trance of life
I can never realize it ; it was too unearthly,
and became part of what I shall be, haviog
distilled from the essence of my being, as I
am.
Well, I came upon Lenhart Davy in one
of the passages, as I was running back. I
fellf in fact, against him, and he caught me
ic bis arms.
"Charles Auchester! where have you
been ? You have frightened me sorely. I
thought I had lost you, I did indeed, and
have been looking for you ever since we
came out of the hall."
As soon as I could collect enough of my-
self to put into words, I exclaimed ecstatic-
ally, " Oh, Mr. Davy I I have been talking
to tlie man in the orchestra I"
"You have indeed, you presumptuous
atomy 1" and he laughed in his own way, add-
ing, " I did not expect you would blow into
an hero quite so soon. And is our hero up
there still? My dear Charles, you must
have been mistaken, he must be in the com-
mittee room."
" No, I was not. The idea of my mistak-
ing ! as if anybody else could be like him ?
He is up there now, and he would not come
down, though they asked him ; and he said
he would only drink a glass of water, and I
heard him, for I waited to see, and I fetched
it, and he drank it, there I" and I flung
myself round Davy again, almost exhausted
with joy. -.
" And he spoke to you, did he, Charles?
My own little boy, be still, or I shall have
to* fetch you a glass of water. I am really
afraid of all this excitement, for which you
seem to come in naturally"
'^ So I do, Mr. Davy; bnfc do tell me who
is that man V*
" I cannot tell " said Davy, himself sc
flushed now that I could hardlv think him
the same person, unless by some extraor-
dinary chance, it may be Milaus-Andr^."
"No I no!" exclaimed one of our con-
temporaries, who, in returning to the or-
chestra, overhead the remark. "Nol no I
it is not Milans-Andr6. ^ Mr. Hermann, tho
leader, has seen Milans-Andr^ in Paris. No,
it is some nobleman they say, a German
prince. They all know Handel in Germany.*'
"Nonsense!" replied Davy: "they don't
know Handel better in Germany than we
do in England ;" but he spoke as if to me,
having turned from the person who address-
ed him.
"Don't they, Mr. Davy? But he does
look like a prince."
" Not a C^erman prince, my Charlie I He is
more like one of our favorite Jews; and
that is where it is, no doubt."
" Davy, Davy 1" exclaimed again another,
one of the professors in the town. "Can
it be Milans-Andr6 ?"
" They say not, Mr. Wesley. I do not
know myself, but I should have thought
Mons. Andr6 must be older than this gentle-
man, who does not look twenty."
" Oh, be is more than twenty."
" As you please," muttered Davv, merrily,
as he turned again to me. " My boy, we
must not stand here ; we shall lose our old
places. Do not forget to remain in your'a
when it is over, till I come to etch you.' '
When it is over ? Oh cruel Lenhart Davy
to remind me that it would evei: end. I felt
it cmel then, but perhaps I felt too much ;
I always do, and I hope I always shall.
Again marshalled in our places (I having
crept to mine), and again fitted in very tight-
ly, we all arose. I suppose it was the op-
pression of so many round me standing,
superadded to the strong excitement, but
the whole time the chorus lasted, " Behold
the Lamb of God," I could not sing. I stood
and sobbed, but even then I had respect to
Davy's neatly copied alto sheet, and I only
shaded my eyes with that and wept upon
the floor. Nobody near observed me ; tney
were all singing with all their might ; I alone
dared to look down, ever down, and weep
upon the floor.
Such tears I never shed ; they were as
necessary as dew after a cloudless day, and,
to pursue my figure, I awoke again at the
conclusion of the chorus to a deep raptur-
ous serenity, pure as twilight, and gazed up-
ward at tlie stars, whose " smile waft Para-
dise," with my heart again all voice.
I believe the chorus, "Lift up your
heads 1" will never again be heard in Eng-
land as it was heard then, and I am cmlt^.
\ as clear, aii^ t\v^ v^^^"^ '^'**^ \i^W^ ^^
\ ban(\, aWVo eoi^^Xxalm^^ V^si^s. ^"^^T^C^!^
1 seemed ^reed ixom SS. Tt^w^^^5^^x '^^^
M
OHARLES AnOHSTU.
alone to denond upon the will that swayed,
that stirrea, with a spell real as super-
natural, and sweet as strange.
Perhaps the most immediate consequence
of such faultless interpretation was the re-
markable stillness of the audience. Doubt-
less a few there were who were calm in
critical pique, bii I believe the majority
dared not applaud, so decided had been the
negative of that graceful sign at the com-
mencement of the performance ; besides a
breathless curiosity brooded, as distinctly to
be traced in the countenances of the crowd,
as in their thrilling qaietude. For thrilling
it was indeed, though not so thrilling as the
outbreak, the tempest out-rolling of pent-up
satisfaction at the end of the Hoal chorus.
That chorus (it was well indeed it was the
last) seemed alone to have exhausted the
strength of the Conductor, his arm suddenly
seemed to tire, he entirely relaxed, and the
delicate but burning hectic qn each cheek
alone remained, the seal of his celestial
passion.
He turned as soon as the applause, instead
of decreasing, persisted ; for at first he had
remained with his face towards the choir.
As the shouts still reached him, and the sea
of heads began to fluctuate, he bent a little
in acknowledgment, but nevertheless pre-
served the same air of dilSerence and ab-
straction from all abo it, beneath him. Lin-
gering only until the way was cleared below
the orchestra steps, he retreated down them
even before the applause had ceased; and
before any one could approach him, without
addressing any one, he left the hall.
And of him nothing afterwards was
heard ; I mean at that time. Not a soul in
the whole town had learned his name, and
the hotel at which he had slept the night
before was in vain attacked by spies on
every errand. The landlord could only say
what he knew himself, that he was a strang-
er who had visited the place for the purpose
of attending the Festival, and who having
fulfilled that purpose, had left the city un-
known, unnamed, as he entered it.
I believe most children of my age would
have had a fit of illness after an excitement
of brain and body so peculiar ; but perhaps
ha^ I been less excited I should have been
worse off afterwards. As it was, the storm
into which I had been wrought subsided of
itself, and I was the better for it, jiist as na-
ture is said to be after her disturbances of a
similar description. Davy took me home,
and then set off to his own house where he
always seemed to have so much to do ; and
all my people were very kind to me in list-
ening, while I, more calmly than any one
would believe, expatiated upon our grand
adventure. I was extremely amused to see
how astonished Clo was to find me so rea-
sonable, for her only fear had been, she in-
fbrmed wj mother, that Charles would not
settle to anything for weeks if he were ai
lowed to go. And Millicent was very much
astonished that I spoke so little of the per-
formance itself. I could only defend myself
by saying, " If you had seen him jou would
not wonder."
" Is he handsome, Charles ?" said Lydia,
innocently, with her brown eyes fixed upon
her thimble (which she held upon her
finger, and was shocked to perceive a little
tarnished). I was so angry that I felt my-
self turn quite sick, but I was good enough
only to answer " You would not think so.**
For so I believed. Millicent softly watched
me and added, "Charlie means, I think,
that it was a very beautiful face."
" I do," I said bluntly, " I shall never see
a beautiful face again. You will never see
one at all, as you have not seen tJiaV*
"Pity us then, Charles," replied Millicent
in her gentlest voice.
I climbed upon her lap. "Oh no dear!
it is you who must pity me, because you do
not know what it is, and I do, and I have
lost it."
Lydia lifted her eyes, and made them
very round, but as I was put to bed directly,
nobody heard any more of me that night.
CHAPTER X.
It was very strange, or rather it was just
natural, that I should feel so singularly low
next day. I was not exactly tired, and I
was not exactly miserable. I was perfectly
blank like a sunless Autumn day, with no
wind about. I lay very late in bed, and as
I lay there I no more believed the events of
yesterday than if they had been a dream.
I was literally obliged to touch myself, my
hair, my face, and the bed-clothes, before I
could persuade myself that I was not myself
a dream. The cold bath restored me, into
which I daily sprang, summer and winter
alike, but I grew worse again after break-
fast.
Yearning to re-excite myself in some fash-
ion, I marched into the parlor and requested
Clo to teach me as usual. There she was,
in her gray silk gown, peering (with
her short sightedness) into Herodotus ; but
though all my books were placed upon the
table by her, I could tell very easily that she
had not expected me, and was very much
pleased I should come. Her approbation
overcame me, and instead of blotting my
copy with ink, I used my tears. They were
tears I could no more have helped shedding
than I could have helped breathing. Olo
was very kind, she looked at me solemnly,
not severely, and solemnly administered the
consolation that they were tlie effect of ez
GHARLES AUCIIESTER.
iiStement. I did cot think eo, I thought
they were the ^ect of a want of excite-
meat, but I saiy nothing to her.
I overcame them, and was quiet for the
rest of the day, and for several days, but
imagine what I suffered when I saw no
more of Lenhart Davy. As the world in
oar house went on just the same as before
the Festival, and as I had no hand in keep-
ing the house so charmingly, nor any part
in committees for dinner, nor in pickling
(peculations, I was fairly left to myself with
ray new discovery about myself, namely,
that I must be a musician, or I should
perish.
Had I only seen Lenhart Davy, I could
have told him all. I believe my attraction
towards him was irresistible, or I should
never have thought of him while he stayed
away ; it would have hurt me too much.
For I was painfully, may be vainly, sensi-
tive. I was not able to appreciate his
delicacy of judgment as well as feeling, in
abetaining from any farther commnnication
with us until we ourselves reminded him of
us. I had no hope, and the four or five
days I have mentioned as passing without
his apparition, seemed to annihilate my
fiiture. I quite drooped, I could not help
it, and my mother was evidently anxious.
She made me bring out my tongue a dozen
times a-day, and she continually sighed as
if reproaching herself with something. How
long it seemed I quite four months as I used
tc reckon I never once alluded to Lenhart
Davy ; but others did, at least not Millicent,
but Lydia and my eldest sister. Lydia made
the observation that perhaps he was too
modest to come without a special invitation,
but Olo hurt me far more, by saying that he
had no doubt better engagemo'its elsewhere.
On the evening of the fifth day, I was sitting
upon the stool in the parlor by the window,
after tea, endeavoring to gather my wander-
mg fancies to " Simple Susan," her simple
woes, pleasures, and loves, (for Olo was
there, and I did not wish to be noticed)
when Millicent came into the room, and
said my mother wished to speak to me up
stairs. I went out with Millicent '* What
does she want? I mean mother," I in-
quired, no doubt rather peevishly.
" She wants to ask you a question you
will like to answer, Oharles,"
"Shall I? what is it? I don't think I
dhall like to answer any question Oh Mil-
ticeht I" and I hid my small face in the folds
of her dark blue frock.
" Oome, Oharles ! you know I would not
deceive you. Darling! you must not feel
BO much.^'
' And she stooped to kiss me, smiling,
though the tears were in her eyes. I still
persisted in hiding my head, and when we
reached the door of the dressing-room, I
want in crying. My mo'-her sat in a great
white chair beside the fire, next her stood
a small table covered with hose, the hose of
the whole household.
" How Oharles I how now I Be a man
or at least a boy, or I am sure I had better
not ask you what I sent for you to answer.
Oome say, would you like to sing in Mr.
Davy's class ? You must not give up your
old lessons, nor must you forget to take
great pains to write, to cipher, and to read
as well, but I think you are very fond of
singing since you found your voice, and Mr.
Davy, to whom I wrote, says you can be of
use to him, and that he will be so very good
as to teach you what he teaches the others,
to understand what you sing."
Dear Millicent I I knew I owed it all to
her, for there had been that in her face, her
manner, and her kind eyes, that told me
she had te\t for me in my desolation, and
now as she stood apart from my mother and
me, I ran to her and told her so, that I
knew it all. I will not dwell upon the so-
licitude of Olo, lest I should become unman-
ageable in the midst of my satisfaction, nor
upon Lydia's amazement at my mother's al-
lowing me to join the class, but I well recol-
lect how Millicent kept fast by me; her
will as it were upon mine, and her remind-
ing calmness ever possessing me, lest I should
by my ecstatic behavior forfeit my right
to my new privileges. I was quite good
enough, though, in the general opinion, to
be permitted to go as arranged, on the fol-
lowing Tuesday evening.
Lenhart Davy dined with us on Sunday
by special invitation, written by my mother,
conveyed by Margareth. He told' me then
that I must not mistake his silence if he
spoke not to me nor noticed me when he
was amidst his pupils. I perfectly under-
stood even then how much depended upon
his sagacious self-dependence.
The class assembled from six till eight in
the evening, twice a week : the room Davy
convoked it in, was one he hired expressly.
My mother sent me with Margareth who
was to fetch me again at the expiration of
two hours, at least during the winter, which
was fast approaching. ^y.
And thus had it not been for the Festival,
I should not have been at once initiated
into " Ohoral Life.'*
Though indeed, but for that glorious time,
and my own fantastic courage, first-fruit of
a musical temperament, I had perhaps never
been taught to give that name where I can
now bestow none other ; so completely ha*
choral worship passed into my lite.
When Margareth left me at the door of
house I had never entered though I knew
it well, for it was let out in auction-rooms,
for committees, and the like I felt far more
wild and lost than when I attended the
gr.'ind rehearsal hand in hand wvtlv Lftxs.WxV.
CHARLES AUOHESTKXt.
membered (lib, aoJ also that he expected a
great deal of me, for he had told me bo, and
that he had appointed me a high place
among the altos. I had my nambered ticket
\\\ my hand, and upon it my name, and I
showed it to a man who was standing above
at the top of the steep staircase. He looked
at it, noaded, and poshed me in.
The room was tolerably large and high,
and lighted by gas-bnrners which fiilly il-
lustrated the bareness of wall, and floor,
and ceiling. Accustomed to carpets in
every chamber, nay in evefy passage, I was
horrified to hear my own footfall npon the
boards, as I traversed the backs of those
raised forms one above the other full of
])eople. Boys and men, and women and
girls, seemea all mixed up together, and all
watching me; for I was late, and quite
dreamy with walking through the twilight
town. Several beckoning hands were
raised as I inquired for the place of the
altos, and I took my seat just where a num-
ber nailed to the form answered to the
number on my ticket.
CHAPTER XI.
I WAS too satisfied to have found my way
afely in, and too glad to feel deposited
somewhere, to gaze round me just then ;
but a door opened with a creaking hinge on
the ground floor below, and as perfect in
my eyes as ever, stepped forth Lenhart
Davy, and bowed to his whole class. He
carried a little time-stick in his hands, but
nothing else, and as he placed himself in
front, immediately beneath the lowest form,
I was conscious, though I believe no one
else present could be, of the powerful con-
trol he had placed as a barrier between
himself and those before him ; between his
active and his passive being.
He began to address us in his fine, easy
tones, in language pure enough for the
proudest intellect, sufficiently simple for the
least cultured ear ; and he spoke chiefly of
what he had said the time before, recapitu-
lating, and pausing to receive questions or
to elicit answers. But all he said, whatever
it was to others, was to me a highly spirituid
analysis of what most teachers endeavor to
lower and explain away the mystery and
integrity of the musical Art.
He touched very lightly upon theory, but
expounded sounds by signs in a manner of
hjs own which it is not necessary to com-
municate, as its results were those of no
system whatever, but was applied by wis-
dom, and enforced by gradual acquaintance.
y^Q did not begin to sing for at least half
mi hour, but he then unlocked a huge closet,
drew forth an enormo is board, and mapped
thereon in white chalk the exercise of hia
own preparation for our evenings^s practice.
These were pure, were simple, as his intro-
ductory address.
As I have said, the class was only just or-
ganized, but it was not a very small one ; there
must have been sixty or seventy present
that niglit. '' was in the topmost row of
altos, and as soon as we began to sing, I was
irresistibly attracted to those about me; and
to identify them with t^eir voices was for
me a singular fascination. I was but the
fourth from the wall on my side, and a
burner was directly above me. I took ad-
vantage of the light to criticise the counte-
nances of my nearer contemporaries, who
were all absorbed in watching our master's
evolutions. I could not look at him until I
had acquainted myself with my locality, as
far as I could without staring, or being
stared at. Next the wall, two boys (so alike
that they could only have been brothers)
nestled and bawled ; they were dark-hued,
yet sallow, and not inviting. I concluded
they came from some factory, and so they
did, they did not please me enough to de-
tain my attention ^they were beneath mj
own grade. So was a little girl nearest to
them, and next to me, but I could not help
regarding her. She had the most impertur-
bable gaze I ever met great eyes of a yel-
low hazel, with no more expression in them
than water but her cheel^ were brightly
colored, and her long auburn hair was curled
to her waist.
An ease pervaded her that was more than
elegance. She leaned and she lounged, sing-
ing in a flexible voice, without the slightest
eflbrt, and as carelessly as she looked. She
wore a pink gingham frock, ill made to a
degree, but her slender figure moved in and
out of it like a reed ; her hands were fitted
into discolored light kid gloves, and she' had
on an amber necklace. This alone would have
disgusted me, if she had not looked so uncon-
cerned, so strange, and if I had not thought
her hair so very pretty ; but I did, and, as I
have said, I could not avoid regarding her.
She had her bonnet in her lap (a bruised
muslin one, with tumbled satin strings) and
I was surveying it rather closely, when she
turned upon me, and whispered loud, not
low, (and then went on singing herself, in-
stantly,) "Why don't you sing?" Scared
and shocked, I drew myself away from her
as far as possible, and moved my eyes to my
other neighbor. It was a girl, too ; but I in-
stantly felt the words, " young lady" to be
appropriate, though I knew not whel-efore,
except that she was, as it were, so perfectly
self-possessed. She must be older than I
am (it occurred to me), but I could not teU
how much. She was, in fact, abou* fui' ui^o^.
It was some relief to look upon Uvr, aftjr
being attacked by the quick liith t^i^^
CHAliLES AUCilESTEK.
my right band, because sbe seemed as ut-
terly indisposed to address me, as the other
bad been determined. Sbe did not seem
even to see me, nor give the least glance at
anybody, or anything, except Lenhart Davy
and his board. Upon them she fastened her
^hole expression, and she sang with assidu-
ous calmness. So, though I sang too, fear-
ing my friend would observe my silence, I
turned quite towards my young lady, and
watched ber intensely she noticing me no
more than she would have noticed a fly
walking upon the wall, or upon Lenhart
Davy's board. I was very fastidious then,
whatever I may be now, and I seldom gazed
upon a face for the pleasure of seeing it. In
this instance, I experienced a feeling beyond
pleasure, so exquisitely did the countenance
beside me, harmonize with something in
myself. Not strictly fine, nor severely per-
fect in outline or of hue, this sweet face
shone in glory not its own : the most ardent
musical intention lay upon the eyes, the lips,
the brow ; and the deep lashes themselves
seemed born to shade from too much bright-
ness a beholder, like myself.
I thought her a young woman, and so sbe
was, compared with my age, at least ; but
my awe and ber exaltation were measured
by a distant self-possession towards me,
towards^ all. She was not dressed with
mucb more costliness than my wild little
rebuker, bit her plain black frock fitted her
beautifully, and her dark gloves, and the
dark ribbon on her hat, and her little round
muff, satisfied me as to her gentle and her
womanly pretensions.
In linking these adjectives you will realize
one of my infatuations wherever they are
substantively found. Enough ; I dared not
leave off singing, and my voice was rather
strong, so I could not clearly decide upon
her's, until Davy wrote up a few intervals
for unisons, which very few of us achieved
on the instant, ^my calm companion was
among those who did. Her voice was more
touching than any I bad ever beard, and a
true contralto ; only more soft than deep,
more distilling than low. But unknowing
as I was, I was certain she had sung, and
bad learned to sing, long before she had
joined the class; for in her singing there
was that purified quality which reminds one
(it did me) of filtered water, and she pro-
nounced most skilfully the varied vocables.
I felt afterwards that she must have been
annoyed at my pertinacious scrutiny, but
sbe betrayed not the remotest cognizance
of me or my regards ; and this indifference
compelled me to watch her far more than
sympathetic behavior would have done.
That evening seemed long to me while we
were at work, but I could not bear the
breaking up. I had become, as it were,
eonnected with my companions, though we
bad not exchanged a woid. I was rather
disposed to wait and see who would join
my little girl with her wild eyes, and my
serene young lady. I believe I should have
done so, but Lenhart Davy kindly came up
from below and shook hands with me, and
while, I was receiving and returning his
greeting, they were Tost in the genera^
crowd.
He took me himself down stairs to Mar-
gareth, who was awaiting me with a cloak
and a comforter in a little unfurnished
room ; and then be himself departed, look-
ing very tired.
CHAPTER Xn.
I DID not see him ag^in until the next
class-night. It was strange to find the same
faces about me, and al^ve all my two
heroines, dressed exactly as on the first
occasion, except that the pink frock was
rather less brilliant. I listened eagerly for
those pure tones to swell, communing with
my own, and I was not disappointed. We
did not sing anything that I can specify at
present ; but it was more than pleasure, it
was vitality to me, to fiing out my own
buoyant notes far and wide, supported, as
it were, by an atmosphere of commingling
sounds. I suppose, therefore, that I may
^bave been singing verjr loud, when the
daring little head out of the muslin bonnet
put itself into my face and chanted, in strict
attention to Davy's rules all the time, " How
beautifully you do sing 1" I was hushed for
the moment, and should have been vexed
if I had not been frightened, for I was
ridiculously timorous as a child.
She then brought from the crown of her
bonnet a paper full of bonbons, which she
opened and presented to me. I replied very
sharply in a low voice, " I don't eat while I
am singing;" and should have taken no
more notice of her, but she now raised up-
on me her large eyes to the full, and still
pushed the bonbon paper at me almost in
my face too. I was too well bred to pusb
it away, but too honest not to say, when
she stiU persisted in offering the saccharine
conglomeration, " I don't like curl papers."
The child turned from me with a fierce ges-
ture, but her eyes were now swimming in
tears. I was astonished, angry, melted. I
at length reproached myself ; and though I
could not bring myself to touch the colored
chocolates, crumpled up as they had been in
her hand, I did condescend to whisper,
" Kever mindl" and she took out her band*
kerchief to wipe her eyes.
Now all this while my young lady took
no heed, and I felt almost sure she must
have noticed us ; but she did uat twx^^ \k*
the \arg-e^' ft^ raov^^ti^ wa.^ 1 Q^Q*iJ^\^\ ^fi:^
S4
CHARLES AUOIIESTES.
self with botb. iTiat nigbt again Davy
joined me, and I only managed to catch a
fj^limpse of the muslin bonneted, holding her
bonbons still in one dirty glove, and with
the other taking the hand of a huge high-
ehonldered man going out with the crowd.
Oh ! Davy was too deep for me, and deli-
cate as deep I The next night of our meet-
ing, my number was moved to the other
Ride of my serene neighbor, who at present
divided me from the hazel eyes and the
ringlets. It never occurred to me that Tie
had done it ; I thought it to be a mistake,
and fully intended like a curious manikin,
to go back anotlier tiDie to my old quarters.
[ could not help looking at the little one to
see whether I was watched, but no ; with a
coquetry I was too young to appreciate, and
she ought to have been too young to exer-
cise, she sang with all her might; never
once turning her eyes towards me. I found
at length the fascinations of our choral force
too strong not to submerge her slight indi-
viduality, and soon I forgot she was there,
though I never forgot that serene voice
breathing by my side faint prophecies I
could not render to myself in any form, ex-
cept that they had to do with myself, and
with music alike my very own. 1 do not
think any musical taste was ever fed and
fostered early in an atmosphere so pure, as
mine ; for Lenhart Davy's class when fully
organized and entirely submitted to him,
seemed invested with his own double pe-
culiarity subdued, yet strong. We were
initiated this evening into an ancient an-
them whose effect, when it was permitted
to us to interpret, was such that I could not
repress my satisfaction, and I said aloud
though I did not confront my companion,
" That is something like I*^ My serene con-
tralto answered, strangely to my anticipa-
tions, and with the superior womanliness I
have ascribed to her, " Is it not glorious ?"
It was an anthem in the severe style, that
tells so powerfully in four-voiced harmony,
and the parts were copied upon gigantic
tablets in front, against the wall that was
Davy's background.
" I cannot see," said the other little crea-
ture, pulling the contralto's black silk gown.
" I am sorry for you," replied the other
"but. I believe that you can see, Laura, as
weU as I can ; you mean you will not trouble ,
yourself, or that you are idle to-night."
" And what if I do ? I hate those horrid
hymn sort of tunes, they will not be of any
Bse to me?"
"Silence I" uttered the voice of Lenhart
Davy ^there was seldom occasion for him
to say so, but just now there had been a
pause before we repeated the first move-
went of the antbetn.
He told me he had a little leisure that
evening and would take me home. I was
eochantedj nnd fully meant to ask him to
come in with me, but I nctuaJy forgot ft
until after he had turned away, liargarefli
reproved me very seriously, "Your sisters
would have asked him in, master Charles,
to supper." But the fact was I had been
occupied with my own world too much. I
had said to him directly we Were in tlic
street, " Dear Mr. Davy, who are those two
girls whose seats are the nearest to mine ?"
" They belong to tlie class like yourself,
as you perceive, hut they are not persons
you would be likely to meet anywhere
else "
"Vhy not, Sir? I should like to be
friends with all the singers."
Davy smiled : " So you may be, in singing,
and, I hope, will be ; but they are not all
companions for you out of the class. You
know that very well."
" I suppose. Sir, you mean that some are
poorer than we are, some not so well brought
up, some too old, and all that ?" *
" I did, certainly ; but not only so. Yo\
had better not make too many friends &t
your time of life ^rather too few than too
many. Ask your mother if I am not cor-
rect. You see she has a right to expect that
you should love home best at present."
" I always should love home best," I an-
swered quickly, and I remember well how
Davy sighed.
" I ou mean what even every boy must
feel, that you should like to make a home
for yourself; but the reward is after the race
the victory at the end of the struggle."
It appeared to me very readily that he
here addressed something in his own soul,
for his voice had fallen. I urged " Tknow
it, Sir ; but do tell me the names of those
two girls I won't let them know you told
me.
He laughed long and heartily. "Oh yes,
willingly ; you would soon have heard their
names though. The little one is Laura Le-
mark, the child of a person who has a great
deal to do with the theatres in this town,
and she is training for a dancer, besides being
already a singer in the chorus at a certain
theatre. Your mother would not like you to
visit her, you may be sure, and therefore you
should not try to know her. I placed you .
near her because she is the most knowing of
all my pupils except Miss Benette, the young
person who sat next to you this evening."
" With the lovely voice ? Oh, I should
never know her if I wished it."
" You need not wish it, but even if you
did she would never become troublesome in
any respect, she is too calm, too modest."
"And pray tell me. Sir, is she to be a dan-
cer too 1"
" No, oh no I she will decidedly become ^
one of the finest singers in England, but I
be\\eve B\i% V\\\. tLO\. ^ci \3c^Qi\i tVv^ stage."
" Y ou caAV Vh^ \Xi^XT^ ^^ ^V^i ^^Yt ^ ^wik\
youV
ii
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
* Yes, in tnis instance."
"Bnt why won't she go upon the stage?
eannotshe act?"
*^ She does not think she is called to it
by any special gift."
' Did she say those words, Sir ?"
'* Those very words."
" I thought she would just say them, Sir.
Does she know yon very well ?"
" She is my own pupil ?"
" Out of the class, Sir, I suppose."
'' Yes, I teach her in my house."
" Sir, I wish you taught me in your house."
" I should say too, that I wished it," an-
swered Davy sweetly, " but you have a sis-
ter to teach you at home, and Olara Benette
has no one."
"I should like to have no one to teach
me I mean ^if you would teach me. If my
mother said yes, would yoa, Sir ?"
" For a little while I would with pleasure."
"Why not long, Sir? I mean why only
for a little while ?"
"Because there are others of whom you
6nght to learn, and will learn I am persuad-
ed," he added, almost dreamiogly, as he
turned me to the moonlight now overspread
about us, and surv3yed me seriously ; " The
little violin-face, you know Charles, I can-
not be mistaken in those lincs.^'
" I would rather sing, Sir."
" Ah 1 that is because you hav% not tried
Anything else."
" But, Sir, you sing."
" I suppose I must say as Miss Benette
oes, * I have a special gift,' that way," re-
plied Davy, laughing.
"You have a special gift all the ways, I
think. Sir," 1 cried as I ran into our house.
I told Millicent all he had said, except that
Laura was to be a dancer, and yet I cannot
tell why I left this out, for there was that
about her fairly repelling me, and at the
Same time I felt as if exposed to some power
through her, and could not restrain myself
from & desire to see her again. Millicent
told ray mother all that I had said to Tier
the next morning at breakfast. My mother,
who had as much woddliness as any of us,
and that was just none, was.mightily amused
at my new interests ; she could not make up
Ler mind about the private lessons yet; she
thought me too young, and that I had plen-
ty of time before me ^at present the class
was sufficient excitement and gave me
enough to do. Olo quite coincided here;
she, if inythittg, thought it rather too much
alreftily, though a very good thing indeed.
CHAPTER XIIL
limXT time we met we began the anthem
after our rst exercise. Laura by this time
9he wss always Laura in my own world
nodded at me. She had on a ^eoft silk
frock to-night; and nurely no color could
have so enhanced the clarified brightness of
her strange eyes. Davy was pleased with
us, but not with our enunciation of certiin
syllables. He requested us as a favor to
practise between that meeting and the next.
There were a great many assents, and Lanra
was very open in her " yes." Miss Benette
whispered to herself, " of course." And I
unable to resist the opportunity, whispered
to her, " Does he mean that we are to pr.fO-
tise alone, or one by one ?"
" Mr. Davy will lend us our parts, and I
dare say will copy them on purpose," she
replied. " It will be better to practise alone,
or at least one or two Ugether, than a great
many or even a few. We can more easily
detect our faults."
"How well she speaks I" I thought, -
" quite as prettily as Millicent ; her accent
is very good I am sure," and I again ad-
dressed her. " I do not think you ha/e any
faults at all ^your voice seems .b.e to do
anything."
" I do nothing at all with it, it seems t^^
me, and that I have very little voice at pres-
ent: I think we had better not talk, be-
cause it seems so careless."
" Talk to me," broke in Laura from be-
yond Miss Benette; but I would not; t
steadily looked in front full of a new plan
of mine. I mnst explain that we proceeded
slowly, because Davy's instructions were
complete; perhaps too ideal for the majority,
but for some and for me there was an inef-
faceable conviction in every novel utterance.
Just before we separated, I ventured to
make my request. " Miss Benette I" I said,
and she almost stared, quite started to find
I knew her name ; " Mr. Davy told me who
you were will you let me come and prac-
tise with you ? He will tell you my name
if you must know it, bat 1 should so like to
sing with you ; I do so admire your voice."
I spoke with the most perfect innocence, at
the same time quite madly wishing to know
her; I did not mean to be overheard, but on
the instant Laura looked over.
" You don't ask w."
" Because I don't care about your voice."
I answered bluntly. She again gazed at nie
brightly, her eyes swimming.
"Oh hush!" whispered Miss Benette,
" you have hurt her, poor little thing."
"How very good you are!" I returned,
scarcely knowing what to say " I always
speak the truth."
"Yes, I should think so; but it is not
good taste to dislike Laura's voice, for it is
very pretty."
^ " Come, Miss Benette, do make haste and
tell me Vi\\ftt\vc ^oxjiVvlVX.xafe va%^^i^
lyoato-morro'N??^ ^ __ ^
" 1 clo not 1 iiii^Vl iw ^ATiS^-'^^ ^^
lobjecC**
S5
OHARLES AUOHESTER.
" Tell me where you live then."
^* In St Anthony^s Lane, just by the new
foundation. There is a tree in front, bnt no
garden. You must not come if you please
until after one o'clock, because I have to
practise for my other lessons.^'
" Good night."
She ran off, having bowed a little curtsey
"--Laura had left while we were talking.
" Now," thought I, " I shall have it all
oat, who she is, and what she does, aud I
will make Millicent go to see her." Davy
here joined me.
^^So you have made friends with Miss
Benette." '
" Yesj Sir ;" but I did not tell him I was
going to practise with her, for fear anything
should prevent my going.
^^ She is an excellent young person, and
will be a true artist. Nevertheless, remem-
ber my injunction ^ratlier too few friends
tlian too many."
" I mean to keep friends with her, and to
make my sister friends with her."
"Your sister does not want friends, I
should think."
" Oh Sir, did you ever find out who the
Conductor was?"
"Nobody knowsit is very singular,"
and he raised his voice, " that he has never
been heard of since, and had not been seen
before by anybody present, though so many
foreign professors were in the hall. In
Lrmdon they persist it was Mi lans- Andre,
though Andr^ has himself contradicted the
assertion."
" 1 should like to hear Milans-Andre."
" You will some day, no doubt."
" Do you think I shall ?"
" I feel in myself quite sure. Now, good
night to you."
" Do come in, Sir, and have some supper,
please."
But Davy was off in the moonlight, be-
fore the door could be opened into our
house.
When I told Millicent I was going to
practise with one of the class, she thought
fit to tell my mother. My mother made
various inquiries, but I satisfied her by
assuring her it was one of Davy's own
pupils, and his favorite; and I contrived
not to be asked whether it was a young
lady, I let them think just at that time it
was a young gentleman about my own
standing.' The only direct iiy unction laid
upon me was, that I should be home for tea
at five oVlock, and as I did not leave our
house until after our one o'clock dinner,
this did not give me much time ; but I ran
the whole way.
I forgot to mention that Davy had lerft
each of us our parts beautifully copied ; at
/ifosl he hdd lent them to all who engaged
to practise, and I was one. I had rolled it
op verjr neatly.
I soon found the honse, but 1 wa^ */
tainly astonished when I did find it. I could
not believe such a creature as Miss Benette
could remain, so bright, buried down there.
It wau the last house of a very dull row, all
let out in lodgings the meanest in the town
except the very poor.
It was no absurd notion of relative ir
feriority with which I surveyed it; I was
pained at the positive fact, tliat the person
to whom I had taken such a fancy should be
obliged to remain where I felt as if I should
never be able to breathe. I lingered but a
moment though, and then I touched a little
heavy distorted knocker that hung nearly at
the bottom of the door; how unlike I
thought to Lenhart Davy's tiny castle under
lock and key ! Presently the door was
opened by a person, the like of whom I had
never seen in all my small experience-^
universal servant, required to be ubiquitous ;
let this description sufiice. I asked ibr Miss
Benette. " The first door to the right, up-
stairs," was the reply ; and passing along a
dark entry, I began to ascend them, steep
and carpetless. I seemed, however, to re-
vive when I perceived how lately the
wooden steps had been washed ; there was
not a foot-mark all the way up to the top,
aud they smelt of soap and water.
I found several doors to embarrass me on
the landing, all painted black, but I heard
tones in one direction that decided me to
knock. A voice as soft as Millicent's re-
sponded, " Come in."
O how strangely I felt when I entered I
to the full as strangely as when I first saw
Davy's sanctum. No less a sanctum this, I
remember thinking, to the eyes that behoH
the pure in heart. It was so exquisitely
tidy. I felt at once that my selfish sensi-
bilities had nothing to fear ; the room was
indeed small, and no book walls darkened
gloriously the daylight; the fireplace was
hideous, the carpet coarse and glaring, the
paper was crude green ^I hate crude greens
more than yellow blues and the chairs
were rush-bottomed, every one. But she
for whom I came was seated at the window
singing ; she held some piece of work in her
hand, which she laid upon the table when I
entered. Pardon my reverting to the table ;
I could not keep my eyes from it. It was
covered with specimens of work ; such work
as I had never seen, as I shall never see
again, though all my sisters could embroider,
could stitch, could sew with the very best-
She did not like me to look at it though, I
thought, for she drew me to the window by
showing me a chair she had set for me close
beside her own. The only luxury amidst
the furniture was a mahogany music-stand,
which was placed before our two seats.
One part lay upon, the stand, but it was not
in Lenhavt. Dav^ a a.\\\^tivM
" Did yovx copy Wi^X. po^^i ^wa^^l^"^.,^
CHARLES AUOHEfciTfiR.
vrt
jer.ette?" said I, (unable to restrain the
iiaestion.)
** Yes,, I thought it too much that Mr.
Davy should copy all the parts himself for
us."
''Ooesht*^"
**Nh yes, jid yoi. not kux/W it? 3ut we
^ust u'-t talk, we mi-st wofK. Le us be
3ry CiuafuL''
*^ You show me how ; please to sing it
once alone."
She struck the tuning-fork upon the desk,
and without the slighest hesitation, flu8h,or
effort, she began. One would not hare
deemed it an incomplete fragment of score,
it resounded in my very brain like perfect
harmony, so strangely did my own ear in-
fer the intermediate sounds.
" Oh how lovely ! how exquisite it must
be to feel you can do so much I" I exclaim-
ed, as her unfaltering accent thrilled the last
amen.
^* I seem never to have done any tiling, as
I told you before, it is necessary to do so
much. Now sing it a'one once all through,
and I will correct you as* Mr. Davy corrects
me.
n
I complied instantly, feeling her very pres-
ence would be instruction, forgetting, or not
conscious how young she was. She cor-
rected me a great deal, though with the ut-
most simplicity. I was astonished at the
depth of her remarks, though too ignorant
to conceive that they broke as mere ripples
from the soundless deeps of Genius. Then
we sang together, and she wandered into
the soprano part. I was transported ; I was
eager to retain her good opinion, and took
immense pains. But it never struck me all
the time that it was strange she should be
alone ; apparently alone I mean. I was too
purely happy in her societv. She sate as
serenely as at the class, anu criticised as se-
verely as our master.
*^ It is getting late," she said at last, ^^ and
I think you had better go. Besides I must
go on with my work. If you are so kind
as to practise with me again, I must work
while I sing, as I do when I am alone.^
" Oh, why did you not to-day ?"
" I thought it would not be polite, the
first time," answered she, as gravely as a
judge, and I never felt so delighted with
anything in all my life. I looked up at her
eyes, but the lashes were so long that I
could not see them, for sJie was looking
down.
" Will you think me rude if I ask to look
At your work ?"
" You may look at what I am going to
send to the shop."
"Oh, what shop?"
She got out of her chair and moved to the
table. There was no smile upon her baby-
montb. She pointed to the articles I had
noticed^ but bad not dared toexamiuo. Tlit-y
were indeed sights to see, one and e.'.. Sarit
delicate frock-bodies and sprigged oupa fvr
infants, such toilette cushions rich with
patterns like ingrained pearls, such rolls of
lace with running gossamer leaves, or edged
fine as the pinked carnations in Davy^s gar-
den. There were also collars with broad
white leaves and peeping buds, or wreathing
eiiAbroidery like sea-weed, or blanched moss,
or magnified snow, or whatever you can
think of as most unlike work. Then there
was a central basket, lined with white
satin, in which lay six cambric handker-
chiefs, with all the folded corners outwards,
each corner of which shone as if dead-sil-
vered with the exquisitely wrought crest and
motto of an ancient coroneted family.
" Oh, I never did see anything like them I"
was all I could get out, after peering into
everything till the excelling whiteness pain-
ed my sight. " Do tell me where you send
them ?"
^^ I used to send them to Madame Yar-
neckePs, in. High Street, but she cheated me,
and I send them now to the Quaker's in
Albemarle Square."
" You sell them, then ?"
" Yes, of couse ; I 'should not work else,
I do not love it."
" They ought to give you a hundred guin-
eas for those."
" I have a hundred guineas already."
" You have!" I quite startled her by the
start I gave. I very nearly said, *Then
why do you live up here ?" but I felt in time
that it would be rude.
" Oh I I must get four hundred more, and
that will take me two years, or perhaps
three, unless my voice comes out like a
flower." Here her baby-mouth burst into a
smile most radiant, a rose of light I
"Oh, Miss Benette, everything you say
is like one of the German stories, aMarchen,
you know."
" Oh, do you talk German ? I love it, I
always spoke it till I came to this city."
" What a pity you came at least I should
have been very sorry if you had not come ;
but I mean, I should have thought you would
like Germany best."
" So I should, but I could not help coming,
I was a baby when I came. Mr. Davy
brought me over in his arms, and he was
just as old then as I am now."
"How very odd! Mr. Davy never told
me he had brought you here."
" Oh no, he would not tell you all the
good things he has done/'
" He has done me good, quite as much
good as he can have done to you, but I
should so like to hear all about it."
"You must not stay, you shall go," she
answered, with her grave awe^tuasa c^C'^^nrj^
\aiid maimer, '''' WiWi ^^qtol ^x^\iQ\\\^*0ssife\R-
be very acxr^^lox \\\V^\.^ ^vcv^ ^\^x N^^i^vi..
CHARLES AUCHESTER.
I WAS not in time, and I gut tlie nearest
tiling to a scolding from my mother, and a
long reproof from Olo. She questioned me
OS to where I had been, and I was obliged
to answer; the locality did not satisfy her,
0he said it was a low neighborhood, and one
in which I might catch all sorts of diseases.
I persisted that it was as high and dry as
wo were, and possessed an advantage over
ns in that it had better air, being as it was,
all bat ont in the fields. My mother was
rather pnzzlod abont the whole matter, bnt
she declared her confidence in me, and I
was contented as she ever contents me. I
was very grateful to her, and assured them
all how superior was Miss Benette to all the
members of the class. I also supplicated
MiDicent to accompany me the next time I
should be allowed to go, that she might see
the beautiful work.
*' I cannot go, my dear Charles," she re-
turned; "if this young lady be what yon
make her ont to yourself, it would be taking
a great liberty, and besides, she could not
want me, I do not sing in the class.'*
Bnt she looked very mnch as if she wished
she did.
"I just wish you wonld ask Mr. Davy
about her, that*s all."
CHAPTER XIV.
When I went to the class next time, I
was very 'eager to catch Mr. Davy, that I
i^ight explain to him where I had been, for
I did not like acting without his cognizance.
However, he was already down below when
I arrived. My fair companions were both
in their places, but to my astonishment Miss
Benette took no notice of me. Her sweet
face was as grave as it was before I caught
from under those long lashes the azure light
upon ray own for the first time. Certain
that she did not mean to offend me, I got
on very well though, and Davy was very
much pleased with our success.
Little Laura looked very pale, hei' hair
was out of its curl, and altogether she had
an appearance as if she had been dragged
through a river, lost and forlorn, and scarce-
ly sensible. She sang languidly, but Miss
Benette's clinging tones would not suffer
me to be aware of any except her's and my
own.
Davy taught us something about Grego-
rian chants, and gave us a few to practise,
besides a new but extremely simple service
of his own. " He wrote that for us, I sup-
pose," I ventured, and Clara nodded se-
riously, but made no assent in words. After-
^arda bhe seornod tc/ remember me again as
Her Hl}yt for as Day^ wtehet * us his adieu in
his wonted free *^ Goo^ nigfat,'^ she spoke to
me of her own accord.
" I think it was aU the better thatr we
practised."
^^Oh, was it not? suppose we practise
again."
" I should like it if you will come at the
same time, and not stay longer. 'And Lanra
can come, too ; can she not ?"
I did not exactly like this idea, bnt I
could not contradict the calm mellow voice.
" Oh, if she will practise."
" Of course she will practise, if she comes
on purpose."
" I don't care abont coming I" exclaimed
the child in a low fretful voice, " I know I
shan't get out either."
" Yes, you shall ; I will coax yonr papa.
Look I Laura, there he is waiting for yon."
The child ran off instantly, with an air
of fear over all her fatigue, and I felt sure
she was not treated like a child. But I said
nothing about it then.
" Sir 1" said I to Mr. Davy, ** pray walk a
little way, for I want to tell you something.
My mother particularly requests that you
will go to our house to sup with us this
evening."
"I will accept her kindness with the
greatest pleasure, as I happen to be less en^
gaged than usual."
Davy never bent his duty to his plea.suro
rather the reverse.
" I went to practise with Miss Benette th
day before yesterday."
" So she told me."
" She to?d yon herself?"
"Yes, when she came to my house for
her lesson last afternoon. I was very glad
to hear it, because such singing as her's will
improve yours. But I should like to tell
your mother how she is connected with
me."
" How was it. Sir ?"
" Oh, T shall make a long story for her,
but enough for you that her father was very
good to me when I was an orphan boy, and
begged my way through Germany. He
taught me all th'at I now teach you, and
when he died, he asked me to take care of
his baby and his lessons. She was only
bom that he might see her, and die."
"Oh, Sir, how strange I poor man, he
must have been very sorry."
" He was not sorry to go, for he loved
his wife, and she went first."
" Oh, that was Miss Benette's mamma'?^
" Yes, her lovely mamma."
"Of course she was lovely. If you
please, Sir, tell me about her, too." feut
Davy reserved his tale until we were at
home.
My mother fully expected him, it was
evident; for upon the table, besides the
plain but perfectly ordered meal we always
eigoyed about nine o'clock, stood- the super-
OHAHLES AOCHESmB.
2U
aumerary niostrationfr ^!n honor of a guest
of boiled custards, puff pastry, and our
choices^ preserves. My mother, too, was
sitting by the fire in a species of state, hav-
ii)g her hands void of occupation, and her
pocket-banderchief outspread. MilHcentand
Lydia wore their dahlia-colored poplin frocks
quite a Sunday costume-Hiud Olo re-
vealed herself in purple silk; singularly
adapted for evening wear, as it looked black
by candlelight I
I never sate up to supper except on very
select occasions ; I knew tliis would be one
without being told so, and secured the next
chair to my darling friend^s.
I would that I could recall in his own ex-
pressive language, his exact relation of his
own history as told to us that night. It
struck us that he should so earnestly ac-
quaint us with every incident, at least it
surprised us then, but his after connexion
with ouroelves explained it in that future.
Ko fiction could be more fraught with
fascinating personality than his actual life.
I pass over his birth in England (and in
London) in a dark room over a dull book-
shop, in his father's house. That father,
from pure breeding and constitutional ex-
closiveness, had avoided all intorcourse with
his class, and conserved his social caste by
his marriage only. I linger not upon his
roniembrance of his mother, Sybilla Len-
hart, herself a Jewess, with the most ex-
quisite musical ability, nor upon lier death
in her only son's tenth year.
His father's pining melancholy, meantime
deepened. into an aXtraction of misery on
her loss ^ the world and its claims lost their
hold, and he died insolvent, when Lenhart
was scarcely twelve.
Then came his relation of romantic wan-
derings in southern France and Germany,
like a troubadour, or minnesinger, with guitar
and song; of his accidental friendships and
fancy fraternities, till he became choir-alto
at a Lutheran church in the heart of the
ichen-Land. Then came the story of his
attachment to the young sage organist of
that very church, who, in a fairy-like ad-
venture, had married a count's youngest
daughter, and never dared to disclose his
alliance. Of her hdcret existence with him
in the topmost room of an old house, where
she never dared to look out of the window
to the street, for fear she should be discov-
ered and carried back ^the etiquette requi-
site to cover such an abduction being quite
alien from my comprehension, by the way I
-rbutso Davy assured us she found it ne-
cessary to abide. Of their one beautiful
Infant bom in the old house, and the curious
aaintly earving about its wooden cradle.
Of the young mother, too hastily weaned
from luxurious calm to the sts'uggling dream
of poverty, or at least, uncertain thrift. Of
^r fading, faliing into a stealthy sickness.
and of the night she ky (a Sunday ntgbtX
and heard the organ strains swell up and
melt into the moonlight, from beneath her
husband's hand. Of Lenliart Davy s pres-
ence with her alone that night, unknowing,
until the music peal was over, that hereoul
had passed to heaven, as it were, in that
cloud of music.
But I must just observe that Davy made at
light as possible of his own pure and ch&r-
HCteristic decision developed even in boy-
hood. He passed over, almost without com-
ment, the more than elder brotherly care he
muHt have bestowed on the beautiful infant,
and dwelt, as if to divert us from that point,
upon the woeful cares that had pressed upon
his poor friend ; upon his own trouble when
the young organist himself, displaced by
weakness from his position, made his own
end, even as Lenhart's father, an end of sor-
row and of love.
Davy, indeed, merely mentioned that he
had brought little Clara to England himself,
and left her in London with his own mother's
sister, whose house he always reckoned his
asylum, if not his home. And then he told
us of his promise to Clara's father that she
should be brought up musically, and that no
one should educate her until she should be
capacitated to choose her own masters, ex-
cept Davy, to whom her father had impart-
ed a favorite system of his own.
I remember his saying, in conclusion, to
my mother, "You must think it strange,
dear madam, that I brought Miss Bonette
away from London and alone. I would not
remain in London myself, and I have known
for years that her voice in itself would be-
come to her more than the expected heri-
tage. Ky aunt taught her only to work ;
this was my stipulation, and she now not
only supports herself by working, for she is
very independent, but is in possession of a
separate fund besides, which is to carry her
through a course of complete instruction
elsewhere, -perhaps in Italy or Germany."
I saw how much my mother felt impress-
ed by the dignity and self-reliance that so
characterised him, but I scarcely expected
she would take so warm an interest in hia
protegee. She said she should like to see
some of Miss Benette's work, and again 1
descanted on its beauties and varieties, sup-
ported by my hero, who seemed to admire
it almost as much as I did.
^^ Then I may go and practice with Miss
Benette ?" I said, in conclusion.
"Oh certainly, and you must ask her to
come and see you some evening when Mr.
Davy is kind enough to drink tea with us,"
That curious little Laura, too, thought J,
they would not like Ar so well I fancy, but
though I do dislike her myself, I wish I could
find out what they do with her.
I was a going to practise the day after the
next, and, uvfe\\iOT*^\^l i*^ ^\^^^\^rftf^'^'^^
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
CHAPTER XV.
I TOK a very small pot of honey for Miss
Benette ; Millicent had begged it for me of
Lydia, who was qneen-bee of the store-
closet. I ran all the wny as nsnal, and was
very glad to get in. The same freshness
peryaued the staircase, but, when I reached
the black door, I ^eard two voices instead
of one. I was ratlior pnt out; "Laura is
there, I shall not like singing with her, it is
very tiresome." I stood still and listened ;
it was very lovely. How ineffable mnsio
must be to the blind I yet oh to miss that
which may be embraced by sight I I knock-
ed, and they did not hear me ; again they
both ceased singing, and Lanra ran to the
door. Instead of being dressed in her old
clothes, she perfectly startled me by the
change in her costnmea glittering change,
and one from herself, for through it she ap-
peared unearthly, and if not spiritual, some-
thing very near it. Large gauze pantaloons,
drawn in at the ancles, looked like globes
of air about her feet, her white silk slippers
were covered with spangles; so also was
her frock, and made of an illusive material
like clouds, and her wide sash knotted at
her side was edged with silver fringe. Her
amber necklace was no more there, but on
her arms she had thick silver rings, with
httle cliuking bells attached. She wore her
hair, not in those stray ringlets, but drawn
into two broad plaits, unfastened by knot or
ribbon, but a silver net covered all her head
behind, though it met not her forehead in
front, over wliose wide but low expanse her
immense eyes opened themselves, like lus-
trous moons.
"Miss Leraark!" cried I, unfeignedly,
" what are you going to do in that dress ?"
" Come, Master Auchester, do not trouble
her, she must be ready for her papa when
Le calls, so I have dressed her in order that
she might practise with us."
"Miss Benette," I answered, "I think it
is most extremely pretty, though very queer,
and I did not mean to teaze her. I wish
you would tell me why you put it on
though."
"To dance in" said Laura composedly,
' I am going to dance in Scheradez, or the
* Magic Pumpkin.' It is so pretty 1 But
Miss Benette is so kind to me ; she lets me
have tea with her tlie nights I dance."
" But do you live in this house, then ?"
"Oh, I wish I didl Oh Clara, I wish I
did live with you !" and she burst into a fit
of her tears.
Miss Benette arose and came to her, lay-
ing down a piece of muslin she was em-
broidering, " Do not cry dear ; it will spoil
your pretty frock ; besides, Master Auches-
ter has comelKon purpose to sing, and yon
detain him."
Ltiura instantly sat on the chair before
the music-stand, her dtaphonoos skirts stood
round her like the petals of a flower, and
with the tears yet undried, she began to
sing, in a clear little voice as expressiouxess
as her eyes, but as enchanting to the full, as
her easy painless movements. It was very
pleasurable work now, and Clara corrected
us both, she all the while sustaining a punt
golden soprano.
" I am tired," suddenly said Laura.
" Then go into the other room and rest h
little. Do not ruffle your hair, which I have
smoothed so nicely, and be sure not to lie
down upon the bed, or you will make those
light skirts as flat as pancakes."
" How am I to rest then ?"
" In the great white chair."
" But I don't want to sit still, I only mean
I am tired of singing ; I want to dance my
pas
"Then go into the other room all the
same there is no carpet, it is best."
" I don't like dnncing in that room, it is
80 small."
"It is not smaller than this one. The
fact is you want to dance to Master Au-
chester."
" Yes, so I do."
** But he came to sing, not to see you."
" I should like to see her dance though,"
said I ; "do let her. Miss Benette !" .
" If you can stay. But do not begin the
whole of that dance, Laura, only the finalfe,
because there will not be time, and you will
besides become too warm, if you dance
from the begiiming, for the cold air you
must meet on your way to the theatre."
Miss Benette's solemn manner had great
authority over the child, it was certain; she
waited until the elder had put aside the
brown table, " That you may not blow my
bits of work about and tread upon them,"
she remarked. "Shall I sing for you,
Laura ?"
" Oh please do ! pray do I Miss Benette,"
I cried, " it will be so charming."
She began gravely as' in the anthem, but
with the same serene and genial perfection,
to give the notes of a wild measure, in triple
time though not a waltz.
Laura stood still and gazed upwards until
the opening bars had sounded, then she
sprang as it were into space, and her whole
aspect altered. Her cheeks grew flushed as
with a fiery impulse, her arms were stretch-
ed, as if embracing something more etherial
than her own presence ; a suavity that was
almost langour, at the same time took pos-
session of her motions. The figure was fall
of difficulty, the time rapid, the step abso-
lutely twinkling. I was enraptured I wtv^
lost in this kind of wonder "How very
strange tlmt any one should call dancii^T
wrong, when it is like that I How extraor-
dinary that every one does- not thluk u
lovely 1 How mysterious that no ou ?h o u 1 . ;
CHARLKS AUOHESTER.
91
talk about her as a very great wonder ! She
is almost as great a wonder as Miss Benet te.
I should like to know whether Mr. Davy
has seen her dance/'
But though I called it dancing, as I snp-
posed I must, it was totally unlike all that I
had considered dancing to be. She seemed
now suspended in the air, her feet flew out
with the spangles like a shower of silver
iparks, her arms were flung above her, and
the silver bells as she floated by me without
even brushing my coat, clinked with a
thrilling monotone against Clara's voice.
Again she whirled backwards, and letting
her arms sink down, as if through water or
some resisting medium, fell into an attitude
that restored the undulating movement to
her frame, while her feet again twinkled,
and her eyes were raised. " Oh 1" I ex-
claimed, " how lovely you look when you
do that !" for the expression struck me sud-
denly ; it was an illumination as from above,
beyond the clouds, giving a totally different
aspect from any other she had worn. But
lost in her maze, she did not, I believe, hear
me. She quickened and quickened her
footsteps till they merely skimmed the carpet,
and with a slide upon the very air, shook
the silver bells as she once more arched her
arms, and made a deep and spreading rev-
erence. Miss Benette looked up at me and
smiled.
** Now you must go, it is your time, and
I want to give Laura her tea."
" I have brought you some honey. Miss
Benette, will you eat it with your bread ?
It IS better than bonbons, Miss Laura."
" I did not care for the bonbons, I only
thought you would like them they gave
them to me at rehearsal."
*''' Do you go to rehearsal then, as well as
the singers ?"
" I go to rehearse in the ballet, and when
there is no ballet, I sing in the chorus."
** But you are so little, do you always
dance 1"
"I am always to dance now, I did not
until this season."
Her voice was dreamy and cold, the flush
had already faded, she seemed not speaking
with the slightest consciousness.
"Do go. Master Auchesterl" and Olara
looked at me from her azure eyes as kindly
as if she smiled, " Do go, or she will have no
tea, and will be very tired ; I am so much
obliged to you for the sweet yellow honey,
I shall keep it in my closet, in that pretty
blue jar."
I would have the blue jar, though Lydia
wanted me to take a white one.
**0 pray eat the honey, and give mf the
Jar to fill again 1 I won't stay, don'L be
afraid, but good night. Won't you let me
shake hands with you, Miss Lemark ?" for
she still stood apart^ like a reed in a sultry
day. She looked at me directly, ''Goofl
night, dear." I was so inexpressibly touched
by the tone, or the manner, or the myste-
rious something-^that haunted her dancing
in her ; that I added, " Shall I bring you
some flowers next class night?"
" If you please."
" Oh do go. Master Auchester, I prajed
you ten minutes ago."
"I am gone." And so I was, and this
time I was not too late for my own tea at
home.
There must be something startlingly per-
fect in that which returns upon the soul with
a more absolute impression, after its ab-
straction of our faculties has passed away.
So completely had the fascination of those
steps sufficed, that I forgot the voice of Miss
Benette, resounding all the time, and only
associated in my recollection the silver mo
no tone of the clinking bells with the lulling
undulation, the quivering feet. All night
long when I dreamed it was so ; and when
I awoke in the morning (as usual) I thought
the evening before a dream.
I dared not mention Laura to any one ex-
cept Millicent, but I could not exist without
some species of sympathy, and when I had
finished all my tasks, I entreated her to go
out with me alone. She had some pur-
chases to make, and readily agreed ; it was
a'great treat to me to walk with her at any
time. I cannot recollect how I introduced
the subject, but I managed to ask somehow,
after some preamble, whether my mother
thought it wrong to dance in public.
"Of course not," she replied directly,
" some people are obliged to do so in order
to live they excel in that art as others ex-
cel in other arts, and it i a rare gift to pos-
sess the faculty to excel in that, as in all
other arts."
"So, Millicent, she would not mind ray
knowing a dance-artist any more than any
other artist ?"
" Certainly it is the greatest privilege to
know true artists, but there are few in the
whole world. How few thei? there must be
in our little corner of it I"
"You call Mr. Davy an artist, I sup-
pose ]"
" I think he pursues art as a student, who
having learned its first principles for himselt
is anxious to place others in possession of
them, before he himself soars into its higher
mysteries. So far I call him philanthropist
and aspirant, but scarcely an artist."
" Was our Conductor an artist ?"
"Oh I I should think so no doubt. Why
did you ask me about artists, Ohanes ?"
" Oh, I suppose y(u would not call a litile
girl an artist, if she were as clever as poij-
sible. There is a little girl at the class who
sits very near me. She is a great favorite
of Miss Benette. Such a curious child, Mil-
licent! I could not endure her till yester-
day eveuViv^. ^\\^ \?a \N\^^^Cv!iRX!L\^'%x^.
CHARLES AUGIIESTER.
to practise, all ready dreesed for the theatre.
She looked a mofit lovely thing, not like a
person at all, but as if- she oonldfiy; and
she wore snoh beautiful clothes I'*
Millioent was evidently very maoh sur-
prised.
^^She lives with Miss Benette, then,
Charles ?"
^ Oh, no I for I asked her, and she said
she wished she did. I should rather think
lomebody or other is unkind to her, for Miss
llenette seems td pity her so much. Well,
I was going to tell you, Millicent, she danced.
Oh, it was beyond everything I You never
saw anything so exquisite. 1 could hardly
watch her about the room, one quite swam,
and turned her eyes upwards. She looked
quite different from what she was at the
class."
*^ I shodld think so ; I have always heard
that stage dandng is very fascinating, but I
have never seen it you know, and I do not
think mother would like you to see her
often, for she considers you too young to go
to a theatre at all."
" Why should I be ?"
'^^I don^t know all her reasons, but the
chief one I should suspect to be, is that it does
not close until very late, and that the ballet
b the last thing of all in the entertainment."
*^Yes, I know the ballet. Laura does
dance in the ballet, she told me so. Bat
she danced in the daylight when I saw her,
so there could be no harm in it."
^^ N'o harm I there is no harm in what is
beautiful ; but mother likes you to be fresh
for everything you do in the' daytime, and
that cannot be unless you sleep early no less
than well. She asked roe the other day
whether I did not think you looked very
pale the mornings after the classes."
" Oh what did you say ?"
" I said, ^ he is always pale, dear mothet,
but he never looks so refreshed by any
sleep, as when he comes down those morn-
ings, I think.' "
^^ Dear Millicent I yon are so kind, I shall
never forget it. Now do come and call
upon Miss Benette."
"My dear Charles! I have never been
introduced to her."
" How formal, to be sure I She would be
80 glad if we went, she would love you
directly everybody does."
"I do not wish they should, Charles.
You must know very well I had better keep
away, I do not belong to the class, and if
ebe lives alone, she of course prefers not to
bo intruded upon by strangers."
. " Of course not, generally. I am sure she
oaght not to live alone. She mnst be want-
it g somebody to speak to, sometimes."
" You are determined she shall have you,
at all events."
" Oh, no I I am nothing to her, I know
bot I can eing^ so she iikes me to go "'
'* I Buppose she is quite a woman, CLarlesP
"Oh ye3, she w fourteen."
" My dear Charles, she cannot live aione;
she is but a child, then. I thought her sc
much older than that."
"Oh, did not Mr. Davy say the otlu
night ?"
" I did not notice, I do not think so."
^ Oh, he told me the tirst time I ask^
him about her."
Millicent laughed again, as we walked on,
at the idea of her living alone. I still pei-
sisted it was a fact
CHAPTER XVI.
Tns next being our night, after dinner tnt)
next da}', I went to my garden. It wm
growing latest Autumn, but still we had had
no frosts; my monthly roses were in full
bloom, my fuchsias flower-laden. Then 1
had a geranium or two, labelled with my
name, in the little greenhouse. I gathered
as many as I could hold in both my hands,
and carried tliera into the parlor.
" You have some flowers there," said Clo
with condescension.
" It is a pity to gather them when there
are so few out," remarked Lydia, without
lifting her eyes from her work.
I took no notice of them.. Millicent beck
oned me out of the parlor.
" I will give you some ribbon, Charles, if
you will come to my room."
So she did ; and she arranged my floweis
so as to infuse into Uieir autumnal aspect
the glow of summer, so skilfully she grouped
the crimson of the geraniums against the
pale roses and purple stocks. I set forth,
holding them in my hand. For the first
time, I met Davy before I went in. He
shook hands, and asked me to come to tea
with him on the raoiTow.
Clara was there alone. She greeted me
gravely, and yet I thought she would have
smiled, had there not been something to
make her grave.
"Miss Benette!" I whispered, but she
would not answer.
Davy had just emerged below. We were
making rapid progress. I always made way,
not only because my ear was true, and my
voice pure, but because I was sustained by
the purest voice, and the truest ear in the
class. But now the other voices grew able
to support themselves, and nothing can be
imagined more perfect in its way than the
communion of the parts as they exactly bal-
anced each other ; the separate voices toned
down and blended into a full effect that ex-
tinguished any sensible difference between
one and another.
{
OHAELKS ADCTTESTER.
8.1
Sj:^'*
I am fery r* -tter of fact I know, but that
is better than lo be oornmoD place, and not
the same thinj^, though they are often con-
founded. If the real be the ideal, then is
the mattc-r of fact the true. This ghost of
an aphorism &talked forth from my brain,
Vnose chambeis are unfraught with bookr
lore as with worldly knowledge and to lay
its phantomship, I am compelled to commit
it to paper.
I conld not make Clara attend to me until
all was over. Then she said to me of her
own accord.
"Little Laura is ill, she caught cold after
she danced the ot'jnr evening, and lias been
Jn bed since."
"Will you harf these flowers then? I am
airaid they are hiXf faded, though my hand
is very cool."
" I will tako them to Laura, she has no
flowers."
*^I am very sorry, I hope it was not my
fault. I mean I hope it did not tire her to
(fence before me first."
" Oh no, it was her papa's fault for letting
iier come into the cold air without being
well wrapped up. She had a shawl to put
on, and a cloak besides of mine, but ner
papa gave them to somebody else."
" How dreadfully unkind I Is it her papa
who did such a thing?"
" Her own father. But look Master Au-
chester, there is Mr. Davy beckoning to you.
And I must go, my nurse is waiting for
me."
"So is mine, down-stairs. Have you a
onrse too ?"
"I call her so, she came from Germany
to find me, and now I take care of her."
I was very anxious to see how Davy
would address his adopted child, who num-
bered half his years, and I still detained her,
hoping that he would join us. I was not
mistaken, for Davy smiling to himself at my
obstinate disregard of his salute, stepped up
through the intervening forms : " So you
would not come down Charles I I wanted
to ask you to come early, as I wish to try
your voice with Miss Benette^s. Come at
;east by five o'clock."
He looked at Clara and I looked at her.
"Without a smile upon her sweet face, (but
in the plenitude of that infantine gravity
which so enchanted the not youngest part
oi myself,) she bowed to him and answered,
" If you please, Sir. Then I am not to come
m the morning."
" Oh yes, in the morning also if yon can
spare time. You know why I wish to hear
you sing together."
"Yes, Sir you told me. Good night,
Master Auchester, and Sir, to you."
And she ran out, having replaced her
black bonnet and long veil. Davy spoke a
few words of gratified commendation in
reference to our universal progress, and then,
C
as the room was nearlv empty, brought me
down stairs. I asked him about Laura.
" Oh I she is not dangerously ill."
"But Isunpose she may be suffering,^ 1
added, in a sharp tone, for which I had beAD
reproved times without number, at home.
" Why as to that we must aU instruct our-
selves to suffer. I am very sorry for iny
little pupil. She has had an attack of inflam
mation, but is only now kept still by weak
ness, Miss Benette tells me.
" Miss Benette is very good to herJ think."
"Jfiss Benette is very good to every-
body," said Davy earnestly, with a strange
bright meaning in his accent. I looked up
at him but it was too dark to see his expres-
sive face, for now we were in the street.
" She is good to me but could hardly he
so to you. Sir. She savs you have aone
everything for her, and ao still."
" 1 try to do my duty by her ; but I owe
to her more than I can ever repay."
How curious to be sure I I thought, but
I did not say so ^there was a preventive
hush in his tone and manner.
" I should so like to know what we shall
sing to-morrow."
" So you shall Uhtnarr&u), but to night I
scarcely know myself. I will come in witli
you that I may obtain your mother's permis-
sion to run away with you again. But not
to another Festival just yet : I could almost
say would that it were."
"I could quite. Sir."
" But we must make a musical feast ooiw
selves, you and I."
" Oh Sir! pray let me be a side-dish."
" That you shall be. Bat here we are."
Supper was spread in our parlor, and my
sisters looked a perfect picture of health,
comfort, and interest three beatitudes of
domestic existence. Lydia answered to the
first, Clo to the second, (she having fallen
asleep in her chair by the charmingly bril-
liant fire,) and dear Millicent, on our en-
trance, to the third ; for she looked half up
and glowed, the fire-light played upon her
brow, but there was a gleam, more Hk)
moonlight, upon her lips as she smiled to
welcome us. My mother fresh from a dose,
sympathetic with Clo, extended her hand
with all her friendliness to Davy, and forced
him to sit down and begin upon the
plate she had filled, before she would suffer
him to speak. It was too tormenting, but
so it was, that she thought proper to send
me to bed after I had eaten a slice of bread
and marmalade, before he had finished eat-
ing. I gave Millicent a look into her eyes,
however, which I knew she understood, and
I therefore kept awake, expecting her after
Margareth had put out my candle. My fear
was lest my mother, dear creature, should
come up first, for I still slept in a corner of
her room ; but I knew Davy could not leave
without my kncwing it, as every sound
34
CHAELES AUCHESTER.
pasaed into my brain from below. Af last
I listened for the stops for wliich I was al-
ways obliged to listen soft as ber tonoh and
gentle eyes, and I felt Millioent enter all in
the dark.
" WeU, Charles !" she began, as she pnt
aside my curtain, and leaned against my
mattrass* "it is another treat for yon,
though not so great a one as yonr first
lory, and yon will have to sustain your
own credit rather more specially. Do you
know the Priory on the Lawborough road,
not a great way from Mr. HargreaTe's fac?
tory?"
" Yes, I know it ; what of that ?"
^* The Redfems live there, and the young
ladies are Mr. Davy^s pupils.*'
" Not at the class, I suppose ?"
" No ; but Mr. Davy gives them singing
lessons, and he says they are rather clever,
though perhaps not too really musical.
They are very fond of anything new ; and
now they intend to give a large musical
party, as they have been present at one
during a stay they made in London lately.
It is to be a very select party ; some amateur
performers are expected, and Mr. Davy is
going to sing professionally. Not only so,
the young ladies' pianoforte master will
be present, and most likely a truly great
g layer, Charles an artist the violinist
antonio."
" Was he at the Festival :"
" Oh no : Mr, Davy says they have writ-
ten to him to come from London. Bat now
I must explain your part. Mr. Davy was
requested to bring a vocal quartet from his
class, as none of the guests can sing in parts.
He is to take Miss Benette as a soprano, for
he says her soprano is as superior as her
lower voice."
" So it is."
" And some tenor or other."
"Mr. Newton, I dare say; he leads all
the others."
" I think it was. And you, Charles, he
wishes to take, for he says your alto voice
is very beautiful. You will do your best, I
know."
"I would do anything to hear a great
violin player."
And full of the novel notion I fell asleep
much sooner than I did (as a child) when
no excitement was before me.
^
CHAPTER XVn.
My mother, besides being essentially an
unworldly person, had, I think, given up
the cherislied idea of my becoming a great
mercantile character, and even the expecta-
tWB that I should take kincHy to the pros-
pective partnership with Fred ; for certain]}
she allowed me to devote more time to m^
music tasks with Millicent than to any
others. I owe a great deal to that sister of
mine, and particularly tiie early acquaint-
ance I made with intervals, scales, and
chords. Already she had taught me to
play from figured basses a little, to read
elementary books, and to write upon a ruled
slate, simple studies in harmony.
Hardly conscious who helped me on, 1
was helped very far indeed. Other musi-
cians before whom I bow, have been guided
in the first toneless symbols and effects of
tone, by the hand, the voice, the brain of
women; but they have generally been
famous women. My sister was a quiet girl.
Never mind I she had a fame of her own at '
last. Davy, considering I was in progress,
said no more about teaching me himself,
and indeed it was unnecessary. I was cer-
tainly rather surprised at my mother's per-
mission for me to accompany him to tlie
Redfems, first and chiefly because I had
never visited any house she did not frequent-
herself, and she had never been even intro-
duced to this family, though we had seen
them in their large pew at church, and I
was rather fond ol^watching them ^they
being about our choicest gentry. For all
the while I conceived I should be a visitor,
and that each of us would be on the same
footing.
Had I not been going to accompany Davy, I
should have become nervous at the notion of
attending a great party met at a fashionable
house, but as it was, it did but conceal for
me a glorious unknown, and I exulted whil
I trembled a little at my secret heart.
But I went to my master as he had re-
quested, and he let me into his shell. 1
smelt again that delicious tea, and it exhila-
rated me as on the first occasion. IJp-stairs
in the little room was Miss Benette, She
was dressed as usual, but I thought she had
never worn anything yet so becoming as
that plain black silk fro^k. The beautiful
china was upon the table, now placed for
three, and child as I was, I could not but
feel most exquisitely, the loveliness of that
simplicity which rendered so charming and
so convenient the association of three ages
so incongruous.
There are few girls of fourteen who are
women enough to comport themselves with
the inbred dignity that appertains to woman
in her highest development, and there are
few women who retain the perfume and es-
sence of infancy. These were flung around
Clara in every movement, at each smile or
glance ; and those adorned her as with re-
gality a regality to which one is born, not
with which one has been invested. She die
not make tea for Davy, nor did she interfew
with his little arrangements, but she sat bT
me, and talked to me spontaneously, -whilij
CHARLES AUCHESIER.
35
81 ^ only spoke when he questioned, or lis-
tened while lie spoke.
There was perfect serenity upon her face,
yes I just the serenity of a cloudless heaven,
and had I heen older. I should have whis-
pered to myself that her peace of soul was
Ail safe, so far as he was concerned. But I
did not think about it, though I might natu-
rally have done so, for I was romantic to
intensity, even as a boy.
" How is Miss Lemark ?" I suddenly Jn-
qnired, while Davy was in the other little
room. I forgot to mention that my surmise
was well founded ^he had no servant.
"She is much better, thank you, or I
ehould not have come here. The flowers
look so very fresh to-day, and she lies where
she can see them."
" When will she get up ?"
" I have persuaded her to remain in bed
even longer than she needs, for the moment
^e gets up they will make her dance, and
she is not strong enough for that yet."
Davy here returned, and we began to
sing. We had a delicious hour. In that
small room Olara^s voice was no more too
powerfully perceptible, than is the sunlight
in its. entrance to a tiny cell that glory
which itself is the day of heaven. She sang
with the most rarifled softness, and I quite
realized how infinitely she was my superior
in art no less than by nature.
What we chiefly worked upon were glees,
single quartet pieces, and an anthem; but
last of all, Davy produced two duets for
soprano and alto; one from Purcell, the
other from a very old opera, the hundred
and something, one of the Hamburgh Kaiser,
which our master had himself copied from
a copy. "
" Shall you sing with us in all the four-
parted pieces, Sir ?" I ventured to ask during
the symphony of this last.
"Yes, certainly, and I shall accompany
you both invariably. But of all things do
not be afraid, nor trouble yourselves the
least about singing in company : nothing is
60 easy as to sing in a high room like that
of the liedferns', and nothing is so difScult
as to sing in a small room like this."
" I do not find it so diflScult, Sir," said
Clara, gravely.
^ " That is because, Miss Benette, you have
already had your voice under perfect control
-for months. You have been accustomed to
practise nine hours a day without an instru-
ment, and nothing is so self-supporting as
such necessity."
*' Yes, Sir, it is very good, but not so
charming as to sing with your sweet piano."
"I^o you really practise nine hours a day.
Miss Benette ?"
"Yes, Master Auchester, always; and I
find it not enough."
. " But do you practise without a piano ?"
" Yes, it is best for me; but when I come
tojny lessons and hear the delightful keys,
I feel as if music had come out of heaven tc
talk with me."
" Ah, Miss Benette 1" said Da^y, with a
kind of exultation, " what will it be when
you are singing in the heart of a grand
orchestra 1"
" I never heard one. Sir, you know ; bat
I should think that it was like going into
heaven after music and remaining there.*^
" But were you not at the Festival, Miss
Benette ?"
" Oh no."
"How very odd, when I was there 1"
Davy looked suddenly at her, but though
his quick bright glance might have startled
away her answer, that came as calmly as all
her words, like a breeze awakening from
the south.
" I did not desire to go ; Mr. Davy had
the kindness to propose I should, but I knew
it would make me idle afterwards, and I
cannot afford to waste my time. I am
growing old."
" Now, Miss Benette, there is our servant
or your nurse ;" for I heard a knock. " Will
you let me come to-morrow ?"
"Just for half an hour only ; because I
want to sit with Laura."
" I thank you ; thank you P*
"How did you get home last night ?" I
asked on the promised meeting. She was
sitting at the window, where the light was
strongest ; for her delicate work was in her
hand, and as the beams of a paler sun came
in upon her, I thought I had seen some-
thing like her somewhere before in a pic-
ture as it were framed in a dusky corner,
but itself making for its own loveliness a
shrine of light. Had I travelled among
studios and galleries, I must have been
struck by her likeness to those rich hued
but fairest ideals of the sacred schools ot
painting, which have consecrated the old
masters as worshippers of the highest in
woman but I had never seen anything of
the kind except in old prints. That strange
reminiscence of what we never have really
seen, in what we at' present behold, apper-
tains to a certain temperament only that
temperament in which the ideal notion is so
definite, that all the realities the least ap-
proximating thereunto strike as its sem-
blances, and all that it finds beautiful it
compares so as to combine with the beau-
tiful itself. I do not suppose I had this con-
sciousness that afternoon, but I perfectly re-
member saying, before Clara rose to wel-
come me as she always did, "You look ex-
actly like a picture."
"Do I? but no people in pictures arc
made at work. Oh it is very unpiotu
resque !" and she smiled.
" I am not going to sing. Miss Benette ,
there is no tim^ m ^M^t Vvail^xj^Vvwai^
"1 TOuat "\jr;.^i\hs^^ ^^^aaXj^t K53wiij^yst\^^
o
CHARLES AUCUESTE.
cannot afford to lose my half-hours and
half-hours."
^^ But I want to ask yon some questions.
Now do answer me, please."
^^ You shall make long questions then, and
I short answers."
She hegan to sing her florid exercises, a
paper of which lay open upon the desk, in
Pavy^s hand.
" Well first I want to know, why they are
:]nkind to Laura, and what they do to her
^hich is unkind ?"
^* It would not he unkind if Laura were
altogether like her fatlier, as she is in some
respects, hecause then she would have no
feeling ; but she has the feeling of which
her mother died."
^^ That is a longer answer than I expected,
but not half enough ; I want to know so
much more. How pretty your hands are I
so pink 1" I remarked admiringly, as I
watched the dimples in them, and the in-
fantinely rounded fingers as they spread so
softly amidst the delicate cambric.
" So are yours' very pretty hands, Master
Auchester, and they are very white, too.
But never mind the hands now. I should
like to tell you about Laura, because if you
become a great musician yon will, perhaps,
be able to do her a kindness."
" What sort of kindness ?"
*^ Oh, I cannot say, my thoughts do not
tell me ,* but any kindness is great to her.
She has a clever father but he has no more
heart than this needle, though he is as
sharp and has as clear an eye. He made
his poor little wife dance even when slie
was ill ;* but that was before I knew Laura.
When I came here from Loudon with Mr.
Davy, I knew nobody, but one evening I
was singing and working, while Thon6 (that
is my nurse) was gone out to buy me food,
when I suddenly heard a great crying in
the street. I went down stairs and opened
the door, and there I found a little girl, with
no bonnet upon her head, who wore a gay
frock all covered witli artificial flowers.
My nurse was there too. Thon6 can't talk
much English, but she said to me, ' Make
her speak. I found her sitting down in
the gutter, all bathed in tears.'
"Then I said, in my English, ' Do tell me
why you were in the streets, pretty one, and
why you wear these fine clothes in the mud.'
*' ' Oh, I cannot dance I' she cried and
sobbed ; * my feet are stiff with standing all
this morning, and if I try to begin before
those lamps on that slippery fioor, I shall
tumble down.'
" ' You have run away from the theatre,'
I said, and then I took her up stairs in my
arms (for she was very light and small,)
and gave her some warm milk. Then,
when she was hushed, I said, * Were you to
danoe, then ? It is very pretty to dance :
fr/jj^ were yoa frightened V
" * 1 was so tired. Oh, I wish I k uI g
to my mamma.'
" I asked her where she was, and she be-
gan to shake her head, and to tel! me im
mamma was dead. But in the midst there
was a great knocking at the door down
stairs. Laura was dreadfully alarmed, and
screamed, and while she was screaming io
came a great man, his face all bedecked with
paint. I could not speak to him, he would
not hear me, nor could we save the child
then, for he snatched her up (all on the f ooi
as she was) and carried her down stairs in
his arms. He was very big, certainly, and
had a fierce look, but did not hurt her ; and
as I ran after him, and Tbon^ after me, we
saw him put her into a close coach and get
in after her, and then they drove away. I
was very miserable that night, for I cocid
not do anything for the poor child ; but 1
went the first thing the next morning to th^)
theatre that had been open the evening be-
fore. Thou 6 was with me, and took care
of me in that wild place. At last I made
out who the little dancing girl was, and
where she lived, and then I went to that
house. Oh, Master Auchester! I thought
my house so still, so happy after it. It was
full of noise and smells, and had a look that
makes me very low a look of discomfort
all about. I said I wanted the manager, and
half a dozen smart dirty people would have
shown me the way, but I said, * only one if
you please.'
"Then some young man conducted mo
up-stairs into a greasy drawing-room. Thon
did not like my staying, but I would stay,
although I did not once sit down. The car-
pet was gay, and there were muslin cur-
tains ; but you. Master Auchester, could not
have breathed there. I felt ready to cry,
but that- would not have helped me, so I
looked at the sky out of the window till I
heard some one coming in. It was the great
man. He was selfish-looking and vulgar,
but very polite to me, and wanted me to sit
upon his sofa. * No,' I said, ' I am come to
speak about the little girl who came to my
house last night, and whom I was caring for
when you fetched her away. And I want
to know why she was so afraid to dance,
and so afraid of you ?'
"The man looked ready to eat me, but
Thone (who is a sort of gipsy, Master Au-
chester) kept him down w^ith her grand
looks, and he turned off into a laugh : I
suppose I may do as I please with my own
child.'
" ' No Sir 1' I said, not if you are an nn
natural father, for in this good land the law
will protect her ; and if you do not promise
to treat her well I am going to the magis-
trate about it. I suppose she has no mo-
ther; now I have none myself, and I nevci
see anybody ill- treated who has no ivolhei
\v\t\\o\xt U^'\i\^ lo ^et them righted.'
CHARLEB AUCHESTER.
37
* * Yon are a fine young lady to talk to
me so, why you are a child yourself! Who
Kaid I was unkind to my Laura ? She must
get her living, and she can't do hetter than
dnce, as her mother danced hefore her. I
will send for her, and you shall hear what
she will say for herself this morning.'
*^He shotted out upon the landing, and
presently the child came down. I was sur-
piised to see that she looked happy, though
"vory tired. I said, * Are you better to-day?'
'' ' It was very nice,' sue answered, * and
they gave me such pretty flowers.'
'^Then we talked a long time. I shall tire
you, Master Auchester, if I tell you all ; but
I found myself not knowing what to do, for
thoogh the child had been made to go
through a great deal of suffering almost
ill dancers must, ^yet she did so love the
irt, that it was useless to try and coax her
ut of her services for it. All I could do,
iien, was to entreat her papa not to be se-
vere with her, if even he was obliged to be
strict; and then, for he had told me she
danced the night before the first time in
public, I added to herself, * You must try to
deserve the flowers they give you, and dance
your very best. And if you practice well
when you are learning in the mornings, it
will become so easy that you will not find
U any pain at all, and very little fatigue.'
"Her papa, I could see, was not ill-hu-
mored, but very selfish, and would make
the most of his clever little daughten, so I
would fiot stay any longer, lest he should
forget what I had said. He was rather more
polite again before I went away, and in a
day or two I sent Thon6 with a note to
Laura, in which I asked her to tea, ^and,
for a wonder, she came. I am tiring you,
Master Auchester."
"Oh, do please, for pity's sake, go on,
Miss Benette!"
" Well, when she came with Thone, she
was dressed much as she dresses at the
class, and I have not been able yet to per-
suade her to leave off that ugly necklace.
She talked to me a great deal. She was not
made to suffer until after her mother's
death, for her mother was so tender of her,
that she wo^ld allow no one to touch her
but herself. She taught her to dance,
though ; and little Laura told me so inno-
oenlly how she. used to practise by the side
-of her mother's sick-bed, for she lay ill for
many months. She had caught a cold, as
Laura did the other night, after a great
dance in which she grew very warm, and at
last she died of consumption. She had
brought her husband a good deal of money,
and he determined to make the most of it
as soon as she was dead, for he brought
Laura on very fast, by teaching her all day,
and tortTiring her too. though I really be-
U*ve he thought it was necessary "
* Miss Benette 1"
" ^e^ for such persons as he hiire not
sensations fine enough to iet them under-
stand how some can be made to suffer
delicately."
"Oh, go on I"
"Well, she was just ready to be brouglit
out in a kind of fairy ballet in which chil-
dren are required, the night the theatre
opened this season."
" And it was then she ran away t"
" Yes ; when she got into the theatre, sh
took fright."
" Did she dance that night, after all?"
" Oh, yes I and she liked it very much,
for she is very excitable, and very fond of
praise. Besides, she has a very bright soul,
and she was pleased with the sparkling
scenery. As she described it, *it was all
roses, and crystal, and beautiful music going
round and round.' She is a sweet little
child, when you really know her, and as in-
nocent as the two little daughters of the
clergyman at St. Anthony's, who go every
day past hand in hand, with their white
foreheads and blue eyes, and whose mamma
sleeps by Laura's, in the same churchyard.
Well she came to me several times, and at
last I persuaded her papa to let her drink
tea with me, and it saves him trouble, so he
is very glad she should. It is the end of
the season now, so I hope he will give her a
real holiday, and she will get quite strong."
"He fetches her, then, to go to the
theatre ?"
" Yes, it is not any trouble to him, for he
calls on another person in this laue, and
they all go together."
" Do you know that person ?"
"Oh, no I and Laura does not like her.
But as Laura is obliged to see a good deal
of low people, I like her sometimes to see
high people, that her higher nature may not
want food."
" I understand. Was that the reason she
joined the class I"
" I perauaded her. papa to allow her, by
assuring him it would improve her voice for
singing in the chorus ; and now he comes
himself, though I rather suspect it b b^
cause he likes to know all that is going on
in the town."
" She goes home with him, then ?"
" Yes. The reason you saw Laura in her
dancing-dress was, that you might like hor.
I bade her bring it, and put it on her my-
self. I did not tell her why, but I wished
you to see her too."
" But why did you wish me to like her.
Miss Benette ?"
" As I told you before that you may be
kind to her, and also that she might see
some one very gentle I wished her to be
here with you.^'
" Am I gentle, do you consider ?"
" I think you are a young gentleman,"
she answered, \i\tVi Vi^x ^x^'i^X vsj%^\S:^ .
CHARLES AOCHESTEB.
*^ But I do not see how it could do her
good exactly to see gentle persons."
" Do not yon 7 I do ; I believe she will
never become ungentle by living with un-
gentle persons^ as she does and must, if she
once knows what gentle persons are. I may
be all wrong, but this is what I believe, and
when Laura grows up, I shall find out
whether I am right Oh I it is good to love
the beautiful, and if we once really love it,
we can surely not do harm."
^^ Miss Benette !" I exclaimed suddenly, I
really could not help it, *^ I think you are an
angel."
She raised her blue eyes from the shadowy
length of their lashes, and fixed them upon
the dim gray autumn leaves ^then without
A smile, but her bright face shining even
with the light of which smiles are born, she
replied in the words of Mignon, but with
how apart a significance I ^^ I wish I were
one I" then going on, *'*' because then I'should
be all beautiful without and within me. But
yet no I I would not be an angel, for I could
not then sing in our class I"
I laughed out, with the most perfect
sympathy in her sentiment, and then she
langned and looked at me, exactly as an in-
fant does in mirthful play.
"Now Miss Benette, one more question.
Mr. Davy told me the other night, that you
had done him good. What did he mean ?"
" I do not think I can tell you what I be-
.ieve he meant, because you might mention
it to him, and if he did not mean that, he
would think mo silly, and I would not seem
silly to him."
" Now do pray tell me I Do you suppose
I can go home unless yon will ? You have
made me so dreadful curious. I should not
think of telling him that you told me; now
what did you do for him that made him say
no?"
She replied, with an innocence the sister
of which I have never seen through all my
dreams of women ;
' Mr. Davy was so condescending as to
ask me one day whether I would be his
wife, some time when I am grown up. And
I said no; I think that was the good I
done him."
I shall never forget the peculiar startled
sensation that struck through mo. I had
never entertained such a notion, or any no-
tion of the kind about anybody, and about
her it was indeed new, and to me almost an
awe.
"The good you did him, Miss Benette!"
I cried in such a scared tone, that she drop-
led her work in her lap ; " I should have
thought it would have done him more good
if you had said yes."
You are very kind to think so," she re-
plied, in a tone like a confiding child's to a
Euperior in age far from like an elder's to
one 60 young as myself, "but I know bet-,
ter, Master Auchester. It was t)ie only
thing I could do to show my gratitude."
"Were you sorry to say no, Miss Ben-
ette ?"
" No, very glad and very pleased."
"But it L^ rather oild. I should havl
thought you would have liked to say yes.
You do not love him then ?"
** Oh yes I do, well. But I do not wisli
to belong to him, nor to any one, only to
Music now ; and besides, I should not hav9
had his love. He wished to marry me thai
he might take care of me. But when he
said so, I answered, *' Sir, I can take care of
myself.' "
" But, Miss Benette, how much should one
love, and how, then ^if one is to marry 1
For I do not think that all peoplo marry foi
love."
" You are not old enough to understand,
and I am not old enough to tell you," she
said sweetly, with her eyes upon her work
as usual, " nor do I wish to know. K some
people marry not for love, what is that to
me ? I am not even sorry for them, not so
sorry as I am for those who know not Ma-
sic, and whom Music does not know."
" Oh, they are worse off 1" I involuntarily
exclaimed. "Do you think I am ^ known
of Music,' Miss Benette ?"
"I dare say, for you love it, and will
serve it. I cannot tell further, I am not
wise. Would you like to have your fortune
told r\
"Mfss Benette! what do you mean?
You cannot tell fortunes."
" But Thon6 can, she is a gipsy, a real
gipsy. Master Auchester, though she was
naughty and married out of her tribe."
" What tribe ?"
" Hush !" said Clara whisperingly, " she
is in my other room at work, and she would
be wrath if she thougli I was talking about
her."
" But you said she cannot speak English."
" Yes, but she always has a feeling -w^Jien
I am speaking about her. Such people have
their sympathies are so strong."
Now it happened we had often talked
over gipsies and their pretensions in our
house, and various had been the utterances
of our circle. Lydia doomed them all as
impostors; my mother who had but an
ideal notion of them, considered, as many
do, that they somehow pertained to Israel.
Clo presumed they were Egyptian, because
of their contour, and their skill in pottery,
though by the wa^^ she had never read up-
on the subject, as she always averred. But
Millicent was sufficient for me at once, when
she had said one day, " At least they are a
distinct race, and possess in an eminent de-
gree the faculty of enforcing faith in the su
pernatural by the exercise of plijsical and
spiritud gifts that oily act upon the marvel-
lous."
CHARLES AUCHESTEB.
1 always understood Millicent whatever
ilie said, and I had often talked with her
about them. I rather suspect she believed
them in her heart to be Chaldean. I must
confess, notwithstanding, that I was rather
nervous when Miss Benette announced with
such childlike assurance, her intuitive cre-
dence in their especial ability to discern and
decipher destiny.
I said, " Do you think she can then V
"Perhaps it is vulgar to say Hell for-
tunes,' but what I mean is that she could
tell, by casting her eyes over you, and look-
ing into your eyes, and examining your
brow, what kind of life you are most
fit for, and what you would make out of
it."
" Oh, how I should like her to tell me I"
^^ She shall then, if she may come in. But
your half hour has passed."
" Oh, do just let me stay a little !"
" You shall of course if you please, Sir,
only do not feel obliged."
She arose and walked out of the room,
closing the door. I could catch her tones
through the wall ; and she returned in less
than a minute. There was something
startling, almost to appal, in the coun-
tenance of the companion she ushered,
coming close behind her. I can say that
that countenance was all eye a vivid and
burning intelligence concentred in orbs
whose darkness was really light, flashing
from thence over every feature. Thonl
was neither a gaunt nor a great woman
though, tall, her hands were beautifully
small and slender, and though she was as
brunette as her eye was dark, she was clear
as that darkness was itself light. The white
cap she wore contrasted strangely with that
rich hue, like sun-gilt bronze. She was old,
but modelled like a statue, and her lips were
keen, severe, and something scornful. It
was amazing to me to see how easily Miss
Benette looked and worked before this
prodigy ; I was speechless. Thon6 took my
band in her^s, and feeling I trembled, she
said some quick words to Clara in a species
of low German, whose accent I could not
understand ; and Clara replied in the same.
I would have withdrawn my hand, for I
was beginning to fear something dreadful in
the way of an oracle, but Thon6 led me
with irrepressible authority to the window.
Once there, she fastened upon me an almost
feeding glance, and having scanned me
awhile, drew out all my fingers one by one
with a pressure that cracked ever sinew of
my hand and arm. At last she looked into
my palm ; but made no muttering, and did
not appear trying to make out anything but
the streaks and texture of the skin. It
could not have been ten minutes that had
passed, when she let fall my hand, and ad-
dressing Clara in a curt still manner, with-
out smile or com men t, uttered in a voice
whose echoes haunt ir.e slill for the words
were rare as music,
**Toukunst und Arzenei.^
I knew enough of German to interpret
these at all events, and as I stood they
passed into rfty being by conviction, they
being indeed the truth.
Clara approached me. ^^Are you satis-
fied? Music is medicine, though I think, do
not you ?"
She smiled with sweet mischief.
^^ Oh, Miss Benette, thank you a thousand
times I for whether it is to be true or not, I
think it is a very good fortune to be told.
Has she told you your's ?"
*^ Yes often, at least as much as she told
you about yourself, she has revealed to me."
*^ Can she tell all people their fortunes ?"
" I will ask her."
She turned to our bright Fate and spoke.
On receiving a short low reply as Thon6 left
the room, she again addressed me : ^^ She
says, * I cannot prophesy for the pure Eng-
lish, if there be any, because the letters of
their characters are not distinct. All I
know in all, is how much there is of our's in
each.'"
" I don't know what she means."
" No more do I."
"Oh Miss Benette I you do." For her
arch smile fluttered over her lips.
"So I do; but Master Auchester it is
getting very late ^you mast go unless I may
give you some tea. And your mother
would like you to be home. Therefore go
now."
5
I wanted to shake hands with her, but
she made no show of willingness, so I did
not dare, and instantly I departed. What a
wonderful spell it was that bound me to the
dull lane at the end of the town I certainly
it is out of English life in England one must
go, for the mysteries and realities of exist-
ence. I was just in time for our tea ; as I
walked into the parlor the fire shone, and
so did the kettle singing to itself; for in
our English life we eschewed urns. Ok
was reading, Lydia at the board, Millicent
was cutting great slices of home-madd
bread. I thought to myself, "how differ*
ently we all manage here. If Millicent did
but dare, I know she would behave and talk
like Miss Benette."
"How is the young lady this afternoon,
Charles? I wish you to ask her to come
and drink tea with us on Sunday after ser-
?
vice.
Yes mother, is Mr. Davy coming ?"
" He promised the other night."
" And Charles," added Clo, " do not for-
get that you must go with me to-morrow
and be measured for a jacket."
" I am to wear one at last then ?"
" Yes, for now you are replly growing toi
tall for frocks."
40
CHAKLES AUCHESrER.
I was very glad, for I adjured tbose braid-
ed garmento, compassing about ray very
heels with bondage, with ntter satisfac-
tion. Still I was am used. ^* I suppose it is
for this party I am going to,^^ thought I.
CHAPTER XVni.
Thb next day at class Laura's place still
being empty, I watched eagerly for Clara.
The people were pouring in at the door, and
I knowing their faces, could not but feel
how unlike she was to them all, when in
the way she appeared, so bright in her dark
dress, with her cloudless foreliead and air of
ecstatic innocence. She spoke to me to-day.
" How are you ?"
** Quite well ; and you. Miss Benette ? But
1 want you to listen to me presently; se-
- riously, I have something to say."
" I'll wait," and she took her seat.
Davy extolled our anthem and did not
stop us once, which fact was unprecedented.
We all applauded him when he praised us^
at which he laughed, but was evidently
ranch pleased. In fact he had already made
for himself a name and fame in the town,
and the antagonistic jealousy of the resident
professors could not cope therewith, without
Deing worsted ; they had given him up, and
now let him alone ^thus his sensitive na-
ture was less attacked and his energy had
livelier play. When the class divided. Miss
Benette looked round at me, " I am at your
service. Master Auchester."
I gave her my mother's message. She
was sweet and calm as ever, but still grave,
and she said, " I am very grateful to your
mother and to those young ladies, your sis-
ters, but I never do go anywhere out to tea."
'^ But Miss Benette, you are going to that
party at the Redforns."
^* I am going to sing there, that is differ-
ent. It is very hard to me not to come, but
I must not, because I have laid it upon my-
self to do nothing but study until I come
out. Because you see if I make friends
now, I might lose them then, for they might
not like to know me."
"Miss Benette 1" ^I stamped my foot
" How dare you say so I We should always
be proud to know you."
" I cannot tell that," she retorted ; " it
might be, or it might not. Perhaps you
^ will think I am right one day, I should
like to have come," she persisted bewitch
iogly ; but I was inwardly hurt, and I dare
say she thought me outwardly sulky, for it
was all I could do to wish her good evening
like a " young gentleman," as she had called
me
I Mid JO Millioent when we were walking
the next morning, that I had my fortuiw
told. We had a long conversation. I baw
she was very anxions to disabuse me of ch
belief, that I m^^jst necessarily be what, in
myself, I had aiwa/s held myself ready to
become, and I laughed her quite to scorn.
" But Charles," she remonstrated, "if this
is to be, you must be educated, with a direct
view to those purposes."
" So I shall be; but when she said medi-
cine she did not mean I should be an apoth-
ecary, Millicent ;" and I laughed the more.
" No, I rather think it is music you ought
to profess. But in that case you will re-
quire high, as well as profound instruction."
" I mean to profess an instrument, and I
mean to go to Germany and learn all about
it"
" My dear boy I"
" Yes I do, and I know I shall, but as I
have not chosen ray instrument yet, I shall
wait I"
Millicent herself laughed heartily at this.
" Would you like to learn the horn, Charles!
or the flute ; or perhaps that new instru-
ment, the ophicleide ?" And so the subject
d windled into a joke for that while. I then
told her in strict confidence about Laura.
I scarcely ever saw her so much excited
to interest ; she evidently almost thought
Clara herself angelic, and to my delight
she at length promised to call with me up-
on her, if I would ascertain that it would
be convenient. I shall never forget, too,
that Millicent begged for me from my mo-
ther some* baked apples, some delicate
spiced jelly, and some of her privately con-
cocted lozenges for Laura, I do think my
mother would have liked to dispense these
last a la largesse among the populace. I
carried these treasures in a small basket
to Miss Benette, and saw her just long
enough to receive her assurance that she
should be so pleased if my sister would
come and look at her work.
Sweet child! as indeed she was by the
right of Genius (who, if Eros be immortal
youth, hath alone immortal infancy) she
had laid every piece of her beauteous work,
every scrap of net or cambric down to that
very last handkerchief, upon the table,
which she had covered with a crimson
shawl, doubtless some relic of her luxurious
mother conserved for her. And with the
instinct of that ideal she certainly created
in her life, she had interspersed the lovely
manufactures with little bunches of wild'
flowers and green, and a few berries of the
wild rose tree, ripe and red.
I was enchanted; I was proud beyond
measure to introduce to her my sister ,
proud of them both. Millicent was ai
tonished amazed ^I could see she wa
quite puzzled with pleasure, but more tliar
all she seemed lost in watching- Olara^f
ca\u\^ cloudless face.
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
4i
*' Which oi the pieces do you like best ?"
asked Miss licnette at last, after we had
folly examined all.
'* Oh, it is really impossible to say ; but if
I could prefer I should confess, 4)erhaps, that
this is the most exquisitely imagined," and
Millicent pointed to a veil of thin white not,
with the border worked in the most deli-
cate shades of green doss silk, a perfect
wreath of myrtle leaves; and the white
flowers seemed to tremble amidst that shad-
Dwy garland. I never saw anything to ap-
proach them, they were far more natural
than any paintings.
Miss Benette took this veil up in her little
pink hands, and folding it very small and
wrapping it in silver paper, presented it to
Millicent, saying in a child-like but most
touching manner) " You must take it, then,
that you may not think I am ungrateful ;
and I am so glad you chose that."
As Millicent said, it would have been im-
possible to have refused her anything. 1
quite longed to cry, and the tears stood in
my tender-hearted sister^s eyes ; but Clara
seemed entirely unconscious she had done
anything touching, or pretty, or complete.
If I go on in this way, raking the embers
of reminiscence into rosy flames, I shall
never emancipate ayself into the second
great phase of my existence. It is positive-
ly necessary that I should not revert to that
veil at present, or I should have to deline-
te astonishment and admiration that had
end
CHAPTER XIX.
At last the day came, and having excited
myself the whole morning about the Red-
ferns, I left oflf thinking of them, and returned
to myself. Although it portends little, I
may transmit to posterity the fact, that my
new clothes came home at half-past three,
and that my mother behold me arrayed in
them at Ave. Davy had all our parts, and
the songs of Miss Benette, for she was to
sing alone if requested to do so, and was to
be ready when I should call, to accompany
me.
I was at length pronounced at liberty to
depart, that is, everybody had examined me
from head to foot. I had a sprig of the
largest myrtle in the greenhouse quilted in-
to the second and third button-holes, and
my white gloves were placed in my pocket
y Olo, after she had wrapped them in
white paper. I privately carried a sprig
of myrtle, too, for Miss Benette ; it was cov-
ered with blossom, and of a very flue
species. Thone never answered the door
in St. Anthony's \ane, but invariably the
Bamo extraordinary Qgare wh7 had startled
me on my first visit. She stared so long
with the door in her hand, this time, that!
rushed past her, and ran up the stairs.
Still singing 1 Yes^ there she was, in her
httle bonnet, but, fix m head to foot, envel-
oped in a monstrous cloak ;* I could not see
what dress she wore. It was November
now, and getting very dusk^ but we had
both expressed a wish to walk, and Davy
always preferred it. How curious his slicll
looked in the uncertain gleam ! the tiny gar-
den, as immaculate as ever, wore the "paler
shine of asters and Michaelmas-daisies ; ond
the casement above, being open, revealed
Davy watching for us through the twiliglit.
He came down instantly, sweeping the
flower-shrubs with his little cloak, and,
having locked the door, and put the key
into his pocket, he accosted us joyously-
shaking hands with us both. But he held
all the music under his cloak too, nor would
I proceed until he suffered me to carry it.
We called for Mr. Newton, our companion
tenor, who lived a short way in the town.
He met us with white gloves ready put on,
and in the bravery of a white waistcoat,
which he exhibited through the opening of
his jauntily hung great coat. I left him be-
hind with Davy, and again found myself with
Miss Benette. I began to grow nervous,
when, having passed the shops and factories
of that district, we emerged upon the Law-
borough Road, lit by a lamp placed here
and there, with dark night looming in the
distant highway. Agaiu we passed house
after house standing back in masses of black
evergreen, but about not a few there was si-
lence and no light from within. At length,
ferewarned by rolling wheels that had left
us far behind them, we entered the gate of
the Priory, and walked up to the door.
It was a very large house, and one of the
carriages had just driven off as Davy an-
nounced his name. One of three footmen,
lolling in the portico, aroused and led us to
a room at the side of the hall, shutting us
in. It was a handsome room, though small,
furnished with a looking-glass ; here were
also various coats and hats reposing upon
chairs. I looked at myself in the glass*
while Davy and our tenor gave themselves
the last touch, and then left it clear for
them. I perceived that Miss Benette had
not come in with us, or had stayed behind.
She had taken off her bonnet elsewhere,
and when we are all ready, and the door
was opened, I saw her once more, standing
underneath the lamp. I could now find out
how she was dressed ; her frock was as
usual black silk, but of the very richesU
She wore long sleeves, and drooping falls
upon her wrists of the finest black lace ; no
white against her delicate throat, except
that in front she had placed a small but
really magnificent row of pearls. Her silky
davk\iaVt aYi^ n^ot^ &^^sQ^siJL^s^^'^ ^5ikss^
12
CHARLES AlOHESTER
OB f'.luor (emple, but neither curled nor
banded. 1 presented her with the myrtle
sprig whicli she twisted into her pearls,
seeming pleased with it ; bat otherwise she
was very nnexcited, though very bright. I
was li )t bright but very much excited ; I
quite thook as w^ walked up the soft stair
carpet side by tide. She looked At me in
e rident surprise.
" You need not be nervous, Master Au-
chester, I assure you I"
^^ It is going into the drawing-room, and
being introduced I hate ; will there he many
people do you think ?"
She opened her blue eyes very wide when
I asked her, and then, with a sinile quite
new to me upon her face, a most enchant-
ing but sorely contemptuous smile, she said,
" Oh, we are not going in there- did you
think so ? There is a separate room for us,
in which we are to sip our coffee."
I was truly astonished, but I had not time
to frame any expression we were ushered
forward into the room she had suggested.
It was a sort of inner drawing-room appar-
ently, for there were closed folding-doors in
the wall that opposed the entrance. An
elegant chandelier hung over a central rose-
wood table ; on this table lay abundance of
music, evidently sorted with some care.
Two tall wax-candles upon the mantel-shelf
were reflected in a tall mirror, in tall silver
ticks ; the gold-colored walls were picture-
fess, and crimson damask was drapenedand
festooned at the shuttered window. Crim-
son silk chairs stood about, and so did the
people in the room, whom we began, Clara
and I, to scrutinize. Standing at the table
by Davy, and pointing with a white kid fin-
ger to the music thereon arranged, was an
individual with the organs of melody and
of benevolence in about equal development;
he was talking very fast. I was sure I knew
his face ; and so I did. It was the very Mr.
Westley who came upon us in the corridor
at the Festival. He taught the younger Miss
Hedferns, of whom there was a swarm ; and
as they grew they were passed up to the
tuition of Monsieur Mirandos, a haughtily-
behaved being, in the middle of the rug,
warming his hands, gloves and all, and
gazing with the self-consciousness of pianist
primo, then and there present. It was Clara
who initiated me into this fact, and also that
he taught the competent elders of tliat ex-
clusively feminine flock, and that he was
the author of a grand fantasia which had
neither predecessor nor descendant. Miss
Benette and I had taken two chairs in the
comer next the crimson curtain, and nest-
ling in there we laughed and wo talked.
"Who is the man in a blue coat with
bright buttons, now looking up at the chan-
delier ?" I enquired.
*' That is a man who has given his name
An ItuVian termination but I forget it. He
has a great name for geiting up conoe.i^
and I dare say will be a sort of director to
night."
So it was, at least so it seemed, for he at
last left the room, and returning presented
us each with a sheet of pink-satin note-pa
per, on which were named and written in
order the compositions awaiting interpreta-
tion. We looked eagerly to see where onr
first glee came.
" Oh, not for a good while, Master Au
Chester ; but do look I here is that Mirandos
going to play his ^ grande Fantasie sur des
Motifs Militaires ;' Oh ! who is that ^naing
in?"
Here Miss Benette inturrupted herself,
and I, excited by her accent, looked up
simultaneously.
As for me I knew directly who it was, foi
the gentleman entering at the door so care-
lessly, at the same time appearing to take
in the whole room with his glance, had a
violin-case in his hand. I shall not forget
his manner of being immediately at home,
nodding to one and another amiably, bnt
with a slight sneer upon his lip which be
probably could not help, as his mouth was
very finely cut I felt certain it was Santo-
nio, and while the gentleman upon the mg
addressed him very excitedly, and received
a cool reply, though I could not hear what
it was for all the men were talking, Davy
came up to us and confirmed my presenti-
ment.
"What a handsome gentleman he is t but
how he stares 1" said Clara, in a serious
manner that set me laughing, and then Davy
whispered " hush I"
But it was of little use, for Santouio came
up now to our corner, and deposited his
case on the next chair to Miss Benette, look-
ing at her all the while and at me, so that
we could well see his face. It was certain-
ly very handsome, a trifle too handsome
perhaps, yet full of harmonious lines, and
the features were very pure. His complex-
ion was glowing, yet fair, and passed well
by contrast into the hue of his eyes, which
were of that musical gray more blue tLaa
slate-colored. Had he been less handsome,
the Hebrew contour might have been more
easily detected, as it was it was clear to me,
but might not have occurred to others who
did not look for it A brilliant person, such
as I have seldom seen, he yet interested
more by his gestures, his way of scanningi
and smiling to himself, his defiant self-com-
posure, something discomposing to those
about him, than by his positive peraonal at^
tractions. Having examined us, he examin-
ed also Davy, and said specially, " How are
you ?"
" Quite well thank you," replied our mas-
ter, "I had no right to expect you woild
remember me, Mr. Santonio."
" Oh, I never forget anybod^V' was the
I
CnAKLES AUCHESTER.
Fplj, " I often iviflh I did, for I have Men
nenbo^f oou', And there is do odo else hi
"Ohl" thoazlit I to myself but I iaid
nothiog, " joQ hare not seen one" For I
Mt inre, I knew not wliy, that lie had
"le this your son, Dar;?" qnestiooed he,
ODCsmore speaking, and looting down npon
me for i instant.
"Oertwnly not, my pnpil and favorite
"19 he for the profession then!"
"That do yon say, Charles !"
"TeSj Mr. Davy, certaiuly,"
"If I don't mistake, it will not be alto
long thoQgh," said Santonio, with ligbtaess,
"big UTD and hand nre ready made for me,"
I Wis BO trnnsporled that I believe I
ihoiild have hnett bi^fure Santonio, bnt that
ulightly as he had spokeo, he had turned
IgmatFaj. It was ns if be had not said
thsuiFords, BO onaltered was his face with
tiwM curved eyebrows ; and I wished he
liad left me alone altogether, I felt so inaig-
iaiewL It was a good thing for me that
now ihere entered footmen very stately,
with siiver trays, npon which they carried
oiSve, very strong and cold, and chilly
PB tea. We helped onrselves every one,
and then it was I really began lo enjoy the
eickffiian with wbioh we had been vi^jited ;
livweall seemed shut in and belonged to
**^ other. The pianist primo joked with
SMlonio, and Mr. Weatley iitLicked Davy ;
*liileKewtou and the man in the blue coat
'i'i bright bnttons wore tliM subject of the
^Ulival to a thread ; for the former had
t'teu away, and the latter had been there,
sfd the latter enlightened the former, and
Qore than enlightened him, and where his
UeoKiiy failed invented ; never knowing
^ai, who had been pfdwnt, was Eisteniog
udjudging; as Olara eud "he was making
"f stories" -and indeed it was a surprise
lor me to discover such an imagination
dwellieg in a frame so adipose.
Bantonio at last attracted oor whole Rt-
Ifalion by pouring his coffee into tiie fire.
"Bd asking a footman who had re-entered
"ith wafers and tea-cakes, for some more
' l^fiee that was hot ; and while we were all
laughing very lond, another footiuan a
We more pompoDS than this, threw back
^ folding-doors that divided as from the
"npMietrable saloon. As those doors stood
open we peeped in.
"How many people there arel" said I.
"Yes," said (Jlara, "but they are not
^My wise."
" Why do yon suppose not !"
"First, becanse they have set the piano
^Wse up agtunst the wall. Mr. Davy will
We it out I know."
Bee that man, Master A ii4irster, who h
looking down at the legs of the piano to &tii
It bow they are pnt on."
And thns we talked and hngbed nnti)
Santonio bad finished bis ooffee, quite as it
ne was either in that room or in the
t waanot warm after all," said hetoMi-
randoa, but this was in a lower tcne, and ha
had put on an air oi bantenr withal that be-
ne bira wonderfully. Then I found thai
had all become very qniet, and there bad
grown a bush througli the next room, so
that it looked like a vast picture of chan-
deliers all light, tall glasses, ruddy cnrtains,
' people gaily yet lightly dressed. The
in there spoiled the picture though
they none of them looked comfortable ^men
seldom do in England at an evening party.
Our set indeed looked oomfortable enongh,
though Davy was a little pale, I very well
knew why. At last in came the footman
again, he spoke to the gentleman in the blae
It with bright buttons. Se bowed, look-
rod, and walked up to Davy. Miss Ben-
e'a song came first I knew, and I declare
ilie blood quite bnrned at my heart with
feehng for her. How little I knew her
really] Almost before I could look at her,
she was gone from my side ; I watched her
into the next room. She walked across it
just as she was nsed to cross her own little
lonely room at home, except that she jost
tonched Davy's arm. As she had prediijteil
he drew the piano several feet from the
wall it was a grand piano ; and sl.e took
her place by him. As serenely, as serious-
ly, with that bright light npon her face
which was as the ennshine amidst those
lamps, slie seemed and I believe was, as se-
rene, as serious, as when at home over her
exquisite broidery. No mnsic was before
Davy as he commenced the opening sym-
phony of one of Weber's most delighting
The public was jnst fresh f^om the pathos
of Weber's early death, and evei^body
rushed to hear his niusio. She began with
an intensity that astonished even me U
ease that so completely instilled the meao-
iug, that I ceased to be alarmed or to trem-
ble for her. Her voioe even then held
promise of what it has sioce become, as
perfectly as does the rose-bnd half open,
contain the rose. 1 have eeen singers smile
while they sang; I have watched them sing
with the tears npon their oheeks, yet I never
saw any one sing so senonsly m Miss
Benette: calmly, because it is hw nature, ,
and abcJve all with an evident f'wil;^ " -J
peonliar, that I have ceased to reverenw J^
conquered difficulties so '""o^l'^^l ';'i''i,,"| '
ong^t to do tor J- -^^, ^.^^f^p^',;;'^ '
was very qniet, q""eter w ^ r
Willi curiosity as weu r
44
CHARLES ArCHESTER
novelty of the styje itself. Everybody wlio
hns enthasiasm knows tbe effect of candle-
light npon the brain daring tlie performance
of music anywhere, and jast as we were
sitnatcd there was a strange romance I
thought. Santonio stood upon the mg, a
very sweet expression sat upon his lips ; I
thought even he was enchanted ; and when
Clara was silent and had come back a^in,
so quietly wittiout any flush npon her face,
I thought he would surely come too and
compliment her. But no, he was to play
himself, and had taken out his violin.
It was a little violin, and he lifted it as if
it had been a flower or an infant^ and laid
his head lovingly upon it while he touched
the strings. They, even those pizzicato
hints, seemed to me to be sounds borne out
of another sphere, so painfully susceptible I
lecame instantly to the power of the instru-
ment itself.
" It i3 to be the Grand Sonata, I see."
"No Sir," said Davy, who had come
back with Miss Benette.
" Yes ; but I shall not play with Mirandos;
we settled that ^Miss Lawrence and I."
" Who is Miss Lawrence ?"
" An ally of mine."
" In the other room ?"
" Yes, yes ; don't talk, Davy ! she is com-
ing after me. , Your servant, Miss Law-
rence I"
I beheld a young lady in the doorway.
"So, Mr. Santonio, you are not ready?
They are all very impatient for a sight of
you."
" I am entirely at your service."
" Come then !"
She beckoned with her hand. It was all
00 sudden that I could only determine the
color of her hair ^black, and of her brocaded
dress a dark blue. Her voice was in tone
satirical, and she spoke like one accustomed
to be obeyed. When Santonio entered there
began a buzzing, and various worthies in
white kid gloves clustered round the piano,
lie drew the desk this side of the instru-
li^t, so that not only his back was turned
t^fe, but he screened Miss Lawrence also ;
find I was provol^d that I could see nothing
but the pearls tnat were twisted with her
braided nair. It was one of Beethoven's
complete works to be interpreted, a divine
duo for violin and piano, that had then
never been lieard in England, except at the
Philharmonic Concerts, and I did not know
the name even then of the Philharmonic.
And when it began an indescribable sensa-
tion of awe, of bliss, of almost anguish per-
vaded me ; it was the very bitter of enjoy-
ment, but I could^not realize for a long
time.
The perfection of Santonio's bowing never
tempted him to eccentricity, and no one
could ha'^e dreamed of comparing him with
Pa^anini so h'la famo wns safe. But I knew
nothing of Paganini, and merely felt from
head to foot as if I were the violin acd he
was playing upon me, so completely was I
drawn into the performance, body and soul.
Not the performance merely, let me say ; aa
a violinist now, my conviction is that the
influence is as much physical as supernatural
of my adopted instrument That time my
nerves were so much affected that I trem-
bled in every part of me. Internally I was
weeping, but my tears overflowed not my
eyes.
Santonio's cantabile, whatever they say of
Ernst or of Sivori, is soperior to eitner.
There is a manly passion in his playing that
never condescends to coquette with the sub-
missive strings ; it wailed enough that night
for anything, and yet never degenerated into
invitation. I knew directly I heard him
draw the first quickening shivering chord
shivering to my heart -I knew that the
violin must become my master, or I its
own.
Davy, still pale, but radiant with sym-
pathetic pleasure, continued to glance down
upon me, and Clara's eyes were lost in
drooping to the ground. I scarcely knew
how it was, but 1 was very inadvertent of
the pianoforte part, magnificently sustained
as it was and inseparable from the other,
until Clara whispered to Davy " Does she
not play remarkably well. Sir?"
"Yes," he retnrned; "I am surprised.
She surely must be professional." But none
of us liked to inquire, at least then.
I noticed afterwards, from time to time,
how well the piano met the violin in divided
passages, and how exactly they went to-
gether; but still those strings, that bow,
were all in all for me; and Santonio was
the scarcely perceptible presence of an in-
timate sympathy, veiled from me, as it
were, by a hovering mist of sound. So it
was especially in the slow movement, with
its long sighs, like the voice of silence, and
its short broken sobs of joy. The thrill of
my brain, the deep tumult of my bosom,
alone prevented rae from tears, just as the
rain falls hot when the wind is swelling
highest, but waits for the subsiding hush.
The analogy will not serve me out, never-
theless, for at the close of the last move-
ment, 80 breathless and so impetuous as it
was, there was no hush, only a great din,
in the midst of which I wept not, it was
neither time nor place. Miss Benette too,
whispered just at the conclusion, when San-
tonio was haughtily, and Miss Lawrence
carelessly, retiring " Now we shall go, but
please do not make me laugh. Master Au-
chester."
" How can you say so, when it was your
fault that we laughed the other night?"
And truly it did seem impossible to uiv-
settle that sweet gravity of he.''s, though it
often unsettled mine.
CHARLES AU^HESTER.
4t
CHAPTER XX.
WK.went, and reaUy I found it not so
dreadful, and So was I drawn to listen for
her voice so dear to me even then, that I
forgot all other circumstances except that
she was standing by me there singing. I
Bang very well, to my shame if it be spoken,
I always know when I do, and the light
color so seldom seen on Davy's cheek at-
tested his satisfaction. Davy himself sang
alone next, and we were cleared off every
one, while he sang so beautiful a bas^solo,
in its delicacy and simplicity, as I had, never
heard. Clara and I mutually agreedrto be
very nervous for our master. I am sure he
was so, but nobody could have told it of
him who did not know him inside and out.
Not even Santonio, who, standing on the
mg again, and turning down his wristbands
which had disappeared altogether while he
played, said to Mirandos, " He seems very
comfortable," meaning Davy. Then came
a quartet, and we figured again.
I was not glad to feel the intermitting
tenor supplant that soprano. Truly it
seemed that the higher Clara sang the nearer
she got to heaven. The company applauded
this quartet, mere thready tissue of sweet
sounds as it was Rossini's more than even
Santonio's violin ; but twenty years ago
there had been no universal deluge of educa-
tion, as I have lived to see since, and, at
least in England, in the midland counties,
people were few who could make out the
signs of musical genius, so as to read them
as they ran. Perhaps it was better that the
niusician then only sought for sympathy
among his own kind.
I knew Mirandos and his Fantasia came
next, and hastily retreated, pulling Miss
Benotte by her dress to bring her away too ;
for I had a horror of his spreading hands.
Santonio, impelled I dare say by the small
curiosity which characterises great minds in
the majority of instances, came on the con-
trary forwards, and stood in the doorway to
watch Mirandos take his seat. I could see
the sneer settle upon his lip, subtile as that
was, and I should have liked to stand and
watch him ; for I am fond of watching the
countenances of artists in their medium
moments, when I saw that Miss Benette
bad stolen to the fire, and was leaning
against the mantel-shelf her infantine fore-
Lead. Her attraction was strongest ; I
joined her.
" Now," said I, " if it were not for Santonio,
would you not find this evening very dull?"
^^ It is not an evening at all, Master Au-
chester, it is a candle-light day, and so far
from finding it dull, I find it a great deal too
bright. I could listen for ever to Mr. Da-
vy's voice."
" What can it be that makes his voice so
Bweet, when it is such a deep voice ?"
^^I know it is because ho has never sung
in theatres. It does make a deep voice
rough to sing in theatres, unless a man does
not begin to sing so for a long, a very long
time."
^^ Miss Benette, is that the reason you do
not mean to sing in theatres ?"
*''' No ; but it is the reason I sing so much
in my little room ?"
" Mr. Davy says you don't mean to act."
" No more I do mean, but perhaps it will
come upon me, and Thon6 says ' child you
must.' "
"She thinks you have a special gift,
then ?"
" Who said to you about the special gift
Master Auchester? Do you ever forgei
anything you hear ?"
" Never I I am like Mr. Santonio. But
Mr. Davy told me the night I asked him
your name."
" Oh yes, I told him I had not a special
gift. I thought the words so put together
would please him, and I like to please him ;
he is good. I do not think it is a special
gift you know, Master Auchester, to act."
" What is it then. Miss Benette ?"
" An inspiration."
*' Mr. Davy called the conducting at the
Festival inspiration."
" Oh yes, but all great composers are in-
spired."
" Do you consider our Conduclor was a
great composer?"
" I dare say. But you must not ask me^
I am not wise. Thon6 is very wise, and
she said to me the other day, after yon
were gone, * he is one of us.' "
" But, Miss Benette, she is a gipsy, and
I am not."
"We are not all alike because we are
One. Can there be music without many
combinations, and they each of many single
sounds."
Mirandos was putting on the pedal, ard
we paused at this ^moment as ho nau^el,
before the attacca. Santoniu still roiuainid
in the doorway, and Davy was standing ti
the window against the crimson curtaiL,
listening, and quite white with distress at
the performance ; for the keys every dow
and then jangled furiously, and a storm ol
arpeggi seemed to endanger the very ex-
istence of the fragile wires.
Suddenly a young lady swept past San-
tonio, and glanced at Davy in passing into
our retreat. Santonio, of course, did not
move an inch; certainly there was just
room to clear him ; but Davy fell back intc
the folds of the curtain, frowning, not at
the young lady, but at the Fantasia.
It was Miss Lawrence ; and lo ! before 1
could well recognize her, she stepped up to
me and said, without a boNT w ^vc^ ^\jiat^:^
ductory ^otmcx^V ''^ ^"^^ l*^"^ ^"^^ ^^vi^^
pupWr
46
C7HAKLE8 AUOHESTER.
' "Wo are both, Ma^am, I answered fool-
ishly, half indicatiDg Miss Benetto, who
was bending her lashes into the firelight.
Miss Lawrence replied lightly, yet se-
riously ;
" Oh, I know hs is, but yon first, because
I knew you again." '
I gazed upon her at this crisis. She had
a peculiar face, dark, yet soft ; and her eye
was very fine, large, and half closed, but
not at all languid. ' Her forehead spread
wide beneath jetty hair as smooth as glass,
and her mouth was very satirical : capable
of sweetness as such mouths alone are,
though the case is often reversed. How
satirical are some expressions that slumber
in sweetness too exquisite to gaze on I And
as for this young lady^s manner, very easy
was she, yet so high as to be unapproach-
able, unless she first approached you. Her
accent was polished, or her address would
have been somewhat brusque ; as it was, it
only required, not requested a reply. She
went on all this time, though^" I saw you
In the Chorus at the Festival, and I watched
you well ; and I saw you run out, and re-
turn with the water-glass I envied you in
beaiing. I hope you thought yourself en-
riablef"
^^ I certainly did not, because I could not
diink of myself at all."
"That is best ; now will you, that is, can
fou tell me who the Conductor was ?"
I forgot who she was, and imploringly my
whole heart said, " Oh, do pray tell us ? we
have tried and tned to find out, and no one
kno"ws."
" No one knows I but I will know 1" and
she shook impatiently the rich coral neg-
ligee that hung about her throat again
with much bitterness in her tones, she re-
sumed "I think it was cruel and unjust
besides not to tell us, that we at least might
have thanked him. Even poor St. Michel
was groaning over his ignorance of such a
personage, if indeed he be a wight and not
a sprite. I shall find a witch next."
" Thon6 1" I whispered to Clara, and her
lips parted to smile, but she looked not up.
And now a young man came in out of tlie
company to look for Miss Lawrence.
" Oh, is Miss Lawrence here ?" said San-
. tonio, carelessly turning and looking over
his shoulder to find her, though I dare say
he knew she was there well enough. How-
ever, he came up now and took his stand
by her side, and they soon began to talk.
Rather relieved that the responsibility was
taken off myself, I listened eagerly.
It was fascinating in the extreme to me
to see how Miss Lawrence spurned the arm
of the gentleman who had come to look for
her, and to conduct her back; he was
obliged to retire discomfited, and Santonio
took no notice of him at all. I could not
help thittkmg then, that Miss liawrence
must have been everyw*u3re, tnd have see*
everything to be so seif-possessed, for ]
could quite distinguish between her self-
possession and Clara's ; the latter natural,
the former acquired, however naturaUj
worn.
It was not long, nevertheless, before I re-
ceived a shock. It was something in this
way. Miss Lawrence had reverted to the
Festival, and she said to Santonio, " I had
hopes of this young gentleman, because I
thought he belonged to the Conductor, who
spoke to him between the parts; but he is
as wise as the rest of us, and I can only say
my conviction bids fair to become my faith."
" Your conviction that you related to me
in such a romantic narrative ?" asked San-
tonio, without appearing much interested.
But he warmed as he proceeded. "The
wind was very poor at the Festival I heard."
"They always say so in London about
county performances, you know, either at
least about the wind or the strings, or else
one luckless oboe is held up to ridicule, or a
solitary fiute, or a desolate double-bass."
" But if the solitary flute or bass render
themselves absurd, thev should be ridiculed
far more in a general orchestra than in a
partfcular quartette or so, for the effect of
the master-players thus goes for nothing. I
never yet heard a stringed force go through
an oratorio, and its violent exercises for the
tutti, without falling at least a tone."
**0h, the primi were very well! and, in
fact, had all been flat together, it wonld
have been uimoticeable ; while the tempi
were marked so clearly, no one had time to
criticise and analyze. But the organ had
better have been quiet altogether; it would
have looked very well, and nobody would
have known it was not sounding."
"I beg your pardon, every one would
then have called out for more noise."
" Not so, Mr. Santonio, there was quite
body enough. But there sat Erfurt, groping,
as he always does, for the pedals, and
punching the keys, while the stops, all out,
could very often not be got in, in time, and
we had fortissimo against the fiddles."
*' I wonder your Conductor did not give
one little tap upon Erfurt's skull. So much
for his own judgment. Miss Lawrence."
" I beg your pardon, Mr. Santonio ; the
grand point was making all go together, such
as it was, so that no one realized a discrep-
ancy anywhere. Interruptions would not
only have been useless, they would have
been ignorant ; but in this person's strange
intimacy with the exigencies of a somewhat
unsteady orchestra, his consummate triumph
was achieved."
*' Well, I believe he will be found some-
time hence, in some out of the way bole^
that shall deprive you of all enchantment.*
" I do believe he is my wizard of Roth-
seneVd"
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
Vi
" You ar very crwlulous if you can so
believe."
_ ..^drf ihey saM ruuch more. But what
shocked me, had been the denuding treat-
ment of my all-glorious Festival my ro-
mance of perfectibility, my ideal world.
How they talked ^for I cannot remember
the phrases they strung into cold chains, at
much greater length than I record of what
had been for me as Heaven outspread above
in mystery and beauty, and as a heaven-
ima^ng deep beneath, beyond my fathom,
but whereon I had exulted as on the infinite
unknown 1 they making it instead, a Reality
not itself all lovely ^a Revelation not itself
complete. I had not then mixed in the mu-
sical world ^for there is such a world as is
not Heaven, but Earth in the realm of Tone,
and Tone-artists must pass, as it were,
through it. How few receive not from it
some touch, some taint of its clinging pres-
ence! How few, indeed, infuse into it
while in it they are necessitated to linger
- the spirit of their heavenlv home I Dimly,
of a ti'utb, had the life of music been then
opened to my ken ; but it seemed at that
moment again enclosed, and I fell back into
the first darkness. It was so sad to me to
feel thus, that I could not for an instant re-
cover my faith in myself. I fancied myself
too insignificantly i^ected, and would, if I
could, have joined in the bnti-spiritual prate
of Miss Lawrence and Santonio. Let me do
them no injustice; they were both mu-
'^icians, but I was not old enough to appre-
iate thdr actual enthusiasm, as it were, by
. utual o'?ient, a sealed subject between
1 am uui'.; ^er all, to say it is
best not to tamper witL . '' ^t feelings
best to keep silence, but let me i ware,
it is while we muse, the fire kindles, a:
we are then to speak with our tongues.
Let them be touched too though, with the
inward fire, or we have no right to speak.
CHAPTER XXL
Oh, shame upon me thus to ramble, when
I should be restoring merely I
After the shock I mentioned, the best
thing happened to me that was possible,
We had to sing again; and Clara^s voice
arising, like the souls of flowers, to the sun,
became actually to me as the sun unto
those flowery souls. I revived and recover-
ed my warmth ; but now the reaction had
come, and I sang through tears. I don^t
know how my voice sounded, but I felt it
return upon me, and Davy grew rather ner-
vous, 1 knew from his manner of accoinpa-
Dying, And I did not say that v/hile Mbs
Lawrence Iiad stood and chatted with Han*
tonio, a noiseless rentr^e of footmen had
taken place they bearing salvers loaded
with ices, and what are called creams, at
evening parties.
A sort of interlude this formed of which
the guests availed themselves to come and
stare in upon us ; and as they looked in we
peeped out, though nobody ventnrod on our
side beyond the doorway. So our duet had
happened afterward, and the music was to
be resumed until twelve o'clock, the supper-
hour. And after our duet there was per-
formed this coda; that Miss Redfern re-
quested Miss Lawrence to play with her, and
tliat Miss Lawrence refused, but consented
at Santonio's suggestion to play alone. As
soon as she was seen past our folding-door,
the whole male squadron advanced to escort
her to the piano ; but as she was removing-
her gloves leisurely, she waved them oflf,
and they became of no account whatever,
in an instant. She sat down very still and
plaved a brilliant prelude, and more than
brilliant fugue short and sharp, then a pop-
ular air with variations, few but finely fin-
gered ; and at last after a few modulations,
startling from the hand of a female, some-
thing altogether new, something fresh and
mystical, that affected me painfully even at
its opening notes. It was a movement of
such intense meaning, that it was but one
sigh of unblended and unfaltering melody
isolated as the fragrance of a single flower,
and only the perfumes of nature exhale a
bliss as sweet, how far more unexprestl
This short movement that in its one-ness
was complete, grew as it were by fragment-
ary harmonies intricate but most gradual,
into another; a prestissimo so delicately
f ^ftil that it was like moonlight dancing up-
crested ripples: or for a better siraili-
ti ', like quivering sprays in a summer
wino. *, 'u^ in less than fifty bars of regu-
larly broke. e ^Ijow ravishingly sweet I
say not the ni 'ubject in refrain flowed
through the secon '^nd they interwoven
even as creepers ai. -^rs densely tan-
gled, closed together . n ^ously. The
perfect commanc'! x^-iss Lawrenct ^^""sspsssed
over the instrument did not in tho
occur to me; I was possessed but by one
idea. Yet too nervous to venture into that
large room, I eageriy watched her, and en-
deavored to arrest her eye that I might
beckon her among us again ; so resolute was
I to ask her the name of the author. San-
tonio, as if really excited, had made a sort
of rush, to her and was now addressing her,
but I heard not what they said, though
Davy did, for he had followed Santonio.
To my surprise I saw that Miss Benette had
taken herself into a corner, and when 1
gazed upon her she was wiping her eyes.
1 was reminded then that my own were
48
OHAl^LES AUOHESTER.
Scarcely was I fit to look up again, havin^r
retreated to another corner, when I beheld
Miss Lawrence in her bine brocade, come in
and look abont her. She absolutely ad-
vanced to me.
'' Did yon like that little dream ? That is
my notion of the gentleman at the Festival
do you know."
^^Did you compose it?" I asked in a
maze,
" No, I believe he did."
^ Then you know who he is ; tell me, oh I
tell me the name."
She smiled then at me with kindness, a
beneficent sweetness. '^ Gome and sit down
and I will sit by you and tell you the story."
^^ May not Miss Benette come too ?"
" Oh c^ainly, if she is not more com-
fortable out there. I wish you would bring
her though, for I want to see her eyes." I
slipped over the carpet, " Come Miss Benette
and hear what Miss Lawrence is saying."
She looked a little more serious with sur-
priee, but followed me across the room and
took the next chair beyond mine. Santonio
eame up too, but Miss Lawrence said, ^^ Go
you have heard it before," and he having
to play again next, retired with careful dig-
nity.
*'' Tou must know that once on a time,
which means about three months ago,"
began Miss Lawrence, as if she were reading
the introductory chapter of a new novel,
'^ I wanted some country air and some hard
practice. I cannot get either in London,
where I live ; and I determined to combine
the two. So I took a cottage in a lone part
of Scotland mountainous Scotland ; but no
one went with me except my maid, and we
took care together of a grand pianoforte
which I hired in Edinburgh, and carried on
with me van and all.
"It was glorious weather just then, afld
when I arrived at my cottag* J ifound it
very difficult to practise, th ngk very charm-
ing to play ; and I played a great deal, often
all the day until the evening, when I in-
variably ascended my nearest hill and in-
haled t^- purest air in the whole world.
Mj'ihaid went always with me, and at such
^ . seasons I left my pianoforte sometimes shut
and sometimes open, as it happened, in my
parlor, which had a splendid prospect, and
very wide windows opening to the garden
in front. I allowed these windows to re-
main open always when I went out, and
I have often found Beethoven's sonatos
strewed over the lawn when the wind blew
freshly, as very frequently it did. You may
believe I often prolonged my strolls until
the sun had set and the moon arisen. So
cne time it happened, I had been at work
t^e whole day upon a crabbed copy of
Btadiea by Bach and /fandeJ, that my music-
^//er had smuggled for nie from an old
bareau ia a Parisian warelrouse. For you
must know sach studies are ^
found."
"Why not" ..^V
just as if it had been -.^.itcut i*,...
speaking.
" Oh, just because they are rare practice,
I suppose. But listen, of* our tale will bs
cut off short, as I see Santonio is about to
play.**
" Oh make haste then, pray I" -
And she resumed in a vein more lively.
"The whole day I had worked, and at
evening I went out The sunshine had
broken from dark moist clouds all over those
hills. The first steep I climbed was pro-
fusely covered with honey-suckle, and the
rosy gold of the clusters, intermixed with
the Leather, just there a perfect surface,
pleased me so much that I gathered more
than I could well hold in both my arms.
Viotorine was just coming out that is my
handmaid and I returned past her to leave
my fiowers at home. It struck me firgt to
throw them over the palings upon the littW
lawn, bet second thoughts determined iix
to carry them in-doors for a sketch or some-
thing. I got into my parlor by the glass
door, and flung them all, fresh as they were,
and glimmering with rain-drops, upon the
music-stand of the pianoforte. I cannot tell,
you why I did it, but so it was ; and I had
a fancy that they would be choice com-
panions for those quaint studies which yet
lay open upon the desk.
" In that lone place, such was its beauty
and its virtue, we never feared to leave the
windows open or the doors all night im-
locked ; and I think it very possible I may
have left the littl^gsiecf 'the front garden
swinging after me; for Victorine always
latched it, as she came last.
"At all events I found her on the top of
the honeysuckle height, carrying a camp-
stool and looking very tired. The carap^
stool was for her, as I always reposed on
the grass wrapped in a veritable tartan.
And this night I reposed a good deal tc
make a flying sunset sketch. Then I stayed
to find fault with my dry earth and woodei
sky, and the heather with neither gold noi
bloom upon it ; then to watch the shadows
creep up the hill, and then the moon, anc
then the lights in the valley, till it was just
nine o'clock. Slowly strolling home I met
nobody, except a shadow that is to say, as
I was moving no faster myself than a snail,
I suddenly saw a long figure upon the
ground fiit by me in the broad moonlight.
" * It was a gentleman in a cloak,' sai*'
Victorine, but I had seen no person, onlj.
as I have said, a shadow, and took n
note.
" * He had a sketching-book like Made-
moiaciVWa, and 'was ^ale^' added Victorine
\)nt 1 \)adft \iet \ft kWiw\. B^a ^\^ ^^"^ Xasi -^viUf '
CHARLES AUOflESTEK.
Itf
by lUtJunligbt ;' ^a fact to be ascer-
taixiBd, if anywhere, on a njonlft raoor.
^^ So I cama home across the ' lawn, and
got in at my window. I rang for candles
it "was not dark, certainly, but I wanted to
play. I stood at the window till the good
wife of the hoose, from her little kitchen,
bronght them np. She placed them npon
the piano, as I had always ordered her to do,
and left the room. After I had watched
the moonlight oat of doors for some time,'
being lazy with that wild air, I Ivalked ab-
sently up to the instrument. What had
taken place there? Behold the Bach and
Handel discarded, lay behind the desk,,
having been removed by some careful hand,
and on the desk itself, still overhung with
the honeysuckle and heather I had hastily
cossed about it, I found a sheet of music-
paper. I could not believe my eyes for a
long time. It was covered with close deli-
cate comu9ition, so small as to fill a double
page,^aaa distln-.;t as any printing. It had
this inscription, but no name, no notice
else : * Heather and Honeysuckle, a Tone-
wreath from tht Northern Hills.' "
** And that was what you played oh Miss
Lawrence?^' I cried, less in ecstasy at the
sum of the story than at my own conscious-
ness of having aiiticipated its conclusion.
" Yes, that is what I played, and what I
very seldom do play; but I thought you
should hear it I"
" 1 1" cried I, much too loud under the
circumstances ; but I could not have helped
it. " It was very kind of you, but I don't
know why you should ; but it is by him
then ?"
" Yon have said 1" answered Miss Law-
rence, laughing ; ^^ at least I think so. And
if you and I agnee, no doubt we are right."
" No, I don't see that at all," I replied ;
for it was a thing I could not allow. "I
am " only a little boy, and you are a great
T\layer, and growii up. Besides you saw his
shadow."
" Do yoF think so 1 Well, I thought so
myself, though it may possibly have been
ihe shadow of somebody else."
Miss Lawrence here stopped that she
might l%ugh, and as she laughed her deep
eyes woke up and shone like fire-flies glanc-
ing to and ro. Very Spanish she seemed
tlien, nd very Jewish withal. I had never
seen a Spaniard I suppose then, but I con-
ceive [ had met with prints of Murillo's
nower Girl; for her eyes were the only
things I could think of while Miss Lawrence
laughed.
"At all events," she at last continued,
"the Tone-wreath is no shadow." I was
iustonished here to perceive that Clara had
Raised her eyes; indeed they looked fully
^into those of the speaker.
'*He came from Germany j you caa bo
sure, at least,''
D
" Why so. Miss Benette ?'^ replied Miss
Lawrence graciously, but with a slight def-
erence, very touching from one so self-sus-
tained.
^* Because it is only in that land they call
music Tone,"
*^ But still he may have visited Germany
and have listened to the Tongedioht of Beet
hoven; for ?ie is not so long dead." And
she sighed so deeply that I felt a deep pas-
sion indeed must have exhaled that sigh. I
got out of my chair, and ran to Lenhart
Davy, for I saw him yet in the curtain. He
detained me, saying, ^* My dear little boy, do
stay by me and sit awhile, that you may
grow calm ; for verily Charles, your eyes are
dancing almost out of your head. Besides
I should like to see Mr. Santonio while he
plays."
" Will lie turn his face this way though,
Mr. Davy ? for he did not before."
"I particularly requested him to do so,
and he agreed, on purpose that you might
look at him." In fact Santonio had taken
up the gilt music-stand and very coolly
turned it towards us, in the very centre of
the company, who shrank with awe from
his immediate presence, and left a circle
round him. Then, as Mirandos, who had
to play a trifling negative accompaniment to
the stringed solo, advanced to the piano, the
lord of le violin turned round and uodded
at me, as he himself took his seat.
CHAPTER XXII.
Wb, that is ^Miss Benette and Davy and
I, came away from the Redferns all in a
hurry, just before supper Santonio having
informed us that he intended to stay. He,
indeed, if I recollect right, took Miss Law-
rence down,, and I have a dim remembrance
of Mirandos poking haughtily in the back-
ground. Also I remember our conversation
on returning home, and that Davy informed
us Miss Lawrence was immensely rich. She
had lost her mother when a baby, he said ;
but I thought her very far from pitiable, she
seemed to do so exactly as she pleased. I
had no idea of her age, and I did not think
about it at all ; but Miss Benette said, ^^ She
is as independent as she is gifted, Sir, and
she spoke to me like one who is very gen
erous."
"Yes, I should think so," said Davy,
cheerfully; "Santonio tells me she is a
piipil of Milans-Andr6."
" Oh 1" I cried, " how I wish I had known
that."
" Why so, my dear boy ?"
" SVii do^a TioV ^to3:vc5i V\v^ 'e.^ ^^'^ia5.
I
36
OnARLES AUOHESTER.
folly, Sautonio sa^'s ; and soon tired of his
rast ructions. I snppose the fact is she can
get on very well alone."
"But I wish I had asked her, Sir," I
AjB^in said, "because we should be quite
snre about the Oonductor."
"But you forget Miss Lawrence was at
the Festival, Oharles, and that she saw you
there. Come I my boy, you are not vain."
" No Sir, I don*t think I ana. Oh ! Miss ,next morning when I came down late,
Benettc, you laughed !"
"Yes, Master Auchester, because you
oould be no more yain than I am ."
" Why not. Miss Benette ?"
" Because we could neither of us be vain,
side by side with our Tone-Master," she an-
swered with such a child-like single hearted-
ness, that I was obliged to look at Davy to
see how he boro it It was very nearly
dark, yet I could make out the lines of a
smile upon his face.
" I am very proud to be called so, Miss
Benette, but !t is only a name in my case,
with which I aur well pleased my pupils
should amuse themselves."
"Master Auchester 1" exclaimed Miss
Benette, without replying to Davy at all,
" vou can ask Miss Lawrence about Mons.
Mllans-Andr6, if you please, for she is com-
ing to see my work, and I think it will be
lo-morrow that she will come."
" Oh, thank you, Miss Benette ! I suppose
Miss Lawrence said that to you when Mr.
Davy called me away to him ?"
" I did not call you, Charles, ^ou came
yourself."
" But you kept me. Sir ;" and it struck
me on the instant that Davy^s delicate de-
vice ought not to have been touched upon,
so I felt awkward and kept silence.
I was left at home first, and promised
Clara I would come, should my mother and
the weather agree to permit me. I was
hurried to bed by Clo, who had sat up to
receive me. I was disappointed at not see-
ing Millicent, with the unreasonableness
which is exclusively fraternal ; bat Clo in-
formed me that my mother would not per-
mit her to stay out of bed.
" And Charles you must not say one word
to-night, but eat tliis slice of bacon and this
egg directly, and let me take off your com-
forter."
The idea of eating eggs and bacon!
managed the egg, but it was all I could do,
and then she presented me with a cup of
hot barley-water. Oh 1 have you ever tasted
barley-water with a squeeze of lemon juice,
after listening to the violin ? I drank it off,
and was just about to make a rush at the
door, when Clo stopped me.
" My dear Charles I Margareth is gone up
to bed, stay until I can light you with my can-
dJe, And come into my room to undress,
I was n. arched off impotent, she pr&^.
ing me up the stairs with a stately s^r'
But softly as we passed along, liiilli e^:
heard us ; she just opened a little bit of i'
door, and tftooped to kiss me in her wh (
dressing-gown. " I have chosen my m,:z
ment," I said in a whisper, and she smlu
"Ah, Charles!"
I need not recapitulate my harangue
found only Millicent left to make my brc
fast. I was expected to be idle, and
rest had gone out to walk. But I wonder
when I came to think, that I had been so ch
less as to omit asking Clara the horn* fir
for Miss Lawrence^s visit ; though perh.
was my after-thought, she did not ki
herself. I need not have feared though, ; '
while I was lying about on the sofa after -
dinner, having been informed that I most io
so or I should not practise in the even /
in came Margareth with a little white r-
directed to " Master Charles Auchester.'
"I am sure. Master Charles," said t:
" you ought to show it to my mistress,
the person that brought it was no serv..
in any family hereabouts, and looks n
like a gipsy than anything else."
" Well, and so it is a gipsy, Margare
Of course I shall tell my mother ^I kc^
all about it."
Margareth wanted to know, I was si'-e,
but I did not enlighten her further ; bes -ies
I was in too great a hurry to break tie
seal a quaint little impression of an e( 1 1 i
carrying in his beak an oak-branch. T' e
note was written in a hand full of char u'
ter, yet so orderly it made me feel ashan* i.
It was as follows :
"Dear Sir,
"The young lady is here, ao
said you wished to come. She has no
jection, and will stay to see yon.
" Claka Benettb."
i -
How like her! I thought; and then with
an unpardonable impulse I don't def*'"!
myself in the least I flew out of the hcTi?'
as if my shoes had been made of satin. ^
left the note upon the table ^it was in Jh
empty breakfast -room where I had beer
lolling meaning thereby to save my cred t
like a simpleton as I was, for it contaii '^c
not one word of explanation.
A carnage was at the door of that coia^
house in St. Anthony's Lane, a dark-gr.
carriage; very handsome, very plain, aU
a pair of beautiful horses: the coachni.v
evidently tired of waiting, was just going t(
turn their heads.
When I got into the room up stairs, a
rather while yet upon the stairs, I st lel
some refined sort of foreign scent T I ;i(
VNV"*
tiAae joa may not wake my mother by \ onco \)e?OTft m^X. -^iVOcl va. xcrj x.^^\\^^
il/rowju^ your brash dowrJ* \ namely w\iexi ta^ \aio\\x^t V^^ x^c^vs^^
OHARLKS AUOHESTER.
51
preMiit of an Indian shawl, in an Indian
box, from an nncle of her's who had gone
out to India, and laid his bones there.
When I really entered, Miss Lawrence, in a
chair by the table, was examining some
resh specimens of Miss Benette^s work, out-
spread upon the crimson as before. I ab-
ruptly wished Olara good day, and imme-
diately her visitor held out her hand to me.
This lady made me feel queer by daylight ;
I conld not realize, scarcely recognize her.
She looked not so brilliant, and now I found
that she was slightly sallow ; her counten-
ance might have been called heavy from its
peculiar style ; still I admired her eyes,
though I discerned no more fire-flies in her
glance. She was dressed in a great shawl
^red I think it was with a black bonnet
and feather; and her gloves were so loose
they seemed as if they would fall off: she
had an air of even more fashionable ease
than ever, and I, not knowing that it was
(ashionable ease, felt so abashed under its
influence, that I could not hold up my head.
She went on talking about the work ; I
found she wished to purchase some; but
Clara would not part with any of that
which was upon the table, because it was
for the Quakers in Albemarle Square, But
she was very willing to work specially for
Miss Lawrence. I thought I had never seen
Clara so calm ; I wondered she could be so
calm ; at once she seemed to me like my-
self, a child, so awfully grown up did Miss
Lawrence appear. I beheld, too, that the
latter lady glanced often stealthily round
and ronnd the room, and I did not like her
the better for it ; I thought she was curious
and very fine besides ; so the idea of asking
her about Milans-Andr6 passed out of my
brain completely.
She had, as I said, been discussing the
"work she gave orders for embroidered
handkerchiefs, and was very particular
about the flowers to be worked upon
them ; and she gave orders for a muslin
apron, to be surrounded with Vandykes,
and to have vandyked pockets for a toil-
ette cushion and a veil and then she said,
** Will you have the goodness to send them
to the Priory when they are finished ; my
friends live there, and will send them on to
me. I wish to pay for them now" and
she laid a purse upon the table.
"I think there is too much gold here,
Ma'am," said Olara innocently.
"I know precisely the cost of work,
Miss Benette such work as your's is be-
sides priceless Recollect you find my
materials. That is sufficient, if you please."
And to my astonishment, and rather dread,
she turned full upon me as I was standing
at the table.
" Yon wish to know what Milans-Andre
is Me, Master Charles Auchcster, for that
l your jifiine, I Sod. Well, thus much :
he is not like you, and he is not like San-
tonio, nor like the unknown Conductor, noi
like your favorite Mr. Davy. He is narrow
at the shoulders, with long arms, small
white hands, and a handsome face rather
too large for his body. He plays wonder-
fully, and fills a large theatre with one
pianoforte. He is very amiable, but not
kind ; and very famous, but not beloved."
What an extraordinary description! 1
thought ; and I involuntarily added, " I
thought he was your master."
She seemed touched, and answered gener-
ously, ^^ I am afraid you think me ungrate-
ful, but I owe nothing to him. Ah I you
owe far more to your master, Mr. Davy."
I was pleased, and replied, '^ Oh, I xnow
that! but I should like to hear Milans-
Andre play."
" Yon will be sure to hear him. He will,
ere long, become common, and play every-
where. But if I had a piano here, I could
show you exactly how he plays, and could
play you a piece of his music."
I thought it certainly a strange mistake
in punctilio, for Miss Lawrence to refer to
the want of a piano in that room, but I
little knew her. She paused too, as she
said it, and looked at Olara. Olara did not
blush, nor did her sweet face change.
" I am very sorry that I have no piano.
I am to have one some day, when I grow
rich ; but Mr. Davy is kind enough to teach
me at his house, and I sing to his piano
there. I wish I had one, though, that you
might play. Miss Lawrence."
The fire-flies all at once sparkled, almost
dazzled from the eyes of Miss Lawrence a
sudden glow, which was less color than
light, beamed all over her face. I could tell
she was enchanted about something or
other, at least she looked so.
"Oh, Miss Benette I" she answered, in a
genial tone : " you are very very rich, with
such a voice as your's, and such power to
make it perfect, as you possess."
Olara smiled : *' Thank you for saying
so ;" Miss Lawrence had risen to go, yet
she still detained herself, as having some-
thing left to do or say.
" I should like to see you both again, and
to hear you. You, Miss Benette, I am sure
of, but I also expect to discover something
very wonderful about Master Charles Au-
chester. Yon are to be a singer, of course ?"
she quickly said to me.
" I hope I shall be a player, if I am to be
anything."
" What 1 another Santonio ? or another
Milans-Andre ?"
"Oh, neither; but I must learn the
violin."
'\ to "Veg\ti ^^rj ^CiO\ir
52
OHARLES AUCHESTEU.
^^Ony determiDe^ and yon will. Fare-
well I"
She had passed oat^ loaring a purse upon
the table, containing fifty guineas. Miss
Benette opened it, tnrned ont the coins one
by one, and, fall of trunble, said, "Oh,
whatever shall I do ! I sliall be so unhappy
to keep it."
"But that is wrong, Miss Benette, be-
cause you deserve it. She is quite right^^
" No, but I will keep it, because she is
generous, pd-- I can -see^iQW she loves to
(nve.
1)
I
Lauba was ftClhe -next ;c1ass. I had al-
most forgotten her until I saw her eyes. I
felt quite wicked when I perceived how thin
and transparent the child had grown,
wicked, to have thought so little of her in
suffering, while I had been enioying myself.
I cannot give the least idea how large her
eyes looked, they quite frightened me. I
was not used to see persons just out of ill-
ness. Her hair, too, was cut much shorter,
and altogether I did not admire her so
much. I felt myself again wicked for this
very reason, and was quite unhappy about
it. She gave me a nod. Her cheeks were
Suite pale, and usually.they were very pink ;
lis also affected me deeply. Clara appear-
ed to counter-charm me, and I saw no other
immediately.
'^ Ah Laura dear I you are looking quite
nice again, so pretty I" said this sweet girl,
as she took her seat ; and then she stooped
down and kissed the little dancer.
I found myself rather in the way, for to
Olara it seemed quite natural to scatter hap-
piness with her very looks. She turned to
me, after whispering with Laura.
" She wants to thank you for the flowers,
but does not like to speak to you."
I was positively ashamed, and to hide my
confusion, said to Laura, "Do you like
violets?"
" Yes, but I like large flowers better. I
like red roses and blue cornflowers."
I did not care for cornflowers myself, ex-
cept among the corn, and I thought it very
likely Laura took the poppies for roses;
still I did not set her right, it was too much
trouble. But if I had known I should never
see her again I mean see her as she then
was~I should have taken more care to do
her kindness. Is it not ever so? Clara en-
tu'cly engaged me; in fact I was getting
quite used not to do without her. How
well I remember that evening ; we sang a
service. Davy had written several very
simple ones, and I longed to perform them
in public, that is to say, in the singing gal-
lory of our church , but I might as well nan
aspired to sin? them up in Heaven, so utterly
would they have leen spurned as inno-
vatory.
It was this evening I felt for the first
time what I suppose all boys feel at one
time or another, that they cannot remain
always just as they are. It was no satiety,
it was no disappointed hope, nor any vagoe
desire ; it was purely a conviction that some
change was awaiting me. I suppose, in
fact, it was a presentiment. The voices of
our choir seemed thin and far away; the
pale cheek of Lenhart Davy seemed stamped
with unearthly lustre ; the room and roof
were wider, higher; the evening colora,
clustered in the shape of windows, wooed
to that distant sky. I was agitated ^I was
ecstatic. I could not sing ; and when I lis*
tened I was bewildered in more than usual
excitement. Snatches of hymns and an-
cient psalms, morsels of the Bible, lullabies
and bells, speeches of no significance, ;^tter-
ed years and, as it seemed, centuries ago;
floated into my brain and through it, despite
the present, and made there a munnnrons
clamor, like the din of a mighty city wafted
to the ear of one who stands on a com-
manding hill. I mention this to prove that
presentiment is not a fatuity, but something
mysterious in its actuality ; like love, like
joy ; perhaps a passion of memory, that an*
ticipates its treasures and delights to he.
" What beautiful words I" said Clara, in
a whisper that seemed to have more sweet-
ness than other whispers, just as some shall-
ows have urore symmetry than other shad
ows. She meant, " Unto whom I swart
in my wrath," and the rest.
"Yes," I answered, "I like those words,
all of them, and the way they are put. 1
always liked them when I was a little boy."
It was very hard to Miss Benette not to
reply here, I could tell, she so entirely
agreed with me; but Davy was recalling
our attention. When the class was over
she resumed
"I know exactly what you mean, for 1
used to feel it at the old Church in London,
where I went with Mr. Davy's aunt, and
could not see above the pew, it was so high.''
" Did you like her. Miss Benette ? Is she
like him ?"
" No, not much ; she is a good deal strictr
ei, but she is exceedingly good; taller than
lie is, with much darker eyes. She taught
me so much, and was so kind to me, that I
only wonder I did not love her a great deal
more."
I felt rather aghast, for, to tell the truth,
I only wonder when I love ; never, when I
am indifferent as to most persons. As wt
were going out I asked leave to come anc
practice on the morrow. I felt I must come
I wonder what I should have done had sh*
refused me. " Certainly, Master Auchestcr.**
CHAKIJES AUOHESTER.
fi9
Bnt sbe was .ooking after Lanra. " Let me
pin up that shawl, dear, and tie my veil
upon your bonnet ; mind you wear it down
in the street." The child certainly seemed
to have put on her clothes in a dream, for
her great shawl trailed a yard behind her on
the floor, and did not cover her shoulders
at all. Her bonnet-strings, now very dis-
orderly indeed, were entangled in a knot,
which Clara patiently endeavored to divide.
I waited as long as I dared, but Davy was
staying for me I knew, and at last he waved
his hand. I could no longer avoid seeing
liim, and said to Clara, " Good night." She
smiled, but did not rise ; she was kneeling
before Lanra. ^^ Good night, Miss Lemark."
She only looked up. The large eyes seemed,
like the drops of rain after a drenching show-
er within the chalice of some wood anemone,
too heavy for the fragile face in which they
were set, and from which they gazed as if
unconscious of gazing. I thought to my-
self, as I went out, she will die, I suppose :
^but 1 did not tell Davy so, because of his
reply when I had first spoken of Laura's ill-
ness. I fek very dispirited though, and
shrank from the notion, though it still ob-
truded itself. Davy was very quiet. I re-
collect it to have been a white foggy night,
and more keen than cold ; perhaps that was
the reason, as he was never strong in health.
When I came to our door ^how well I re-
member it ! I pulled him in upon tiie mat,
before he well knew what I was about.
" Oh 1 Master Charles," exclaimed Margar-
eth,' who was exclusive porteress in our
select establishment, "your brother has
"wrought you a parcel ^a present, no doubt."
" Oh, my goodness 1 where is Fred ?"
" They are all in the parlor ; but Sir, won't
you walk in ?"
" I beg your pardon," said Davy, absently,
. ly, " Oh no I I am going back. Good night,
Charles."
" Oh dear! M:. Davy, do stay and see my
present, please I"
Davy did not answer here, for. the parlor
door opened, and my mother appeared be-
nign and hospitable.
" Come in! come in I" she said, extending
her hand, and I, at least, was in before she
was out of the parlor. Fred was there, and
Fred's wife, a pretty black-haired little ma-
tron full of trivialities and full of sympathy
with Lydia, was sitting by that respected
sister at a little table. I ran to shake hands
with Mrs. Fred, and knocked over the table.
Alas I they were making bead purses, and, for
a few moments, there was a restoration of cha-
os among their elements. Clo came from a
dark corner where she was wide awake over
Dean Prideaux, and my ir.otlier hs^ raised
lier hands in some dismay, when I was
oaught up by Fred and lifted high into the air.
" Well, and what do I hear," &c.
" Ob, Fred, wl?eJ*e is my present ?"
" Present, indeed I Such as it is it lies
out there. Nobody left it at the office, so
Vincent tells me ; but I found it there among
the packages, and was strongly inclined to
consider it a mistake altogether. Certainly
' Charles Auchester, Esq.,' was not * known
there ;' but I smelt plum-cake, and that de*
cided me to have it opened here."
I rushed to the chair behind the sofa,
while the rest except Millicent and Mr.
Davy, who were addressing each other in
the low voice which is the test of all human
proprieties were scolding in various styles.
The fracas was no more to me than the
jingling of the maternal keys. I found a
large oblong parcel rolled in the thickest of
brown papers, and tied with the thickest of
strings round and round again so firmly,
that it was, or appeared to be, hopeless to
open it, unless I gnawed that cord.
'* Oh, Lydia, lend me your scissors I"
" For shame, Charles 1" pronounced Clo.
^* How often have I bidden you never to
waste a piece of string."
She absolutely began upon those knots
with her fingers ; my own trembled so vio-
lently that they were useless. Meanwhile,
for she was about ten minutes engaged in
the neat operation, I scanned the address.
It was as Fred had mentioned to me, as an
adult and as an Esquire, and the writing
was bold, black, and backward. It seemed
to have come a long way, and smelt of
travelling; also, when the paper was at
length unfolded, it smelt of tow, and some-
thing oblong was muffled in the tow.
"A box," observed sapient Clotilda. I
tore the tow out in handfuls. " Don't strew
it upon the carpet, oh, my dearest Charles I"
Clo, I defy you I It was a box truly, but
what sort of a box ? It had a lid and a
handle; it was also fastened with little
hooks of brass. It was open, I don't know
how. There it lay there lay a real violin
in the velvet lining of its varnished case I
No, I could not bear it. It was of no use
to try. I did not touch it, nor examine it.
I flew away up stairs. I shut myself into
the first room I came to, which happened to
be Lydia's ; but I did not care. I rushed up
to the window and pressed my face against
the cold glass. I sobbed; my head beat
like a heart in my brain ; I wept rivers. I
don't suppose the same thing ever happened
to anybody else; therefore none can sym-
pathize. It was mystery, it was passion, it
was infinitude ; it was to a soul like mine,
a romance so deep, that it has never needed
other. My violin was mine and 1 was it ;
and the beauty of my romance was, in
truth, an ideal charmer ; for be it remem
bered that I knew no more how to handle
it, than I should have known how to con-
duct at the Festival.
The first restoring fact)tl experienced w:is
the thin yet rich vibration of that vcr^ ^
6i
UHAKUS AUCHESrER.
viuUd. I Leard its \oioOf somebody was
trying it Davy no doabt; and that inar-
velloos quality of tone wbich I name a
doable one-ness; resnlting no doubt from
the 80 ofte^ treated harmonics; reached
and pierced me up the staircase, and through
the closed door. I could not endure to go
down, and presently when I had begun to
I'eel rather ghostly, for it was dead-dark, I
lieard somebody come up and grope first
liere, then there, oyerhoad and about to find
lue ; but I would not be found until all the
]laces had been searched where I did not
happen to be hidden. Then the person
came to my door ; ^it was Millicent, she
drew me into the passage.
" Oh I I cant go down.''
"Darling do, for my sake! they are all
so pleased. Mr. Davy has been playing, and
lie says it is a real Amati."
^ But don't let Fred touch it, please Mil-
licent 1" For I had a vague idea it would
not like to be touched by Fred.
" Why no one can touch it but Mr. Davy.
Not even you^ Charles. Do come down
stairs now and look at it."
I went. Mr. Davy was holding it yet,
but the instant I entered he advanced and
placed it between my arms. I embraced it,
much as young ladies embrace their first
wax dolls, but with emotions as sweet, as
deep, as mystical, as those of the youth who
first presses to his soul the breathing pres-
^oe of his earliest lovo. I saw then that
this violin was a tiny thing a very fairy of
a fiddle ; it was certainly not new, but I did
not know how very old it was, and should not
have been tlie least aware how valuable it
was, and of what a precious coatlinoss, but for
Davy's observation, ^' Take care of it, Charles,
and it will make you all you wish to be. I
rather suspect Santonio will envy you iu
possession when he has tried it.''
" But is he to try it then, Ar. Davy ?"
" Your mother has given me leave to asis
him, if I see him, but I fear he has already
returned to London." Davy glanced here
at my mother with a peculiar expression,
and resumed " I am going to writo to him,
at all events, about another subject, or
rather upon the same subject."
" Oh Mr. Davy ! I will talk to my KtUe
boy myself."
" Certainly Madam, I wiL not anticipate
you."
"Charles dear," said Clo, "you must
have your supper now."
It appeared to me that I had already had
it, but I restored my doll to its cradle io
silence, and ato unconsciously. Fred's pres-
ence at the board stimulated his lady and
Lydia to extreme festivity, and they laughed
the whole time ; but Millicent was pale, and
Davy quiet, and he departed as soon as he
possibly might. But a smile of sweetness
all his own, and of significance sweeter than
sweetness, brightened his frank adieu for me
into the day-spring of my decided destiny
PART II.
THE VIOLIN AND THE VIOLET.
CHAPTER I.
Thb next morning my mother redeemed
her promise. It was directly after break-
fast when she had placed herself iu the chair
at the parlor window. She made no allu-
sion to the evening before, until she com-
pleted this arrangement of hers, and then
she looked so serious as I stood before her,
that I fully expected something I should not
like.
" Charles," she said, " you are very dear
to me, and perhaps you have given me
more care than all my children, though you
are the youngest. I have often wondered
what you would be or become as a member
of society, and it was the last of all my
thoughts for you that you must leave me to
be educated. But if you are to be a mu
sician, you must be taken from me S(.on, oi
you will never grow into what we should
both of us desire a first-rate artist. I could
not wish you to be anything less than first-
rate, and now you are very backward."
" Am I to go to London then, mother ?"
I shook in every limb.
" I believe a first-rate musical education
for you in London would be beyond my
means. It is upon this subject your friend
Mr. Davy is to be so good as to write to
Santonio, who can tell us all about Ger*
many, where higher advantages can be ob
tained more easily than anywheie in Eng
land. But Charles, you will have to give
up a great deal if you go ; and Jearn to dc
everything for yourself. If yon are ill yoa
CHABLES AUCIIESTEK.
ve to do without narsing and petting
wonld have here ; and if you are un-
you must not complain away from
Also you must work hard, or you
ise your free self-approval, and be
}Ie at the end. I should be afraid to
go if I did not know you were mn-
lough to do your duty by music, and
enough to do your duty by your
; also that you are a true boy, and
)t take to false persons. But it is
y part with yon, my child ; and in-
e need not think of that just yet."
though, I am ashamed to say, and I
to set off on the next day. I knew
be impossible, and the fact that con-
le was the very one of my unstrung
ice, for I had a vague impression that
70uld tune me up before I lefb home,
not see him that morning my ex-
it was intense ^I could not even cut
, for I had to do my lessons, and OIo
behaved about my lessons, as if they
go on for ever, and I was by no
to grow any older. She was especi-
itionary on this morning, and I had
J for it but to apply very hard indeed.
ty was more crabbed than ever, but
he commented so gravely thereupon,
;ht of what Santonio had said about
1 and hand. I was not vain, I have
incture of vanity all through me, but
rerf proud, and also most demurely
inber, Millicent talked to me of my
;ti, but I pretended not to admit
a all their magnificence; the pro-
longing was so painful to me that I
lot irritate it. So she rallied me in
id I ate a great deal of. rice-pudding
nlate occupation. Dinner over, they
red to their rooms ; I to my violin
ner of the parlor. I hung over it as
in its case ; I fed upon it in spirit ;
id not take it out. I was afraid of
) coming in. At last, I spread my
handkerchief upon the case, and
down upon it, went to sleep in scarce-
cious possession. I did not dream
ig particular, though I suppose I
have done so, and it had been bet-
these unilluminated pages, but when
e it was late, that is, late for my en-
int with Miss Benette.
1 all the way, and as I reached my
place, it occurred to me that I should
tell her I was going to Germany,
lad she would be, and yet a little
for I had an idea she liked me, or I
never have gone near her. Vaulting
ic passage, I heard strange sounds.
J but not only singing. More and
ronders I I thought, and I dashed up-
The sounds ceased when I knocked
foor, which Oiara came to open. I
Srst, before I even noticed her, and \ live b^st vwvoi^ oi \OL^s\i'C
beheld in the centre of the room a smalj
polished pianoforte. I flew in, and up to it,
and breathlessly surveyed it.
^^Miss Benette, where did that come
from ? I thought you were not to have a
piano for ever so long."
She came to me, and replied with her
staidy, sweet voice, a little agitated :
^^ Qh I Master Auchester, I wish you could
tell me who it came from, tiiat I might give
that person my heart quite fall of thanks.
I can only believe it comes from some one
who loves Music more than all things
some one rich, whom Music has made rich
er than could all money. It is such a sweet,
darling, beautiful thing, to come to me!
such a precious glory to make my heart so
bright!"
The tears filled her eyes, and looking at
her, I perceived that she had lately wept
the veins of harebell-blue seemed to quiver
round the lids.
^^ Oh, Miss Benette ! I had a violin sent
me too, and I thought it was from Mr.
Davy, but now I feel quite sure it was from
that lady."
Clara could scarcely speak, I had never
seen her so overcome, but she presently an-
swered :
" I believe it was the young lady. I
hope so, because I should like her to he
made happy by remembering we have both
got through her what we wanted more than
anything in the world. She would not like
to be thanked though, so we ought not to
grieve that we cannot express our grati-
tude."
" I should like to know really, though ;
because it seems so strange that she should
recollect mey
"Oh, Master Auchester, no! Any one
can see the music in your face, who has the
music in his heart. Besides, she saw yon
at the Festival, and how anxious you were
to serve the great gentleman."
"Now, Mjss Benette, I am to tell yoti
something."
" How good ! do go on."
I laid my arm on the piano, but scarcely
knew how to begin.
" What is it to do, then ?" asked Clara,
winningly.
" I am going really to be a musician, Miss
Benette. I am going to Germany."
She did not reply at first, but when I
looked up, it was as though she had not
wept, so bright she beamed.
"That's all right; I knew you would.
Oh! if she knew how much good she had
done, how happy she would be! How
happy she will be when she goes to a con-
cert some day in some year to come, and
sees you stand up, and heai*s you praise
mns\c m \X\^ '^a\c.^\\.\Q^i'^\i'^'i\\:'^
iiTins
\ '^
.\t\ve
Do yo\3i WvvxvV %^\ \i^ ^^ SiNC^'^S.N^
M
CHARLES AUCHESTEB.
'^Beoanfle !t is .ike ilie yoioe of a singld
on], I do. Bat Mr. Davy says we cannot
know the power of an orchestra of souls.'*
"lean:'
" Oh 1 I beg yonr pardon 1 1 forgot."
^* Bat I don^t think that I remember well,
for whenever I try to think of it, I seem
only to see his face, and hear his vdloe
speaking to me, and saying, ^ above all, the
little ones I* ''
" How pretty it was I Yon will be sure
to see him in Germany, and then you can
ask him whether he wrote the 'Tone-
Wreath.* "
Oh, how I laughed again I
^* What sort of place shall I go to, should
yoa think ?"
** I don't know any place, really, Master
Anohester. I can't tell what places they
have, to learn at, apon the Continent. I
know no places besides this house, and Mr.
Davy's, and the class, and church, and Miss
Lenhart's hoose, in London."
" Are yon not very dull ?"
Alas I for the excitable nature of my own
temperament I I was sure I shoald be d nil
in her nlace, though I had never felt it an til
my violin came upon me, stealthy and stir-
ring, as first love. She looked at me with
serene wonder.
^^ I don't know what dull means. I do
not want anything I have not got, because
I shall have everything I want, some day I
mean, and I would rather not have all at
M
once.
I did not think anything could be want-
ing to her, indeed, in loveliness or aspiration,
for my religious belief was in both for her ;
still I fancied it impossible she should not
sometimes feel impatient, and especially as
those blue shadows I have mentioned had
softened the sweetness of her eyes, and the
sensation of tears stole over me as I gazed
upon her.
"We shall not practise much, I am
afraid Master Auchester, for I want to talk,
and I am so silly, that when I sing I begin
to cry."
"For pleasure, I suppose. I always do."
" Not all for pleasure. I am vexed, and
I do not love myself for being vexed. Laura
is going to Paris, Master Auchester, to study
under a certain master there. Her papa is
going, too, and that woman I do not like.
She is unhappy to leave me, but thiey have
fiUed her head with pictures, and she is
wild for the big theatres. She came to see
ine this morning, and I talked to her a long
time. It was that made me cry."
" Why, particularly ?"
" Because I told her so many things about
the sort of people she will see, and how to
know what is beautiful in people who are
not wise. She promised to come and live
with me when I have been to Italy, and be-
tome a singer, but tiP then I shall perhaps
never meet her, for our Whys are ot^t the
same. She looked with her clear eyes rigfat
through me to see if I was grave, and if she
only finds her art is fair, I shall not bea&id
for her."
" But is she not ill ? I never saw any*
body look so strange."
"That is becanse her hair is shorter. Yob
do not like her. Master Auchester.^'
I shook my shoulders. " No, not greal
deal."
" Ton will try, please. She will be an
artiitJ"
" But don't you consider of conne I
don't know but don't you consider daaciog
the lowest art ?"
* Oh Master Auchester I all the arts help
each other, and are all in themselves m
pure, that we cannot say one is purer
than the other. Besides, was it not in the
dream of that Jew, in tbe Bible, that the
angels descended as well as ascended?"
" Ton are like Martin Luliier."
''Why so?"
" Clo, that is my clever sister, told me
what he said about the arts and religioD."
" Oh, Mr. Davy tells that story."
"Miss Benette, you are very nanglityi
You seem to know everything that every*
body says."
" No, it is because I see so few peop^
that I remember all they say."
"Are you not at all fonder of music, tbaB
of dancing ? Oh Miss Benette I"
She laaghed heartily, showing one or two
of her twinkling teeth.
" I am fonder of music than of anything
that lives or is, or rather I am not fond d
it at all, but it is my life, though I am only
a young child in that life at present. But I
am rather fond of dancing I must confess.^'
'' I think it is charming, and I can danoe
very well, particularly on the top of a wall
But I do not care about it you know."
" You mean it is not enough for you to
make yon cither glad or sorry. But be
thankful that it is enongh for some people."
" All things make me glad and sorry too
I think. Going away now. When I come
back"
" I shall be gone," said Clara.
" I shall be a man "
" And I an old woman "
" For shame ! Miss Benette, you will bev-
er grow old I believe."
" Oh yes I shall, but I do not mind. It
will be like a summer night to grow old."
" I am sure it will 1" I cried, with aa en-
thusiasm that seemed to surprise her, so
unconscious was she ever of any effect she
had.
" But I shall grow old too, and there is
not so very much difference between ns.
So then I shall seem your age, and Mm
Benette when I do grow up, will yon U
inv friend ?"
Et
irisi
Tfihc
2e
5a
'So
rtd.
nit
r
r
|vs
I
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
n
" Always, Master Aaohester, if you still
wish it. And in my heart I do helieve that
friends are friends forever.^'
The sweet smile she gave me, the sweeter
words she spoke, were snfficient to assure
me I should not be forgotten, and it was all
I wished, for then my heart was fixed upon
my future.
" But you will not be going to-morrow, I
luppose ?"
" No, I wish I were."
" So do I."
"Thank youl" said I, rather discon-
certed, " I shaU go very soon, I suppose."
" It will not be long, I dare say," she
answered, with another sweetest smile, and
I felt it to be her kind wish for me, and was
consoled. And when I left her she was
standing quietly by her piano, nor did she
raise her eyes to follow me to the door.
By one of those curious chances that befal
some people more than others, I had a cold
the next class-night. I was in an extremity
of passion to be kept at home, that is to say
I rolled in my stifling bed with the sulks
pressing heavily on my heart, and the head-
ache upon my forehead. Millicent sat by
me, and laughingly assured me I should
soon be quite well again ; I solemnly averred
I should never be well, should never get
up, should never see Davy any more, never
go to Germany. But I went to sleep after
all, for Davy with his usual philanthropy,
came all the way up to the house to inquire
for me after the class, and his voice aroused
aud soothed ine together. I may say that
such a cold was a Godsend just then, as it
prevented my having to do any lessons.
The next day, being idle, I heard nothing
of Davy, neither the next. I thought it
very odd, but on the third morning I was
permitted to go out, as it waa very clear
and bright. The smoke looked beautiful,
almost like another kind of flame as it
swelled skywards, and I met Davy quite
glowing with exercise.
" What a day for December t" said he, and
cheerily held up a letter.
** Oh Mr. Davy I" I cried, but he would
not suffer me even to read the superscrip-
tion.
"Firbt for your mother. Will you turn
back and walk home with me ?"
" I must not. Sir, I am to walk to the
turnpike and back."
** Away then I and I am very glad to hear
To do myself justice I did not even run.
1 could indeed, for all my impatient hope,
scarcely help feeling there is no such bless-
ing as pure fresh air that fans a brow whose
fever has lately faded ; I came at length to
the toll-gate, and returned, braced for any
adventure, to the door of my own home. I
flew into the parlor, my mother and Davy
were alone. My mot]\er was wiping off a
tear or two, and he seemed smiling on pur*
pose.
*^ Oh mother 1" I exclaimel, running up
to her, " please don't cry."
" My dear Charles, you are a silly little
boy. After all what will you do in Germa*
ny?"
She lifted me upon her lap. Davy walked
up to the book-case.
" I find Charles that you must go imme-
diately, and indeed it will be best if you
travel with Mr. Santonio, and how could I
send you alone with such an opportunity to
be taken care of? Mr. Davy, will you have
the kindness to read that letter to my little
boy?"
Davy thus admonished, gatheiod up the
letter now lying open upon the table, and
began to read it quite in his class voice, as
if we two had been an imposing audience.
" Dear Madam,
"Although I have not had thf
pleasure of an introduction to you, I thin
the certificate of my cognizance by my
friend Davy, will be sufficient to induce
you to allow me to take charge of your son
at the end of this week, if he can then be
ready, as I must leave England then, and
return to Paris by the middle of February.
Between this journey and that time, I shall
be in Germany, to attend the examinations
of the Cecilia School, at Lorbeerstadt. Tlie
Cecilia School now is exactly the place for
your son, though he is six months too young
to be admitted. At the same time if he is
to be admitted at all, he should at once be
placed under direct trainisg, and there are
out-professors who undertake precisely this
responsibility. My own experience proves
that anything is better than begini ms too
late, or beginning too soon to work alone.
I have made every enquiry which could be
a proviso with you."
" Then here follows what would scarcely
interest you," said Davy, breaking off.
" Your friend is quite right, Charles. Now
can you say you are sure I may put faith in
you ?"
" What do you mean, mother ? If you
mean that I am to practice, indeed I will ; I
never want to do anything else, and I won't
have any money to spend."
Davy came up to us and smiled ; " I really
think he is safe. You will let him come to
me one evening, dear Madam ?"
" Perhaps you can come to us. I really
do not think we can spare him, we have so
much to do in the way of preparation."
It was an admirable providence that my
whole time was from morning to night takcu
up with my family. My sisters assisted by
Margareth, made me a dozen shirts, did
hemmed for me three doiJWCL lvwwJJi5e^'c\^5x.
\ I waft Wm^ \xv^aTw^i\ t ^WwJc ^ ^Mn '^'^
CHARLES AUCUSTSS
all the evening was mniitng np and down
stAirs with the completed items. Oh if yon
had Been my boxes yon woald have said
that I ought to be verv good to be so cared
for, and very beantiful besides ; yet I was
neither, and was sorely longing to be away :
snob kindness pained me more than it
pleased.
I had a little jointed bed, which yon
woold not have believed uhu a bed until it
was set np : my mother admonished me if I
found my bed comfortable to keep that in
my box ; but she had some experience of
German beds, and Englisli ones too under
certain circumstances. I had a gridiron,
and a coffee-pot, a spirit-lamp, and a case
containing one knife and fork, one plate, one
spoon. I had everything I conld possibly
want, and felt dreadfnlly bewildered* Olo
wtis marking my stockings one morning
when Davy came in ; he gave me one of his
little brown boxes, and in the box was a
oiiigle cup and saucer of that glowing, deli-
cate china. When he pnlled it out of his
U4clcet I little knew what it was, and when
I found out, hew I cried !
^^ I have indeed brought yon a small re-
membrance Charles, but I am a small man,
and you are a small boy, and I understand
you are to have a very small establishment.^'
He said this cheerily, but I conld not
laugh he put-his arm round me and I only
wept the more. Olo was all the time quite
seriously, as I have said, tracing ineffacebly
my initials in German text, with crimson
cotton ^nono of your delible inks ^and
Davy- pretended to be much interested in
them.
" What 1 all these stockings, Oharles ?"
" Yes, Sir ; you see we have provided for
summer and winter, '^ responded CIo as se-
riously as I mentioned. ** He will not want
any till we see him again, for he is to pay
ns a visit, if God spares him, next Ohrist-
mas.
Davy sighed, and kissed my forehead I
clung to him " Shall I see you again, Mr.
Davy ?"
'' I have come to ask your mother whether
I may take you to London ; it is precisely
what I came for, and I have a little plan."
Davy had actually an engagement in Lon-
don, or feigned to have one ; I have never
been able to discover whether it was a fact
or a fiction ; and he proposed to my mother
that I should sleep with him at his aunt's
house one night, before I was deposited at
the hotel where Santonio rested, and to
which he had advised I should be brought.
I was in fits of deliglit at the idea of
Davy's company, yet, after all, 1 did not
have much of that, for he travelled to Lon-
don on the top of the coach, and I was an
inside passengE* at my mother's request.
Then comes a sleep of memory, not nn-
accomj)anied bj dreams a dream of being
hnrled into a corner by a lady, aid of jam-
ming myself eo that I could not stir band
or foot between her and the window a
dream of desperate efforts to extricate my-
self ^a dream of sudden respite, cold air and
high stars beyond and above the houses; a
cracked horn ; a flushing lantern a ilream
of dark in a hackney-coach, and of stopping
in a stilly street before a many windowed
mansion, as it seemed to me. Then I am
aware to this hour of a dense headache,
and bones almost knotted together, till
there arrives the worst nightmare reality
can breed ^the smell of toast, muffins, and
tea; the feeling of a knife and fork yon can-
not manage for sleepfulness, and the utter
depression of your quicksilver.
1 could not even look at Miss LenLart,
bnt I heard that her voice was going on all
the time, and I felt that she looked at me
now and then. I was conveyed into bed
by Davy without any exercise on my own
part, and I slumbered in that sleep which
absorbs all time, till very bright day. Then
I awoke and found myself alone, though
Davy had left a neat impression in the great
soft bed. Presently I heard his steps, and
his fingers on the lock. He brought my
breakfast in his own hand, and while I
forced myself to partake of it, he told me
he should carry me to Santonio at two
o'clock; the steamboat leaving London
Bridge at six the same evening. And at
two o'clock we arrived at the hotel. In a
lofty apartment sat Santonio, near a table
laid for dinner.
I beheld my boxes in one corner, and my
violin-case strapped to the largest ; but all
Santonio's luggage consisted of that case of
his which had been wrapped np warm in
baize, and one portmanteau. Ho arose and
welcomed ns with a smile most amiable;
and having shaken hands with Davy, took
hold of both mine and held them, while
still rallying him in a few words about oar
punctuality. Then he rang for dinner, and
I made stupendous efforts not to be a baby,
which I should not have been sorry to find
myself at that instant. The two. masters
talked together without noticing me, and
presently I recovered ; but only to be put
upon the sofa which was soft as powder-
puff, and told to go to sleep. I made
magnificent determinations to keep awake,
but in vain, and it was just as well I could
not, though I did not think so when I awoke.
For just then starting and sitting up, I be-
held a lamp upon the table, and heard San-
tonio's voice in the entry, haranguing a
waiter about a coach. But looking round
and round into every corner I saw no Davy,
and I cannot describe how I felt when I
found he had kissed me, asleep, and gone
away altogether.
As Santonio re-entered, the sweet cor-
diality with which he tempered his address
CHARLES AUOUSTK.
me, was more painful than the roughest
^(neanor would liave been just then, thrill-
ig as I was with the sympathy I had never
irawn except from Davy's heart, and which
Lad never lost since I had known him. It
T' as as if my soul were suddenly unclad, and
eft to writhe naked in a sunless atmosphere ;
till I am glad to say I was grateful to San-
Amo. It was about five o'clock when we
entered a hackney coach, and were conveyed
bo the city from the wide West End. The
great river lay as a leaden dream while we
ran across the bridge; but how dreamily,
drowsily, I can never describe, was con-
veyed to me that arched darkness spanning
tbe lesser gloom as wo turned down dank
Bleeping steps, and alighted amidst the
lieavy splash of that rolling tide. There
was a confusion and hurry here that mazed
my faculties ; and most dreadfully alarmed
I became at the thought of passing into that
vessel set so deep into the water, and look-
ing so large and helpless. I was on board,
however, before I could calculate the possi-
bilities of running away, and so getting
home again. Santonio put his arm round
^6 as I crossed to the deck, and I could not
tut feel how careful the great Violin was
of the little human instrument committed
to his care. Fairly on deck, the whirring
fi&d booming the crowd not too great, but
so busy and anxious the head-hung lamp,
snd the cheery peeps into cabins lighter still
through glittering wires, all gave motion to
niy spirit. I was soon more excited than
ever, and glorified myself so much that I
very nearly fell over the side of the vessel
ioto the Thames, while I was watching the
wheel that every now and then gave a
sleepy start from the oily dark water. San-
tonio was looking after our effects for awhile,
but it was he who rescued me in this in-
stance, by pulling my great coat, (exactly
ike Fred's,) that had been made expressly for
ne in the Festival-town, and which feeling
rery new made me think about it a great
leal more than it was worth. Then laugh-
ng heartily, but still not speaking, he led
ne down stairs. How magnificent I found
lU there 1 I was quite overpowered, never
laving been in any kind of vessel; but
hat most charmed me was a glimpse of a
lecond wonderful region within the long
lining-room the feminine retreat, whose
loor was a little bit a-jar.
The smothered noise of gathering steam
same from above, and most strange was it
o hear the many-footed tramp overhead, as
i7e sat upon the sofa, that spread beneath
he oval windows all around. And pres-
mtlj I realized the long tables, and all that
here was upon them, and was especially
ielighted to perceive some flowers mounted
ipon the epergnes.
I was craviiigly hungry ly this time, for
the first time since I had left my home, and
everything here reminded me of eatinit.
Santonio, I suppose, anticipated this fact, for
he asked me immediately what I should
hke. I said, ^^ I should like some tea and a
slice of cold meat." He seemed amused ai
my choice, and while he drank a glass of
some wine or other and ate a crust, I had
all to myself, a little round tray, with a
short stout teapot and enormous breakfast-
cup, set before me ; with butter as white as
milk, and cream as thick as butter; the
butter being developed in a tiny pat, with a
semblance of the steam-ship we were then
in, stamped upon the top; also, a plate
covered with meat all over, upon beginning
to clear which, I discovered another cartoon
in blue of the same subject After getting
to the bottom of the cup, and a quarter un-
covering the plate, I could do no more in
that line, and Santonio asked me what I
should like to do about sleeping. I was
startled, for I had not thought about the
coming night at all. He led me on the in-
stant to a certain other door, and bade mo
peep in ; I could only think of a picture I
had seen of some catacombs; in fact, I
think a catacomb preferable in every respect
to a sleeping-cabin. The odors that rudhed
out, of brandy and lamp-^pil, were but
visionary terrors, compared with the aspect
of those supernaturally-constructed enclosed
berths, in not a few of which the victims
of that entombment had already deposited
themselves.
" I can't sleep in there I" I said shudder-
ingly, as I withdrew, and withdrawing, war
inexpressibly revived by the air blowing
down the staircase. ^^Oh I let us sit up all
night ! on the sea too I"
Santonio replied with great cordiality,
that he should prefer such an arrangement
to any other, and would see what could be
contrived for me.
And so he did, and I can never surpass
my own sensations of mere satisfaction, as
I lay upon a seat on deck by ten o'clock,
witii a boat-cloak for my pillow, and a tar-
paulin over my feet : Santonio by my side,
with a cloak all over him like a skin, his
feet on his fiddle-case, and an exquisitely
fragrant regalia in his mouth.
My feelings soon became those of career-
ing ecstasy, careering among stars all clear
in the darkness over us, of passionate de
light rocked to a dream by the undulation
I began to perceive in our seaward motion.
I fell asleep about midnight, and awoke
again at dawn, but I experienced just enough
then of existing circumstances in our posi-
tion, to retreat again beneath the handker-
chief I had spread upon my face ; and again
I slept and dreamed.
CHARLES AUCHESTER.
CHAPTER II.
At noon, when at leng^th I ronsed mjself,
we were no longer npon tlie sea. We swept
on tranqaillj between banks more pictar-
csqae, more glorions, more laden with spells
for mo, than any haven I had fortified with
Spanish castles. OasUes there were too, or
what I took for castles, silver gray amidst
leafless trees, and sometimes softest pine
woods with their clinging mist. Then came
shining country, where tiie sky met the snn-
bright slopes, and then a qniet sail at rest
in the tiny harbor. But an hour or two
brought me to the idea of cities, though
even they were as cities in a dream. And
yet this was not the Rhine; but I made
sure it was so, having forgotten Glo^s
geography lessons, and that there could be
any other river in Grermany ; so that when
Santonio told me its real name, I was very
angry at it. After I had wearied myself
with gazing, he drew me back to my seat,
and began to speak more consecutively than
he had done yet.
"Now Sir," said he, "do you see that
castle ?" pointing to something in the pros-
pect which mav or may not have been a
castle, but which I immediately realized as
one. " You are to be shut up there. Really
and seriously you have more fj^ith than any
one I e^er had the honor of introducing yet,
under any circumstances whatever. Pray
don't you feel any curiosity about your des-
ttnatifi V
" Yes, Sir, plenty, but I forgot what I was
going for;"
" And where are you going to ?"
" Sir, I did not know where. I thought
you would tell me when you liked."
" I don't know myself, but I dare say we
shall fall in with your favorite * Chev-
alier.' "
" ky favorite who. Sir ?"
" The gentleman who enslaved you at the
performance of the * Messiah,' in your part
of the world."
" Oh Sir I what can I ever say to you. I
cannot bear it I"
" Cannot bear what ? Nay you must not
expect too much of him now you know who
he is. He is merely a very clever composer."
" Oh Sir ! how did you ever find out ?"
"By writing to Milans-Andr6 another
idol for you by the way."
" Oh I know all about Milans-Andr6."
"Indeed. And pray what is all about
him?" '
" I know he plays wonderfully, and fills a
large theatre with one pianoforte. Stop-
he has a handsome tace, and long arms,
rather tao long for his body. He is very
^let me see something but not something
else, and very famous but not beloved."
. " Who told you that ? a most coherent
description as it hanpens."
" Miss Lawrence.''
" Miss Lawrence is a blab. So yon kn
no curiosity to learn your fate "
** I know that^ but I should like to faioff
where I am going.
" To an old gentleman in a hollow cave.'
"I wish I were, and then perhaps he
would teach me to make gold."
" That is like a Jew, fie I but the fiddle
has made gold."
"Why like a Jew? Because they are
rich, Jews I mean ?"
" Richer generally than most folks, tot
not all either."
"Oh Sir! I di4 not mean money," but
as I looked at him, I felt he would not,
could not, understand what I meant, so 1 re
turned to the former charge.
"Does he live in a cellar. Sir? or in a
very old house ?"
" In an old house, certainly. But yon
won't like him, Auchester, at least not at
.first, only he will work yon rightly and take
care of your morals and health."
^ " How, Sir ?"
."By locking you up when yon are at
home, and sending you to walk out every
day."
" Don't they all send the boys ont to walk
in Germany, then?"
^ I suppose so. But how shall you like
being locked up ?"
" In the dark. Sir, do you mean ?"
" No boy, to practice in a little cave of
your own ?"
" What does make yon call it a cave ?"
" Becauise great treasures are hidden there
for such as like the bore of grubbing them
up. You have no idea, by the way, how
much dirty work there is to do anything at
all in music."
" I suppose you mean to get at anything?
But it cannot be worse than what people go
through to get to Heaven."
"If that is your notion, you are all right
I have taken some trouble to get you into
this place, for the old gentleman is a whim-
sical one, and takes very few pupils, now."
" Did you know him. Sir, before you heard
of him for me ?"
" He taught me all I know, except what
I taught myself, and that was preciously
little. But that was before he came to Lor-
beerstadt. I knew nothing about this place.
Your favorite learned of nim when be was
your age, and long afterwards?"
"Who, Sir the same?"
" The Conductor."
"Oh, Sir!" it was a dreadful thing to
feel I had as it were got hold of him and
lost him again, but Santonio's manner
such that I did not think he could mean
same person.
" Are you sure it is the same, Mr. f
tonio?" I reiterated again and yet aj;
while my companion, whoso laugh I
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CHARLES AUCnKSTER.
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passed into a yawn, was gaziDg at the
smoke.
*' Sure 1 Of course I am sure. I know
every Conductor in Europe."
^^ I dare say you do, Sir, but this is not a
common Conductor."
" No Conductors are common, my friend.
Ho is very clever, a genius too and will do
A great deal, but be is too young at present
to be talked of without caution."
''Why, Sir?"
'' Because we may spoil him.'
I was indignant, I was sick, but so impo-
tent I could only say, "Sir, has he ever
*ieard you play ?"
^^ I cannot tell really all the people who
liear me play. I don^t know who they are
in public."
" Have you ever heard him play ?"
" No."
"Oh, Sir! then how can you know?
What makes you call him Chevalier? Is
that his real name ?"
" I tell you precisely what I was told, my
boy; Milans-AndrS calls him 'My young
friend, the Chevalier,' nothing else. Most
likely they gave him the order."
Santonio was now talking Dutch to me,
and yet I could not bring myself to detain
him by further questioning, for he had
strolled to the staircase. Soon afterwards
the dinner-bell rang. The afternoon being
a little spent we came up again and rested.
It was twilight now, and my heart throbbed
as it ever does in that intermediate dream.
Soon Santonio retired to smoke, and I then
lay all along a seat, and looked to heaven
until 1 fell into a doze ; and all I felt was
real, and I knew less of w^at was passing
aronnd me than of that which stirred within.
Long it may have been, but it seemed very
soon and suddenly, that I was rudely brought
to myself by a sound, and skurry, and a sus-
pension of our progress. It was dark, and
bleak besides, and as foggy as I had ever
seen it in England the lamp at our head
was like a moon ; and all about me there
were shapes, not sights, of houses ; and
echoes, not sounds, of voices from the s}yre.
The shore indeed I And my first impress-
ion of Germany was one of simple aston-
ishment, to find it on the whole so much
like, or so little unlike England. I told
Santonio so much, as he stood next me
and curbed me with his arm from going
forwards. He answered that he supposed
I thought they all lived in fiddle-cases, and
slept upon piano fortes. I was longing to
land indefinably. I knew not where I was,
bow near or lww far from my appointed
l^aoe of rest. I will not say my heart was
sad, it was only sore, to find Santonio,
though so handsome, not quite so beautiful
a spirit as my first friend, Lenhart Davy.
'VVe watched almost half the passengers
ont of tlie hoatf the rest were to continue
their fresh-water rovie to a large city far
away, and we were the last to land of all
who landed there.
In less than an hour, thanks to Santonio*s
quickening of the pulses of existence at our
hrst landing-place, we were safe in a hack-
ney-coach Tvery unlike any other convey-
ance), if indeed it could be called safe to b
so bestowed, as that I was continually pre-
cipitated against Santonio. His violin^caso
had never left his hand since we quitted th6
vessel; and this was just as well, for it
might have suffered from the jolting. lU
master was all kindness now : " Cheer up,"
said he ; " do not let your idea of German
life begin here. You will soon find plenty
to amuse you." He rubbed the reeking fog
from one glass with his handkerchief forth-
with, and I, peeping out, saw something of
houses drawing near. They were dim and
tall and dark as if they had never fronted
daylight. It took us quite half an hour to
reach the village, notwithstanding, for our
pace was laboriously tardy ; and again and
again I wished I had stayed with Santonio
at the little inn where we took the coach,
and to which ha was himself to return to
sleep, having bespoken a bed there ; for I
felt that day would have done evei^thing
for me in manning and spiriting me, and
that there was too much mystery jn my
transition state already to bear the sur-
charging mystery of night with thought
undaunted. Coming into that first street)
I believed we should stop every instant, for
the faint few lamps, strung here and there,
gave me a notion of gabled windows and
gray-black arches, nothing more definite
than any dream : so much the better. Still
we stopped not anywhere in that region,
nor even when, having passed the market-
place with its little colonnade, we turned or
were shaken into a quiet square. It came
upon me like a nook of panorama ; but I
heard the splash of falling water before f
beheld, starting from the mist, itfl shape,
as it poured into a basin of shadowy stone
beneath a skeleton tree, whose low3st sprays
I could have touched as we drove near the
fountain, so close we came. And then I
saw before me a church, and could discern
the stately steps and portico, even the
crosses on the graves, which bade me re-
member that they died also in Germany.
No organ echoes pealed nor choral song re
sounded, no chime struck; but my heart
beat all these tunes, and for the first time I
associated the feeling of religion with any
earth-built shrine.
It was in a street beyond the square, and
overlooked by the tower of the church
itself, that at length we stopped indeed and
that I found myself, bewildered at once bj
darkness and expectation, standing upoL
the pavement before a foreign door-waY\
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
" Koin y 8all ray escort, ** T will take yon
tip-staira first ^for yon would never find
yoar way and then return and see after
tU these things. Tlie man won't ran away
with them, I believe, he is too ugly to be
anything but honest. I hope yon do not
expect a footman to open tlie door **
^*I dislike footmen; bat there is no
knocker. Please show me the bell, Mr.
Santonio."
^^ Please remember that this is a moun-
tain which contains many caves besides that
to which we are about to commit you.
And if you interfere with any body else's
cave, the inhabitant will spring up your's
with gunpowder."
'^ I know that a great many people live in
one house, my mother said so ; but she never
told me how you got into the house."
" I will tell you now. You see the bells
here like organ stops ; this is your's. Num-
ber I cannot read, but I know it from the
description I took care to procure. I will
ring now, and they will let us in."
I found, after waiting in profound expec-
tation, that the door had set itself open,
just as the gate of the London Temple Gar-
den is wont to do ; but instead of finding
access to sunshine and beds of flowers, we
were plunged on our enti*ance into darkness
which might be felt.
Santonin, evidently accustomed to all con-
ventionalities of all countries, expressed no
astonishment, and did not even grumble, as
I should have expected a person of his tem-
perament to do. I was so astonished that I
could not speak. How soon I learned to
love that very darkness I and to leap up
and down those very stairs even in the
darkness I thongh I now held Sautonio's
hand so tightly, that I could feel the lissom
muscles double up and bend in. He drew
me after him gently and carefully to the
first floor, and again to the second without
speaking, and then we stood still to take
breath.
" That was a pull I" he observed. " Sap-
pose the old gentleman has gone to bed ?" .
" Oh, Sir I then I will go back with you
until to-morrow."
"No, indeed." He laid hold upon my
arm. "Listen! hush!"
I stood listening from head to foot. I
heard the beloved but unfamiliar voice;
creeping down another story, it came my
violin, or the violin, somewhere up in the
clouds. I longed to rush forwards now, and
positively ran up the stairs yet remaining.
There upon my one hand was the door
through whose key-hole, whose every crack
that sound had streamed, and I knew it as
I passed, and waited for Santonio upon the
haunted precinct.
"Now," said he, arriving very leisurely
at the top, " we shall go in tp see the old
" Will he have a Ivoard, Sir, is be iii
Jew t"
"Who told you he has a Jew-beard ^
Nevertheless he has a beard, but pray bold
your tongue about the Jews at least tT
you know him a little better."
I did not mean, thought I diffidently, to
talk to the old gentleman. If he is a Jew
shall know it, and it will be enough ; but
did not say so to Santonio, who did not ap*
pear to prize his lineage, as I did the balf
of ^ine. My heart began to beat, faster
tlian from the steep ascent, when he, with-
out preparing me further, rapped very vig-
orously upon another unseen door. I heard
no voice reply, but I concluded he did, as b
deliberately turned the lock, and drew me
immediately after him as I had shrank be-
hind him. I need not have been afraid-^
the room was empty. It was a room fnll
of dusky light; that is, all tones which
blended into it were dim, and its quaint
nicety put every new-world notion oat of
the way for the time. The candles apon
the table were brightly trimmed, bat not
wax only slender wax ones beamed in
twisted sconces, from the desk of an organ
that took up the whole side of the room,
opposing us as we entered, and whose pipes
were to my imagining childhood lost in the
clouds indeed, for the roof of the room bad
been broken to admit them. The doable
key-board, open, glittered black and white,
and I was only too glad to be able to exam-
ine it as closely as I wished. The roc\ii
had no carpet, but I did not miss it mr
want it, for the floor was satin bright wiiu
polish, and its general effect was ebony,
while that of the furniture was oak. There
was a curious large closet in a corner, like
another little room put away into this ope;
but what surprised mo most was that tbe
chamber was left to itself.
"Where is he?" said Santonio, appealing
to the silence ; but then he seemed to be re-
minded, and shouted very loud in German,
some name I could not realize, but which I
write, having since realized. "Aronacbl
whpe art thou ?"
In German, and very loud, a voice re-
plied, as coming down the organ pipes " I
am aloft chastising an evil spirit, nor will I
descend until I have packed the devil down
stairs." At this instant, more at hand than
the sound I had met upon the staircase
there was a wail as of a violin in pain, but
I could not tell whether it was a fiddle or a
child, until the wail in continuing shifted
from semitone to semitone.
Santonio sat down on one of the chair**
and laughed, then arose, having recoveroa
himself, and observed, " If this is his be-
havior I may as well go and see after yoar
boxes ; keep yourself here till I come back,
but if he come down salute bin? .n Germtn,
^ and \t wiW \)ft sXV xvg^A."
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
He retired and 1 remained, and now I re-
solved to have another good look. One
Bide of the room I had not yet examined.
Kext the door I fonnd a trio or quartette of
three-legged stools fixed one into the other,
snd nearest them a harpsichord ^a very
harpsichord with crooked legs. It was
covered with haize, and a pile of mnsic-
books reposed upon the baize, besides some
antique instrument oases. Other and larger
cases were on the floor beneath the harp-
sichord, and there hung a talisman or two
of glittering brass upon the wall hy floating
ribbons of red.
Then I fastened myself upon the pictures,
and those strange wreaths of withered leaves
that waved between them, and whose serest
hues befitted well their vicinage. As I stood
beneath those pictures, those dead-brown
garlands rustled as if my light breath had
been the autumn wind. I was stricken at
once with melancholy and romance, but I
nnder8ti)od not clearly the precise charm of
those reliqnes, or my melancholy would
have lost itself in romance alone.
There was one portrait of Bach. I knew
it again, though it was a worthier hint of
him than Davy^s, and underneath that por-
trait was something of the same kind, which
\ividly fascinated me by its subject. It was
a very^oung head, almost that of an infant,
lying, rather than bending over an oblong
book, such, in shape, as those represented
in pictures of literary cherube. The face,
-was more thap half forehead, which the
duster ing locks could not conceal though
they strove to shadow ; and in revenge, the
hair swept back, and tumbled sideways,
curling into the very swell of the tender
shoulder. The countenance was of sun-
bright witchery, lustrous as an elf of sum-
mer laughing out of a full-blown rose. Tiny
hands were doubled round the book,and the
lips were themselves a smile that seemed to
stir and dimple, and to flutter those floating
ringlets. It was strauge I was, though so
unutterably drawn to it, in nothing remind-
ed of any child or v^n I had ever seeu, but
merely thought it an ideal of the infant mu-
sic, if music could personate infancy. After
a long gaze, I looked away, expressly to
have the delight of returning to it, and then
I saw the stove and approved of it, instead
of missing, as I was told at home I should
miss, the hearth-rug and roseate fire-shine.
Indeed, the stove was much more in keep-
ing here, according to my outlandish taste.
Before I returned to the picture, Santonio
re-entered, and finding me still alone, took
up a broom which he discovered in some
region, and, mounting on a chair, made with
it no very gentle demonstrations upon the
ceiling, which was low and which lie could
thus easily reach. In about ten minutes
more, I could feel, no less than hoar a fot)t-
Bfp I did not know, for J am generally cog-
nizant of footsteps. Thife was cautious and
slow, yet not heavy, and I was aware it
could be none other than that of my mas-
ter presumptive. If I could have turned
myself into a mustard-pot, to delay my in-
troduction, I would have done so without
the slightest hesitation ; but no ! I remained
myself^ and he, all himself, opened the dooi^
and came in. I had expected a ta^^ man -
broad ; here was a little gentlepaaa no big
ger than Davy, with a firm and defiant
tread, clad in a garment that wrapped about
bis feet, in color brown, that passed well
into the atmosphere of his cave. He con-
fronted Santonio as if that wonder were A
little girl in petticoats, with no more rever-
ence, and not less benevolence, for he laid
one arm upon his shoulder, and embraced
him as in England only very young and ten-
der brothers embrace, or a son embraces his
father. There was complaisance, together
with condescension in his aspect ; but when
he turned upon me, both complaisance and
condescension were overpast, and a lour of
indifference clouded my very faculties as
with a film of worldly fear. Then he chuck-
ed me under the chin, and held me by it a
moment without my being aware whether
he examined me or not, so conveniently dis-
posed were his black eye-lashes, and then
he let me go again, and turned his back upon
me.
^^Sitl^' said he to Santonio, and then he
threw his hand behind him, and pointing,
without turning his head, indicated the
group of stools. I nervously disentangled
one, and sat down upon it then and there
by the side of the very harpsichord. San-
tonio being also seated, and wearing, though
as cool as usual, a less dominant aspect, the
brisk demon marched to the bureau, whicb
I had taken little heed of, under the win-
dow, but which, upon his opening, I discov-
ered to be full of all sorts of drawers ano
pigeon-holes, where a family of young mice
would have enjoyed a game at hide-and-
seek. He stood there, writing, without any
apology, for some time, and only left off
when a female servant, brilliant and stolid
as a Dutch doll, threw the door open again,
to bring in supper.
She carried both tureens and dishes, and
went into the closet after bottles of wine
and a table-cloth ; and everything she did
was very orderly, and done very quietly.
She spoke to Aronach, having arranged the
table, and be aroused and wiped his pen, and
closed the bureau. Then he came to San-
tonio, and addressed him in most beautitnl
clear German, such Grerman as was my mo'
ther's mother-tongue.
"I travelled very comfortably, thank you,"
replied Santonio, in reply to some inquii7
suggestive of the journey, " and I am glad
to see you younger than ever."
54
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
hempen doth ; it is that make which frets
Itself threadbare ^^ ^he pointed obviously
at me" What is to be done with him, eh ?*'
^^ To be left here, of coarse, as we agreed/'
"Recollect my conditior^. I torn him
OQt if he become ill/'
" Oh I he is very well indeed ; they are
all pale in England, they have no sun/'
" Be well then P' said Aronach, threaten-
ntgly, yet not terrifyingly, "and keep well I"
What a silvery stream swept over his
hirt-bosom I it was soft as whitest moon-
light. Is that a beard? thought I ^how
bean ti All mnst the high-priest have looked I
This thought still touched me, when in came
a boy in a blonse, and I heard no more of
his practice as I now recognized it, though
the wail still came from above, fitful and
woe-begone. This boy was tall and slender,
and his face, though he had an elegant head,
was too formed and Adult to be agreeable or
very taking for me. His only expression
was that of haughty self-content, but there
was no real pride in his bearing, and no re-
serve. His hands were large, but very well
articulated and extremely white ; there was
no spirit in them, and no spirituality in his
aspect. He took no notice of me, except to
curl his upper lip which was not short, and
which a curl did not become, as he lifted a
second stool and carried it up to the table ;
nor dil he wait to be asked to sit down
upon it, and having done so, to smooth his
hair off his forehead, and lean his elbows
open the table. The Aronach took a chair,
and admonished Sautonio to do the same.
Tlie latter made himself instantly at home,
but most charmingly so, and began to help
himself from a dish directly. The young
gentleman upon the stool was just about to
lift the cover from the tureen in the same
style, when Aronach roused, and looking
grandly upon him said, or rather muttered,
" Where are thy manners ? Is it thy place
in my house to ape my guests ? See to thy
companion there, who is wearier than thou,
and yet he waits. Go and bring him up,
or thou shalt give thy supper to the cat^s
daughter."
" So I will," responded the blouse, with
assurance, and^leaving his stool abruptly,
he ran into the closet aforementioned, and
brought back a kitten, which as he held it by
the nape of its neck came peaceably enough,
but upon his dropping it roughly to the
floor, set up a squeak. Now the wrath of
Aronach appeared too profound for utter-
ance; raising his deep-set but lightsome
eyes from a perfect thicket of lashes, he
gave the impertinent one look which re-
minded me of Van Amburgh in the lion's
den. Ther, ladling three or four spoonfuls
of soup or Voth into a plate, he set the
plate upon the floor and the kitten at it, so
seriously, that I dared i^ot laugh. The kit-
iei^ Meantime, unased to strong meats, for
it was not a week-old mite -mewed aao
whined in antiphon to the savage laments*
tions of another cat in the closet, its mate^
nal parent. The blouse never stirred an
inch, save carelessly to sneer over his shoal*
der at me, and I never loved him from tltat
moment. But Santonio nodded to me sig-
nificantly, as to say, " Oome here 1" and 1
came and planted my stool at his side.
Aronach took no notice, but went on
pouring coffee, one cup of which he set by
the kitten. Again she piteously smelled,
but finding it even worse than the broth,
she crept up to the doset-door and smellcd
at that
"Go up!" said Aronach to the blouse,
" and send Burney to his supper. He shall
have, the cat's supper, as thoa hast given
thine to the cat."
He went ont sulkily, and the wail above
ceased. I also heard footsteps, but he came
back again alone.
" He won't come down."
" Won't I did he say won't, Iskar 1 Have
a care !"
" He says he wants no supper."
" That 1 have taken away his stomach,
eh Oome hither thou black and white
bird that art not yet a pyet ?"
This was to me, I was just sliding from
my stool.
" Eat and drink first, and then thou shatt
carry it to h im . Tliou lookest better brought
up. Don't grimace, Iskar, or thou shalt
sleep in the cupboard with the oat, and the
rats shall dance in thy fine curls. So, now
eat, Aukester, if that be thy name."
" Sir, I am Carl, will you please call me
Carl ?"
He gave me a glance from behind the
coffee-stand. Sparks as from steel seemed
to come out of his orbs and fly about ray
brain, but I was not frightened the least, for
the lips of this austerest of autocrats were
smiling like sunlight beneath the silver hair.
I saw at this moment that Aronach had a
bowl of smoking milk crammed with bread
by his side, and bellying it to be for tlie
violin up in the clouas, and concluding in-
ferentially that the unseen was some one
very small, I entreated Aronach withont
fear to let me carry it to him while yet it
smoked.
He did not object, but rather stared, and
observed to Santonio, " His father makes a
baby of him ; to give a boy such stuff is
enough to make a girl grow up instead."
Still he handed it to me with the caution,
" If thou fallest on thy nose in going up to
Heaven, the kitten will lose her supper, for
the milk is all used up in the town." 1
could just see a very narrow set of steps,
exactly like a belfry-stair, when I opened
the door, and having shut it again and found
myself in darkness, I concluded to leave the
bowl oil l\\e gcoxxud ull I had explored Ui
CHARGES AUOHESTER.
9^
the top. I did 80, and span upwards, dis-
co Fering another door, to which, though
also in darkness, the wail of the violin be-
came my delight. I jast nnlatciied it, and
returned for my burden, carefully adjusting
spoon and basin on the road back. 1 knock-
ed first not to alarm the semi-tonic inhabit-
ant, and then, receiving no intimation, en-
tered of my own accord. It was a queer
region, hardly so superior as a garret^ ex-
tremely low and vast, with mountains of
lumber in every comer, and in the- midst a
pile of boxes with a portmanteau or two,
and many items of property which for me
were nondescript. It had no furniture of
its own besides, but to do it justice it was
weatlierproof. I could see all this rugged
imagery on the instant, but not so easily I
discerned a little fig are in the very centre
of the boxes, sitting upon the least of the
boxes, and solitarily regaling the silence
without either desk oi book, with what had
made me suffer below stairs. The organ-
pipes came up here, and reached to the
very roof; they gave me a strange feeling,
as of something misplaced and mangled,
but otherwise 1 was charmed to discover
them. I hastened across the floor the
player was certainly not an adept a tiny,
lonely looking boy, who, as I went up to him,
almost let his fiddle fall with fright, and
shrunk from me as some little children do
from dogs. I was as tall again as he, and
felt quite manly. "I am only come," I
said, " to bring your supper hiye it while
it is hot ; it is so good then 1"
Do not believe, sweet reader, that my
Glerman was more polished than my Eng-
lish ; it was quite the same. He dropped
his bow upon the nearest box, and de-
pressing his violin so that it touched the
ground while he still held it, looked up at
me with such a wistful wonder, his lip still
quivering, his pretty hair all ruffled up,
*' I dont want it, thank you."
" You must eat it , you have been up here
ever so long."
" Yes, a good while ; please take it away.
Are you the new one who was coming ?"
" Who said I was coming?"
"The master. He said you would beat
us both, and get first to Cecilia.''
*'That is because I am older. I can't
play the least in the world. I don't know
even how to hold the bow. Come, d^ eat
this good looking stuff."
"1 don't think I can, I feel so sick."
^^ That is becai^se you do want something
10 eaCT'
. " It is not that" ^he touched my jacket
" This is what they wear in England. I do
wish you would talk English to me."
I was touched almost into tears. " You
are such a little darling I" I exclaimed ; and
I would have given anything to fondle him,
bat I was afraid of staying, so I took a
spoonful of the ailk and put it to hb lips,
still another and another till he had taken
it all ; and then I said, " Do not practise
any more ;" for he was disconsolately
gathering up his bow.
"I must until bedtime; but I am ao
sleepy."
" Why are you left up here ? I will stay
witliyou."
" No, no, you must not. I only came up
here because the master caught me looking
out of the window this morning, and the
windows here don't show you anything
but the sky."
As I went out at the door I looked after
him again. He was just finishing one of
those long yawns that babes delight in.
The moment I found my way below, I
marched to the master's chair. He was
awful in his dignity then, with the wine
bottle beside him, and a glass held halfway
to his lips.
" Sir, he has eaten it all, but he is so very
sleepy, mayn't he go to bed ?"
8antonio was so overcome witli laughter
at my audacity, though I was really very
much alarmed, that he leaned back in his
chair and shook again. Aronach bent upon
me his flowing beard : ^^ Dost thou know to
refrain thyself, as well as thou knowest to
rebuke thine elders 1" But I could plainly
see he was not angry, for he arose and tap-
ped upon the ceiling with a stout oak staff
that he fished from the unimagined closet.
Then the little one came down and into the
room, shy of Santonio, and keeping behind
his chair, as he murmured " good night" to.
Aronach. The latter gave him a nod,
which would not have disgraced Jove in
full council. Santonio requested very kindly
that I too might go to bed ; and in a few
minutes I found myself in that little cave of
my own of which he had made mention.
Its entrance was hard by, through one of
the very doors I had noticed when the
glimmer showed me the staircase, and it en-
tirely answered my expectations, in so far
that it was very dim and haunted-looking,
very unlike my own room in England, or
anv of our rooms at home. It had a stove,
a looking-glass, and a press large enough to
contain a bride's trousseau complete. There
was also a recess which seemed lined with
London fog, but which on examination, by
the light. of my candle, I found to contain
the bed in a box, of which my mother bad
forewarned me. I could no more have slept
in it than if it had been a coffin, and for the
first time I fully appreciated her provision
for my comfort in this particular. My
boxes were all there, and I uncorded them,
and drew forth my keys. My excellent
sister Clo had packed in one trunk the bed
and bedding, and one set of night-clothefl|,
also a variety of toilet necess&ries in Holland
bags, it was c^ui^e ui &ff\Lv; V^ 1\^q^^^
GHARLES AUOUESTER.
K9e8 ; they were fitted into each other bo
atifnlly, that it was natural to imagine
the J could never be got hack acain. Kone
but an experienced feminine hand conld
have accomplished snch a feat, and very
carefnlly had I been indncted into the puz-
zlement of putting the parts together. I had
'nst unfolded the tight white mattress, so
narrow, but so exactly wide enough, when
Bantonio knocked at the door to bid me
good night and farewell ; and as he came in
he assisted me in the accomplishment of my
plans with that assiduous deftness which
preeminently distinguishes the instrumental
artist. He most kmdly offered to see me
into bed ; but that was out of the question,
BO I let him go with my hearty thanks. It
was not the least a melancholy feeling with
which I stretched myself, all tingling with
my rapid ablutions, beneath my home-
blanket. I did not the least long after home,
nor the lea^t experience the mother-sickness
that is the very treble-string of humility to
many a liero in his inaugnrative exile ; but
I felt extremely old, grand, and self-reliant ;
especially satisfied, in spite of my present ig-
norance, that by some means or other this
Aronach would make a man of me and not
a trifler. I was jnst asleep when I heard a
hand on the lock, and that no dream, for a
yoice vociferated, roughly enough "Out
with the light 1" I sprang up and opened
the door.
"It is only my little lamp Sir, that I
brought with me, and it is very safe as you
Bee ; bat still if you wish it I will try to
sleep in the darlc I have never liked to do
so because it excites me.^'
" Bah 1 thou art too young to know the
meaning of excitement. But for the sake
of some one else who loves the night-lamp,
thou mayest keep thine eyes open with it,
and thank him too, for it is his doing. Now,
get back to bed i and don^t come out again
the quick and living walk not about in
night-smocks here."
I heard him bolt me in as soon as I shut
the door. I cannot say this proceeding
pleased me, but on the contrary cost me
many a cold sweat until I became accus-
tomed to it. I lay a little while awake,
now spying out such variations from Eng-
lish style as had escaped me on my first ac-
quaintance with my quarters ; then reverted
to Aronach's dark hint about the person,
who like me, was excited by the darkness ;
and at last recollected my contemporaries,
and speculated upon their present circum-
stantials. Most softly did that poor little
soul present himself to mine as he played
with my buttons, and I secretly determined
to become his protector and ally ; as for the
imp m the blouse I abjured him at first
sight ; perhaps because he was, though re-
pugnant to my taste, handsome and elegant,
and I was neither.
OHAPTEB in.
I AwoDE with sonorous cries, and sojodi
of bells, and songs of sellers, and dim ring*
ing of wheels on a frosty soil. Hard and
white the day-dewa stood upon the win-
dows ; the sky was clear as light itself; and
my soul sprang as into the arms of freedom
Itoccurred to me that I was perhaps late,
and I dressed fast; about half-way to the
end, I heard the violins begin both of them,
but now they outrageously contradicted each
other in different directiona, and I could keep
by my ear to neither.
I made the utmost haste, but, as in moiit
cases, it was least speed ; I pulled off a bat-
ton, and then a shoe-string came loose. I
had to begin very nearly all over again ; and
when at length equipped, I recalled the in-
carceration of the previous night, and won-
dered how long I should stay there ; bnt a
sudden impulse sent me to the door, and
immediately it yielded to my band. ^^ He
has been here tlien," I thought, " and has
not awakened me, because I was tired last
night. How good to be sure! not at all
what I expected.'^ I sallied forth to the
landing ; it was like a room itself, but still
dark, dark for day-time ; and I could ooly
make out its extent by the glimmer through
the crack beneath every door. I listened at
each first, not knowing at the instant which
was which, but the violins asserted them-
selves, and I chose one to unlock on my
own responsibility. I had made a mistake
here, and came into the untenanted organ-
room where we had supped. There the
wintry light reigned full, and freshened up
the old tints till they gleamed no more dusk)
but rich.
The pictures and wreaths of other years
gave welcome to me, that magic child espo-
cially; nor less the harpsichord unopened,
quiet, while those sounds of younger violins
broke through and through my fancy, and
made my heart swell up till I could have
fainted with emotion.
But of all that pressed upon me, the
crowning sense was of that silent organ lost
in tlie shady roof; the sun playing upon
those columned tubes, and the black-white
keybeard clustering to hide its wealth of
" unheard melodies," sweeter than those
" heard^'*^ as one has sung, who can surely
never have heard them I
The chamber had been brushed and swept|
but still the fine dust flew, and caught the
sunshine on its eddies like another shade of
light. There was no one in the room^ and,
my first flush over, I felt alone and idle.
The t&ble was spread for breakfast as I dis-
covered la&t of all ; and I questioned wheth-
er such coffee as stood upon the stove sj
cosily could be surpassed even in Arabia.
It was so perfect that it stood the test oi'
sugarlessness, which I preferred, if possible
OHAKLES AUOHESTER
07
Standing to eat and drink in all haste, a
specnlation stnng me where was my yio-
lin ? It had not even slept with me ; I had
missed it in my room that bahy of mine,
that doll, that ladykin 1 1 looked everywhere,
at least everywhere I could ; the closet-door
I did not try, jnstly snpposit 3; that it was
not my place to do so ; and at last I con-
eluded to attack my fellow-pnpils.
I found my small friend's door very easi-
ly, and turned the key to admit myself. The
room to my amazement was precisely like
my own, even to that bed in the recess ; and
the inmate was not alarmed, for he evident-
ly expected me.
^* Oh I'' he said, after putting up his lips
to mine, "Marc has your study for this
morning ; the master gave it him to keep
till you were ready. But mind you lock me
in again when you get out, or he will flog
you and me."
"Did he ever flog you yet?"
" No, and he does not call it flog, but he
did tie Marc's hands together one day, and
he said it was the same to him to do that
as for an English master to flog."
" A very mild type, I think. But who is
Marc?"
"Marc Iskar; you saw him last night.
He won't speak to me; he says I am too
young."
" So much the better for you. And what
Is your little name?"
"I am Starwood Burney, but I should
like yon to call me Star, as my papa does."
" That I will, my German aster !"
" Aster is Latin ; I have begun Latin. But
io please go, I have so much to do, and he
will be so very angry ; so very, very cross I"
"How dare you say so, when he has
never even tied your hands together I You
should not he hurt nor disgraced, little
Starling; if I were there, I would be
punished instead, for I have twice your
strength. But you should try to love him
while you fear him."
" You speak like a great man, and I will
try : but please to go now, for I And this
very hard."
I left him, having selfishly shrunk from
the necessity to interrogate Iskar.
I stole to his door : I was really electrified
as I stood, not with envy, but with amaze-
ment. He was already a wonderful mechan-
ist. Such sallies of execution were to me
tremendous, but his tone did not charm me,
and I imagined it might be the defect of his
instrument that it sounded thin and cold,
unlike my notion altogether, and frosty as
the frost without. Clearly and crisply it
saluted me as I entered. The room was
like oura ^the little one's and mine ; but it
was gaily adorned with pictures of the
lowest order, such as are hawked about the
streets in England, and only conspicuous
from their unnaturally vivid coloring. Thev
were chiefly figures of ladies dancing, or of
gentlemen brandishing theswofd and helmet
theatrical subjects, as I afterwards dis-
covered. Iskar was sitting before his desk,
and had his face from me : as I approached
my awe was doubled at his performance,
for I beheld Oorelli's solos ; I had heard of
those from Davy. Another desk was also
near him, and a second violin-case stood
upon the floor. I asked him very modestly
whether they were mine ; he replied, with-
out regarding me, " That sheet of paper has
your exercise upon it, and if you cannot play
it you are to look in Marenthal's Prolusion,
which is in the bureau under the desk. You
are to take all these things into your own
room."
There was something in the tones of the
blouse he was yet in blouse that irritated
me intensely ; his voice was defined as that
of his violin, and to the full as frosty. I
was only too happy to retire. Then, sitting
upon my own bed, I examined the exercise.
It was drearily indistinct; a copy, and I
could make nothing of it; the mere Ger-
manisms of the novel rests and signs ap-
palled me. I could neither handle the
violin nor steady the bow ; but I had care-
fully borne in mind the methods I had ob-
served when I had had opportunity, and I
stooped to take this child of music from its
cradle. It was no more mine own than I
had expected ; an awkward bulky frame it
had, and I did not feel to love it nor to
bring it to my heart. Something must be
done I felt, and I returned to the organ-
room. I found the Prolusion, as Iskar said ;
an awfully Faustish tome, with rusty clasps,
the letters worn oflf the back. I was in
doom certainly. It was close black national
type, and I pored and bored myself over it
leaf after leaf^ until blissfully I arrived at
the very exercise prepared for me. It was
presented in illustration, and there were
saw-like enunciations of every step ; but
half the words were unknown to me, and I
grew rigid with despair. "Ohl" I cried
aloud, " if some one would only tell me ! if
Davy were only here I if Lenhart Davy
knew !" Still 'I slackened not in my most
laughable labor, endeavoring to interpret
such words as I could not translate, by their
connexion with others I did know, by their
look and make their euphony. I was
vocalizing them very loud, and had made
out already their- first position ; when a
rattle of the closet lock turned me all over
cold I listened, it came again ; a tremen-
dct:B ' Bo I" followed, and the door opening
lispla} ed Aronach himself, in the glories of
a morning gown. How could he have got
in there, and how have come out upon me
so suddenly without any warning I and,
above all, how would he behave to me,
finding me so ignorant ! I believe that on
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
m Ws siglifc, be truly wrise; for, merely
alluding to my condit.on in this form
"Thou hast shown thyself faithful, only
kee]^ thy faith ;" he bade roe bring ray traps
in there, and assured me, merely by his
aspect, that he would clear every stone from
my path.
When I returned he was standing between
the organ and the window : a grander pic-
ture could not be perpetrated of the life-long
laboring, and for love's sake aspiring, artist.
His furrowed forehead was clear as rutted
snow in the serene of sunlight as he ap-
peared then ; and through all the sternness
with which he spoke I discerned the gentle-
ness of art's impression. And after the most
careftil initiation into the simplest mechan-
ical process, he dismissed me to work alone,
nor did I relax from that one exercise for a
week.
But a great deal chanced in that week
besides. We spent each day alike, except
Sunday. On other days we breakfasted
very soon after it was light, on milk por-
ridge or bread and coffee ; but sometimes
Aronach would breakfast alone ih his cave,
which was that very closet I mentioned,
and in which the day must have been
developed about as decidedly as beneath the
ground. However, he had his lamp in there,
and his private escritoir, besides all kinds
of books and papers, that were seldom pro-
duced in our presence, and then only one at
a time.
The kitten's basket was there, too, and
there were shelves upon shelves, containing
napery^ and all sorts of oddities that had
their nest there after being hatched in cran-
nies of the old man's brain. The first time
I took a peep, I discerned my own violin,
carefully enough housed, but quite above
my reach. I fumed a little, of course, but
did not betray myself; and it was well I did
not, as Iskar and little Starwood both prac-
tised on common fiddles scraping could not
rasp, nor inexperience injure.
After breakfast, we worked till noon un-
der lock and key ; at noon we dined, and at
two o'clock were sent to walk. I do not
know whether I put down Aronach as a ty-
rant ; he must at least be so written, in that
his whims, no less than his laws, were un-
alterable. A whim it certainly was that we
should always walk one way, and the same
distance every day, unless he sent us on
any special errand. This promenade, though
monotonous, became dear to me, and I soon
learned to appreciate the morale of that re-
gime. We could not go to Cecilia, which
had its village only two miles off, and whose
soft blue gentle hill was near enough to
woo, and distant enough to tempt the
dreamer, nor would our guide, at hand,
permit us to approach the precinct conse-
arated to such artistic graduation as we had
Brxelattaiued.
In the mornings, Aronach was either ut*
sent abroad, instructing, or writing at hori\e;
but we never got at hiu!., and were not snf-
fered to apply to him until the evenir^g.
As we could not play truant, unless we I^ a^
battered down the doors, so we could :ot
associate with each other unreservedly, ^x
cept in our walks ; and, on those occasi ^i^na
pretty often, our master came too, cal \iug
on his friends as he passed their hoi3sc
while we paraded up and down ; but wfcen.
ever he was by our side, silent as a r\aini.
nant ox, and awful as Apis to the Egrj7)t-
ians, for Starwood and for me. Whey lie
came not, it would have been charming . but
for Iskar, who was either too fine to Uilk^
or else had nothing at his command to saj ;
and whose deportment was so drearily sar-
castic, that neither of us, his companions,
ever ventured an original or a sympathizing
remark.
On my first Sunday, I took Starwood to
church, that is we preceded Aronach, who
was lecturing Iskar, and sent us on before-
hand. The little one was bright this morn-
ing, and -as I looked upon his musically-buiU
brow, and trembling color, and expressive
eyes, blue as the air at evening and full of
that sort of light, I could not make clear to
myself how it was that he so disliked hia
work, and drooped beneath it in the effort
to master his frail body by his struggling
soul. We had turned into the place of th^
church the leafless lindens were whispei-
ing to it and we rested by the stone basin
while the bells came springing through thr
frost-clear day, like ^yet how unlike ^En-
gland! I was afraid my small companion
would be cold, and I put one of his long lit-
tle hands into my pocket with my own,
while I made him tuck the other into both
his warm gloves, till by degrees, having
coaxed and comforted him to the utmost,
he told me more about himself than I had
known before. He was extremely timid tc
talk, shy as a fawn, even to me ; but at last
I made out satisfactorily the secret of his
antipathy to his violin. I cannot remember
all his words ; besides they were too infan-
tine to write; but he described himself as
having spent that most forlorn of all un-
tended childhoods, which befalls the mother-
less offspring of the needy artist in England.
His father had lived in London, and taught
music, but had left him constantly alone ;
and I also discovered he had been, and was
still an organist. The child assured me his
mamma had been a beautiful player, but
that no one ever opened her gi'and piano,
which stood in a parlor above the street.
* I always knew I was to grow up to mu
sic," said Starwood, " for mamma had told
me so, and she taught me my notes when I
was only four yeai*s old. When she died
no one taught me ; and while papa was out
all day, 1 \Aa^'e^ nn\U\ vwy toys, and sat up
CHARLES AUCHESTER.
(S6
on ttie stairs. One day, some men came
up, and nearly fell over me. I ran into the
parlor, and they came too. They knocked
the piano about, and began to take its legs
off. I called out to them, ' You must not
touch that, it is my mammals V
^^ They did not take any notice, but made
a great noise, and at last they carried it
away, all of it, upon their shoulders! I saw
it go down stairs, and I sat there all day
and cried; I was very miserable I know.
Papa came home at last, when I was so
unhappy I thought I must die, and it was
all in the dark, and very cold. He carried
me in his arms, and made me tell him why
I cried. I said, ^ Because of the piano,' and
he told me he had sold it because it was so
large, and because he wanted the money.
I know he was very poor Charles, for a
gentleman who was very kind to him gave
him some more money to send me here, or
I could not have come ; but I wish he had
kept me at home, and taught me himself.' '
" But how," I replied, " can you be sorry
now ? We ought to be most gloriously
happy to find ourselves here ; but you fret,
my dear little boy, and mope, and that
makes you thin, and takes the strength out
of you that you want for music."
** Ah I that is not it ; you don't know,
Charles, how I feel ; I know you don't, for
you love your violin."
" I should think I did I"
" Well, I am strange to it, and don't love
it ; at least, don't love to play it."
" But why did you not tell your father so
"before he sent you here ? You know you
will never do anything well that you don't
love to do ^it is impossible. And not to
love the violin. Star, for shame I"
"It is not that oh, don't be angry with
me ! but my music is in the beautiful cold
keys."
" Darling little Star 1 I beg your pardon ;
but then why don't you learn the piano ?"
" But, Charles, I cannot. I was sent here
to learn the violin, and I must study it.
Aronach does not let any 'one study the
pianoforte under him now."
" He did then ?"
" Yes, a long time ago, when he lived in
another pUce, about thirty miles off. Have
you heard Aronach play tlie organ ?"
" No ; have you ?"
" Oh, every Sunday."
" You don't say so Star I is it not deli-
cious ?"
" Oha/les, I like it best of all the days in
the week because he plays. Such different
playing from what they have at church in
England."
" I shall go up tx) the organ and see him
2)lay."
"Charles I Charles! don't, please don't!
we never do."
''Then T shall be the first, for go 1 must.
There is precious Aronach himself; I will
run after nira wherever he goes."
I did so most rudely, forsaking Starwood,
who did not dare to follow me ; but I would
not miss the opportunity. I spun after
Aronach so noiselessly as that he had nc
notion I was following, though in general
he had eyes behind ; and he did not per-
ceive me until the service had absolutely
begun. Then I made myself visible, and
caught a frown which was accompanied by
a helples condition truly edifying, for his
arms and hands and eves and feet were all
equally on service. I therefore remained,
and made out more about the instrument
than I had made out my whole life before.
His was a genuine organ-hand, that could
stretch itself indefinitely, and yet double up
so crawlingly, that the fingers as they lay
were like stems of corrugated ivory ; and I
watched only less than I listened. The
choir so full and perfect, trained to every
individual, mounted its effects as it were,
upon those of the controlling harmonies;
there was a depth in these that supported
their air- waving tones, as pillars solid and
polished a vaulted roof where shadows
waver and nestle. I found a book, and
sang at intervals, but generally preferred to
receive the actual impression. I think my
first mother-feeling for Germany was born
that Sunday in pleasurable pain.
None can know who has not felt, none
feel who has not heard, the spell of those
haunting services in the land of Luther ^tho
chorale so grave and powerful, with its in-
terpieces so light and florid, like slender
fretworks on a marble shrine ^the unisonous
pause, the antiphonal repose, the deep sense
of worship stirred by the sense of sound.
From that Sunday I always went with
Aronach, unbidden but unforbidden; and
as I learned to be very expert in stopping,
I substituted very speedily the functionary
who had performed the office before my
advent.
CHAPTER IV.
It cannot be supposed that I forgot my
home, or that I failed to institute an imme-
diate correspondence which was thus
checked in the bud. Aronach finding me
one night, after we had all retired, with my
little ink-bottle on the floor and myself out-
sprawled writing upofi my knees close into
my lamp, very cooly carried my sheet, pen,
and ink away, and informed me that he
never permitted his pupils to write home at
all, or to v^rite anything jxcept what he set
them to do.
[ should have revolted outright against
TO
OUAKLES AUCHESTER.
made on the morrow ^that our master him-
self dismissed from his own hand a bnlletin
of oar health and record of oar progress
once a month ; preoions specimens no donbt
they were, these, of hard-hearted fact!
Keither were we allowed to receive letters
onrseives from home; only simple com-
munications were permitted to himself; and
tne effect of tliis rale, so autocratic, was
desperately painful upon me at first. I hun-
gered for some sweet morsel of English,
served up in English character : I wanted
to hear more than that all were well ; and
as for Lenhart Davy, had not my love
informed my memory, I should have for-
gotten him altogether. But it was very
soon I began to realize that this judicious
interdiction lent a tonic bitterness to my
life. I was completely abstracted, and upon
that passage of my mwardly eventful his-
tory I can never glance back without a quiet
tear or two ; it was heavenly in its unab-
solved and absolute serenity. It was the
one mood that befitted a growing heart too
apt to burn a busy brain too apt to vision
if that head and heart were ever to be
raised from the valley of material life into
the mountain heights of art.
I fear my remembrances are dull just
here ; for the glory that touched them was
of the moment, and too subtile to be re-
trieved ; but it is impossible not jast to re-
mind myself of them before returning to my
adventure-maze.
For six months,' that passed as swiftly as
six weeks of a certain existence, we went on
together I should have said hand in hand,
but that my Starwood^s diffident melancholy
and Iskar's travestied hauteur would have
held me back, and I was ardent to impel
myself forward. So, though at first I had
to work almost to desperation in order to
join the evening contrapunto class, I soon
left the other two behind, and Aronach
taught me alone, which was an advantage
it would be impossible to overrate. Not
that he ever commended ^it was not in
iiim! he was too exigent, too stern; his
powers never condescended, he was never
known to qualify he was never personally
made acquaintance with ; something of the
hermit blended mystically with his acumen,
so that the primary advantage of our posi-
tion was his supreme standard, insensibly
our own also the secondary, our undis-
turbed seclusion.
As I said, we walked the same distance
day by day. Nothing is uniform to a soul
really set on the idealities of art; every-
thing, though it changes not, susfgests to the
mind of the musician. ThougTi not a full-
grown mind, I had all joy in that unchang-
ing route ; for as the year grew and rounded,
all, as it were, dipired without changing.
Meditation meWowe^ every circumstance,
tiJJ it ripened to an n/iaJterable charm. 1
always walked with Scarwo^, who sti!I
made me very anxious, suddenly and in-
creasingly so pale and frail he became that
I fully expected him to die that spring. In-
deed he hardly cleared it, and I should have
mentioned my fears to* Aronach, but that he
seemed fully aware of all I feared. But in-
stead of getting rid of the weakling, as 1
dreaded he might choose to do, he physicked
him and kept him in his bed-box twice or
tiirice a week, and taciturnly indulged him,
giving him hot possets at night, and cooling
drinks by day. The poor little fellow was
very grateful, but stiU sad ; and I was as-
tonished that Aronach still expected him to
practise, unless he was in bed ; and to write,
except his head ached. The indefinite dis
order very seldom reached that climax
though, and chiefly asserted itself in baby-
yawns and occasional whimpers, constant
weariness and entire loss of appetite. I had
at length discovered his age, and I^car^s also ;
the latter had passed eleven, but was not
so nearly twelve as I ; the first was scarcely
nine, and so small he might have been only
six. It struck me he would not be much
older, and I had learned to love him too
well in his infantine and affectmg weakness.
I ventured one day to ask Aronach whether
his father knew he was ill? I was an-
swered
'' He is not ill."
"But, Sir, he is low and weak?"
" He will always be weak while thou art
petting him. Who can take more care of
him than I? His father?"
" Oh, Master ! I know you are good ; but
what if he dies ?"
" His work will not have killed him, nor
his weakness ; if people are to die they die,
if they are to live they live."
I was silenced, not convinced ; but from
that hour I did not think he would die;
nor did he.
Aronach was strict, he never departed
from a rule; it was his chief and salient
characteristic. He never held, what one
may call conversation with us, on any sub-
ject except our studies, and then it was in
exemplification, not suggestively. It was a
beneficial reserve perhaps, but I could not
have endured it forever, and might have
become impatient but for the auspices of
the season; it was the very beginning of
May. Though shut up to a great extent, as
we were, the weather made itself an en-
trance, blue sky swelled, and the glow of
morning woke me before dawn. The lin-
dens near the fountain began to blossom,
and in the garden of the church the o.'ik*
leaves clustered. I saw nothing of the
country yet, and could only dream of un-
known beauty in untraversed paths. The
Cecilia examinations approached : Aronacn
attended almost every day at the school
1 knew ^ust ^o mwcih ai\d no more, and ai
CHARLES AUOHESTEK.
n
much expected to assist thereat, as I should
have hoped to come of age on my twelfth
birth-day. My birth-day was in that month
of May in the third week ; and though I
was innocent of the fact, it was a fact that
It was one of Oecilia^s feast days as well as
ray own. It was, however, such a delicious
morning, that it nearly sent me mad np in
iny little room to be mewed there, when
snch thousands upon thousands roamed
Avheresoever they would ; for I never took
it into account how many of those wander-
ers would rejoice to be so shut up as I was,
could they only rest. And it struck me
that at least one day in the year one ought
to be permitted to do exactly as one de-
sired, even were the desire to drown one^s
self the prevalent aspiration. There are
times when it is not only natural, but ne-
cessary to rebel against authority ; so that,
had I not been locked in, I would have cer-
tainly escaped and made a ramble on my
own responsibility ; for I should have acted
upon as pure impulse as when usually in-
dustrious as I was ^I laid down my fiddle
and wasted my time.
As I gazed upon the window, and smelt
the utter sweetness of the atmosphere,
hardly so much air as flower-spirit, the
voice of perfume, I was wished of the
wings of all the flies, and envious of the
butterflies that blundered in and floated
out. I am sure I had been idle at least an
hour, and had no prospect of taking heed
to my ways, so long as the sky was blue as
tliat sky, and the breeze blew in, when I
felt, rather than heard, a. soft little knock
at the door. I fancied it was the servant
dashing her broom-stick upon the landing ;
but in a moment it was repeated, and I was
very shy to take any notice, feeling that a
goblin could let itself in, and had better
do so than be admitted. Then I was roused
indeed, and my own inaction scared me, for
I recognized Starwood's voice.
" Charles, I want to come in ^mayn't I
a minute, please ?"
" Beally, Star, it is too bad of you to
give me such a turn. How can I open the
door. Pray come in directly, and tell me
what is the matter."
He boggled at the lock for a minute or
two, but at last admitted himself.
"Why Star, how frightened you look I
Have you been flogged at last? and is the
Master hoine already ?"
" No I no I Oharl^as, something most ex-
traordinary."
I really could but laugh, the child re-
peated^ the words with such an awe.
" A^ gentleman, Charles, has come. He
opened my door while I was praoUsing^ I
should have been dreadfully frightened, but
he was so kind and came in so gently. He
thought you were here, Charles, and asked
for you; he saya hf) does not know your
name, but that he could tell roe w^iether
you were if I would describe you. I said
how pale you were with such dark eyes,
and about your playing, and he said,
^^AU right, go and fetch him. or send
him to ir.c, will you be so kind ?"
" How could you be quite sure ? it may
be some one for Iskar, who is pale, and has
dark eyes."
"He said it was the violin that came a-
Christmas I was to send ; and you came at
Christmas. Besides he looks very like a
friend ; he is not like anybody else."
" What is he like. Star ?"
"His face is so very bright and clever
that I could not look at it ; but I saw his
beautiful curling hair; I never saw such
curling hair."
" Come in witli me then. Star."
" No, he said I was not to come too, that
I might go on with my music. He calls it
music, but I don^t think it is much like W^
Now, I knew who was there, as well as
if an angel had spoken to me, and said-
" it is he for whom you waited." Had I
not known in very assurance, I should have
forced my little friend to go back with me,
thai I might not meet alone a stranger ; as
it was, I only longed to fly, and to fly alone
into that presence, for which I then felt I
had been waiting, though I had known it
not.
I rushed from my little prison enfranchis-
ed, ecstatic, but I misapprehended my own
sensations ; the magnetic power was so ap-
palling, that as I reached the threshold of
that other room a dark shock came over my
eyes, and partly from my haste, in part from
that dazzling blindness, I staggered and fell
across the doorway, and could not try to
rise.
But bis arm was round me ^before I fell
I felt it, and as I lay I was crushed, aban-
doned in very worship. None worship as
the child-enthusiast, save the enthusiast who
worshipped even as a child. I scarcely tried
to rise, but he lifted me with that strong
and slender arm, and set me upon my feet.
Before he spoke I spoke, but I gasped so
wildly, that my words are not in my power
to recall. I only remember that I named
him " our Conductor the Conductor ?" and
that still with his light touch on my shoul-
der, he turned his head aside. I looked up
freely then, and the glance I theu caught of
that brow, those eyes half averted, half bent
upon me with the old pitying sweetness ;
partly shaded by earthly sympathy, but for
the most part lifted into light beyond my
knowledge ; the one glimpse forewai'ned me
not to yield to the emotions he raised within
me, lest I should trouble him more than
needed. It was not a minute I am sure be-
fore I mastered myself and stood before him
firmly.
72
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
School to-day; it is tlie first day of the
grand examinations, at least I believe so ; I
Know they are all very busy there, and have
been for sonoe time. I don^t think the Mas-
ter will be home nntil qnite the evening, for
he told us to dine alone ; bnt if yon will
allow me, I will rue and brin^ yon a coach
from the Keli Platz, which will take yon to
Cecilia in abont an hour ; I have heard the
Master say so.^*
He was looking towards the window, and
while I spoke, his face, so exquisitely pale,
grew gradually warm and bright, his cheek
mantled, his eyes laughed within- the lashes.
"All very good, and wise, and*amiable
most amiable !^* said he, " and such pretty
Gkrman too ! But I come to see you, and
not your master, here. I have heen a long
time coming, but I could not get here before,
because I had not done my lessons. T have
finished them now, and want a game of
play. Will yon have a game with me ?"
Before I could answer, he resumed, in
tones of the most ravishing gaiety :
" And yon are all so pale so pale, that I
am ashamed of you I What have you been
all doing ?"
" Practising, Sir ^at least not I, for I have
been idle all the morning, for the very first
time since I 'came here, I assure you. 1
kept thinking and thinking, and expecting
and expecting, though I could not tell what,
and now I know."
" But I am still very much ashamed of
Aronach. Does he lock you up?" with a
star of mischief shining from the very mid-
dle of each eye.
" Yes Sir, always as well as the others of
course. I like it very much, too, it is so
safe."
" Not always it seems. Well now let us
have a race to the river, and then if you are
pale still, I shall take you to Oecllia, and
show somebody that it is a question whether
he can keep you at home, for all he bolts
you in. The day is so fine, so beantiful,
that I think the music itself may have a
holiday."
'* Sir, do you really mean it? Oh, if yon
do, pray let us go to Cecilia now ; for jier-
haps there is music to hear, and oh ! it is so
very, 'oery long, since I heard any."
"Is it so dear to you, that you would
rather seek it than all the suhshine, and all
the heart of spring ? Ah I too young to find
that anything is better than music, and
iiiire to be desired I"
"Yes, Sir, yes! please to take mo; I
won't be in the way, it will be enough to
walk by you ; I don't want you to talk."
" But I do want to talk ; I cannot keep
quiet ; I have a lady's tongue, and yours I
fancy is not much shorter. We will there-
fore go now."
*'ThiB moment^ Sir. Oh I I would rather
4fo than hnvo t/e Festival over again."
"The Festival! the Festival! It is ih
Festival ! Is it not to-day a Festival ? and
etery day in May ?"
He looked as he spolce so divinely happy,
that it is so the angels must appear in their
everlasting Spring. I rushed into my room
and rummaged for mv cap, also for a pair
of new gloves, but f was not very long
though I shook so violently that it was a
task to pull on those skins. Returning, I
found him still at the window; he was
leaning upon the bureau ; not near the harp-
sichord not before the organ ^but gazing
child-like into the bright blue morning. He
was dressed in a summer coat, short and
very loose, that hung almost in folds upon
his delicate figure : the collar falling low re-
vealed the throat, so white, so regal ; and
through the buttonhole fluttered the ribbon
of the Chevalier. He carried also a robe-
like cloak upon his arm, lined with silk, and
amply tasselled. I ventured to take it from
him, but he gently and yet forcefully drew
it again to himself, saying, " It is too heavy
for thee. May I not already say * thou ?"^
" Oh, Sir, if you will ; but let me go first,
it is so dark always upon the stairs."
" One does not love darkness truly, we
will escape together."
He took my hand, and I tried to lead
him, but after all it was he who led me step
by step. I did not know the road to Cecilia,
and I said so.
" Oh ! I suppose not ; sly Aronach ! but
I do, and that is suflScient, is it not ? Why
the color is coming back already. And I
see yonr eyes begin to know me. I am so
glad. Ah ! they tell more now than they
will tell some day !"
" Sir, you are too good, but I thank you.
I like to feel well. And I feel more than
well to-day. I am too glad 1 think."
" Never too well or glad, it is not possi-
ble. Kever. too bright and hopeful. Never
too blissfully rejoicing. Tell me your name,
if you please."
" Sir, my name is nothing."
"That is better than NorvaV\ He
laughed, as at himself.
" Sir, however did you get to hear that/
Oh,'^ I quite screamed as the reminiscence
shook mfi, " Oh, Sir, did you write the Tone*
Wreath ?"
He gave me a look which seemed to drink
up my soul ; " I plucked a garland, but il
was beyond the Grampian Hills."
" You did write it ! I knew it when I
heard it. Sir. I am so delighted i I knew
the instant she played it, and she thought
so too, but of course we could not be quite
sure.
n
He made the very slightest gesture of im-
patience. " Never mind the Tone-Wroath !
there are May-bells enough on the hill that
we are to go to."
1 1 was ^eti9\\A^ xemvci^it^^ ol \i\^ xaic ^ but
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
n
its bitterness was all sheatbed In beauty
"when I looked again. So beautiful was he,
that I could not help looking at his face ; so
we are drawn to the evening star, so to the
morning roses, but with how different a
spell ! for just where theirs' is closed, did
his begin its secret still attraction ; the love-
liness, the symmetry were lost, as the ma-
jestic spirit seized upon the soul through
the sight, and conquered.
'^ You have not told me your name. Is
it so diflBcult for me to pronounce ? I will
try very hard to say it, and I wish to know
it."
Kg " I will " was ever so irresistible
" Charles Auchester."
^^That is a tell-tale name. But I can
never forget what was written for me on
your forehead, the day you were so kind to
me in a foreign country. Do you like me,
Charles? Well enough to wish to know
me?"
I can never describe the innocent regality
of his manner here it was something never
to be imagined, that voice in that peculiar
key.
" Sir 1 1 know how many friends you must
have, and how thoy must admire you. I
don't think any of them love yov. as I do,
and always did ever since that da}', I wish
I could tell you, but it's of no use. I can't,
though I quite burn to tell you, and to make
you know. I do love you better than I
love my life, and you are the only person I
love better than music. I would go to the
other end of the world, and never see you
any more, rather than I would be in your
way or tire you. Will you believe me 1"
"Come I" lie answered brightly, delicately,
" I know all you wish to say, because I can
feel myself; but I could not bear yon at the
other end of the world just now, because I
like you near me, and were you and I to go
away from each other, as we must, I should
still feel you near me, for whatever is or has
been, is forever to me."
"Sir, I can only thank you, and that
means more than I can say ; but I cannot
think why you like me. It is most ex-
quisite, but I do not understand it."
He smiled, and his eye kindled. " I shall
not tell you, I see you do not know ; I do
not wish for you to know. But tell me
now, will you not, do you enter the school
this semestre ?"
" Yes, Sir, I believe so. At leas. I came
here on purpose ; but Aronach does not tell
US much, you know, Sir."
" Is that tall young gentleman to enter?"
" Yes, Sir, Marc Iskar."
" And the least, how do you name him ?"
Like a flash of lightning a conception
track me through and through.
" Sir, he is called Starwood Burney, from
England. How Id; wish I might tell you
something I"
"You can tell me anything; there is pieuty
of time and room, and no one to hear, if il
be a pretty little secret."
" It is a secret^ but not a little one vni
pretty either. It is about Starwood. ]
don't think I ought to trouble you about it,
and yet I must tell you, because I think yon
can do anything you please."
" Like a prince in the Arabian tales"-*
he answered brightly. "I fear I am pooi
in comparison with such, for I can only help
in one way."
" And that one way is the very way I
want. Sir. Starwood loves the pianoforte :
I have seen him change all over, when he
talked of it, as if it were his real life. It is
not a real life he lives with that violin."
"I wish it had been thyself, whose real
life it is, my child," he replied, with a ten-
derness I could ill brook, could less account
for; "but still thy wish shall be mine.
Would the little one go with me ? He seems
terrified to be spoken to, and it would make
my heart beat to flutter him."
" Sir, that is ^ust like you to say so ; but
I am very certam he would soon love you
not as I do, that would be impossible, but
so much that you would not be sorry yon
had taken him away. But oh I if I had
known that you would take and teach, I
would never have taken up the violin, but
have come and thrown myself at your feet^,
Sir, and have held upon you till you prom-
ised to take me. I thought. Sir, somehow
that you did not teach."
" Understand me then, that what I say I
say to satisfy you ; you are better as you
are, better than you could be with me. I
am a wanderer, and it is not my right to
teach ; 1 am bound to another craft, and the
only one for the perfecting of which it is not
my right to call myself poor. Do you un-
derstand, Charles?"
"I think, Sir, that you mean you make
music, and that therefore you have no time
for the dirty work."
He broke into a burst of laughter, like
joy-bells. "There is as much dirty work,
however, in what you call making music.
But what I meant for you to understand
was this, that I do not take money for in-
structing, because that would be to take the
bread from the mouths of hundreds I love
and honor. I have money enough, and you
know how sweet it is even to give money ;
how much sweeter to give what cannot l-o
bougiii by money 1 I shall take this little
friend of mine to my own home, if he will
go and I am permitted to do so, and I ihaU
treat him as my son because he will indeed
be my music-child, and no more indebted tc
me than I am to music, or than wo all are
to Jehovah,"
" Sir, you are certainly a Jew if you say
* Jehovah;' I was quit sure et it. beforij^
74
CHARLES ADOHESTER.
*' I cannot contradict tbee, bnt I am al-
most sorry tlion knowest there are even
saoh people as Jews.^'
"Why 8o, Sir? pray tell roe. I should
have thought that you^ before all other per-
sons, would have rejoiced over themJ'
" Why so, indeed ! but beoaase the mys-
tery of their very name is enough to bi*eak
the head, and perhaps the heart. But now
of this litle one : he must indeed be covered
as a bird in the nest, -and shall be. And if
I turn him not forth a strong-winged won-
der thou wilt stand up and have to answer
tor him ; is it not so ?^'
" Sir, I am certain he will play wonder-
fully upon what he calls those beautiful cold
keys."
" Ah 1" he answered, dreamily, " and so
indeed they are, whose very tones are but
as different shadows of the same one-colored
light, the ic-e-blue darkness, and the snowy
azure blaze. He has right, if he thinks them
Cold, to find them alone beautiful." He
s])oke as if in sleep.
" Sir, I do not know what you mean, for
I never heard even Milans-Andr6."
"Tou are to hear him then; it is posi-
tively needful."
Again tlie raillery pointed every word, as
if arrows " dipped in balm,"
" I mean that I scarcely know what those
keys are like, for I never heard them really
played except by one young lady. I did
not find the Tone- Wreath cold, but I thought,
when she played with Santonio, that ner
playing was cold cold compared with his
for lie was playing, as you know, Sir, the
violin."
** You are right : yes. The Violin is the
Violet I"
These words, vividly pronounced, and so
mystical to the uninitiated, were as burning
wisdom to my soul. I could have claimed
them as my own, so exactly did they respond
to my own unexpressed necessities. But in-
deed, and in truth, the most singular trait
of the presence beside me, was that nothing
falling from his lips surprised me; I was
prepared for all, though everything was new.
He did not talk incessantly, on the con-
trary, his remarks seemed sudden as a breeze
upborne and dying into the noonday. Tliere
was tliat in theni which cannot be conveyed,
although conserved ; tlie tones, the manner,
CO changeful yet all cast in grace unutter-
able, passing from vagrant, never wanton
mirth, into pungent, but never supercilious
gravity. Such recollection only proves that
^.he beautiful essence flows not well into the
frrm of words, for I remember every word
he spoke but rather dies .in being uttered
forth itself as music.
It was dusty on the highway, and we met
no one for at least a mile except the peasants
who 2assed into the landscape as pai't of its
fiictare; the intense green of May, and its\
quickening biossoms, strewed every noiii
and plantation ; but the sweetness of tib
country so exuberant j ust there, only seemed
to frame with fitting ornament tiie one idea
I contemplated that he was close at hand.
There had been much sun, and one was
naturally inclined to shade in the thrilliDg
May heats which permeate the veins almost
like love's fever, and are as exciting to ^
pulses.
At last we came to a brook, a lovely
freshet, broadening into a mill-stream ; for
we could see far off in the clear air tiie
flash of that wheel, and hear its last mius
muring fall. But liere at hand it Was all
lonely, unspanned by any bridge, and having
its feathery banks unspoiled by any clearing
hand. A knot of beautiful beach-trees
threw dark kisses on the trembling water;
there were wildest rushes here, and the
thick spring leaves of the yet unbloomed
forget-me-not on either hand. The bine hill
of Cecilia lay before us, but sometliing in
my companion's face made me conjecture
that here he wished to rest. Before he even
suggested it; I pulled out my cambric hand-
kerchief, and running on before him, laid it
beneath the drooping beech-boughs on the
swelling grass. I came back to him again,
and entreated him to repose. He even
flashed with satisfaction at my request,
which I made, as I ever do, rather imperti-
nently. He ran, too, with me, and taking
out his own handkerchief which was a royal
purple silk, he spread it beside mine, and
drew me to tlmt throne with his transparent
fingers upon my hand. I say transparent,
for they were as though the roseate blood
shone through, and the wandering violet
veins showed the clearness of the unfretted
palm. But it was a hand too refined for
model beantv, too thin and rare for the
youth, the almost boyhood that shone on
his forehead, and in his unwearied eyes.
The brightness of heaven seemed to pour
itself upon my soul as I sat beside him, and
felt that no one in the whole world was at
that moment so near him as I. He pulled
a few rushes from the margin, and began to
weave a sort of basket. So fleetly his fin-
gers twisted and untwisted themselves, that
it was as if he were accustomed to do no-
thing but sit and weave green rushes the
livelong day,
" Pull me some more 1" he said, at length,
imploringly; and I, who had been absorbed
in those clear fingers' playing, looked up at
him as I stretched my arm. His eyes shon
with the star-light of pure abstraction, and
I answered not except by gathering the
rushes, breaking them off, and laying them
one by one across his knees. The pretty
work was nearly finished ; it was tlie love-
liest green casket I could have fancied, with
a plaited handle. It looked like a fairy
field-tlLung Uias\xxe. 1 Yjiahed it were for
CHARLES AaCHESTER.
7t
rod. When it wai i^n5to rerdj, and as com-
pleU. and perfect C9 nataro^s own work, he
rose, and, seizing the lowest branch of the
swaying beech grove, hnng the plaything
upon it, and said, ^^I wish it were filled
with ripe ted strawberries."
" Why so, Sir ?" I ventured.
^^ Because one woold like to imagine a
little child finding a green basket by the
dus^ wa^r, filled with strawberries."
We arose, and again walked on.
^' Sir, I would rather have the basket than
the strawberries."
"I wish a little child may be of your
mind. Were you happy, Charles, when you
were a little child ?"
^^ Sir, I was always longing to be a man.
I never considered what it was to be a little
child."
^ Thou art a boy, and that is to be a man-
child the beautiful fate I But it is thy
beautiful fate to teach others also, as only
children teach."
"I, Sir;-how?"
'^ Charles, a man may be always longing
to be an angel, and never consider what it
is to be a man."
His voice was as a sudden vrind springing
up amidst solitary leaves, it was so fitful, so
vaguely sweet. I looked upon him indeed
for ^e first time with trembling, since I
had been with him that day. He had
fallen into a stiller step, for we had reached
the foot of the ascent. It never occurred
to me that I was not expected at Cecilia,
I thought of nothing but that I should ac-
company him. He suddenly again addressed
me in English.
'^ Did St. 'Michel ever recover the use of
his arm ?"
I was quite embarrassed. ^^ I never asked
about him, Sir, but I dare say he did."
** I thought you would have known. You
ihould have asked, I think. Was he a rich
man or a poor man ?"
" How do you mean, Sir ? He was well
off I should suppose, for he used to dress a
great deal, and had a horse, and taught all
over the town. Mr. Davy said he was as
as popular as Giardini."
" Mr. Davy was who ? Your godfather 1"
^' My musical godfather, I should say, Sir.
He took me to the Festival, and had I not
accidentally met him I should never have
gone there ^have never seen you oh. Sir!"
^^lifothing is. accidental that happens to
you, to such as you. But I should have
been very sorry, not to have seen you. I
thought you were a little messenger from
the other world."
*^ It does seem very strange. Sir ; at least
two things especially."
" What is the first then ?"
^' First that I should serve you, and the
seoond that you should like me."
No, believe me it is not strange " he
still spoke in that beautiful pure Enfflish,
swift and keen, as his German was mild and
slow ^^ not strange that you should serve
me, because there was a secret agreement
between us that we shoidd either serve the
other. Had you been in my place I should
have run to fetch you water, but I fear I
should have spilled a drop or two. And how
could I but like you when you came before
me like something of my own in that crowd,
that multitude in nothing of me ?"
"Sir," I answered to save myself from
saying what I really felt " how beautifully
you speak English I"
He resumed in Grerman. " That is no-
thing ^because we can have no real Ian-*
guage. I make myself think in all. I dream
first in tbis, and then in that so that
amidst the floating fra^^ents, as in the
strange mixture we call an orchestra, some
accent may be expressed from the many
voices, of the I^in guage of our unknown
Hprae."
As he said these words, his tones so clear
and reverent became mystical and inward
I was absolved from communion with that
soul ^liis eye travelling onwards, was al-
ready with the lime-trees at the summit of
the hill we had nearly reached, and he ap*
peared to have forgotten me. I felt how
frail, how dissoluble, were the fiery linkr
that bound my feeble spirit to that strouf
Immortal. But how little I krew it, yell
ii
CHAPTER V.
Thb School of Cecilia was not only at thi
summit of the hill, it was the only building
on the summit ; it was isolated and in its
isolation grand.. There were cottages in
orchards, vine-gardens, fertile lands, an an-
cient church, sprinkled upon the sides, or
nestling in the slopes; but itself looked
lonely and consecrated as in verity it might
be named. A belt of glorious trees, dark
and dense as a druid grove, surrounded
with an older growth the modern super-
structure ; but its basis had been a feudal
ruin whose entrance still remained ; a hall,
a wide waste of room, of rugged symmetry
and almost twilight atmosphere. A court-
yard in front was paved with stone, and
here were carriages and unharnessed horses
feeding happily. The doorway of the hall
was free, we entered together; and my
companion left me one moment while he
made some arrangements with the porter,
who was quite alone in his corner. Other-
wise silence reigned, and also it seemed
with solitude, for no one peered among the
strong square pillars that upheld as rude a
76
CHARLES AUCHESTER.
sweeping stairoAse of the brightest oak with
noble bmnstrades. Twd fignres in bronze
looked down from the landing-place on
either band, and as we passed between
them I felt their size if not their beauty
overawe me as the shadow of the entrance.
They were, strange to say, not counterparts ;
though companion forms of the same head,
the same face, the same dun laurel crown ;
but the one gathered its drapery to its
breast and stretched its hand beckoningly
towards the portal the other with out-
stretched arm, pointed with an expression
almost menace down the gallery. In niched
archways there, one door after another met
the eye, massive and polished, but all closed.
I implicitly trusted in my companion. I
felt sure he possessed a charm to open all
those doors, and I followed him as he still
lightly, as if upon grass, stepped from en-
trance to entrance, not pausing until he
reached the bend of the gallery. Here was
a door unlike the others wider, slighter, pf
cloth and glass ; and stealing from within
Itiose media, with a murmur soft as incense,
came a mist of choral sounds confusing me
and captivating me at once, so that I did
not care to stir until the mist dissolved and
ceased, and I was yet by my companion's
side without the door.
" We may enter now, I tiiink," he said ;
for he had waited reverently asT; and he
gently pushed those folds.
They slid back, and we entered a narrow
lobby, very dim and disenchanted looking.
Still softly we proceeded to another door
withifi, which I had not discovered, and he
touched that too with an air of subtile and
still authority. I was dazzled the first in-
stant ; but he took my hand directly and
drew me forwards with him to a seat in
some region of enchantment. As I sat by
him there I soon recovered myself to the
\ tmost, and beheld before me a sight which
1 shall not easily forget, nor ever cease to
hold as it was presented to me on that oc-
casion.
It was a vast and vaulted room, whether
of delicate or decided architecture I could
not possibly declare such a dream it was of
wreaths and mystic floral arches. Pillars
twined with gold-bloomed lime branches rose
burthened with them to the roof, there mixing
into the long festoons of oak-leaf, that hung
as if they grew there from the gray-brown
rafters. Everywhere was a drooping odor
that had been oppressive, most unendurably
sweet, but for the strong air wafted and
ruffling through the open windows on either
hand.
We were sitting quite behind all others,
on the loftiest tier of seats that were raised
step by step so gently upwards to the back,
and beneath us were seats all full, where
none turned nor seemed to talk; for all
0ye8 were surely allured and ri vetted by the
scenery to the fronting end. It was a loflf
arched recess, spanning the extreme width
of the hall ; a window half u dome of glass
poured down a condensed light upon two
galleries within which leaned into the form
of the arch itself, and were so thickly inter-
laced with green, that nothing else was visi-
ble except the figures which filled them
draperiea in white, side by side in shining
rows like angelB---so I thought. Toong
men and boys above, in flowing robes as
choristers, overhung the maiden forma of
the gallery below, and of these last every
one wore roses on the breast as well as glis-
tening raiment These galleries of greenery
were themselves overhanging a platform
covered with dark green cloth, exquisitely
fluted on the sides, and drawn in front over
three or four steps that raised it from the
flooring of the Hall. A band in two divis-
ions graced the ground floor; I caught the
sight immediately ; but upon the platform
itself stood a pianoforte alone, a table cover-
ed with dark green velvet, and about a
dozen dark green velvet chairs. These hist
were all filled except one, and its late occu-
pant had pushed that one chair back while
he stood at the top of the table with some-
thing glittering in his hand, and other some-
things glittering before him upon the dark
green surface. As we entered indeed he
was so standing, and I took in all I have re-
lated with one glanoe, it was, though green,
so definite.
^^Look well at that gentleman who
stands," whispered my guide most lowly;
^^ it is he who is dispensing the prizes. He
is Monsieur Mil^ns-Andr6, whom you wish-
ed to see.'*
I am blessed with a long sight, and I took
a long survey ; but lest I should prejudice
the reader my criticisms shall remain in
limbo.
" When we heard the singing it was that
he had Just dispensed a medal, and it is so
the fellow competitors hail the successful
student. If I mistake not, there is another
advancing ; but it is too far for us to hear
his name. Do you see your master at the
awful table? But, soft! I think bis face is
not this way."
Oh I I thought, and I laughed in my
sleeve ; he is dreaming I am safe at home,
if he dreams about me at all, which is a
?uestion. But I was not looking after him,
took care to watch Milans-Andr^, feeling
sure my guide would prefer not to be stared
upon in a public place like that.
The voice that called the candidates was
high in key, and not unrefined ; but what
best pleased me was to see one advance ; a
boy, all blushing and bowing, to receive a
golden medal, which Milans-Andr^, his
very self with his own hands, flung round
the youngling^s neck by its long blue ribbon.
For tbeu the same eweet ^er8^ In semi*
CHARLES AUOHESTIlR,
rt
ehorns sounded from the loftiest gallery;
the males alone repeating it for their
brother. I could not distinguish the words,
but the style was quite alia Tedesca.
Then another youth approached, and re-
ceived more airily a silver token with the
same blue ribbon and songful welcome.
Another and another, and at last the girls
were called.
"Seel" says my guide, "they have put
the ladies last ! That shall not be when I
taks the reins of the committee. Oh I for
the Cecilian chivalry, what a taunting re-
membrance I will make it."
He was smiling^ but I was surprised at
the eagerness of his tones.
"Does it matter, Sir?"
"Signify? it signifies so much the more
that it is a little thing, a little token. But
it shall not grow, it shall not swell. See,
seel look Charles! what name was that?"
I had not heard it either, but the impetu-
osity in his tones was so peculiar, that I was
constrained to look up at him. His eye was
dilated ; a singular flash of light rather than
flush of color, glowed upon his face, as if
glory from the noonday sun had poured it-
self through the impervious roof. But his
gaze forbade my gaze, it was so fixed and
Eiercing upon something at the end of the
all. Imperceptibly to myself I followed
it. The first maiden who had approached
tho chair was now turning to repass into
her place. She was clad like the galleried
ones, in white, but her whole aspect was
unlike theirs', for instead of the slow step
and lingering blush, iier movement was a
sort of flight as if iier feet were sandalled
with the wind, back again among the
crowd ; and as she fled you could only dis-
cern some strange gleam of unusual grace
in a countenance drooping, but not bash-
fully, and veiled with waves not ringlets,
of hair more dark than pine trees at mid-
night : also it was impossible not to notice
the angry putting back of one gloved hand,
which crushed up the golden medal and an
end of the azure ribbon, while the other
was trailing upon the ground.
" She does not like it, she is proud, I
suppose!" said I, and I langhed almost
aloud. "I thought you knew them all,
Sir ?"
" No, Charles, I was never here before,
bat as I am to have something to do with
what they do, soon, I thought I had a right
to come to-day."
" A right 1" said I, " who else, if not, if
yon had not the right, Sir? But still I
wonder how we got in so easily, I mean I,
for if you had not brought me, I could not
I suppose have come."
" It is this," he answered, smiling, and he
touched his professor's cloak or robe, which
was now encircling hie shoulders, and
waved about him pliant.y They all wear
tl)e same, on entering these walls at least,
who sit at the green table."
The choral welcome, meantime, had pealed
from the lower gallery, and another had ad-
vanced and retired from the ranks beneath.
My companion was intently gazing, not at
the maiden troop, but at the deep festoons
above us. He seemed to see nothing there
though, and the very position of his hands
resting upon each other, and entirely re-
laxed, bore witness to the languor of his ab-
straction. It occurred to me how very coo)
they were, both those who distributed, and
those who received tho medals ; I felt there
was an absence of the strict romance, if \
may so name it, I had expected when I en-
tered ; for as we sat, and whence we saw^
all was ideal to the sight and the sense waa
even lost in the spiritual appreciation of an
exact proportionateness to the occasion.
Yet the silence alternating with the rising
and abated voices the harmony of the col-
oring and shadowing the dim rustle of the
green festoons the waftures of woody and
blossomy fragrance ^the indoor forest feel-
ing, so fresh and wild all should liave stood
me m stead perhaps of the needless enthu-
siasm I should looked for in such a meeting,
or have witnessed without surprise. I was
not wise enough at that time to define tlie
precise degree and kind of enthusiasm I
should have required to content me, but
perhaps it would be impossible even now
for any degree to content me, or for any
kind not to find favor in my eyes, if natural
and spontaneously betrayed. The want I
felt, however, was just a twilight prepara-
tion of the faculties for the scene that fol-
lowed.
The last silver medal had been* carried
from the table, the last white robed nyunph
had sought her seat with the ribbon streak-
ing her drapery, when both the choral forces
rose and sang together the welcome in more
exciting fulness. And then they all sat
down, and a murmur of voices and motion
began to roll on all sides, as if some new
part were to be played over.
The band arose on either side, and after
a short deferential pause as if calling atten-
tion to something, commenced with perfec^i
precision Weber's "Jubel" Overture. It
was ray companion who told me its name,
whispering it into my ear ; and I listened
eagerly, having heard of its author in every
key of praise.
I did not much care for the effect though,
it was as cool as needed to be after those
cool proceedings ; I dearly wanted to ask
him whether he loved it, but it was unne-
cessary, for I could see it was even nothing
to him by his face. He seemed passiL^
judgment proudly, furtively, on all t^.At
chanced around him, and I could not b*^ eel
from that obscure corner, that he sesro^ *'
all, governed all with his eye.
n
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
Immediately on the ooDclnsion of the
OTertnre, several professors left the table
and clastered round the pianoforte. One
onened it, and then Milans- Andre approach-
ed, and waving his creamy gloves, nndothed
his hands, and stood at the front of the plat-
form. Some boisterous sliouts arose; they
began near his station, and were imitated
from the middle benches, bat there was an
undemonstrative coldness even in these;
they seemed from the head, not the heart,
as one might say. Tlie artist did not appear
distressed, indeed he looked too classically
oelf-reliant to require encouragement.
He was what might be called extremely
handsome. There was a largeness about
his features that would have told well in a
bust, they were perfectly finished ; also a
Phidias could not have planed anotlier polish
on the most oval nostril, a Ganova could not
have pumiced unparted lips to more appro-
priate curve. His eyes were too far for me
to search, but I did not long to come at
their full expression. He stood elegantly,
while the plaudits made their way among
the muffling leaves and therein went to
sleep ; the golden flowers of the lindens hung
down withering, smitten by the terror of
his presence I My companion to my sur-
prise, my bewilderment even, applauded also,
but as it were, mechanically ; he stood be-
side me on that topmost tier applauding,
but his eyes were still fixed upon the roof.
I heard his voice among the others, and it
was just at that instant that some one, and
that some one in a professor^s robe, a gentle-
man of sage demeanor, started from one of
the lower tiers, and looked back suddenly at
him ; as suddenly fired, flushed, lighted, all
over his face, wise and grave as it was. Me
saw now, still rapt, still looking upwards;
but I saw and felt, felt certain of the im-
pression received. A sort of whis.^er crept
along the tier, a portentous thrill, one and
another, all turned and, before I could
gather with my glance who had left them,
several seats were voided beneath us.
In a few minutes I heard a long and silver
thundering chord. I knew it was the re-
veille of the wonderful Milans-Andr6, but so
many persons were standing and turning
that I could not see, and could scarcely hear.
Soon all must have heard less. As the keys
continued to flash in unmitigated splendor,
a rushing ndise seemed arising also from the
floor to the ceiling ; it was indeed an earnest
of my own pent-up enthusiasm that could
not be repressed, for I found myself shouts
lUg, hurrahing, beneath my breath, as all
did round me. I was not mistaken ; some
one opened the door by which we had en-
tered, gustily, violently and drew my com-
panion away; before I thought of losing
him, he was gone ; I knew not whether led
or carried ; I knew not whether aroused, or
w the midst of hia h\gh abstraction. |
but at lengru 7 tood upon a 8ca\ Lrd bo-
held what was won)., beholding, is bright
to remember, but oh 1 how hopeless to r-
cord. Just so might a painter dream to
pour upon his canvas an extreme effect of
sunset ; those gorgeous effusions of golden
flame and blinding roses that are dashed
into dazzling mist before our hearts have
gathered them to us, have made them in
beauty so blazingly serene, our own.
The sound of the keys so brilliant, grew
dulled as by a tempest voice in distance;
not alone the hurras, the vivas, but the stir,
the crash, of the dividing multitude. And
before. almost I could believe it, I beheld
moving through the cloven crowd, that
slight and unembarrassed form; bat ho
seemed alone to move as if urged by some
potent necessity, for his head was carried
loftily, and there was not the shadow of a
smile upon his face.
It was evident that the people, between
pressing and thronging, were determined
to conduct him to the platform ; and it
struck me from his hasty step and slightly
troubled air, that he longed to reach it for
calm to be restored. Milans-Andre mean-
time, will it be believed ? continued play-
ing, and scarcely raised his eyes as my con-
ductor at length mounted the steps, and
seemed to my sight to shrink among those
who now stood about him. But it waa
hopeless to restore the calm. I knew that
from the first. He had no sooner trodden
the elevation, than a burst of joyous wel-
come that drowned the keys that drenci-
ed the very ear ^forced the pianist to quit
his place. No one looked at him of young
or old, except those who had confronted
him at the table; they surrounded him,
some with smiles and eager questions;
some with provoking gravity. The other
was left alone to stem, as it were, that tide
of deafening acclaim; he slightly com-
pressed his lip, made a slight motion for-
wards; he lifted his hand with the slight
deprecation that modesty or pride might
have suggested alike still hopelessly. The
arrears of enthusiasm demanded to be paid
with interest, the trampings, the shower-
like claps, the shouts only deepened,
widened tenfold; the multitude became a
mob, and frantic ^but with a glorious zeal I
Some tore handfuls of the green adorning
the pillars, and passing it forwards it was
strewn on the steps. From the galleries
hung the excited children, girls and boys,
and dividing their bouquets rained the roses
upon his head, that floated crimson and
pink and pearly to the green floor beneath
his feet. With a sort of delicate despera-
tion he shook his hair from those dropped
flowers* and, for one instant, hid his face.
CHARLES AUOUESTER.
TO
The next, fiuDg down his hands, and srailed
a flashing smile ; so that, from lip to brow,
it was as if some sunbeam fluttered in the
cage of a rosy cloud ; smiling above, be-
low, and everywhere it seemed ; ran round
the group of professors to the piano, and
without Qieating himself, without prelude,
began a low and hymn-like melody.
Oh I that yon had heard the lull, like a
dream dying, dissolving from the awaken-
ing brain ^tbe deep and tremendous, yet
living and breathing stillness that sank
upon each pulse of that enthusiasm raised
and fanned by him, and by him absorbed
and bidden to brood and be at rest I
I know not which I felt the most, tlie
passion of that almost bursting heart of si-
lence, as it were rolled together into a
purple bud from its noon-day effloresence
by the power that had alone been able to
unsheatiie its glories, or that stealing,
creeping Peoples' Song, that in: few and
simple chords beneath one slender tender
pair of hands, held bound as it Were and
condensed in one voice, the voice of my-
riads. For myself I writhed with bliss, I
was petrified into desolation by delight ;
but I was not singular on that occasion ; for
those around me seemed alone to live, to
breathe, that they might receive and retain
those few precious golden notes, and learn
those glorious lineaments, so pale, so radi-
ant with the suddenly starting hectic, as his
bands still stirred the keys, to a fiercer in-
ward harmony than that they veUed by
touch.
It was not long, that holy Peoples' Song,
I scarcely think it lasted five minutes, cer-
tainly not more ; but the effect may be bet-
ter conceived, and the power of the player
appreciated, when I say not one note was
lost ; each sounded, rang almost hollow, in
the intense pervading silence.
It is over I thought ; as he raised those
slender hands after a rich reverberating
pause on the final chord, swelling with dim
arpeggios on the harmony as into the ex-
treitiQ, of vaulting distance; ^it is over
and: they will make that dreadful noise un-
less he plays, again. Never have I been so
mistaken,' bat how could I anticipate aught
of hiiD ? For as he moved he fixed his
eyes upon the audience, so that eacliaadi-
vidual must have felt the glance within his
Boul BO seemed to feel it ; for it expressed
a command sheathed in & supplication, -un-
earthly, irresistible, that the applause should
lot be renewed.
There was perfect stillness, and he turised
to MilaQs-Andr6 and spoke. Every one be-
neath the roof must have heard his words,
for they were distinct as authoritatively
aerene. ^^ Will you be so good as to resume
your seat?" And as if swayed by some
sngel power- such as ^ve the ass uf
Balaam to the wall th^mpe*ial pianist
sat down, flushed and rather ruffled, out
with a certain pomp it was trying to me to
witness; and recommenced tlie concerto
which had been so opportunely interrupted.
Attention seemed restored, so far as the
ear of the multitude was concerned, but
every eye wandered to him who now stood
behind the player, and turned the leaves of
the composition under present interpreta-
tion, lie seemed attentive enough, not tha
slightest motion of his features betrayed an
unsettled thought, his eyes were bent
proudly, but calmly on the page ; the rose
light had faded from his cheek as the sunset
flows from heaven into eternity but how
did he feel? Hopeless to record because
hopeless to imaginCi Perhaps nothing, the
triumph so short but bright had no doubt
become such phantasms as an unnoticeable
yesterday, to one whose future is fraught
with expectation.
The concerto was long and elaborately
handled. I felt I should really have ad*
mired it, have been thereby instructed, had
*not he been there. But there is something
grotesque in talent when genius even in re-
pose is by. It is as the splendor of a^festive
illumination, when the sun is rising upon
the city ; that brightness of the night turns
pale and sick, while the celestial darkness is
passing away into day. There was' an op-
pression upon all that I heard, for some-
thing different had unprepared me for any-
thing, everything, except something else like
itself. The committee were again at the
table, and when I grew weary of the second
movement, I looked for m) master and
found him exactly opposite; but certainly
not conscious of me. His beard delightfully
trimmed, and his ink-black eyebrows were
just as usual^ but I had neier seen such an
expression as that with which he regarded
the One. It was as if a stone had rolled
from his heart and it had begun to beat like
a child's ; it was as it his youth were re-
newed like the eagle's ; it was as if he were
drinking silently but deeply, celestial knowl-
edge from those younger heavenly eyes.
Does he love him so well then ? thought I
oh I that I had known it, Aronach, for
then I should have loved you, have found
you out. But of course you don't think we
are worthy to partake such feeling, and I
don't know but that you are right to keep
it from us. Would that concerto never be
over ? was ray next surmise it was about
the longest process of exhaustion to which
I had over been subjected ; as for me I
yawned until I was dreadfully ashamed, but
when I bethought myself to look round, lo !
there were five or six just out of yawns as
well, and a few who had passed that stage
and closed their eyes. It never struck me
as unconscionable that we should tire, when
we might gaze upon the face of him who
had shown himself ready to control us all ;
80
OHABLES AUOnESTEIi.
indeed I do believe Uiat had there been
nothing going on. no concerto, no Milans-
Andr^, bat that he had stood there silent,
jnst as calm and still we should never
nave wearied the whole day long of feeding
upon the voiceless presence, Uie harmony
unresolved. But do you not know, oh
reader 1 the depression, the protracted suf-
fering occasioned by the contemplation of
any work of art, in music, in verse, in color,
or in form, that is presented to us as model,
that we are coaxed to admire, and enticed
to appreciate ^after we have accidentally
but immediately beforehand experienced
one of those ideal sensations, that whether
awakened by Nature, by Grenius, or by Pas-
sion suddenly elated, claim and condense
our enthusiasm, so that we are not awure
of its existence except on a renewal of that
Fame sensation so suddenly dashed away
froii us as our sober self returns, and our
world becomes again to-day, instead of that
eternal something, new not vague, and
hidden but not lost.
CHAPTER VI.
,.- So absorbed was I, either in review or
^ \ reverie, that I felt not when the concerto
* closed, and should have remained just where
I Was, had not the door swung quietly be-
hind me. I saw who beckoned me from
beyond it, and was instantly with him. He
had divested himself of his cloak, and
seemed ready rather to fly than to walk, so
light was liis frame, so elastic were his
motions. He said as soon as we were on
the stairs,
" I should have come for you long ago,
but I thought it was of no use until such
time as I could find something you might
eat; for, Oarlomein, you must be very
hungry; I have caused you to forego yom*
dinner, and it was very hard of me ; but if
you will come with me you shall have some-
thing good and see something pretty."
" I am not hungry, Sir," I of course re-
plied ; but he put up his white finger :
'^ I am though ; please to permit me to
eat 1 Come this way."
He led me along a passage on the ground
floor of the entrance hall, and through an
official-looking apartment to a lively scene
indeed. This was a room without walls, a
eort of garden-chamber leading to the
grounds of the Academy now crowded ; for
tho concei'to had concluded with the whole
performance, and the^audience had dispersed
Immediately, though* not by the way we
came, for we had met no one. Pillars here
and there up held the roof, which was jj^are
ktbe beams, and also dressed wifli garlands.
Long tables spread below all ilown Um
centre itnd smaller ones at the sides, each
covered with beautiful white linen, and
decked with flattering ribbons and little
knots of flowers. Here piles of plates &n^
glasses, coffee cups and tureens, betokened
the purpoit of this pavilion ; but they were
nothing to the baskets trimmed with fruits,
the cakes and fancy bread, the masses of
sweetmeat in all imaginable preparation.
The middle of the largest table was built up
with strawberries only, and a rill of cream
toured from a silver urn into china bowls
at the will of a serene young female who
seemed in charge. A great many persons
found their way hither, and were crowding
to the table, and the refreshing silence was
only broken by the restless jingle of spoons
and crockery. My guide smiled with a
sprightly air.
^* Come I we must find means to approach
as well, for the strawberry pyramid will
soon not have left one stone upon another.'^
I made wav instantly to the table, and
with no small difficulty smuggled a plate
and had it filled with strawberries ; I ab-
jured the cream, and so did he to whom I
returned ; but we began to wander up and
down.
" Let me recommend you," said he, " a
slice of white bread, it is so good with straw-
berries, otherwise you must eat some sau-
sage, for that fruit will never serve alone;
you might as well starve entirely or drink
dew-water."
"I don't see any bread," I answered,
laughing ; " it is all eaten."
" Oh ho 1" he returned, and with the air
of Puck he tripped across the Pavilion to a
certain table from which the fair superin-
tendent had flown the ribbons and wreaths
danced in the breeze but the white linen
was bare of a single loaf.
" I must have some bread for thee, Oar-
lomein, and I indeed myself begin to feel
the want unknown to angels."
Could this be the same, it struck me,
who discoursed like an angel of that high
throng ? So animated was he ; such a sharp
brightness sparkled in his eyes.
" Somebody has run away with the loaf
on purpose," he continued with* his dancing
smile; ^^I saw a charming loaf as I came
in, but then the strawberries put it out of
my head, and lo I it is gone."
^* I will get some bread I" ^and off I dart-
ed out of the Pavilion, he after me, and all
eyes upon i2s.
It was a beautiful scene in the air; a
lovely garden, not too trim, but diversified
with mounds and tree-crownel slopes all
furnished with alcoves or seats and tables.
Here was a hum of voices, there a fragment
of part-song scattered by a laugh, or hushed
with reverent shyness as all arose whether
sitting or lying, to uncover the head as my
CiIAKLES AUOHESTER.
oompanion passed. There were gronps of
ten or twelve, five or six, or two and two
together^ many sat upon tlie grass itself so
dry and mossy; and it was npon one of these
parties, arranged in half Elysian, half gipsy
style, that my companion fixed his thrilling
eyes.
He darted across the grass. "I have it I
r see it!" and I was immediately upon his
footsteps. These were all ladies, and as they
wdre no bonnets they could not uncover,
bat at the same time they were not con-
* scions of our approach at first. They made
a circle, and had spread a linen cloth upon the
fervid floor ; each had a plate, and almost
every one was eating, except a young girl
in the very middle of the ring. She was
dispensing slice by slice our missing bread-
cake. But I did not look further, for I was
lost in observing my guide; not under-
standing his expression, which was troubled
and fallen, while his light tones shook
the very leaves. " Ah I the thieves I the
rogues 1 to steal the bread from our very
mouths ! Did I not know where I should
find it! You cannot want it all: give us
one slice, only one little slice I for we are
starving as you do not know, and beggars
as you cannot see, for ve look like gentle-
w
men.
1 never shall forget the effect of his words
upon the little group : all were scared and
scattered ip a moment, all except the young
lady who held the loaf in her lap. I do not
say she stirred not, on the contrary it was
the impulsive grace of her gesture, as she
swayed her hand to a little mound of moss
by her side, just deserted, that made me
start and turn to see her, that turned me
from his face a moment. " Ah I who art
thou ?" involuntary sounded in ray yet un-
averted ear. He spoke as if to me, but how
could I reply ? I was lost as he, but in far
other feelings than his ; at least I thought
so, for I was surprised at his ejaculatory
wonder.
*' I will cut some bread for you, Sir, if you
will condescend to sit," said a voice wliich
was as that of a child at its evening prayer,
so full it was of an innocent fillesse; not
naivete, but difiering therefrom as differs
the lisp of infancy from the stammer of dif-
fident manhood.
** I should like to sit; come also, Carlo-
mefn,^" replied my companion ; and in defi-
ance of all the etiquette of social Germany,
virhich so defiantly breathes ice between the
sexes, I obeyed. So did he his own in-
tention; for he not only remained, but
knelt on one knee while gazing with two
suns in his eyes, he recalled the scattered
company.
"Comeback I come back 1" he- cried; "I
order you I" and his silent smile seemed
beckoning as a star, he waved his ifin
hand. One strayed forwards, blushing
through the hair; another disconcerted;
and they all seemed sufficiently puzzled.
The gathering completed, my conductor
took up the basket and peeped into every
corner, laughed aloud, handed it about, and
stole no glance at the maiden president. J
was watching her, though, for a migLty
and thrilling reason, that to describe in any
measure is an expectation most like despain *
Had she been his sister the likeness between
them had been more earthly less appalling.
I am certain it struck no one else present,
and it probably might have suggested itself
to no one anywhere besides, as I have since
thought ; but me it clove through heart and
brain, like a two-edged sword whose tem-
per is light instead of steel. So I saw and
felt that she ^partook intimately, not alone
of his nature, but of his inspiration ; not
only of his beauty, but his unearthly habit
And now, how t& breathe in words the
mystery that was never explained on earth I
He was pure and clear, his brow like sun-
flushed snow high lifted into light; her own
dark if soft, and toned with hues of night
from the purple under-deeps of her heavy
braiding hair. His features were of mould
so rare that their study alone as models
would have superseded by a new Ideal the
old fresh glories of the Greek marble world.
Her's were flexibly inexpressive, all their
splendor slept in uncharacteristic outline,
and diffused themselves from her perfect
eyes, as they awoke on her parted lips.
His eyes, so intense and penetrative, S0
wise and brilliant, with all their crystal
calm and rousing fire ; were as unlike her^s
as the sun in the diamond to the sun upon
the lonely sea. In her^s the blue-green
transparence seemed to serve alone as a*
mirror to reflect all hues of heaven ; in his,
the heaven within as often struggled with
the paler show of Paradise that nature lent
him in his exile. But if I spoke of the r^^st
of the traits that pierce only when the
mere veiling loveliness is rent asunder,- I
should say it must ever bid me wonder to
have discovered the divine fraternity in
such genuine and artless symbol. It was as
if the same celestial fire permeated theii
veins the same insurgent longings lifted
their very feet from the ground. The elfin
hands of which I spoke, were not more
rare were not more small and subtile than
the little grasping fingers she extended to ^ ^
offer him the bread, and from which his. -^
own received it. Nor was there wanting^^i.
in her smile the strange immortal sweet^" v
ness that signalized his own; her^s broke
upon her parted lips like fragrance, the fra-
grance that his seemed to bear from the
bursting buds of thought in the sunshine of
inward fancy. But what riveted the re-
senibUmce most was the instancy of their
synipatlietic communion. While those
around had quietly resumed their occupa-
CHARLES AL CHESTER.
tion, too busy to talk tliongh cerUiinly
tbey might have been forgiven for being
very hungry ke^ no more kneeling, but
rather lying than sitting with his god-like
bead turned upwards to the sky, continued
to accost her, and I beard all tbey said.
"I knew you again directly, you per-
ceive, but you do not look so naughty now
as you did in the school ; you were even
ngry, and I cannot conceive why."
" Cannot you, Sir ?" she replied, without
the slightest embarrassment. ^^I wonder'
whether you would like to be rewarded for
serving music."
" It rewards , you cannot avoid its re-
ward, but I agree with you about the sil-
ver and the gold. We will have no more
medals."
"They like them. Sir, those who have
toiled for them, and who would not toil but
for the promise of something to show."
" And the blue ribbons are very pretty."
" So is the blue sky, and they can neither
give it us nor take it from us, nor can they
our reward."
" And that reward ?" asked he.
"Is to suffer for its sake," she answered.
He lifted Jiis eyebrows in a wondering
archness. " To suffer ? To suffer, who
alone enjoy, and are satisfied, and glorify
happiness above all others, and above all
other things ?"
" Not all suffer, only the faithful ; and to
suffer is not to sorrow, and of all joy the
blossom-sorrow prepares the fruit."
" And how old are you whose blossora-
Borrow I certainly cannot find in any form
upon your maiden presence ?"
" You srnile, and seem to say, ^ thou hast
not yet lived the right to speak, purchased
by experience the freedom of speech.' I
am both young and old I believe I am
younger than any just here, and I know
more than they all do."
Was it pride, thought I, that curled be-
neath those tones so flowery-soft ? for there
was a lurking bitterness I had not found in
him,
" Not younger than this one ;" he took
my hand and spread it across his knee.
"These fingers are to weave the azure rib-
bon next."
" He is coming 1 know, but is not come ;
his name is upon the books. I hope he will
not be an out-Cecilian, because I should
like to know him) and we cannot know
very well those who do not reside within
the walls."
"He is one of my very friendly ones.
Will you also be very friendly with him ?"
" I always will. Be friendly now 1" and
she smiled upon me an instant, very soon
letting fall her eyes, in which I then de-
tected a Spanish droop of the lids, though
when raised her glance dispelled the notion,
P?r the brightness there shone all unshorn
by the inordinate length of the lashes, aod ]
never saw eyes so light with lashes so de-
fined and dark. '
" So, Sir, this azure ribbon which yoa ad-
mire is also to be woven for him ?" she con-
tinued, as if to prolong the conversatioD.
" Not if symbols are to be the order of
the day, for Carlomein, your color is not
blue:'
" No, Sir, it is violet, you said."
" We say blue violets.
" Yes, Sir," she responded quickly. " So
we say the blue sky at night, but how differ-
ent at night and by day ! The violet holds
the blue, but also that deeper soul by the
blue alone made visible. AH sounds seem
to sleep in one, when that is the violin."
". You are speaking too well, it makes me
afraid you will be disappointed ;" I said in
my first surprise. Then feeling I bad blan-
dered ; " I mean in me."
" That would make no difference. Music
is, and is eternal. We cannot add one mo^
ment to its eternity, nor by our inaptitude
diminish the proper glory of our art. Is it
not so, Sir ?" she inquired of him.
Like a little child somewhat impatient
over a morning lesson, he shook his hair
back, and sprung upon his feet.
" I wish you to show me the garden before
I go ; is this where you walk ? And whei is
the Raphael ?"
" That is placed in the conservatory by
order of Monsieur Milans- Andre."
"Monsieur myself will have it moved.
Why in the conservatory I wonder? h
should be at home I think."
" It does look very well there to-day, as it
is hung with its peculiar garland the white
roses."
"Yes, the angel-roses. Oh, cornel seel
let us go to the angel-roses 1" and he ran
down the bank of gratis, and over the lawn
among the people.
I was very much surprised at his gleeful
impatience, not knowing a whit to what
they alluded, and I only marvelled that no
one came to fetch him ; that we were suf-
fered so long to retain him. We followed ;
I not even daring to look at the girl who
had so expressed herself in my hearing, as
to make me feel there were othei*s who also
felt ; and turning the corner of the Pavilion
we came into the shadow of a lovely walk,
planted and arched with lindens. It ran
from a side door of the School-house to an
indefinite distance. We turned into this
grove, and there again we found him.
" How green I how ravishing I" he ex-
claimed, as the sunspreut shadows danced
upon the ground. " Oh 1 that scent oj;
scents, and sweetest of all sweetnesses, the
linden flower 1 You hold with me there, 1
think ?"
" Yes entirely, and yet it seems just aweet
enough to promise, cot to be, all sweetueaa^
OHAKLES AUOHESTER.
fVi
*! do not liold with you there ! All that
is sweet we clierish for itself, or I do, and I
coald not be jealous of any other sweetness,
when one sweetness filled up my soul."
Yes I thought ; but I did not express it,
even to myself, as it now occurs to me
that is the cifference between your two
temperaments. And so indeed it was; he
tspired so high that he could taste all sweet-
aess in every sweetness, oven here: she
Founger, weaker, frailer, could only lose her-
jelf between the earth and heaven, and
lared not cherish any sweetness to the ut-
nost, while here unsafely wandering.
" And this conservatory, how do you use
"We do not use it generally; We may
iralk round it, but on state occasions re-
V63hments are served there to our profess-
cvi and their friends. I dare say it will be
hi to-day."
" There will be people in there you mean ?
rn thU case I think I shall remain, and sun
mytelf on the outside. You, Oarlomein,
shall %* ia and look at the picture for me."
" Is it c^ picture, Sir? But I cannot see it
for you; I should be afraid. I wish you
would corae in. Sir 1"
" Ah I 1 kn "w why I You are frightened
lest Aronach 8^ClJd pource upon you, is it
not?"
I laughed.
" A litUe, Sir."
*'*Well, in that ca*e I will come in. It
does look inviting ^rretty room!" Wo
stopped at the conaorrstory door. It was
rather large, and very loag ; a table down
the centre was dressed ^xth flowers, and
overflo wing dishes decked the board. There
were no swats, but a narro^r walk ran round,
and over this the foreign pi ints were grouped
richly, and with excelling taste. The roof
was not ctfrtained with vine-leaves as in
England, but it was covered with the im-
mense leaves and ivory-yellow blossoms of
the magnolia grandiiSower, which made the
small arched space appear expanded to im-
mensity by the largeuess of its type and
gave to all the exotics an air of home.
At the end of the vista, some thirty feet
in lengtli, there were several persons all
turned from us ; and, as we crept along one
by one until we reached that end, the pdors
of jasmin and tube-rose were heavy ,npon
every breath: I felt as if I must faint until
we attained that point where a cool air en-
tered; refreshing, though itself jusl out of
the hottest sunshine I had almost ever felt.
This breeze came through arched doors on
eitJier side half open, and met in two em-
bracing currents where the picture hting.
All were looking at the picture,, and I in-
tantly refrained from criticism. It was
liung by invisible cords to the frame-work
of tho conservatory, and thence depended.
About it and around it clustered the deep
purple bells and exquisite tendrils and leavei
of the maurandia, while the scarlet passion-
flower met it above and mingled its mystic
splendors. Other strange glories, but for
me nameless, pressing underneath shed their
glowing smiles from fretted urns or vases ;
but around the frame, and so close to the pic-
ture as to hide its other frame entirely, lay
the cool white roses, in that dazzling noon
so seeming, and amidst those burning colors.
The picture itself was divine as painting can
render its earthly ideal, so strictly significant
of the set rules of beauty.
All knew the St. Cecilia of Raphael
D'Urbino; this was one of the oldest
copies, and was the greatest treasure of the
Committee, having been purchased for an
extravagant sum by the President, from tho
funds of the foundation; a proceeding I
did not clearly comprehend, but was too
ignorant to. tamper with. It was the young
lady who enlightened me as I stood by her
side. Of those who stood there, I concluded
the roost part had already refireshed them-
selves ; they held plates or glasses, and in a
few minutes first one and titen another re-
cognized our companion, and that with a
reverential impressiveness it charmed me to
behold. It may have been the result of his
exquisitely bright and simple manner, for ho
had wholly put aside the awful serene re-
serve that had controlled the crowd in pub-
lic. Mi]ans-Andr6 happened to be there ; I
beheld him now, and also saw that taking
hold upon that arm I should not have pre-
sumed to touch, he drew on our guide as if
away from us. But this one stayed, and
resting his hand upon the table, inquired
with politeness for a court :
"Where is your wife? Is she here to-
day ?^I want to show her to a young gentle-
man."
Milans-Andre looked down upon him ;
for he was quite a head taller, though not
tall himself. " She is here, but not in here.
I left her with the Baroness Silberung.
Come and see her in-doors. She will be
highly flattered."
"No; I am not coming! I have two
children to take charge of. Where is Pro-
fessor Aronach ?"
' " In the Committee-room, and in a great
rage. With you, too, it appears. Chevalier."
" With me, is it ? I am so glad."
He stepped back to us.
" I do not believe that any one can make
him so angry as I can 1 It is charming,
Carlomein 1"
Oh, that name! that dear investment!
how often it thrilled me and troubled m
with delight, that day
" I suppose. Sir, I have something to do
with it."
Before he could reply, Milans-Andr6 had
turned back, and with scornful- complacency
awaited him near a glass disk of icea dresaoid
M
UHARLES AUCHESTER.
with ice-plant. He luoked revengeful, too,
as he helped himself; and on our coming
up he said, " Do you eat nothing, Chev-
alier V^ while filling a plate with the pink-
frozen strawberry.
" Oh I could eat it, if I would ; for who
could resist that rose-colored snow ? but I
have no time to eat ; I must go find Aro-
nach, for I dreamed I should find him
here."
"My dear Ohevaliorl drink then with
n
me.
"In Rhine wine? Oh yes; mein Herr
Professor ! and let us drink to all other Pro-
fessors and Chevaliers in ourselves repre-
sented."
The delicately caustic tones in which he
spoke, were as it were sheathed by the un-
impeachable grace of his demeanor, as he
snatched first one and then another and the
third, of three tall glasses, and filling them
from the tapering bottle to the brim, pre-
sented one to the lovely girl who had
screened herself behind me, one to myself,
and the third to himself; all the while re-
garding Milans-Andr6 who was preparing
his own, with a mirthful expression, still
one of the v^y sweetest that could allure
the gaze.
When Andr6 looked up, he turned a
curious paleness, and seemed almost stoned
with surprise. I could neither understand
the one thing nor the other; but after our
pledge, which we two heartily responded to,
my maiden companion gave me a singular
beckoning nod which, for the instant, re-
minded me of Miss Lawrence, and at the
same time moved and stood four or five
steps away. I followed to the Pomegranate
plant.
" Come even closer," she whispered, " for
1 dare say you are curious about those
two."
If she had not been, as she was, most un-
usually beautiful to behold,. I should dearly
have grudged her that expression " those
two ;" but she constrained me by her sea-
blue eyes to attentive silence.
" You see what a power has the greater
one over the other, I have never seen him
before, bat my brother lias told me about
him ; besides, here he is worshipped, and no
wonder. The Cecilia School was founded
by one Gratianos a Bachist, about forty
years ago, but not to succeed all at once of
course ; the foundations were too poor, and
the intentions too sublime. XjOuIs Spohr's
works brought us first into notice, because
our students distinguished themselves at a
certain festival four years ago. The founder
died about that time, and had not Milans-
Andr6 put himself in the way to be elected
President, we should have gone to nothing ;
but he was rich and wanted to be richer, so
be made of us a speculation, and his name
wassuMc'ient to fiW the classes from all parts
of Europe. But we should have worse I.iae
gone to nothing soon, for we were slowly
crvstalliziog into the same order as certuio
other musical orders that shall not be named,
for perhaps you would not know what 1
mean by quoting them."
" I could if you would explain to me, find
I suppose you mean the music that is studied
is not so select as it should be."
"That is quite enough to the purpose^'*
she proceeded with quite an adult fluency.
" About three months ago we gave a great
concert. The proceeds were for enlarging
the premises, and we had a great crowd, not
in the room we used to-day which is new,
but in the large room we shall now keep for
rehearsals. After the concert, which Andre
conducted and at which all the prodigies as-
sisted, the conductor read us a letter. It
was from one we had all heard of, and
whom many of us loved secretly^, and dared
not openly, for reasons sad and many ^from
the 'Young Composer,' as Andre satirically
chose to call him, the Chevalier Seraphael." '
" Oh 1" I cried, " is that his name ? What
a wonderful name ! It is like an angel to be
called Seraphael."
" Hush I none of that now, because I shall
not be able, perhaps, to tell you what I want
you to know before you come here. Sera-
phael had just refused the post of Imperial
pianist, which had been pressed upon biiu
very earnestly, and the reason he gave foi
refusing it certainly stands alone in the an-
nals of artistic policy ; That there was only
one composer living to whom the office of
Imperial pianist should be confided, and by
whom it must be assumed Milans-Andr^"
himself. Then it went on to insinuate, that
by exclusive exchange only could such an
arrangement be eflPected : in short, that Mi
lans-Andr, who must not go out of Austria,
should be prevailed upon, in that case, to
resign the humble position that detained
him here to the young composer himseltl
Now MUans- Andre did resign, as you may
suppose ; but they say, not without a dou-
ceur, and we presented him with a gold
beaker engraved with his own arms, when
he retired that was not the douceur, mind;
he had a benefit."
" That means a concert with all the money
it brought for himself. But why did you
not see the Chevalier until to-day ?"
"Some of ours' did the band and the
chorus, but I do not belong to either. You
have no idea what it is to serve music under
Milans-Andre ; and when He came to-day,
we all knew what it meant who were wish-
ing for a new life. It was sort of electrio
snapping of our chains when he played to*
day."
" With that Volkslied ?"
" Yes," she responded with tremulous agi-
tation ; " with that Volkslied. Who shal
say he does not know all hearts ?"
CHARLES AUCHESTER.
85
* But it is not a Bnrscben-song, nor like
one ; it iB like nothing else."
" No, thank Gk)d I a song for the women
as well as the men. Ton never heard such
tones, nor I. Well it was that we conld pnt
words to them, everybody there."
" And yet it was a song without words,"
said a voice so gentle that it stole upon my
imagination like a sigh.
"Oh Sir! ?s it yon?"
I started, for he was so near ns, I was
afraid he might have been vexed by hearing.
Bat ft6 was unchanged, nnrufiled as a flower
of the conservatory by the wind without
She looked at him full, and he smiled into
her very eyes.
" I only heard your very last words. Do
not be afraid I for I knew you were talking
secrets, and that is a play I never stop. But
Oarlomein, when you have played your play
I must carry you to your master, whom I
might call~?ur\ and beg his pardon for all
my iniquiiies."
" Oh Sir I as if you needed," I said ; but
the young lady answered
"/shall retreat then. Sir, and indeed this
is not my place,"
She curtseyed lowly as to a monarch, but
without a shadow of timidity so much as
the*^ flutter of one rose-leaf, and passed out
Among the flowers, ho looking after her
strangely, wistfully.
" Is not that a Cecilia, Carlomein ?"
" If you think so. Sir."
** You do not think it ? you ought to know
as well as I. As she is gone, let us go."
And lightly as she fled, he turned back to
follow her ; but we had lost her when we
came into the garden. As he passed along
however, also among the flowers, he touched
first one and then another of the delicate
plants abstractedly until at length he pulled
off one blossom of an eastern jasmin, a beau-
tiful specimen, white as his own forehead,
and of perfume sweetest next his breath.
"Oh I" said he gaily, "I have bereaved
the soft sisterhood ; but," he added earn-
estly, as he held the pale blossom between
his fairest fingers, " 1 wonder whether they
are unhappy so far from home. I wonder
whether thoy hnow they are away."
" I should think not. Sir, or they would
not blossom so beautifully."
"That is nothing, and no reason, oh I
Oarlomein ; for I have seen such a beautiful
soul that was away from home, and it was
very homesick ; yet it was so fair, so very
fair, that it would put out the eye of this
little flower."
I could not help saying, or quickly mur-
muring rather, " It must be your soul then.
Sir."
" Is it mine to thee? It is to me another
but that does not spoil your pretty com-
pliment."
I never heard tones so sweet, so infantine.
But we had reached the door of the glas^
chamber, and I then observed that he was
gazing anxiously, certainly with inquiry, at
the sky. At that moment it first struck me
that since our entrance beneath the. shad-
owy greenness the sun had gone in. Simul-
taneously a shade, as from a springing cloud,
had fallen upon that brilliant countenance.
We stepped out^into the linden grove, and
then it came upon me indeed that the heav-
ens were dulled, and a leaden languor had
seized upon the fresh young foliage. Both
leaves and yellow blossom hung wearily in
the gloom, and I felt the intense lull that
precedes an electric shower. I looked at
him ; he was entirely pale and the soft lids
of his eyes had dropped, their lights had
gone in like the sun. His lips seemed to
flutter, and he spoke with apprehensive agi-
tation.
" I think it will rain, but we cannot stay
in the conservatory."
" Sir, it will be dry there," I ventured.
"No, but if it should thunder."
At that very instant the western clond-
land as it were shook with a quivering flash,
though very far ofi', for the thunder was in-
deed but a nuitter several minutes after-
wards. But he seemed stricken into still-
ness, and moved* not from the trees at the
entrance of the avenue.
" Oh, Sir I" I cried, I could not help it,
I was in such dread for him : " do not stand
under the trees ; it is a very little way to
the house, and we can run."
" Run, then I" he answered sweetly ; " but
I cannot, I never could stir in a storm."
"Pray Sir I oh pray come I" (the big
drops were beginning to prick the leafy
calm) ; and you will take cold too Sir, oh
come 1"
But he seemed as if he could scarcely
breathe, he pressed his hands on his brow
and hid his eyes. I thought he was going
to faint, and under a vague impression of
fetching assistance I rushed down the ave-
nue.
CHAPTER Vn.
I CAN never express my satisfaction, when
two or three trees from the end I met the
magic maiden herself, all hooded, and carry-
ing an immense umbrella.
" Where is this Chevalier of ours' ?" she
asked me with eagerness, " you surely have
not left him alone in the rain ?"
" I was coming for you," I cried, for such
was in fact the case ; but she noticed not
my reply, and sped fleetly beneath the now
weeping trees. I stood still, the rain stream-
ing upon my head, and the dim thunder
OHABLES AnOH8TEB.
monrnfully yet iu the distance, when I heard
fhem both behind me. How astonished was
1 1 I tamed and joined, them ; they were
talking very fast, the strange girl having her
very eyes uzed on the threatening sky, at
which she laughed. He was not smiling,
but seemed borne along by some impulse
he conld not resist^ and was even uncon-
Boions of; he held the umbrella above them
both, and she cried to me to come also be-
neaUi the canopy. We had only one clap as
we crossed the lawn, now reeking and de-
serted ; but a whole levee was in the refresh-
ment Pavilion waiting for the monarch. So
many professors robed so many Gecilians
with their badges that I was ready to sink
into a nonentity, instead of feeling myself
by my late privilege superior to all. Every
person appeared to turn as we made our
way ; but for all the clamor I heard him
whisper, " You have done with me what no
one ever did yet, and, oh I I do thank you
for being so kind to the foolish child. But
come with me that I may thank you else-
where."
"I would rather stay. Sir; here is my
jilace, and I went out of my place to do you
that little service, of which it is out of the
question to speak."
" Ton must not be proud. Is it too proud
to be thanked, then ?'^
With the gentlest grace he held ont to her
the single jasmin blossom. " See, no tear
has dropped upon it, will you take its last
sigh ?"
She drew it down into her hand, and al-
most as airily as he moved, glided in among
the crowd, which soon divided us from
her.
Seraphael himself sighed so very softly,
that none could have heard it, but I saw it
part his lips and heave his breast.
^^ She does not care for me, you see I" he
said, in a sweet, half pettish manner, as we
left the Pavilion.
" Oh, Sir I because she does not come
with you ? That is the very reason, because
she cares so much."
^^ How do you make that out ?"
" I remember the day I brought you that
water Sir, how I was afraid to stay although
I would have given everything to stay and
look at your face, and I ran away so .fast,
because of that."
" Oh, Oarlomein I hush I or you must
make me vain. I wonder very much why
you do like me, but pray let it be so I"
^^ Like you I" I exclaimed, as we moved
along the corridor, *^ you are all music ^yon
must be, for I knew it before I had heard
you play."
" They do say so ; I wonder whether it is
true I" said he, laughing a bright sudden
laugh, as brightly sounding as his smile was
bright to gaze on ; ^^ we shall all know some
Uwe, Isupposo, Now, OarJomein, what to
say to this master of yonrs about yoa f fof
here we are at the aoor, and there is h%
inside."
^^ Pray Sir, say what you like, and nothing
it you like, for I don^t care if he storms or
not."
" Storms is a very fine word, but, like onr
thunder, I expect it will go off very quietly.
How kind it was not to thunder and lightea
much, and to leave so soon !"
*^ Oh, I am so glad I I hate thunder and
lightning."
^^ Do you ? and yet you ran for mo. Thank
you for another little lesson."
He turned, and bowed to me, not mock*
ingly, but with a sweet grave humor. He
opened the door at that moment, and I went
in behind him. The very first person I saw
was Aronach, sitting, as if he never intended
to move again, in a great wooden chair,
writing in a long book, while other attentive
worthies looked over his shoulder. His
eyes were down, and my companion crept
round the room next the wall as noiselessly
as a walking shadow. Then behind the
chair, and putting up his finger to those
around, he embraced with one arm the
chair's stubborn back, and stretched the
other forwards, spreading his slender hand
ont wide into the shape of some pink cl^ar
fan-shell, so as to intercept the view Aro-
nach had of his loug book, and that unknown
writing.
"DerTeufell" growled Aronaoh, *'dost
thou suppose I don't know thy haiid among
a thousand ? But thy pranks wont disturb
me any more than they did of old. Take it
off then I and thyself too."
^^ Oh, I dare say I but I won't go ; I want
to show thee a sight, father Aronach."
He then drew my arm forwards and held
my hand by the wrist, as by a handle, just
under Aronach 's nose. He looked indeed
now, and so sliarply, snappishly, that I
thought Li^ would have bitten my fingers,
and felt very nervous. Seraphael broke
into one of his laughter chimes, but still
dangled my member; and when Aronach
really saw my phiz, he no longer snapped
nor roused up grandly, but sunk buck im-
potent in that enormous chair. He winked
indeed furiously, but his eyes did not flash,
so I grew still in my own mind and thought
to speak to him first. I said, somehow, and
never thinking a creature was by except
that companion of mine
^^ Dear Master, I would not have come
without your leave; but you know very
well I could not refuse this gentleman, be-
cause he is a friend of yours, and you said
yourself we must all obey him."
" Whippersnapper and dandiprat I I never
said such words to ^A^i; I regard him too
much to inforiu such ai thou with obedience
Thou hast, I can see very clearly, made
away w\t\x \\ \v\^ ft\m\, Vsj thy frivoliued,
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
m
and I especially commend thee for dragging
ach as lie up the hill in this beat. There
are no such things as coaches in the Eell
Platz, I suppose, or have the horses taken a
holiday too ?"
" Stop ! stop I Aronach ; for though I am
a little boy," said the other, ** I am bigger
than he, and I brought Iiim, not he me ; and
I dragged him hither too, for I don^t like
your coaches. And it is I who ought to
beg pardon for taking him from work he
likes so much, better than any play, as he
told me. But I did want to walk with him,
that I might ask him about my English
friends, with whom he is better acquainted
than I am. He does know them, oh! so
well, and had so many interesting anec-
dotes!"
At the utterance of this small white fib I
was almost in fits, but he still went on.
" I know I have done very wrong, and I
was an idle boy to tempt him, but you your-
self could not help playing truant to-day ;
and, dearest master," (here his sweet, sweet
voice was retrieved from the airy gaiety),
" do let me come back with you to-day and
have a story -telling. You have not told me
a story for a sad long time."
" If you come back. Chevalier, and if we
are to get back before bed-time, I would
have you go along and rest, if you can, until
I shall be free ; for I shall never empty my
hands while you are by."
Aronach did not say " thou" here, I no-
ticed, and his voice was even courteous,
tlioagh he still preserved his stateliness.
Like a boy indeed, Seraphael laid hold on
my arm and pulled me from the room again.
I cannot express the manly indignation of
the worthies we left in there at such sport-
iveness. They all stood firm, and in truth
they were all older, both in body and soul,
than we. But no sooner were we outside
than he began to laugh, and he laughed so
that he had to lean against the wall. I
laughed too ; it was a most contagious spell.
*'Now Call," he said, "very Carlomein!
we will make a tour of discovery. I declare
I don^t know where I am, and am afraid to
find myself in tlie young ladies' bed-rooms ;
but I want to see how things are carried on
here."
We turned this way and that way he
running down all the passages, and trying
the very doors, but these were all locked.
" Oh !" he exclaimed vivaciously, " they
are, I suppose, too fine!" and then we ex-
plored further. One end of the corridor
was screened by a large oaken door from
Another range of rooms, and not without
difficulty we effected an entrance for the
key, although in the lock, was rusty, and no
joke to turn. Here again were doors, right
and left; here also all was hidden under
lock and key that they nn'ght be supposed
lo contain ; but we ^'A at ];i8t discover o
curious hole at tlie end which we d. 1 not
take for^ a room until wo came inside having
opened the door which was latched, and not
especially convenient. However, before we
advanced I had ventured, "Sir, perhaps
some one is in there, as it is not fastened up.*'
"I shall not kill them, I suppose I" he re-
plied, with a curious eagerness ; then with
tlie old sweetness, " You are very right, I
will knock, but I know it will be knocking
to nobody."
He had then touched the panel with his
delicate knuckles ; no voice had answered,
and with a mirthful look he lifted the latch
and we both entered. It was a sight that
surprised me ; for a most desolate prison cell
could not have been darker. The window
ought not to be so named, for it let in no
light only shade, through its lack-lustrous
green glass. There was no furniture at all,
except a very narrow bed looking harder
than Lenhart Davy^s, but wearing none of
that air of his. There was a closet, as I man-
aged to discover in a niche, but no chest, no
stove ; in fact there was nothing suggestive
at all, except one solitary picture, and that
hung above the bed, and looked down into
it, as it were to protect and bless. I felt I
know not how, when I saw it then and
there; for it was what picture do you
think ? A copy of the very musical cherub
I had met with upon Aronach's wreath-
hung walls. It was fresher, newer, in this
instance, but it had no gold or carven frame;
it was bound at its edge with fair blue rib-
bon only beautifully stitched, and suspended
by it too. Above the graceful tie was twist-
ed one long branch of lately gathered linden
blossom which looked itself sufficient to give
an air of Heaven to the close little cell ; it
was even as flowers upon a tomb, those
sighs and smiles of immortality where the
mortal has passed forever I
" Oh, Sir !" I said, and I turned to him ;
for I knew his eyes were attracted thither
" Oh, Sir I do you know whose portrait that
is ; for my master has it, and I never dared
to ask him ; and the others do not know."
"It is a picture of the little boy who
played truant, and tempted another little
boy to play truant too."
And then, as he replied, I wondered I had
not thought of such a possibility ; for look-
ing from one to the other I could not now
but trace a certain definite resemblance be-
tween those fioating baby ringlets and the
profuse dark curls wherein the elder's
strength ahnost seemed to hide: so small
and infinitely spiritual was he in his incom*
parable organization.
"Now, Sir, do come and rest a little
while before we go."
He was standing abstractedly by that nar-
row bed, and looked as sad, as troubled, as
in the impending tUandec-clQiKl* Wt \a
CHARLES AU0HE8TER.
**Ye8, yes I we had better go, or she
might come!"
i. ooQld not reply ; for this singnlar pre-
soienoe datiDted me how could he tell it
was her very room? Bat when we came
into the corridor, I beheld, by the noonday
brightness which was not banished thence,
that there was a kind of moist light in his
eyes ; not tears, bnt as the tearful glimmer
of some blue distance, when rain is falling
upon those hills.
We threaded our way 'down stairs again,
for he seemed quite unwilling to explore
further, and I wondered where he would
lead me next ; when we met Milans-Andr6
in the hall. The Ohevalier blushed even as
an angry virgin on beholding him, but still
wet him cordially as before.
" Where are you staying. Chevalier ? At
the Furstin Haus ?''
^*I am not staying here at all. I am
going back to Lorbeerstadt to sleep, and to-
morrow to Altenweg, and then to man}'
places, for many days."
" Oh I I thought you would have supped
with me, and I could have a little initiated
you ; but if yon are really returning to Lor-
beerstadt, pray use my carriage which is
waiting in the yard."
"You are only to6 amiable, my dear
Andrd; we shall use it with tlie greatest
pleasure."
Oh how black did Andr6 look when Ser-
aphael laid that small delicate stress upon
the " we ;" for I knew the invitation in-
tended his colleague, and included no one
else. Bnt the other evidently took it all
for granted, and again thanking him with
exquisite gaiety, ran out into the court-yard,
and cried to me to come and see the car-
riage.
" I have a little coach myself," he said to
me, and also to Andr6 who was lounging
behind along with us ; " but it is a toy com-
pared with your's, and I wonder I did not
put it into my pocket, it is so small only
large enough for thee and me, Oarlomein."
''Why Seraphael, you are dreaming
there are no such equipages in all Vienna
as your father's and mother's."
" They are not mine, you see, and if I
drove such, I should look like a sparrow in
a hencoop. Oh, Oarlomein I what quan-
tities of sparrows there are in London 1
Do they live upon the smuts ?"
At this instant the carriage whose driver
Andrd had beckoned to draw up, approached,
and then we both ran to fetch Aronach who
came out very grumbling, for the enti-y in
the log book was scarcely dry; and he
saluted nobody but marched after us like a
person suddenly wound np, putting himself
heavily into the carriage, which he did not
notice in the least. It was an open carriage,
Paris-built (as I now know), and so luxu-
riowily lined, as not to be very fit for an ex-
pedition in any but halcyon weatlier. Ai
for Seraphael he flung himself upon the seat
as a cowslip ball upon the grass, and scarcely
shook the light springs ; and as I followed
him, he made a \ rofound bow to the owner
of the equipage, who disconsolately enough,
still stood witliin the porch.
"Now I do enjoy this, Oarlomein! I
cannot help loving to be saucy to Andre
good, excellent, and wonderful as he is."
I looked to find whether he was m ear.
nest ; but I could not tell, for his eyes were
grave, and the lips at rest, but Aronach
gave a growl, tliongh mildly -od the lion
might growl in the day wheu a little child
shall lead him.
" You have not conquered rhat weakness
yet, and I prophecy never will."
" What weakness, Master^" but he faltf^ret^
even as a little diild.
" To excuse fools, and fondle slaves."
" Oh, my Master do not scold me !" and
he covered his eyes with his little Mne-
veined hands. " It is so sad to be a fool or
a slave, that we should do all for such we
can do, especially if we are not so ourselves.
I think myself right there."
His pleading tone here modulated into th
still authority I had noticed once or twice,
and Aronach gave a smile in reply wljich
was the motion of the raptured look I had
noticed during the improvisation.
" Thou teachest yet then out of thy voca*
tion ; but thou art no more than thou ever
hast been, too much for thy old Master.
And as wrens fly faster, and creep stealthitfr
than owls, so art thou already whole heavens
beyond me."
But with tender scomftdness Seraphael
put out his hand in deprecation, and throw*
ing back his hair, buried his head in the
cushion of the carriage, and shut his eyes.
Nor did he again open them until we enter-
ed our little town.
I need scarcely say I watched him, and
often, as in a glassy mirror, I see that face
again upturned to the light too beautiful
to require any shadow, or to seek it sec
again the dazzling day draw forth its lus-
trous symmetry, while ever the soft winfl
tried to lift those deep locks from the lucid
temples, but tried in vain ; what I am nn
able to picture to myself in so recalling,
being the ever restless smile that played
and tainted over the lips, while the closed
eyies were feeding upon the splendors of the
Secret. I shall never forget either though
how they opened, and he came as it were to
his childlike self asain, as the light carriage
flight indeed for wer many dashed round
the Kell Platz, where its ponderous con-
temporaneous contradictions were ranged,
and took i^e fountain sqnare in an unwont-
ed sweep. Then he sat tb^ward and watch-
ed with the greatest eagerness, and h
\ sprang owt ii\moa\.\feiw^ ^^^^*Yod.
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
89
**I think Oar] and I conid save yon these
fltairs. Master mine," he ezolaimed. ** Let
as carry you up between us 1"
But what do you think was the reply ?
Seraphael had spoken in his gleeful voice,
but Aronach wore his gravest frown as he
torned and pounced suddenly upon the
other, whipping him up in his arms and
hoisting him to his shoulder, then speeding
up the staircase with his guest as if the
lYeight were no greater than a flower or a
bird. I could not stir some moments from
astoundment and alarm, for I had instan-
taneous impressions of Seraphael flying
over the balusters ; but presently, when his
laugh came ringing down^and I realized it
to be the laugh of one almost beside him-
self with fun I flew after them, and found
them on the dark landing at the foot of our
own flight. Seraphael. was now upon his
feet, and I quite appreciated the delicate
policy of the old head here. He said in a
moment, when his breath was steady
" Now, if they offer to chair thee again
at the Quartzmayne Festival, and thou turn-
eat giddy-pate, send for me I"
"I certainly will, if they offer such an
honor ; but once is quite enougli, and they
will not do it again."
"Why not?"
" Because I fell over into the river, and
was picked up by a fisherman ; and desir-
tng to know my character after I was dead,
I made him cover roe with his nets and
row me down to Glarstein, quite three
miles ; therti I supped with him and slept
too, and the next morning heard that I was
drowned."
"Oh I one knows that history, which
found its way into a certain paper among
the lies, and was published in illustration
of the eccentricities of genius."
Aronach said this very cross ; I wonder-
ed whether it was with the press or his
pupil, but if it were with the latter he only
enjoyed it the more.
Then Aronach bade me conduct his guest
into the organ-room, while he himself put
a period to those bowlings of the immured
ones which yet conscientiously asserted
themselves. We waited a few moments
up etairSf and then Aronach carried oflf the
Chevalier to his own room ^a sacred region
I had never approached, and which I could
only suppose to exist. I then rushed to
mine, and was so long in collecting my
senses, that Starwood came to bid me to
upper. I did not detain him then, though
1 had so much to say; but I observed
that he had his Sunday coat on a little
blue frock braided ; and I remembered that
I ought to have assumed my own. Still
my wardrobe was in such perfect order
(thanks to Clo) that my own week coat
was more respectable than many other
bo/s' Sunday dhea, and though I have the
instinct of personal cleanliness very strong^
I cannot say I like to look smart.
When I reached our parlor, I was quite
dazzled. There was a sumptuous banquet,
as I took it, arranged upon a cloth the fine-
ness and whiteness of which so far tran-
scended our daily style that I immediately
apprehended it had proceeded from the se*
cret hoards in that wonderful closet of
Aronach^s. The tall glasses were inter*
spersed with silver flagons, and the usual
garnishings varied by all kinds of fruits and
flowers, which appeared to have sprung
from a magic touch or two of that novel
magic presence. For the rest, there were
delicious milk-porridge on our accounts,
and honey and butter, and I noticed those
long-necked bottles one like which San*
tonio had emptied, and which I had never
seen upon that table since for Aronach
was very frugal and taught us to be so. I
was so from taste and by habit, but Iskar
would have liked to gorge himself with
dainties I used to think. When I saw this
last seated at the table I was highly indig-
nant, for he had set his stool by Seraphael's
chair. He had fished from his marine store
of clothes a crumpled white silk waistcoat,
over which he had invested himself with a
tarnished silver watch-chain. But I would
not, if I could, recall his audacious manner
of gazing over everything upon the table
and everybody in the room; with those
legs of his stretched out for any one to
tumble over, or rather, on purpose to make
me stumble, I knew this very well, and
avoided him by placing my stool on the op-
posite ed^e of the board, where I could still
look into the eyes I loved if I raised my
own.
This insignificant episode will prove that
Iskar had not grown in my good graces, nor
had r acquainted myself better with him
than on the first night of my arrival. I
knew him not ^but I knew of him, for
every voice in the house was against him,
and he gave promise of no small power
upon his instrument, together with small
promise of musical or mental excellence;
as all he did was correct to caricature and
and inimitably mechanical. Yain as he was
of his playing, his vanity had small scope on
that score under that quiet roof^shadow, so
it spent itself upon his person, ivhioh was
certainly elegant, if vulgar. I am not clear
but that one of these personal attractions
always infers the other. But why I men-
tion Iskar is, that I may be permitted to re-
call the expression with which our master's
guest regarded him. It was a grieved yet
curious glance, with that child-hke sciutiny
of what is not true all abashing to the false,
unless the false has lost all child-likeness.
Iskar must I suppose have lost it, for lie
was^not the least aboalv^d^ 8xl1 vtqa ^qaXV^
Q;p\n8^ to \^^Ti \3l^u\xv% ^^X\\^^\S|^vJ^'^ hvv
\
90
CHARLES AUCnESiER.
bad all sat down, if Aronach had not awfully
bat serenely rebuked him. Little Starwood,
by my side, looked as fair and as pretty as
ever, rather more shy than nsnal. Sera-
phael, now seated, looked round with that
exquisitely sweet politeness I have never
met with but in him, and asked us each
whether we would eat some honey, for he
had the honey-pot before him. I had some,
of course, for the pleasure of being helped
by him, and he dropped it into my milk in
a gold flowing stream, smiling as he did so.
It was so we always ate honey at Aro-
nach^B, and it is so I eat it to tliis day.
Little Star pat oat his bowl too^-oh!
those great heavy wooden bowls ! it was
jast too much for him, and he let it slip.
Aronach was rousinor to thunder upon him,
and I felt as if the ceiling were coming
ilown (for I knew he was angry, on accoant
of that gnest of his), when we heard that
voice in its clear authority "Dear Aro-
nach, do nothing, the milk is not spoiled."
A nd tnrning all of as together, we saw that
he had caaght the bowl on his outstretched
hand A, and that not a drop had fallen. I
mention it as illustrative of that miraculous
organization in which intent and action
wore simultaneous, the motions of whose
will it seemed impossible to retard or antici-
pate. Even Iskar looked atsonished at this
feat; bat he had not long to wonder, for
Aronach strongly commended as to great
baste in the disposal of our supper.
I needed not urging, for it was natural to
feel tliat the Master and his Master must
wish to be alone; indeed, I should have
been thankful to escape eating, though I
was very hungry, that I mirht not be in the
way ; but directly I took pains to do away
with what I had before me, I was forbidden
by Aronach " to bolt."
I lay awake many hours in a vague ex-
citement of imaginary organ-sounds, welling
up to heaven from heaven's under-springs.
I languished in a romantic vision of that
face surrounded with cloud-angels, itself
their out-shining light. I waited to hear
his footsteps upon the stairs, when he should
at length depart ; but so soft was that de-
parting emotion, that even I, listening with
my whole existence, heard it not, nor heard
anything to remind my heart silence that he
had come and gone.
OHAPTEK VIII.
I THINK I can relate nothing else of that
softest month of summer, nor of sultry
Jane. It was not until the last week I was
to change my quarters ; but long as it seera-
etJ In oomincr, it came when I was hardly
prepared for the transfer.^ Aronacl. returik
ed to his stricter self again after that supper:
but I felt certain he had heard a great deal
after we had left the table, as an expression
of softer character fonwKik not his eyes and
smile for many days. I could not discover
whether anything li;\d passed concerning
Starwood who remained my chief anxiety,
as I felt if I left him there alone, he would
not get on at all. Iskar and I preserved oar
mutual distance, though I would fain have
been more often with him, for I wanted to
make him out. He practised harder than
ever, and hardly took time to eat and drink,
and only on Sundays, a great while to dress.
He was always very jauntily put together
when we set out to church, and looked like
a French manikin, but for his upper lip and
the shallow width of his forehead. I tliought
him very handsome, while yet so young he
was so ; but his charm consisted for me in
his being unapproachable, and, as I thought,
mysterious.
We saw about as little of each other as it
was possible to see, living in the same house
and dining in the satne room ; but we never
talked at meals, we had no time.
It is but fair to allow myself an allusion
to my violin, as it was becoming a very es-
sential feature in my history. With eight
hours practice a day I had made some solid
progress ; but it did not convict me of itself
yet, as I was not allowed to play, only to
acquaint myself with the anatomy of special
compositions, as exercises in theory. Iskar
played so easily, and gave such an air of
playing to practice, that it never occurred
to me I was getting on, though it was so, as
I found in time. At this era I hated the
violin, just as pianoforte students hate the
pianoforte during the period of apprentice-
ship to mechanism. I hated the sound that
saluted me morning, noon, and night; I
shrank from it ever unaccustomed, for the
penetralia of my brain could never be ren-
dered less susceptible by piercing and search-
ing its recesses. I believe my musical per-
ception was as sensitive as ever, all through
this epidemic dislike, but I felt myself per-
sonally very musically indisposed. I could
completely dissociate my ideal impressions
of that I loved from my absolute experience
of what I served; I was patient, because
waiting: content, because faithful; and I
pleased myself albeit with reflecting that my
violin my own property my very own
had a very different soul from that thing 1
handled and tortured every day, from which
the soul had long since fled. For all the
creators of musical forms have not the pow-
er to place in them the soul that livos for
ages, and a little wear and tear separates the
soul from the body. As for ray Aniati I
knew its race so pure that I feared for it no
pTematxxTftdfeca.^. In its dark box I hoped
\it was at. V^ast. not. \xxy\\w^^^^\y\3X\ ^^ix\.^
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
di
longed for & siglit tf it, and had I dared I
would haye crept into the closet, but that
whenever it was anlocked I was locked np.
The days flew, though they seemed to me
so long, as ever in summer ; and I felt how
ravishing must the summer be without the
town. I wearied after it, and although the
features of German scenery are quite with-
out a certain bloom I have only found in
England, they have some mystic beauty of
their own unspeakably more touching ; and
as I lived then all life was a fairy-tale book,
with half the leaves uncut. I was ever
dreaming, but healthfully the dreams for-
gotten as soon as dreamed so it chanced
that I can tell you nothing of all I learnt or
felt, except what was tangibly and wakingly
presented to myself. I remember however
more than distinctly, all that happened the
last evening I passed in that secluded house,
to my sojourn in which I owe all the beni-
8ons bestowed upon my after artist life. We
bad supped at our usual hour, but when I arose
and advanced to salute Aronach as usual, and
sighed to see how bright the sun was still
upon everything witliout and within,he whis-
pered in my ear an attention Le had never
before paid me " Stay up by me until the
other two are offl for I wish to speak to
thee, and give tliee some advice.''
Iskar saw him whisper, and looked very
black because he could not hear, but Aro-
nach waved him out, and bade me shut the
door upon him and Starwood. I trembled
then, for I was not used to be alone with
him t4te-k-t^te; we usually had a third
party present in the compuny of Marpurg
or ^brechtsberger. He went into the clo-
set first, and rummaged a few minutes, and
then returning, appeared laden with a bottle
of wine and my long hid fiddle-case. Oh,
how I flew to relieve him of it I but he bade
me again sit down, while he went back
into the closet, and rummaged again ; this
time for a couple of glasses, and two or
three curious jars, rich china, and of a beau-
tiful form. He uncorked the bottle, and
poured me, as I expected, a glass of wine.
It was not the wine that agitated me, but
the rarity of the attention, so much so that
I choked instead of wishing him his health,
as I ought to have done. But he was quite
unmoved at my excitation, and leaned back
to pour glass after glass down his own
throat. I was so unused to wine that the
sip I took exhilarated me, though it was the
slightest wine one can imbibe for such pur-
pose. And then he uncovered the odd gay
jars, and helped me profusely to the ex-
quisite preserves they contained. They
were so luscious and delicate that they re-
minded of Eden fruits ; and almost before
my wonder had shaped itself into form,
certainly before it could have betrayed
itself in my countenance, Aronach began to
speak.
** They pique thoc, no doubt, and not on I j
thy palate, for thou wast ever curious. They
come from him of whom thou hast never
spoken since thy holiday."
*^ Everything comes from him, I think.
Sir."
^^ No, only the good, not the evil nor the
negative; and it is on this point I would
advise thee, for thou art as inconsiderate as
a fledgling turned out of the nest, and art
aware of nothing."
"Pray advise me, Sir," I said, "and I
shall be glad that I am inconsiderate, to be
advised by you."
I looked at him and was surprised that a
dgep seriousness overshadowed the constant
gravity ; which was as if one entered from
the twiliglit a still more sombre wood.
" I intend to advise thee because thou art
ignorant, though pure; untaught, yet not
weak. I would not advise thy compeers,
one is too young, the other too old."
" Iskar too old I" I exclaimed.
** Iskar was never a child ; whatever thou
could teach him would only ripen his fol-
lies, already too forward. He belongs to the
other world."
There are two worlds, then, in music I
thought, for it had been ever a favorite no-
tion of my own, but I did not say so ; I v as
watching him. He took from the breast-
pocket of his coat that long brown coat
a little leather book, rolled up like a parch-
ment, this he opened and unfolded a paper
that had lain in the curves and yet curled
round unsubmissive to his fingers. He delib-
erately bent it back, and held it a moment
or two, while his eyes gathered light in
their fixed gaze upon what he clasped, then
smoothed it to its old shape with his palm,
and putting on his horn-set eye-glasses, which
lent him an owl-like reverendness, he began
to read to me. And as I have that little
paper still, and as if not sweet it is very
short, I shall transcribe it here and now ;
" When thou hearest the folks prate about
Art, be certain thou art never tempted to
make friends there ; for if they be wise in
any other respect, they are fools in this, that
they know not when to keep silence and
how. For Art consists not in any of its
representatives, and is of itself alone. To
interpret it aright we must let it make its
own way, and those who talk about it gain-
say its true impressions, which alone remain
in the bosom that is single and serene. If
thou markest well thou wilt find how few
of those who make a subsistence out of
music realize its full significance ; for they
are too busy to recall that they live for it,
and not by it, even though it brings them
bread. And just as few are those who set
apart their musical life from all ambition,
even honorable ; for ambition is of the earth
M
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
tife consist ; bo the irreligous many are in-
capable of the fervor of the few. And the
few, those I did exclude ^the few who pos-
sess in patience this inezhanstible desire, are
those who compose my world."
" You mean, Sir," I exclaimed, so warm
so glowing at my heart that the summer
without, 1:moding over the blossomed) lin-
dens, was as winter to the summer in my
veins, so suddenly penetrated I felt : ^^ Ton
mean. Sir, that as good people I have heard
speak of the world, and of good people who
are not worldly, apart, and seem to know
thera from each other in religion I mean
so it is in music. I am sure my sister
thought so ^my sister in England, but she
never dared to say so."
" No, of course not ; there is no right to
say so anywhere now except in Germany,
for here alone has music its priesthood, and
here alone, though little enough here, is
reverentially regarded as the highest form
of life^ subserving to the purposes of the
soul. But thou art right to believe entirely
so, that, young as thou art, thou mayest keep
thy purity, and mighty may be thy aptness
to discern what is new to thee in the- old, no
less titan what answers to the old in the
new.
" And, first, when thou goest out of lead-
ing-strings, never accustom thyself to look
for faults or feelings differing from thine
own, in those set over thee. It is certain
that many a student of Art has lost ground
in this indulgence ; for oftentimes the stu-
dent, either from natural imagination, or
from the vernal innocence of youth, will be
outstripping his instructors in his grand in-
tentions, and giving himself up to them will
be losing the present hours in the air that
should be informing themselves with steady
progress in the strictest mechanical course.
Never, till thou hast mastered every con-
ceivable difficulty, dream of producing the
most distant musical effect.
^^But, secondly, lest thine enthusiasm
should perish of starvation under this me-
chanical pressure, keep thy wits awake to
contemplate every artist and token of art,
that come between thee and daylight ; and
the more thou busiest thyself in mechanical
])reparation, the more leisure thou shalt dis-
cover so to observe ; the more serene and
brilliant shall thy imagination find itself; a
clear sky filled with the sunshine of that en-
thusiasm which spreads itself over every
object in earth and heaven.
"Again, of Music, or the Tone- Art, as
thou hast heard me name it, never let thy
conception cease. Never believe thou hast
adopted the trammels of a Pursuit bounded
by Progress, because thine own progress
bounds thine own pursuit. In despair at
^j- slow Indaction be it slow as it must be
gradual doabt not that it is into a divine
and immeasurable realm tHou shalt at lengfb
be admitted : and if the ethereal souls of tbs
masters gone before thee have thirsted after
the infinite even in such immeasuntble
space, recall thyself and bow contented that
thou hast this in common with those above
thee; ^the insatiable presentment of fotn-
rity with which the Creator has chosen to
endow the choicest of his gifts ^Uie gift b
its perfection granted ever to the choicest,
the rarest of the race."
^^ And that is why it is granted to the He-
brew nation why they all possess it like a
right!" I cried, almost without conscioos-
ness of having spoken. But Aronach an-
swered not ; he only slightly, with the least
motion, leaned his head so that thd silver of
his beard trembled, and a sort of tremor
agitated his brow that I observed not in his
voice as he resumed.
^^Thou art young and mayest possbly
excel early, as a mechanical performer. X
need not urge thee to prune the exuberance
of thy fancy and to bind thy taste ^by na-
ture delicate to the pure strong models
whose names are, at present, to thee their
only revelation. For the scapegrace who
figures in thy daily calendar as so magnifi-
cently thy superior, will ever stand thee in
stead of a warning or ominous repulsion so
long as thy style is forming; and, when
formed, that style itself shall fence thee alike
with natural and artful antipathy against
the school he serves, that confesses to no
restriction, no not the restraint of Rule ; and
is the servant of its own caprice.
" Thou shalt find that many, who profess
the art, confess not to that which they yet
endure ^a sort of shame in their profession
as if they should ennoble if, and not it them.
Such professors thou shalt ever discover are
slaves, not sons ; their excellence as -. per-
formers owing to the accidental culture of
their imitative instinct ; and they are the
ripieni of the universal orchestra whose
Chief doth appear but once in every age. *
" Thou shalt be set on to study by thine'
instructors, and, as I before hinte^ wilt ever
repose upon their direction. But in apply-
ing to the works they select for thine edifi-
cation, whether theoretic or practical, en-
deavor to disabuse thyself of all thy previ-
ous impressions and prepossessions of any
author whatsoever, and to absorb thyaelf in
the contemplation of that alone thou busi-
est thyself upon.
^ Thus alone shall thine intelligence ex-
plore all styles, and so separate each from
each as finally to draw the exact conclusios
from thine own Temperament and Taste of
that to which thou dost essentially incline.
" In treating of Music specifically remem-
ber not to confound its elements. As in
ancient mythology many religious seeda
were sown, and golden symbols scattered
80 laay w^i 8i^^\^ *\\.^ eQSoxM.vci^ fablee whera.
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
10
the new wisdom denies ns utterance, and be
nearer towards the expression of the actual
than if we observed the literal forms of
speech. Thus ever remember that, as the
Aorasia was a word signifying the invisibil-
ity of the gods and the Avatar their incarna-
tion, so is Time the Aorasia of Music the
god-like and' ToTie its Avatar.
'^ Then, in Time^ shalt thou realize that in
"which the existence of music as infallibly
consists as in its manifestation Tone^ and
thine understanding shall become invested
w^ith the true nature of Bythm^ which alike
doth exist between time and tone, seeming
to connect in spiritual dependence the one
with the other inseparably.
^^ In devoting thine energies to the works
of art in ages behind thine own, thou shalt
never be liable to depress thy consciousness
of those which are meritorious with thee,
and yet to come before thee. For thou wilt
learn, that to follow the supreme of art with
innocence and wisdom, was ever allotted to
the few whose labors yet endure ; while as
to the many whose high-flown perfections
in their day seduced the admiration of the
myriads to the neglect of the few, except Jyy
few ^find we nothing of them at present but
the names alone of their operas, or the men-
tion of their having been and being now no
more. And this is while the few are grow-
ing and expanding their fame as the genera-
tions succeed, ever among the few of every
generation, but yet betokening in that still,
secluded renown, the immortal purpose for
which they wrote and died not.
" Be assured that ii all works which have
endured there is something of the nature
of truth ; therefore, acquaint thyself with
all, ever reserving the right to honor with
peculiar investigation those works in which
the author, by scientific hold upon forceful
imagination intimates that lie wrote with
the direct intention to illustrate his art, not
alone for the love of it, but in tlje fear of
its service. Thus apply thyself to the com-
positions of Palestrina, of Purcell, of Ales-
eandro Scarlatti, and the indefatigable Co-
relli ; thus lend thyself to the masterpieces of
Pergolesj, of Mozart, and Handel ; thus lean
with thine entire soul upon the might and
majesty of John Sebastian Bach. All oth-
ers in order, but these in chief, and this last
^ generalissimo, until thou has learnt to gov-
vern thyself."
He paused and stayed, and the summer
evening-gold crowned him as he sat. That
same rich gleam creeping in for all the deep
shade that filled the heavenly vault, seemed
to touch me with solemn ecstasy alike with
his work. He was folding up that paper
and had nearly settled i$ before I dared to
thank him; but as be "held it out, and I
grafiped it, I also kissed the ivory of his not
unwrinkled hand, and he did not withdraw
^ K Then I said, " My dear Master, my dear,
dear Herr Aron&ch, is tJiat for me to
keep?"
'* It is for thee," he answered ; " and,
perhaps, as there is little of it, thou Vrill
digest it more conveniently than a more
abundant lecture. Thou art imaginative, or
I should not set thee laws, and implicit, o
thou wouldst not follow them."
^^I should like to know. Sir, whethei
those are the sort of rules you gave the
Chevalier Seraphael when he was a little
boy?"
^^ No, no, they are not such as I gave hini,
be certain."
" I thought not, perhaps. Oh, Sir, how
very surprising he must have been when he
was so young and little."
" He did not rudely declaim, thou mayest
imagine at eight years old ; and his voice
was so modest to strangers, that it was hard
to make him heard at all this it was that
made me set no laws before him."
" How then Sir, did you teach him?" was
my bolder question.
^^ He would discourse of music in its native
tongue when his small fingers conversed with
the keys of his favorite harpsichord, so won-
drously at home there from the first time
i\i&Y felt themselves. And in still obedience
to the law of that inborn harmony that gov-
erned his soul, he would bend his curly pate
over the score till all the color fell ofi;' hu
round cheek, and his forehead would work
and frown with thoughts strong enough to
make a strong man's brain quiver. 1 was
severe with him to save my conscience ; but
he ever outwitted me, nor could I give him
enough to do ; for he made play of Work,
and no light work of play. It was as if I
should direct the south wind to blow in
summer, or the sunbeams to make haste
with the fruit. At length it came to such a
pass, his calm attainment, that I gave him
up to die ; he left off growing too, and there
was of him so little that you would have
thought him one the pleasant fo!k Lud
changed at birth ; bright enough were hk
eyes for such suspicion. So I clapped upon
him one day as he was lying upon a bit of
shade in my garden, his cap of velvet
tumbled off and the feather flying as you
please, while over the score of Graun he had
fallen fast asleep. When I came to him, 1
thought the little heart-strings had given
way to let him free altogether, he lay so still
and heavy in his slumber, and no breath
came through his lips that I could see. So
1 took him up, never waking him, and laid
him away in bed, and locked up every staved
sheet that lay about, and every score and
note-book, and shut the harpsichord ; and
when at last he woke, I took him upon my
knee for it was then he came to ray house
for his lessons, and I could do with him as
I pleased ^ Now,' said I, ^ thou hast been
asleep ov^jr th^ \iQQka^^\A V V^sjc^'^ ^^ssrcis^
04
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
tbein all away, for thon art lazy, and shalt
see them never again, anless thon art con-
tent to do as I shall bid thee/
^^ Then he loolied into my head with bis
kind child's eyes, and said :
" * I wish that tlion wert my pnpil, Mas-
ter I for if so, I should show thee how I
should like to be taught/
" * Well, thou art now very comfortable
OQ my knee, apd ma jest pull ray watch-
ohain if thon wilt, and shalt also tell me the
5tory of what thou shouldst teach thine old,
grand pnpil we will make a play of it.'
" * I do not care to pull thy chain now,
but I should like to watch tliy face while I
tell thee;
''*' So then. Master Carl, this elf stood up-
right on my knees, and spread out his arms,
and laughed loud till the wet pearls shone,
and while I held his feet, for I thought he
would fly away : says he to mock me :
'^ * Now, Master Aronach I thon mayest
go home and play with thy little sister at
kings and queens, and never do any more
lessons till thou art twelve years old, for
that is the time to be a man, and do great
things ; and now thou art a poor baby, who
cannot do anything but play, and go to
sleep. And all the big books are put away,
and nobody is to bring them out again nntil
thou art big, and canst keep awake.''
^' Then I looked at him hard to see whether
he was still mocking me, but when I found
he looked rather about to cry, I set him
down, and took my hat, and walked out of
my house to the lower ramparts. Cn the
lower ramparts stood the fine house of his
father, and I rang the bell quite free, and
went boldly up the stairs. His mother was
alone in her grand drawing-room, and I
said, that she might either come and fetch
him away altogether, or let him stay with
me and amu. q himself as he cared for ; that
I would not teach him for those years to
come, as he 'ad said. The stately lady was
offended, an ' carried him off from me al-
together, aixi when he went he was very
proud, and :yould not shed one tear, though
he clung rou^id my collar, and whispered,
elf that he was * 1 shall come back when I
am twelve hush I Master, hush V "
"And did be come back ?".! cried, no less
in ecstasy at the story, than at the confidence
reposed in him.
" All in good time peace," said Aronach,
" I never saw him again until the twenty-
eecond morning of May, in the fourth year
after his mother carried him off. I heard
of the wonder-boy from every mouth ; how
lie was taken here, and flourished there, to
Bhow off; and petted and praised by the
king ; and J thought often how piteous was
it thus to spoil bun. On that very morniug
I was wp k/Ctimtv . and was writing a letter
lo an old Meu of mine, whose daughter
ivjsfi dead, whei iieard feet like a lawn
that was finding quick way up my daik
stairs, and I stopped to listen. The door
was burst open all in a moment, as if by the
wind, and there he stood, in his littlo hak
and feather, and his gay new dress, bright
as a birth-day prince ; with a huge lumber-
ing flower-pot in his two little arms. Ha
set that upon the fl6or^ and danced up to
me directly, climbing upon my knee, * Will
you take me back ? for I am twelve, and no-
body else can teach me I I know all they
know.'
" He folded his little arms together round
my collar, and held on there tight. What a
minimus he was I scarcely a half-foot taller,
but with such a noble air, and those same
kind eyes of old. I pinched his fair cheek,
which was red as any rose, but it was only
a blossom born of the morning air as he
still sat upon my knees, the beanteous color
fell, faded quite away, and left him pal^--
pale as yon now see him. Master Carl."
"Oh! Sir, tell me a little, littie more.
What did he tell you? what did be do ?"
" He told tne, with the pale face presseil
against my coat : ^ Thou see'st sweet Master
I would not take pains just at first, and
mamma was very grand ; she never blessed
me for a week, and I never kissed her. 1
did lessons with her, though, and tried to
plague her, and played very sad, very ill!
and would hardly read a bar. So mamma
took it into her head to say that you had not
taught me properly; and I grew very wild,
angry ; so hurt at least that I burst Out, and
ran down stairs, and came no more for les-
sons five whole days. Then I begged her
pardon, and she sent for Herr Hummel to
teach me. 1 played my very best to Herr
Hummel, master mine I'
" I dare say he did, thought I, the naugh-
ty one I the elf I there he lay back with his
pale face, and all the mischief in his starry
eyes.
" * And Herr Hummel,' my loveling went
on, pursing his lii^s, 'said he could not teach
me to play, but perhaps he could teach me
to write. So I wrote for him ever so many
pages, and he could not read them, for I
wrote so small, so small ; and Herr Hummel
has such very weak eyes I'
" Oh ! how naughty he looked, lying across
my knees I
" * And then,' he prattled, * mamma set
herself to look for somebody very new and
great; and she picked up Mons. Milans- An-
dre, who is a very young master, only nine-
teen years old ; and mamma says he is a
great genius. Now, as for me, dear Master,
I don't know what a great genius is ; but
if Mons. Andre be one, thou are not one,
nor I.'
" Oh I the naughty one 1 still prattling
on.
" ' I did take pains, and put myself back,
\that \ie m\^\v\i ^Viow me over again what
OUARLES AUOHESTER.
yon, dear Haster, had tauglit me, so that I
uever forget, and could not forget, if I tried ;
and in a year I told mamma I would never
touch the harpsichord again if she did not
promise I should come back to you again.
She said she couldn't promise ; and, Master,
I never did again touch the harpsichord;
but, instead, I learned what was better, to
play on Mons. Andre's grand pianoforte V
''^ ^ And how didst thou admire that, eh ?'
I asked, rather curious about the matter.
" ' Oh I it is very comfortable ; I feel quite
clear about it, and have written for it some
things. But Mons. Andr6 is to go a tour,
80 he told mamma yesterday, and this morn-
ing, before he came I ran away, and I am
returned to you, and have brought my tree
to keep my birth-day with you. ^nd Mas-
ter mine, I wcm't go back again V
" Before I could answer him, as I expect-
ed, comes a pull at the bell to draw the
bouse down, and up the stairs creaks Rath-
sherr Seraphael, the father, a mighty good-
looking and very grand man. He takes a
Beat, and looks queer and awful. But the
little one, quitting me, dances round and
round his chair, and kisses away that frown.
*^ ^ Dear and beautiful papa, thou must
give me leave to stay, I am thine only son.'
" ' Thou art, indeed, and hast never be-
fore disobeyed me. Why didst thou run
away, my Adonais V
" ' Papa, he can only teach me ; I will
not leave him, for I must obey music before
you, and in him music calls me.'
^^ He ran. back to my knee, and there bis
father left him .(but very disconcerted), and
I don't know how they settled it at home.
But enough for me, there was never any
more difficulty, and he and I kept his birth-
day together ; the little candles burned out
among the linden flowers, and beautiful
presents came for him and for me, from the
great house on the ramparts.
" And he never left me," added Aronach,
with a prodigious pleasure, too big to con-
ceal, either by word or look, " he never left
me until he set off for his travels all over
Europe, during which travels I removed,
and came up here a' long distance from the
old place, where I had him all to myself,
and be was all to me."
"Thanks, dear Master, if I too may so
call you. I shall always feel that you are,
but I did not know how very much you
bad to do with him."
" Thou mayest so name me, because thou
art not wanting in veneration, and can'st
also be mastered^
"Thanks, forever. And I may keep
this precious paper. In your own writing.
Sir, it will be more than if you had said it,
you know, though I should have remember-
ed every word. And the story too, is just
as safe as if you had written it for roe."
And so it wad.
CHAPTER IX.
Well, as if but yesterday, do I rememoer
the morning I set out from Lorbeerstadt for
Cecilia. I had no friends yet with whoa
to reconnoitre novel ground ; I was quit
solitary in my intentions, and rather troubled
with a vague melancholy, the son being nn
der cloud, and I not having wished Aro*
nach good day. He was out in the town
fulfilling the duties of his scholastic pre-
eminence, and I had vainly sought him for
an audience. He had surrendered me ray
violin when he gave me the paper in hia
writing, and I also carried my certificate in
my hand. Of all my personal effects I
took these only, my bed and bedding, my
clothes and books having preceded me, or
at least having taken another form of
flight. Iskar was to come also that time,
but did not intend to present himself until
the evening. Aronach had also forewarned
me to take a ceach, but I rather chose tn
walk, having divine reminiscences upon
that earthly road.
With Starwood I had a grievous parting,
not unallayed by hope on my part, and I
left him wiping his eyes, an attention which
deeply affected me though I did not cry myself.
I shall never forget the singularly ma-
terial aspect of things when I arrived. Con-
ventionalism is not so rampant in Grermany
as in England, and courtesy is taught an-
other creed. I think it would be impossible
to be anywhere more free, and yet this sud-
jien liberty (like a sudden light) did but at
first serve to dazzle and distress me. Only
half the students had returned, and they,
all knowing each other, or seeming to do
so, were standing in self-interested frater-
nities, broken by groups and greeters, in
one immense hall, or what appeared to me
immense, and therefore desolate. I came
in through the open gates to the open ooui*t,
through the open court into the open entry,
and from that region was drawn to the
door of that very hall by the hollow multi-
tudinous echo that crept upon the stony so-
litude. It was as real to me a solitude to
enter that noble space; and I was more
abashed than ever, when on looking round
I perceived none but males in all the com-
pany. There was not even a picture of
the patron saintess ; but there was a picture,
a dark empanelled portrait, high over the
long dining-tables. I concluded from the
style that it was a representation of one
Gratianos the Bachist, of whom I had
once heard speak.
Tlie gentlemen in the hall were none of
them full grown, and none wonderfully
handsome at first sight; but the manner of
their entertainment was truly edifying to
me, who had not long been " out" in any
sense. They every one either had been
[i^moking^ were siwolsAw^^ yt -^^^t*^ ^^\^
M
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
smoke ; that is, they most of them had pipes
tn their months, or th^se who had not them
tn their mouths had just plucked them there-
from and were holding them in their hands,
or thoe who had not yet began were pre-
paring the apparatus. ,
In a corner of the hall, which looked dis-
mally devoid of furniture to an English eye,
there was a great exhibition of benches.
They were some upright, others kicking
their feet in the air, but all packed so as to
take up little space, and these were over
and above the benches that ran all round
Uie hall. In this comer a closter of individ-
uals had collected after a fashion that took
my fancy in an instant, for they had estab-
lished themselves without reference to the
primary use and endowment of benches at all.
Dome sat on the legs thereof upturned with
their own feet at the reversed bottoms, and
more than a few were lying inside those re-
versed bottoms, with distended veins and ex-
cited complexions, suggesting the notion that
they were in the enjoyment of plethoric slum-
ber. To make a still further variation, one
bench was set on end, and supported by two
leaning figures of two contemporaneous med-
allists ; and on the summit of this bench,
which also rested against the wall, a third
medallist was sitting, like an ape upon the
ledge of Gibraltar; unlike an ape in this
respect, that he was talking with great so-
lemnity, and also, in that he wore gloves
that had once on a time been white. The
rest were barehanded, but all were fitted
oat witli moustaohios, either real or ficti-
tious, for I had my doubts of the soft dark
tassels of the Stylites, q his own pate was
covered with hemp it cannot have been
hair. Despite its grotesqueness this group,
OS I have said, attracted me, for there was
something in every one of the faoes that set
me at my ease, because they appeared in
earnest at their iun.
I came "up to them as I made out their
composition, and they one and all regarded
me with calm, not malicious indifierence.
They were very boyish for young men, and
very manly, for young boys, certainly; and
remained as to their respective ages, a mys-
tery. The gentleman on the pedestal did
not even pause until he came to a proper
climax, for he was delivering an oration,
and I arrived in time to hear the sentence
so significant " So that all who in verity
apply themselves to science, will find them-
selves as much at a loss without a body as
without a soul, for the animal property
nourisheth and illustrateth the spiritual, and
the spiritual would be of no service without
tlie animal ; any more than should the flame
that eateth the wood burn in an empty
sto\e, or than the soup we have eaten for
dinner, should ' be soup without the water
that dissolved the component nutritives/'
Hero he came to a full stop, and }2;azed
upon me through sharp-shaped orbe ; mean-
time I had drawn out ray certificate, and
handed it up to him. He took it between
tnose streaky gloves, and having fixed a
horn-set glass into his one eye, shut up the
other, and perused the paper. I don't know
why I gave it to him in particular, except
that he was very high up and had beeii
speaking, but I had not done wrong, for h$
finished by bowing to me with excessive
patronage.
" One of us, I presume ?"
*^ Credentials I" groaned one who was, as
I had supposed, asleep; but my patroi
banded me very politely my envelope, nni
gravely returned to the treatment of hig
theme whatever that might have been. No*
body appeared to listen except his twain
supporters, and they only seemed attentive
because they were thoroughly fumigated,
and had their senses under a. spell. The
rest began to yawn, to sneer, and to lift
their eyes, or rather the lids of them. I need
scarcely say I felt very absurd, and at last
on the utterance of an exceedingly ridicu-
lous peroration from the oiiitor, I yielded
at once to the impulse of timidity, and began
to laugh. The efifect was of sympathetic
magnetism ; everybody whose lips were
disengaged, began to laugh too, and finally
those very, somnolent machines that the
benches propped, began to stir, to open
misty glances, and to grin like purgatorial
saints. This laugh grew a murmur, tlie
murmur a roar, and finally the supportera
themselves fairly shaking, became exhausted,
staggered, and let the pedestal glide slowly
forwards. The theorist must certainly have
anticipated such a crisis, for he spread his
arms, and took a flying jump from that
summit, descending elegantly and conveni*
ently as a cat from a wall upon the boarded
floor.
" Schurke I" said he to me, and held me
up a threatening hand, but seized with a
gleeful intention, I caught at it, and with
one pull dragged off his glove. The mem
ber thus exposed was evidently petted b}
its head, for it was dainty and sleek, and
also garnished with a blazing ring ; and he
solemnly held it up to contemplate it, ccn-
cluding such performance by giving cue
fixed stare to each nail in particular. Then
he flew at me in a paroxysm of feigned
fierceness, but I had already flung the glove
to the other end of the hall. The whole set
broke into a fresh laugh, and one said
*^ Thou mightest have sent it up to the beai'd
there if thou hadst only thought of it."
"Never too late, Mareschall" cried an-
other, as he made a stride to fetch the glove,
which however lay three or four strides oit.
He gathered it up at last, crumpled it in Uk
hand, and threw it high against the wall.
It just missed the picture though and fell^at
the feet of two perambulators arm in arm.
CHARLES AUOHESTER,
m
one of whom stood upon the glove till the
other pushed him off, and gave the forlorn
kidling a tremendous kick that s^nt it farther
than ever from the extempore target. There
was now a gathering and rush of a dozen
towards it ; they tore it one from the other
again, and once more flinging it high, this
time successfully, it hit that panelled portrait
just upon the nose. A shout, half revenge-
ful, half-triumphant, echoed through the
hall, but the game was not at its height.
" Gloves out I everybody 1" cried several,
and from all the pockets present, as it
seemed, issued a miscellaneous supply. Very
innocently I gave up a pair of old wool ones
that I happened to have with me ; and soon,
very soon, a regular systematized pelting
commenced of that reverend representation
in its recess.
I am very sure I thought it all fun at
first, and as there is nothing I like so well
as fun after music, I lent myself quite freely
to the sport. About fifty pairs of gloves
were knotted and crumpled, pair by pair,
into balls, and whoever scrambled fastest
secured the most. As the unsuccessful
shots fell back they were caught by uplifted
hands and banged upwards with tenfold
ardor, and no one was so ardent and risibly
dignified as the worthy of the pedestal ; he
behaved as if some valuable stake were
upon his every throw : and further, I ob-
served, that after the game once begun, no-
body except myself, laughed. It was, at
least, for half an hour that the banging, ac-
companied by a tremulous hissing, con-
tinued. I myself laughed so much that I
could not throw, but I stood to watch the
others. So high was the picture placed tliat
very few were the missiles to reach it ; and
such as touched the time-sered canvas
elicited an excitement I could neither realize
nor respond to. All at once it struck me as
very singular they should pelt that particu-
lar spot on the wall, and I instantly con-
jectured them to be inimical to the subject
of the delineation. I was just making up
my mind to inquire, when the great door
hoarsely creaked, and a voice was heard
quite in another key from the murmurous
shout, to penetrate my ear at that distance
so that I immediately responded
" Has Carl Auchester arrived ?"
There was no reply, nor any suspension
of the performance on hand, except on my
part ; but for me, I turned, gladly, yet
timorously, and joined the speaker in a mo-
ment. He greeted me with what appeared
bo me an over-awing polish, though in fact
it was but the result of temperament not
easily aroused. He was very slim and
fair, and, though not tall, gave me the im-
pression of one very much more my senior
than he really was. He held his arm as
a* kind of barrier between me and the
door, untiJ I was safely out of the hall, then
G
said tv me,in a tone )f chill but still remch
strance,
" Why did you go in there ? That was
not a good beginning."
"Sir,'* I replied, not stammered, for 1
felt^my cause was good, "how was I to
know I ought not to go in there I It seemed
quite the proper place with all those Gecil-
ians about, and besides no one told mo
where else to go. But if I did wrong I
won't go in there again, tid I certainly have
not been harmed yet."
" Yon must go there at times ; it is there
you will have to eat ; but a few who are
really students, hold aloof from the rest who
idle whenever they are not strictly em-
ployed as you have had reason to notice. 1
was induced to come and look for you, of
whom I should otherwise have no knowl-
edge, in obedience to the Chevalier Sera-
phael's request that I should do so."
" Did he really remember me in that man-
ner? How good I how angelic I" I cried;
and yet I did not quite find my- new com-
panion charming; his irresistible quies-
cence piqued me too much, though he was
anything but haughty.
" Yes, he is good ; and was certainly very
good to bear iu mind one so young as yon
are. I hope you will reward his kindness ;
he gives us great hopes of you."
"Are you a Professor, Sir?" I asked;
half afraid of my own impulse.
"I am your Professor," he announcel
with that same distance. " I am first violin."
I did not know whether I was pleased or
sorry at that instant, for I could detect no
magnetic power that ho possessed, and
rather shrank from contact with him at
present. He led me up many stairs ^a side
stair-case, quite new built steeper and nar-
rower than the principal flight. He led me
along thwartr passages, and I beheld many
doors and windows too, for light and air
both reigned in these regions, which were
fresh and smelled of health. He led me into
a chamber so lengthened that it was almost
a gallery, for it was very high besides.
Here he paused to exhibit a suite of proph-
ets's chambers, one after the other com-
pletely to the end ; for in every division was
a little bed, a bench and washing-table, with
a closet closed by hasps of wood. The uni-
form arrangement struck me as monotonous
but academical. My guide for the first time
smiled, but very slightly, and explained,
" This is my division ' les petit Violona,'
you know, Auchester? you may see the
numbers on every alcove; and here you
practise, except when met in class or at
lecture. Your number is 13, and you are
very nearly in the middle. See I you ha\ e
a curtain to draw before your bed ; and in
this closet there is a box for books, as well
as a liiche for your instrument, and abun
daut room for clothes^ unless you brin^
d9
CHARLES AU0HE8TER.
icore than yon can poMibly want. The
portmanteau and chest which were brought
here this mort ing yon may keep here, if
^ou please, as well.''
I did not thank him, for I was preoccu-
pied with an infernal suggestion to~ my
Drain which I revealed in my utter terror.
"Ohl Sir, do we all practise together,
then? What a horrible noise! and how
impossible to do anything ^I can't, I know I'*
Another half-smile curled the slender
brown moustache.
^^It was indeed so in 'the times I can still
remember; but see, how much more than
YOU can own you are indebted to this Cheva-
uer 8eraphael !"
He walked to the wall opposite the alcove,
and, laying hold of a brass ring I had not
noticed, drew out a long slide of wood very
thick and strong, which shut one in from
side to side.
"There is such a one to every bed," con-
tinued he, ^ and if you draw them on either
iand, you will hear nothing, at least nothing
to disturb you. Come away now, I have
not much time to spare, and must leave you
elsewhere,"
He led me from the chambers, and down
the stairs again, and here and there, so that
I heard an organ playing in one region, and
voices that blended again to another idea,
and then all was stillness except the rustle
of his gown. Bat before I could make up
my mind to approve or criticise the arrange-
ments which struck me on every hand, I
found myself in another room ; this vault-
ed, and inspiring as nothing I had met
with in that place. How exquisite was the
radiant gloom that here pervaded within,
as within a temple 1 for the sunshine pierced
through little windows of brown and am-
ber, and came down in wavering dusky
brightness on parchment hues and vellum,
morocco and ruddy gold. Here a thick
matting returned no foot-fall, and although
the space was smail and very crowded too,
yet it had an air of vastness from the ele-
vated concave of the roof. Benches were
before each book-case that presented its
treasury of dread tomes and gigantic scores ;
also reading-desks ; and besides such furni-
ture, there were the quaintest little stalls
between each set of shelves shrine-like
niches, one could just sit in or even at pleas-
ure lie along, for seats were in them of
darkest polislied.wood. Some were already
occupied, and their occupants were pro-
foundly quiet; perhaps studying, perhaps
asleep.
"Here," observed my guide, "you are
only allowed to come and remain, in silence.
If one word be spoken in the library, expul-
sion of the speaker follows. The book-
keeper sits out there" pointing to an erec-
tion like a watch box " and hears and is to
observe all Yoa maj use any book in this
place, but never carry it away ; and if re*
quired for quotation as well as reference,
you may here make your extracts, but nevet
elsewhere: there are ink-bottles in every
desk. And if you take my advice you will
remain here until the supper bell rings, for
while here you will at least be out of mis
chief. We are not to-day in full routine'
but that makes it the more dangerous to b
at large."
" Will you set me some task then, Sir I
I do want something to be at."
He seemed only to sneer at such a desire
"Nonsense! there is enough for to-day
in mastering all those names" and he took
down a catalogue and handed it to me.
I ran into one of those dear dark recesses,
and there he left me.
When he had gone, I did not open my
book for a time. I was in a highly- wrought
mood which was induced by that sombre-
tinted struggling sunshine, whose beams
played high in the ceiling like fire* flies in a
cedar shade, so fretted and so far it was
delicious as a dream to be safe and solitary
in that dim palace of futurity whose vistas
stretched before me in everlasting lengths
of light. I read not for a long long hour,
and when I did open my book (itself no
mean volume as to size), I was bewildered
and bedimmed by a swarm of names both
of works and authors I had never heard of
Huygens, Martini, Euler, PfeifFer, and
Marpurg, alone meeting me as distant ao
quaintances, and Oherubini as a dear old
friend.
This was, in fact, a catalogue raisonuee,
and I was not in a very rational mood ; I
therefore shut the book, and began to pace
the library. It is extraordinary how intense
is the power of application in the case of
those wlio are apprenticed to a master they
can worship as well as serve. I thonght so
then ; nothing could divert the attention of
those supine students in the recesses, nor of
the scribes at the desks I went quite close
to many of them, and could have looked
into their eyes, but they were for the most
part closed ; and I should have accused
them of being asleep, but their lips were
moving, and I knew they were learning by
heart. Great black^ letter was the charac-
teristic of one huge volume I stayed to ex-
amine as it lay upon the desk, and he who
sat before it had a face sweeter than any
present, sensible as interesting ; and I did not
fear him, though his eyes were wide open
and alert. lie was making copious extracts,
and, as I peeped between the pages he heia
by his thumb and a slight forefinger, he ol-
set'ved me, and gave me a smile, and at tho
same time turning back the title page for
my inspection. That was encircled by a
wreath of cherubs' faces for flowers, and
musical instruments for leaves, old and
droW tVift t\U^ "Caspar Bartholin, hif
CHAKLES AU0HE8TER.
Ot
JTreatise on tho Wind Masic of the An-
cients."
I smiled then, and nodded, to express my
thanks, but a moment afterwards he wrote
for me, on a sheet in his blotting case which
be carried with him.
" We may write, though we may not
tpeak. Are you just arrived ?"
He handed me the pen to answer, and I
wrote, " Only an hour or two ago, and I got
Into a scrape directly. I am Carl Anchester,
from England, but I am not English. What
is your name ?"
He smiled warmly, as he read, and thus
our correspondence proceeded, ** Franz Dele-
mann, what was your scrape? I wonder
you had one, now I know your name."
" Why ?" I replied, " there is no reason
why I should keep clear any more than an-
other ; but I went into the great hall, where
80 many of them were about, and they made
a great noise, for they were pelting the pic-
ture that is on the wall, and while I was
helping them, just for fun, the gentleman
who brought me in here fetched me out, and
said it was a bad beginning."
*' That was his way of putting it," resumed
my new associate, "he is very matter-of-
fact, that Anastase. But I know what he
meant ; we are a very small party, and the
rest persecute us : they would have been
glad to get you over to their side, because
it would have been such a triumph for them,
coming first as you did come."
Oh ! how I did scribble in response.
** I have not an idea what you mean, pray
tell me quickly."
" The Chevalier Seraphael took the place
here of somebody very unlike him. I
thought the Oerenthias had told you."
" The what ?"
" The Fraiilein, who came in with you the
day of the concert who came to the Pavil-
ion with Seraphael and yourself, was one
of the Oerinthias. I thotlght of course you
knew all, for her words are better than any
one's, dud you had been together so she
told me afterwards."
" Is she Oerinthia ? what a queer name."
" They are a queer set, though I don't sup-
pose there ever was such a set ; the brother
and the two sisters appear to possess every
natural gift among them. The father was a
great singer and celebrated master, but not
a German; he came here to secure their
education in a certain style, and just as he
got here, he died.'' Then the brother, though
they had not a penny among them all, made
way by his extraordinary talent, and as he
could play on any instrument he was ad-
mitted to the second place in the band, and
nis sister was taken upon the foundation.
Milans-Andr6 made a great deal of their
being here, though it was perfectly natural
/ think. The youngest had been put out to
nurse, and kep*^ in yome province of France,
until old enough to be admitted also, but
then something happened which changed
that notion. For when Seraphael took the
place of Milans- Andre, he had every arrange*
ment investigated that he might iir^prove to
the utmost; and it was discovered, after
this fashion, that this Maria Cerinthia had
been allowed to occupy a room which was
inferior to all the others ; ^I think the rain
came in, but I am not sure of that ; ^I only
know it was out of the way, and wretched.
Seraphael was exceedingly vexed* almost in
a passion, but turned it into amusement as
he does so often before others when he is
serious at heart. He dragged out the furni-
ture with his own hands, and had the room
turned into what it was just fit for, a closet
for faggots.
" Then this proud Oerinthia the brother
I mean, whose name, by the way, is Joseph
took offence himself, and declaring no
arrangement should be altered on account
of his sister, took her away and had a lodg-
ing in the village instead. She comes here
every day at the same time, and is what wo
call an out-Oecilian, never staying to meals
or to sleep, that is. Seraphael took no no-
tice, and I was rather surprised to discover
that he has been to see them several time:,
because, you see, I thought he was proud
in his way to have his generosity rejected."
"Does he like them so very much then ?"
" He ought." Now I wanted to be very
angry at the intimation, but my informant
had too expressive a face, so I merely add
ed, " They are then very wonderful ?"
" They are wonderttil, and the little one,
who is not quite eight years old (for she
has come to live with them since they lived
alone), is a prodigy, but not beautiful like
the one you saw."
''''She is, I suppose, the cleverest in all the
house ?"
" She must be so, but is so very quiet
one does not hear about her, except at the
close of the semestre, when she carries ff
the medals ; for everything of the best be-
longs to her. She is a vocalist, and studies
of course in the other wing we never meet
the ladies, you know, except in public."
" Oh I of course not. Now do tell me
what you mean about the two parties."
" I mean that when Milans- Andr6 went
away no one knew how much mischief he
had done. His whole system was against
Bach, and this is properly a schooffor Bach.
He could not eradicate the foundation, and
he could not confess his dislike against oii^
master in so many words I the only thing
was to introduce quite a new style, or I am
sure it might be called school, for he has
written such an immense deal. It was an
opera of his, performed in this town, that
at once did for him as far as those were
concerned whom he had deceived, and that
4^^ri '^
100
CHARLES AUCHESTEK.
longur. He was becomii.^ so unpopular that
lie was too happy to resiirn. Still he left a
iinmber foi himself be]nnl him greater than
those who had risen against him."
^^ Tell me about that opera, pray. You
write intenjsting letters Sir."
"I have interesting matter, truly. The
npora was called ^Emancipation, or the
Modem Orpheus/ The overture took in
almost all of us, it was so well put together,
but I fancy you would not Imve approved
of it, somehow. The theatre here is very
small, and was quite filled by ourselves and
a few artists ; not one amateur, for it was
produced in rehearsal. The scenery was
very good, the story rambling and fiend-
ish, Imt we thought it fairy-like. There
was a perfect hit in the hero, who was
a monstrous fiddle-player, to represent
whom we had Paganini, as he had not to
speak a word. The heroines, who were
three in number, were a sort of musical
nuns, young ladies dedicated to the art ; but
they, first one, and then another, fell in with
the fiddler, and finding him, becapie enam-
oured of him. He condescends to listen to
the first while she sings, or rather he comes
upon her as she is singing the coolest of all
Bach's solos in the coolest possible style.
He waits till the end with commendable
patience, and then, amidst infernal gesticu-
lations, places before her a cantata of his
own, which is something tremendous when
accompanied by the orchestra. The con-
trasted style, with the artful florid instru-
mentation, produces rapture, and is really
an effect, though I do not say of what kind.
The next heroine he treats to a grand scena,
in which the violin is absolutely made to
speak ; and as it was carried through by
Paganini, you may conjecture it was rather
bewitching. The last lady he bears off
fairly, and they converse in an outlandish
duet between the voice of the lady and the
violin. I can give you no outline of the
plan, for there is no plot that I could find
afterwards, but merely the heads of each
j)art. Next conies a tumble-down church,
dusty, dark, repelling to the idea from the
beginning ; and you are aware of the Luther-
an service which is being droned through as
^e are not very likely to hear it in fact. By
magic the scene dissolves ; colored lights
break from tapering windows ; arches rise
and glitter like the rainbows ; altar candles
blaze and tremble : crimson velvet and rust-
ling satin fill the gothio stalls on either side ;
and while you are trying to gather in the
[icture, the Stabat Mater bursts out in
strains about as much like weeping as all
the mummery is like music.
^^ The last scene of all is a kind of temple
where priests and priestesses glide in span-
gled draperies, while the Hierarch is hidden
behind a curtain. Busts and statues that I
suppope are in tended for certain masters,
but whom it is net easy to identify, as Ihej
are ill-fashioned and ill-grouped, are placeif
in surrounding shrines. At strains for signi:
from that curtained chief, the old heads ano
figures are prostrated from the pedestals ;
the ruins are swept aside by some utilitariaD
angel, and the finale consists in a great rush
of individuals masked, who crown the new-
ly inaugurated statue of the elevated Orphe-
us, and then dance around him to the ballet
music, which is accompanied by the chorus
also, who sing his praise.
"It was very exciting while it went on;
as exciting to see as it is absurd to remem-
ber and there was nothing for it but ap-
plause upon the spot. When the curtain
fell, and we were crushing and pressing to
get out, having hardly been able to wake
ourselves up, and yet feeling the want that
succeeds enjoyment or excitement that goes
no further; ^you know how? one chord
sounded behind the curtain from one instru-
ment within the orchestra. It arrested us
most curiously ; it was mystical as we call it,
though so simple ; enough to say that under
those circumstances it seemed a sound troin
another sphere. It continued and spread-
it was the Peoples' Song you heard the day
you first came to us. It was once p;Ayed
through without vocal illustration, bi-t we
all knew the words, and began to sing khein.
" We were singing still in a strange sort
of roar I can't describe to you, when the
music failed, and the curtain was raised on
one side. He Seraphael, whom we knew
not then, stood before us for tlie first time.
You know how^ small he is ; as he stood
til ere he looked like a child of royal blood,
his head quite turned me, it was so beauti-
ful ; and we all stood with open mouths to
see him, hoping to hear him speak. He
spread out those peculiar hands of hi^, and
said in his sweet clear voice ^ That song,
oh ladies and gentlemen ! which you have
shown you love so well, is very old, and
you do not seem to be aware that it is ^,
nor of its author. Who wrote it, made It
for us, think you V
"His beauty and his soft commanding
voice had just the effect you will irnagioe
everybody obeyed him. One and another
exclaiuied, * Hasse!' * Volger !' ' Hegel !'
*Storacer ' Weber 1' but it was clear the
point had not been contested. Then he
folded his arms together, and laid them oa
his breast, with a very low bow that broughi
all the hair into his eyes. Then he shook
back the curls and laughed.
" ' It is Bach, my dear and revered Sebas-
tian Bach of all the Bachs alone the Bach,
though indeed to any one Bach one of us
present is not fit to hold a candle. You do
not love Bach I do. You do not reverence
him he is in my religion. You do not un-
derstand him I am very intimate with hirn,
\i "yoM V.iviNv \\\\xv ^o\x too would love ami
CHARLES ACOHESTER.
101
worsliip, and desire of him to know more
\id more. Ladies and gentlemen I yon are
wl jnst. He has no one to take his part, as
has your nondescript modem Orphens. I
shall give a lecture on Bach in this theatre
to-morrow evening. Everybody comes in
free. Only come I' V
" Who could refuse him ? who could have
refused him as he stood there, and flying
back behind the curtain peeped again be-
tween the folds of it and bowed ! Besides
there was a strong curiosity at work, a cu-
riosity of which many were ashamed. Do
I tire yon ?"
"More likely yourself; do finish about
the lecture !"
"The supper-bell will be soon ringing,
and will shake the story out of me, so I
must make haste. I can tell it you proper-
ly some time. The next evening there was
such a crowd at the door that they kicked
it in, and stood listening outside. The cur-
tain was done away with, and we never
could make out how that organ came there
which towered behind ; but there it stood,
and a pianoforte in front. The Chevalier
appeared dressed- in black, with nothing in
his arms^but a heap of programmes written
in his own hand, which he distributed him-
self, for he had no assistant. Ton know
that Forkel has written a life of Bach
well, I have since read this, and have been
Suzzled to find:h^w snch a poem as we
stened to could have sprung from the prose
of thoe dry memoirs. The voice was
enMgh, if it bad not said what it did say?
8o aeliciouB a voice to h^ar that no one
atirred for fear of losing it.
" I cannot give you the slightest outline,
but I have never read any romance so bril-
liant, nor any philosophy that I could so
take in to myself. The illustrations were
fugue upon fugue Oh, to hear that organ
with its grand interpretations, and the silver
v'oice between ! and study upon study for
the harpsichord that from the new piano-
forte seemed to breathe its old excitement
chorale upon chorale ^until, with that song
restored to its own proper form, it ended
I mean the lecture. I cannot say though
about the ending, for I was obliged to leave
before it was over; the clear intellect was
too much for me, and the genius knocked me
down. Many others left upon my very heels ;
but those who stayed seemed hardly to re-
call a word that had been said. All were
60 impressed, for that night at least, that I
can remember nothing to compare with it,
except the descriptions in your English di-
vinity books of the revivals in religion of
your countrj'. The next day however, the
Bcolfers found their tongues again, and only
we to whom the whole affair liad appeared
on the occasion itself a dream, awoke to a
reality that has never left us. We have not
been the same since, an? that is ono reason
we were so anxious yoa should be on with
the students of Bach, even before you know
what you must profess."
"Oh I I come from a good school; for
Aronach is full of Bach. But do tell me
about the others."
" The Andreites, as they call themselves,
are not precisely inimical to Seraphael ; that
wonld be impossible, he is so companion-
able, so free, and truly great ; but they one
and all slight Bach, and as some of them are
professors, and we all study under the Pro-
fessor of our voice or instrument in parti-
cular, it is a pity for the fresh comers to
fall into the wrong set."
" But I am safe, at least, for I am certain
that Anastase is of the right school."
"The very best; he is a Seraphaelite.
They call us Seraphaelites, and we like it ;
but Seraphael does not like it ; so we only
use the word now for Parole, Bruder-
schaft."
" Why, I wonder, does he not like it ?"
" Because he is too well bred."
Oh, how I enjoyed that expression! It
reminded me of Lenhart Davy and his say-
ings. I was just going to intrude another
question when my intention was snapped
by the ringing of the bell, which made a
most imposing noise. The sound caused
a sudden rush and rustle through the li-
brary, gowns and ungowned figures forsook
the nooks and benches, and they each and .
all put by their books as deftly, dexterously
as Millicent used to lay her thimble into her
work-box when she was a wee maiden.
They did not stare at me at all, which was
very satisfactory, and I found occasion to
admire all their faces. I told my compan-
ion so, and he laughed, rubbing his eyes and
stretching ; then he put his arms about my
neck in strict fraternal fashion, which grati-
fied me exceedingly, and not the less be-
cause he was evidently by several years my
elder. We left the library together, and
right rejoiced was I to hear myself speak
again ; the first thing that occurred to me
to say I said, " Oh I I wanted so much to
know what is your instrument."
" I don't think I shall tell you," he re-
plied, in a guileless voice, interesting as his
behavior and language.
" Why notV I must know it at last, miisfe
I not ?"
" Perhaps you will not think so well of
me when you know what I exist for."
"That would make no difference, fof
every instrument is as great with reference
to others as some are in themselves."
" Seraphael could not have put it better*
I play the trombone. It is a great sacrifice
at present."
"But" I returned "I have not heard
the instrument ; is it not a splendid sort of
trumpet? You mean it is not good fW
Utt
OHABLES AUUMESTER.
**Il hi quite to itselfA mere abetraotion
considered by itself- but to the orchestra
what red is to the raiabow."
^^ I know who said that. He pats brass
last, I see."
" Oh, you are a thief I Yon know every-
thing already. Yes, he does put the violet
first."
" The violin 7 Yes, so he called it to me,
bat I did not know he wss fond of calling
it so."
'* It is one of his theories. It was how-
ever one day after he had been ezponnding
it to a few of as who were fortanate to be
present when he was glancing through the
class-rooms, that he put np his hands, and
in his bright way you know, scattering yoar
reasoning faculties like a burst of sunshine,
said * Oh, you must not entertain a word I
have said to you ! it is only to be dream-
ed.' "
'' What did he say ? what had he said ?
do, pray, out with it, or I cannot eat, I am
sure.
We were just outside the hall doorway
now, within were light and a hundred
voices mingled ; into the dusk he gave his
own, and I took it safely home in silence.
"His theory, oh it was in this way!
Strings first of course, violet, indigo, blue
violin, violoncello, double-bass ^upon these
you repose, the vault is quite perfect.
Green the many-sounded kinds of wood,
spring-hued flutes, deeper yet softer clari-
netti, bassoons tlie darkest tone, not to be
surpassed in its own shade another vault.
The brass of course is yellow, and if the
horns suggest the paler dazzle, the trum-
pets take the golden orange, and the red is
left for the trombones, vivid, or dun and
dusk."
" Oh my goodness I I don't wonder he
said it was a dream I"
"It certainly would be dangerous to
think of it in any other light I"
"And you a German I" I cried. "Did
you think I meant it ?"
" You would mean it," he retorted, " if
you knew what lip-distorting and ear-dis-
tracting work it is practising this same
trombone."
" But what is your reason then for choos-
ing it, when you might choose mine .'"
"Do you not know that Seraphael has
written as no one else for the trombone ?
And he was heard to sigh and to say ^ I
shall never find any one to play these pas-
sages I' "
" Oh, Delemann ! and that was the reason
you took it up ? How I love you for it !"
CHAPTER Vn.
All lives have their prose translatioii as
well as their ideal meaning; how seldom
this escapes in language worthy, while duU
tells best in words. I was a food deal ex*
hausted for several days after I entered the
School, and saw very little except my owa
stuntedness and deficiency in the mirror of
contemplation. For Anastase took me to
himself awfully the first morning, all alone;
examined me, tortured me, made me blash
and hesitate, and groan ; bade me be hum-
ble and industrious; told me I was not so
forward as I might be, drenched me with
medicinal advices that lowered my mental
system, and finally left me in possession of
a minikin edition of what I bad conceived
myself the day before, but which he de-
prived me of at present, if not annihilated
forever.
It was doubtless a very good thing to go
back to the beginning if he intended to re-
create me, but it happened that such trans-
mutation could not take place twice, and it
had already occurred once ; still I was ab-
solved from obvious discomfiture to the
regenerator, by my silent adaptations to his
behavior.
That which would assuredly become a
penance to the physique in dark or wintry
weather, remained still a charming matc-
tinal romance, namely, that we all rose at
four o'clock, except any one who might be
delicate, and that we practised a cofiple of
hours before we got anything to eat ; I m^an
formally, for in fact we almost all smuggled
into our compartments wherewithal to keep
off the natural, which might not amalgamate
with the spiritual, constraining appetite.
Those early mornings were ineffaceably ef-
fective for me; I advanced more according
to my desires than I had ever advanced be-
fore, and I laid up a significant store of cool
sequestered memories. I could, however,
scarcely realize my own existence under
these circumstances, until the questioner
within me was subdued to "contempla-
tion " by my firat ** adventure."
I had been a week in durance, if not vile
very void, for I had seen nothing of the
Gerinthias, nor of their interesting young
advocate except at table, though certainly
on these latter occasions we surfeited our*
selves with talk that whetted my curiosity
to a double edge. On the first Sunday,
however, I laid liold of him coming out of
church, when we had fulfilled our darling
duties in the choir for the choir t)f our
little perfect temple, oak-shaded and sunlit,
was composed entirely of Gecilians, and I
have not time in this place to dilate upon
its force and fulness. Delemann responded
joyous to my welcome, and when 1 asked
him what was to be our task on Sunday, lie
^ anawQYe\. \,\\oX W\^ x^%x. i \Vvft dj.^ wtu* uui
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
IM
o^n, and that if I pleased we would go to-
gether and call apon that Maria and her
little Bister, of whom I knew all that could be
gained out of personal Intercourse.
" Just what I wished," said I, *' how ex-
actly you guessed it."
**0h, but I wanted to go myself I" an-
swered Franz, laughing, " for I have an er-
rand thither :" and together we quitted the
church garden with its sheltering lime
shadow, for the sultry pavement. It can-
not have been five minutes that we walked
before we came in front of one of those
narrowest and tallest of the droll abodes I
was pretty well used to now, since I had
Uved with Aronach. We went up stairs
too, in like style to that of the old ap-
prentice home, and even as there, did not
rest until nearly at the top. Delemann
knocked at a door, and, as if perfectly ac-
customed to do 80, walked in without de-
lay.
The room we entered was slightly furnish-
ed, but singularly in keeping with each
other were the few ornaments, unsurpassably
effective. Also a clearness threw up and
out each decoration from the delicate hue
of the walls, and the mild fresco of their
borders, unlike anything I had yet seen,
and startling in spite of the simplicity of the
actual accommodations, from their excelling
taste. Upon brackets stood busts, three or
four, and a single vase of such form that it
could only have been purchased in Italy.
At the window were a couch and reading-
desk, also a table ready prepared with some
kind of noonday meal ; and at the opposite
end of the apartment rose from the polished
f oor the stove itself, entirely concealed
under lime-branches and oak-leaves. The
room, too, was not untenanted, for upon
the couch, though making no use whatever
of the desk, lay a gentleman who was read-
ing nevertheless a French newspaper. He
was very fine, grand-looking, I thought:
bis dress appeared courtly, so courtly was
his greeting. " You have not come for me,
I know," he observed to Delemann, having
seated us ; ^^ but the girls having dined, are
gone to rest; we don^t find it easy to dis-
pense with our siesta. You will surely eat
first, for you must be hungry, and I am but
just come in." He was, in fact, waiting for
the soup, which swiftly followed us; and
we so sat down together. Eranz then pro-
duced a little basket which I had noticed
him to carry very carefully as we came
along ; but he did not open it, he placed it
by his side upon the table. It was covered,
and the cover was tied down with green
ribbon. I was instantly smitten curious;
but a great stay to my curiosity was the de-
portment of our host. I had seen a good
many musioians by this time, and found
them every one the alone civilized and pol-
ished of the human race 1 but there were
evidences of supremacjr in a few that I d
tected not even in the superior many Bom
had enthralled me more than this young
Cerinthia, for I now know he was young
tliough at that time he appeared extremely
my elder, and I could have believed him
even aged ; but there was about him an
unassuming nobility that bespoke the high-
est of all educations that according to the
preparations and purposes of nature. He
seemed to live rationally, and I believe he
did, though he was not to the immediate
perception, large hearted. He ate, himself,
with the frugality of Ausonia, but pressed
us with cordial attention ; and for me, I en-
joyed my dinner immensely, though I had
not come there to eat. Franz did not talk
to him about his sisters as I should have per-
haps wished, and I dared not mention them,
for there was that in Oerinthia^s hazy lus-
trous eyes that made me afraid to be as au-
dacious as my disposition permitted. Pre-
sently, while we were drinking to each
other, I heard little steps in the passage,
and as I expected an apparition I was not
surprised when there entered upon those
light feet a little girl, who, the first moment
reminded me of lAura,but not the next, for
her face was unlike as my own. She was
very young indeed, but had a countenance
unusually formed, though the head was in-
fantine like enough to our entertainer to
belong to him, like as to delicacy of extrem-
ities, and emerald darkness of eye. She
wore a short white frock, and two beautiful
plaits of thick bright hair kept and dressed
like that of a princess. She took no notice
of me, but curtseyed to Delemann with an
alien air most strange to me, aud then ran
past him to her brother, whom she freely
caressed at the same time as it were to hide
her face. "Look up my shy Josephine,"
said ho, " and make another curtesy to
that young gentleman, who is a great friend
and connoisseur of the Chevalier Seraphael."
Josephine looked back at me from beneath
her heavy eye-lashes, but still did not ap-
proach. Then I said, " How is your sister.
Miss Josephine ? I am only a little fnend of
the Chevalier she is a great one."
" I know," replied she in a sage child's
voice, then looking up at her brother, " Ma-
ria is tired, and will not come in here Jo-
seph."
*' She is lying down, then ?"
" No, she is brushing her hair." We all
laughed at this.
" But run to tell her that Franz Delemann,
is here, and Carl Auchester with him ; or,
if you cannot remember this name, Dele-
mann's alone will do."
" But she knows, for we heard them come
in j and she said she should stay in her room,
but that if Mr. Delemann had a letter for
her I might carry it there."
104
OHAKLES AU0HE8TER.
in here, Josephine, bnt this bftsket came for
her.**
*How pretty I" safd Josepliine, and she
stretched her tiny hand, a smile just shining
ver her face that reminded me of-her
leantifnl sister. I saw she was anxious to
I^ossess herself of it, bnt I could not resist
III J own desire to be the bearer.
^^Let me take it to herl'^ I exclaimed,
impulsively. Oerinthia looked np, and
Franz, too, surprised enough, but I aid not
care, I rose. ^^ She can send me back again,
if she is an^y," I pleaded, and Cerinthia
fairly laughed.
"Oh, you may go! She will not send
yon back, though I should certainly le sent
back if / took sucli a liberty."
"Neither would she admit nie,*^ said
Delemann.
"Why, you came last Sunday," put in
little Josephine, and then she looked at me
with one finger to her lip.
" Oome, too I"
So we went, she springing before me to a
door which she left ajar as she entered,
^hile I discreetly remained outside.
' ' May he come, Maria ?" I heard her say,
and then I heard that other voice.
" Who ? dear little Josephine, which of
them ?"
"The little boy."
"The little boyl" she gave a kind of
bright cry, and herself came to the door.
She opened it, and standing yet there said,
with the loveliest manner, "You will not
qnarrel with this little thing I But forgive
her, and pray come in. It was kind to come
all the way up those stairs, which are steep
as the road to fame."
" Is that steep ?" I asked, for her style in-
stantly excited me to a rallying mood.
" Some say so," she replied, ** those who
seek it. But come and rest," and she led
me by her flower-soft finger-tips to a sofa
also in the light as in the room I had quitted,
and bathed in airs that floated above the
gardens and downwards from the heavens
into that window also open. A curtain was
drawn across the alcove at the end, and
between us and its folds of green, stand-
ing out most gracefully, was a beautiful
harp; there were also more books than
I had seen in a sitting-room since I left my
Davy, and I concluded they had been re-
trieved from her lost father^s library. Bat
upon the whole room tliere was an atmos-
phere, thrown neither from the gleaming
I'arp nor illustrating volumes, and as my
eyes rested upon her, after roving every-
where else, I could only wonder I Lad ever
iooked away. Her very dress was such as
would have become no other, and was that
which she herself invested with its charm.
t^be wore a dark blue muslin, darker than
ine svmnior lieaven but of the selfsame hue ;
tola robe wnra loosely was laced in front
over a white boddice. Upon tliose foldi
was flung a shawl of some dense rose-cotor,
and an oriental texture, and again over that
shady brilliance fell the long hair, velvet-
soft, and darker than the pine-trees in the
twilight. The same unearthly hue slept io
the azn re-emerald of her divinely-moulded
eyes, mild and liquid as orbed stars, and jost
as superhuman. The hair thus loosened,
swept over her shoulder into her lap.
There was not upon its stream the merest
ripple, it was straight as long, and had it cot
been so fine must have wearied with its
weight a head so small as her^s.
" What magnificent hair you have f
said I.
" It seems I was determined to make of it
a spectacle. If I had known you were
coming I should have put it out of the way.
but whenever I am lazy or tired, I like to play
with it. The Chevalier calls it my rosary."
I was at home directly.
" The Chevalier ! oh ! have you seen him
since that day ?"
"Four, ^ve^ six times."
" And I have not seen him onco."
" You shall see him eight, nine, ten times.
Never mind I He comes to see me yoa
know out of that I 'ndnc^s whose prettiest
name is charity."
" Where is he now ?" I inquired, impa-
tient of that remark of her^s.
"Now, 1 do not know. He has beea
away a fortnight, conducting everywhere.
Have you not heard ?"
"No, what?"
" Of the Mer de Glace overture and afr
oompaniments."
" I have not heard a word."
She took hold of her hair, and stroked it
impatiently ; still there was such sweetneas
in her accent as made me doubt she was
angry.
" I told Florimond to tell you. He always
forgets those things!"
I looked up inquiringly ; there was that
in her eye which might be the light of an
unfullen tear.
" But I don't know who you mean."
" I am glad not. How silly I am. Ob
madre mial this hot weather softens the
brain, I do believeI should never have
done it in the winter. And all this tin^ I
have been wondering wnat is that baaket
upon which Josephine seems to have set her
whole soul."
" It is for you," said Josephine.
"Ohl" I exclaimed, ** how carelesa I am.
Yes, but I do not know who it comes from.
Franz brought it."
" Young Delemann ? Oh thank him please*
I know very well. Here then piccola!
carina! you shall have to open it. Whcva
are the ivory scissors 1"
" Oh, how exquisite!" I cried ; for I knew
sUe meant W\o%^ \.\xv^ fxiv^^ra.
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
10.1
** fixqnisite, is it ? It is again from the
Chevalier."
" Did he say so? I thought it like hira ;
but then you are so like hira."
" I ? well I beliere you are right, there is
a kind of likeness."
She raised her eyes, so full of lustre, that
I even longed for the lids to fall. The bril-
liant smile, like the most ardent sunlight,
had spread over her whole face. I forgot
her strange words in her unimaginable ex-
pression, until she spoke again. All this
while the little one was untwisting the
green bands which were passed over and
under the basket. At length the cover was
lifted ; there were seven or eight immense
peaches. I had thought there must be fruit
within, from the exhaling scent, but still 1
was surprised. There was no letter ; this
disappointed me, but there were fresh
leaves at the very bottom. My chief com-
panion took out these and laid each peach
upon a leaf; her fingers shone against the
downy blush. She presented me with one
after another. "Pray eat them, or as many
as you can ; 1 do not eat fruit to-day, for it
is too hot weather, and he must not eat so
many." I instantly began to eat, and made
efforts to do even more than I ought. Jose-
phine carried off Iier share on a doll's plate.
Then her sister rose and took in a birdcage
from outside the window, where it had
hang but I had not seen it. There was
within it a small bird, and dull enough it
xooked until she opened the door, when it
fluttered to the bars, hopped out, stood
upon a peach, and then, espying me, flew
straight into her bosom. It lay there hidden
for some minutes, and she covered and
quite concealed it with her lovely little
hand. I said
" Is it afraid of me ? Shall I go ?"
" Oh dear no," she replied ; '* it does like
you, and is only shy. I)o you never wish
to be hidden when you see those you like?"
'* I never have yet, but I dare say I shall
now I come to think about it"
" You certainly will. This silly little
creature is not yet quite sure of us, that is
it."
" "Where did it come from ?"
'*It came from under the rye-stacks.
He that is always the Chevalier, you fe^ow
was walking through the rye-fields when
the moon was up ; the reapers had all gone
home. Ho heard a small cry withering
under the wheat, and stayed to listen.
Most men would not have heard such a
weak cry! no men would have stayed to
isten, except one perhaps, besides. He
put aside ail the loose ears, and he Iband
under them for it could not move this
wretched lark with its foot broken, broken
by the sickle."
There was no quiver of her voice or lip
as she spoke. I mention this merely be-
cause I am not fond of the mer% senttmenl
almost all women infuse into the suflerintf
of inferior creatures, while those with lot
tier claims and pains are overlooked. She
went on :
" How do you think he took it up f He
spread his handkerchief over the stubble
and shelled a grain r two, which he pla(?ed
within reach of the lark upon the wlit
table;cloth. The lark tried very hard, and
hopped with its best foot to reach tli6
grains, then he drew the four comers to
gether, and brought it here to me. ]
thought it would die, but it has not died ;
and now it knows me, and has no mind tc
go away."
" Does it know him ?"
"Not only so, but for hira alone will it
sing. I let it fly one day when its foot wa
well, but the next morning I found it out
side the window, pecking At its cage-wires,
and it said, ^ Take me back again, if you
please.' "
"That is like the Chevalier too. But
you are like him. I suppose it is being so
much with him."
" And yet I never saw him till the first
day I saw you, and you had seen him long
before. I think it must be dead, it is so
still."
Hereupon she uncovered the lark's head,
it peeped up and slowly, with sly scrutiny,
hopped back to the peach and began to
feed, driving in its little bill. I wanted to
know something now, and my curiosity in
those days had not so much as received a
wholesome check, much less a quietus; I
therefore presumptuously demanded
" Who was the somebody, Fraulein Ce-
rinthia, that might stop to listen to a bird's
cry besides the Chevalier? You stopped."
" And that is why you wish to know. I *
had better have said it in the right place.
Did anybody ever tell you you are auda-
cious ? It was Florimonde Anastase."
"My master!" and I clapped my hands.
"Mine Sir, if you please."
" But he teaches me the violin."
" And he does not teach me the violin,
but is yet my master."
"How; why?"
" I belong to him, or shall."
"Do you mean that you are married to
Anastase ?"
" Not yet, or I should not be here."
" But you will be ?"
" Yes ; that is if nothing should happen
to prevent our being married."
" You like to be so, I suppose ?"
She gazed up and smiled. Her eyes grew
liquid, and standing dew. " I will not say
you are again audacious, because you are so
very innocent. I do wish it."
I said " like ^Fraulein Cerinthia." '
" You can make a distinction, too. Snp
100
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
m
^ I should not believe yoa, while you look
o."
*' And if I said, Tee, I dare say yon would
not believe me either. Dear little Oarl, for
I must call you little, yon are so much less
than I do yon really think I would marry,
loving music as I do, unless I really loved
that which I was to marry more than mu-
sic?"
3o thrilling were her tones in these simple
words, of such intensity her deep glance
witli its fringe all quivering now, that I was
alienated at once from her, the child from
the woman ; yet could like a child have
wept too, when she bent her head and sob-
boa. Could anything be more beautiful ? I
thought ; and now, in pausing, my very mem-
ory sobs, heavy-laden with that pathetic
passion. For it was not exactly sorrow, albeit
a very woe-ful bliss. She covered her eyes
and gave way a moment; then sweeping
off the tears with one hand, she broke into
n smile. The shower ceased amidst the sun-
light, but still the sun-light served to fling a
mure peculiar meaning upon the rain-drops
an iris lustre beamed around her eyes. I
can but recall that inefifable expression, the
April playing over the oriental mould.
" I might have known you would have
ipoken so,Fraulein Oerinthia," I responded,
at last roused to preternatural comprehen-
sion by her words; "but so few people
think in that way about those things."
" You are right, and agree with me, or at
least yon will one day. Bat for that, all
would be music here ; we should have it
all our own wayy
" Ton and the Chevalier. Do you know I
had forgotten all about your music till this
very minute."
" I am very happy to hear that, because
it shows we are to be friends."
" "We have the best authority to be so,"
I replied ; " and it only seems too good to be
true. I am really though mad to hear you
sing. Delemann says there never was in Eu-
rope a voice like yours, and that its only
fault is it is so heavenly that it makes one
discontented."
. " That is one of the divinest mistakes ever
made, Carlino."
"The Chevalier calls me Carlomein. I
like you to say Carlino, it is so coaxing."
" You have served me with another of
your liigH authorities, Maestrino. The
Chevalier says, ' I have scarcely a voice at
all.' It is the way I sing he likes."
'* I did ifbt think it possible. And yet,
now I come to consider, I don't think you
look so much like a singer as another sort
of musician."
" She smiled a little and looked into her
lap, but did not reply. It struck me that
she was too intuitively modest to talk about
herself. But I could not help endeavoring
t;o extort some x)inment, and I wont on.
" I think yon look too much like a com
poeer to be a singer also.**
" Perhaps;" she whispered.
I took courage. " Don't yon mean to be a
composer, FrSludein Cerinthia?"
" Carlino, yes. The Chevalier says, that
to act well is to compose."
"But then," I proceeded hastily, "my
sister at least Mr. Davy ^at least ^yoii
don't know whom I mean, but it does not
matter ; a gentleman, who is very musical,
told me and my sister that the original
purpose of the drama is defeated in Eng-
land, and that, instead of bringing the good
out of the beautiful, it produces the artifi-
cial out of tlie false these were his very
words ; he was speaking of the musk of
operas though, I do remember, and perhaps
I made some mistake."
** I should think not."
" In England it is very strange, is it not?
that good people, real good people, think
the opera a dreadful place to be seen in,
and the theatres worse. My sister used to
say it was so very unnatural, and it seems
so."
"I have heard it is so in England, and
really after all I don't so much wonder, and,
perhaps, it is better for those good people
you spoke of to keep away. It is not so
necessary for them to go as for us. And
tliis is it, as I have heard and you will
know how, when I have said it to you.
Music is the soul of the drama, for the high-
est drama is the opera the highest possi-
ble is the soul, of course, and so the mnsic
should be, above the other forms, and they
the ministers. But most people put the
music at the bottom, and think of it
last in this drama. If the music be high,
all rise to it, and the higher it is, Uie
higher will all rise. See, the dramatic per-
sonification passes naturally into tliat spir-
itual height, as the form of those we love,
and their fleeting actions fraught with
grace, dissolve into our strong perception
of the soul we in them love and long for.
The lights and shades of scenery cease to
have any meaning in themselves, but again
are drawn upwards into the concentrated
performing soub, and so again pass upwards
into the compass of that tonal paradise. Bat
let the music be degraded or weak, and
down it will pull performers, performance,
and intention, crush the ideal, as persons
without music crush our ideal have you
not felt ? All dramatic music is not thus
weak and bad, but much that they use most
is vague as well as void. I am repeating
to you Carlino, the very words of the Chev-
alier, do not think they were my own."
"I did, then, think them very like his
words, but I see your thoughts, too, for you
would say the same. Is there no music to
which you would act, then ?"
" Oh, yes ! I would act to any mnsic, not
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
107
bdcaase I am vain, bal becanse I tliiok I
could help Jt upwards a little. Then there
is a great deal for ns ; we cannot quarrel
over Mozart and Gimaroza, neither Gluck nor
Spohr ; and there is one, but I need hardly
name him, who wrote "Fidelio.". And the
Chevalier says, if there needed a proof that
the highest acting is worthy of the highest
music, the highest music of the highest form,
or outward guise of love in its utmost love-
liness that opera stands as such. And
farther, that all the worst operas and ill-
repute of them in the world will not weigh
against the mcgesty and purity of Beet-
hoven^s own character in the opposing
scale."
*' Oh, thank you for having such a mem-
ory."
"I have a memory in my memory for
those things."
" Yes, I know. Does the Chevalier know
you are to marry Anastase ?"
" No."
I was surprised at this, though slie said it
80 very simply; she looked serene as that
noonday sky, and very soon she went on to
Bay: " Florimoud my friend, is very young,
though I look up to him as no one else
could believe. I am but fifteen, you know,
and have yet been nearly three years be-
trothed."
" Gracious I You ay ere only a little girl I"
" Kot much less than now. I don't think
you would ever have called me a little girl,
and Florimond says I shall never be a
woman. I wished to tell the Chevalier,
thinking he would be so giod as to con-
gratulate me, and hoping tor such a bless-
ing, but I have never found myself able to
bring it out of ray lips. I always felt it
withdraw, as if I had no reason, and cer-
tainly I had no right to confide my personal
affairs to him. Our intercourse is so dif-
ferent."
" Yes, I should think so. I wonder what
you generally talk about."
" Never yet of anything but music."
" That is strange, because the Chevalier
does not usually talk so but of little things,
common things he makes so bright; and
Franz tells me and so did another of our
boys, that he only talks of such small affairs
generally, and avoids music." ^
" So I hear from my brother. He mlks
to Josephine about her doll. He did tell
me once that with me alone *he commuued
music.^ "
"Again his words 1"
She assented by her fiying smile.
" He never plays to you, then?"
"Never to myself; but then, you see, I
should never ask him."
" And he would not do it unless he were
asked. I understand that. You feel as I
should about asking you.^^
" Me to sing ?" she inquired, in a tone be-
guiling, lii]gerii)g, an echo of hia voice ever
sleepless in my brain, or that if sleeping evei
awoke to music. I nodded.
" No," said she again, with quickness. " 1
will not wait lo be asked."
As she spoke she arose, and those dark
streams of hair fell off her like some shadow
from her spirit she shone upon me in rising
so seemed her smile. ^* Oh !" I cried,
eagerly, and I caught by some impulse the
hem of her garment, " you are going to be
so good I"
" If you let me be so," she replied, and
drew away those folds, passing to her harp.
Her hand, suddenly thrown upon the wires,
whose resistance to embrace so sweet made
all their music caught the ear of little
Josephine, wlio he.d been playing very inno-
cently for a prodigy, in the corner, and now
she came slowly forwards, her doll in her
arms, and stood about a yard from the harp,
again putting up one finger to her lip and
giving me a glance across the intervening
space. She looked as she so peered, both
singular and interesting in the blended
curiosity and shyness that appertain to cer-
tain childhoods, but it seemed to me at thai
moment as if she were a strayed earthhng
into some picture of a scene in that unknown
which men call Heaven. For the harp ami
the form which appeared now to have grown
to it so inseparable are the elements of
harmony, so intuitively they blend in meet-
ing were not a sight to suggest anything
this side of death. All beauty is the gage
of immortality, and as I wondered at her
utter loveliness I became calm as immortal-
ity only permits and sanctions, when on it
our thoughts repose, for it our affections
languish. Her arms still rested behind and
before the strings as she tuned them ; still
her hair swept that cloud upon the softness
of her cheek, toned the melancholy arch of
her brow ; but the deep rose-hues of her
now drooping mantle, and the Italian azure
of her robe, did not retrieve the fancy to
any earthly apparition. They seemed but
transparent and veil-like media, through
which the whiteness of light found way in
colors that sheathed an unendurable naked
lustre. I thought not in such words, but
such thoughts were indeed mine, and while
I was yet gazing dreaming I should say,
for I ever dream on beauty she played some
long low chords, attenuated golden thwart-
ing threads of sound, and began forthwith
to sing. She sang in Gernan, and her song
was a prayer for rest, a SuLlay song, as little
Josephine said afterwards to me. But it
might have been a lay of revenge, of war,
or of woe, for all I heard that the words
conveyed ; as I could not exist eroept in the
voice itself, or the spirit of which the voice
was form. I felt then that it is not in voice,
it is not in cunning instrument, that the
thing called Music hides ; it is tJie ancrrat^
108
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
intelligence of tone that genius breathes into
the created eletnento of sound. This girl's
or angeVs voice was not so sweet as intel-
ligible, not so boundless as intense. It went
straight into Uie brain, it stirred the soul
without disturbing; the ear was unconscious
as it entered that dim gallery and rushed
through it to the inward sympathetic spirit.
The quality of the voice too, as much per-
tained to that peculiar organize tiun as cer-
tain scents pertain to particular flowers. It
wae as in the open air, not in the hot-house,
that this foreign flower expanded, and
breathed to the sun and wind its secrets.
It was what dilletanti call a contralto voice,
but such a contralto too that either nature
or culture permitted the loftiest flights ; the
soprano touches were vivid and vibrating
as the topmost tones of my violin. While
the fragi'ance yet fanned my soul, the flower
shut up. She ceased singing, and came to me.
*^ Do you like that little song ? It is the
Chevalier's."
" A Sunday song," observed Josephine, as
I mentioned.
"A Sunday song?" I cried, and started.
" I have not heard a word I"
"Oh I" she said, not regretfully, but with
excitement, ^*you must then hear it again,
and Josephine shall sing it, that you may
not think of my voice instead of the song."
I had not time to remonstrate, nor had I
right The child began quite composedly,
still holding her doll. She had a wonderful
voice. But what have I to do with voices ?
I mean style. Josephine's voice was crude
as a green whortleberry, its sadness was
sour, its strength harsh; though a voice
shrill and small as the cricket's chirp, with
scarcely more music. But she sang divine-
ly ; she song like a cherub before the great
white throne.
The manner was her sister's; the fra-
grance another a peculiar wood-like odor,
as from moss and evanescent wild-flowers,
if I may so compare as then it struck me. I
listened to the words this while, to the mel-
ody ^the rush of melodies for in that com-
poser's slightest effect each part is a separ-
ate soul, the counterpoint a subtle fiery
chain imprisoning the souls in bliss. Ineflfa-
ble as was that air ineffable as is every air
of his I longed to be convinced it had been
put together by a man, 1 could not, and I
cannot to this hour, associate anything ma-
terial with strains of his. When Josephine
concluded, I was about to beg for more, but
the other left her harp and kissing her little
care brought her with herself to the couch
where she had quitted me. IIow strange
was the sweetness, how sweet the change
in her manner now.
" How pale you look !" said she, " I shall
give you some wine. I can feel for you, if
j^ov are delicate in health, for I am so my-
el/^ aad it la bo sad sometime.-i.'*
" No wine please, I have had wit e, and am
neter the better for it. I believe I was born
pale, and shall never look anything else."
*' I like you pale, if it is not that you are
delicate."
" I think I am pretty strong ; I can work
hard, and do."
* Do not I" she said, putting her loveliest
hand on ray hair, and turning my face tc
hers. " Do not, lieber, work hard ^not too
hard."
" And why not ? for I am sure you do ?"
" That is the very reason I would have
you not do so. I must work hard."
" But if you are delicate, Fraulein Oerin-
thia ?"
** God will take care of me. I try to servo
Him. None have to answer for themselves
as musicians ;" she suddenly ceased ^passed
one hand over her face, she did not stir, bot
I heard her sigh ; she arose, and looked from
the window ; she sat down again, as if un-
decided.
" Can I do anything for you ?" I asked.
" No, I want nothing ; I am only thinking
that it is very troublesome the person who
sent those fruits could not come instead of
them. I ought to have kept it from yon,
child as you are."
" Child, indeed I why, what ate you, your-
self?"
"Young, very young!" she replied, witli
some passion in her voice, " but so muck
older than yon are in every sense. I never
remember when I did not feel I had lived a
long time."
I was struck by these words, for they
often returned upon me afterwards, and I
rose to go feeling something disturbed at
having wearied her, for she had not tht
same fresh bloom and unfatigued brightness
as when I entered. She did not detain me,
though she said, " Gall me Maria, please, 1
should like it best. We are both so young,
you know 1 We might have been brother
and sister." And in this graceful mobd mv
memory carried her away.
i CHAPTER VIII.
I KEBD not say I loooked upon Anatase
with very different eyes next time I crossed
his path. He had never so much interested
me he had never attracted me before he
attracted me violently now, but not for his
own sake. I watched every movement and
gesture every intimation of his being sep*
arable from his musical nature, and disso
ciated from his playing. He seemed tc
think me very inattentive on the Monday
morning, though in fact, I had never beou
so atteiitWe Vo \i\m \i^iot^\ Vi^t, I did not
m-
OUAKLES AUOHESTEE.
10$
get on very well with my work. At last he
fairly stopped me, and touched my chin
with his bow.
" "What are you thinking about this morn-
ing, Sir?" he inquired in Siat easy voice of
bis, with that cool air.
I never told a lie in my life, white or
black " Of you, Sir," I replied. With his
large eyes on mine I felt rather scorched,
but still licept faith with myself. " Of the,
FrauleiiL Cerinthia,"
^^ I thfdght a much. The next Sunday
you wilrremain at home."
**Yes, Sir. But that won't prevent my
Thinking about you and her."
" Exactly. You shall therefore have suffi-
cient time to think about us. As you have
not control to fasten your mind on your
own affairs, we must indulge your weakness
by giving it plenty of room."
Then he pointed to my page with his bow,
and we went on quietly. I need not say
we were alone. After my lesson, just be-
fore he proceeded to the next violin, he
spoke again.
" You do not know, perhaps, what test
you are about to endure. We shall have a
concert next month, and you will play a
first violin with me."
"Sir I" I gasped "I cannot ^I never
will.'*
"Perhaps you will change your note when
you are aware who appointea you. It is no
aflair of mine."
" If you mean. Sir, that it is the Cheva-
lier who appointed me, I don't believe it,
unless you gave your sanction."
He turned upon me with a short smile,
just the end of one, and raised his delicate
eyebrows. " Be that as it may, to-night we
rehearse first, in the lessor hall ; there will
be nobody present but the band. The
Chevalier will hold his own rehearsal the
week after next, for there is a work of his
on this occasion; therefore we shall pre-
pare, and I trust successfully, so that the
polishing only will remain for liim."
"Bravo! Sir."
" I hope it will be bravo, but it is no
bravo at present," said he in dismissing
m^e.
I had never heard Anastase play yet, and
ws very curious. I mean I had ^ver
heard him play consecutively, his exmbi-
tions to us being confined to short pas-
sages we could not surmount, bar upon bar,
phrase upon phrase, here a little and there a
very little. .But now he must needs bring
himself before me, to play out his own
inner nature.
I found Delemann in his own place pres-
ently a round box like a diminutive ob-
servatory, at the very top of the building,
and communicating only with similar boxes
occupied by the brass in general. I let my-
self in, for it would have been absurd to
knock amidst tlie demorstrations of the alto
trombone, lie was so ardent over that
metallic wonder of his, that I had to pluck
his sleeve. Even then he would not leave
off, at the risk of splitting that short upper
lip of his by his involuntary smile, until ho
had finished what lay before him. It was
one great sheet, and I espied at the top the
words " Mer de Glace : Ouverture : Seraph-
ael." Madder than ever for a conclusion, I
stopped my ears till he laid down that
shining monster and took occasion to say,
" That is what we are to have to-night."
" I know. But how abominable is Anas-
tase not to let me have my part to practise !"
" Very lilcely it is not ready. Tiie brass
came this morning, and the strings were to
follow. Mine was quite damp when I had
it."
We went into rehearsal together, Frani
and I. What a different rehearsal from m^
first in England I Here we were all instru-
ments. Franz was obliged to leave me on
entering, and soon I beheld him afar off, at
the top of the wooden platform, on whose
raised steps we stood, taking his place by
the tenor trombone a gentleman of adult
appearance who had a large mouth. I have
my own doubts, private and peculiar, about
the superior utility of large mouths, because
Franz, of the two, played be^t ; but that is
no matter here.
Our saal was a simple room enough, guilt-
less of ornament ; our orchestra deal, clear
of paint or varnish ; our desks the same, but
light as ladies' hand-screens this was well,
as Anastase, who was not without his crot-
chet, made us continually change t)laces
with each other, and we had to carry them
about. There were wooden benches all
down the saal, but nobody sat in tliem;
there was not the glimmer of a countenance,
mr the shine of two eyes. The door-bolts
were drawn inside : there was a great and
prevalent awe. The lamps hung over us,
but not lighted ; the sun was a long w\y
from bed yet, and so were we. Anasiiise
kept us at "L' Amour Fugitif" and "Eury-
anthe" I mean their respective overtures
a good while, and was very quiet all the
time, until our emancipation into the " Mer
de Glace." His face did not change even
then ; but there was a fixity and straighten-
ing of the arm as if an iron nerve had passeo
down it suddenly, and he mustered us stil!
more closely to him and to each other. My
stand was next his own, and, looking here
and there, I perceived Iskar among the sec-
ond violins, and was stirred up, for I had
not met with him except at table since 1
came there.
It is not in my power to describe my own
sensations on my first introduction to
Seraph ael's orchestral definite creation.
Enough to say, that I felt all music besides,
, albeit ^r^cvoxia^ ^\\i^\\ \\\R8XwakJ.^^ \!?i ^^^^^
110
CHARLES AUOHESTEK.
teen but afTectin^ the best and highest por-
tior iif myself, bot as exciting to loftier as-
pirations my constant sonl. Bat that his
creation did indeed not only first affect me
beyond all analysis of feeling, but cause npon
me, and through ine, a ciiange to pass ^id
first recreate, expurge of all earthly ; and
then inspire surcharge with heavenly hope
and holiest ecstasy. That qualitotive heav-
enly, and this superlative holiest, are alone
those wiiich disabuse of the dread to call
what we love best and worship truest by
name. No other words are expressive of
that music which alone realizes the desire
of faith faith supernal alike with the uni-
versal faith of love.
As first awoke the strange smooth wind-
notes of the opening adagio, the fetterless
chains of ice seemed to close around my
heart. The movement had no blandness in
its solemnity, and so still and shiftless was
the grouping of the harmonies, that a fri-
^dity actual as well as ideal, passed over
my pores, and hushed my pulses. After a
hundred such tense yet clinging chords, the
sustaining calm was illustrated, not broken,
by a serpentine phrase of one lone oboe,
pianissimo over the piano surface which it
crisped not, but on and above which it
breathed like the track of a sunbeam aslant
from a parted cloud. The slightest pos-
sible retardation at its close brought us to
the refrain of the simple adngio, interrupted
again by a rush of violoncello notes, rapid
and low, like some sudden under current
striving to burst through the frozen sweet-
ness. Then spread wide the subject, as
plains upon plains of water-land; though
the time was gradually increased. Ampli-
fications of the same harmonies introduced
a fresh accession of violoncelli and oboi con-
trasted artfully in syncopation, till at leng;tb
the strides of the accelerando gave a glitter-
ing precipitation to the entrance of the sec-
ond and longest movement.
Then Anastase turned upon me, and with
the first bar we fell into a tumultuous pres-
to. Far beyond all power to analyze as it
was just then, the complete idea embraced
me as instantaneously as had the pictu-
resque chillness of the first. I have called
it tumultuous but merely in respect of
rhythm the harmonies Were as clear and
evolved as the modulation itself was
sharp, keen, unanticipated, unapproachable.
Through every bar reigned that vividly
enunciated ideal, whose expression pertains
to the one will alone in any age the ideal.,
that binding together in suggestive imagery
every form of beauty, symbolizes and repre-
sents something beyond them all.
Here over the surge-like but fast-bound
motive only like those tost ice-waves, dead
still in their heaped-np crests were certain
swelling crescendos of a second subject, so
anntternbly if vaguely sweet, that the sonAs
of all deep-biue Alp-flowerH, the clarity of
all high blue skies, had surely passed into
them, and was passing from them again.
Scarcely is it legitimate, to describe what
so speaks for itself as Music, yet there arv
assuredly effects produced by music which
may be treated of to the satisfaction of the
initiated.
It was not until the very submerging cli
max that the playing of AnastAse was re
called to me. Then, amidst long ringing
notes of the wild horns, and intermittent
siglis of the milder wood, swept from the
violins a torrent of coruscant arpeggi, and
above them all I heard his tone, keen but
solvent^ as his bow seemed to divide the
very strings with fire, and I felt as if some
spark had fallen upon my fingers to kindle
mine. As soon as it was over, I looked np
and laughed in his face with sheer pleasure,
but he made no sign, nor was there the
slightest evidence of the strenuous emotion
to which he had been abandoned no flnsh
of cheek nor fiash of eye only the least
f)ossible closer contraction of the slight
ips. He did nothing but find fault, and
his authority appeared absolute ; for when
he reprimanded Iskar in particular, and
called him to account for the insertion ex-
traordinary of a queer appoggiatura which
I did not knvw he had heard, that evil one
came down without a smirk, and minced
forth some apology, instead of setting up
his crest as usual. I was very thankful at
last when the room was cleared, as it was
infernally hot, and I had made up my mind
to ask Anastase whether my violin were
really such a good one ; for I had not used
it before this night.
When no one was left except he and I, I
ventured to ask him whether I could carry
anything anywhere for him to attract his
attention.
" Yes," said he, " you niay gather up all
the parts and lay them together in that clos-
et," pointing to a wooden box behind the
platform ; " but do not put your own away,
because you are going to look over it with
me."
I did as he directed, and then brought
myself back to him. But before I could be-
gin^ e took my fiddle from my arms, and
tu]||bg it round and round, demanded,
" Where did you get this?" I told him in
a few words its history, or what I imagined
to be its history. He looked rather aston-
ished, but made no comment, and then he
began to play to me. I do not suppose an-
other ever played like him ; I may perhap:i
myself a very little, but I never heard any-
body else. The peculiar strength of his
tone I believe never to have been surpassed,
the firmness of his cantabile never equalled,
his expression in no case approached. San-
tonio's playing dwindled in my mind, for
\ Anaalase^ tYvow^ ^o -^oxKCL^^^^xfeYvaQd with
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
liJ
a pointedn68 altogether mature ; it was I leisurely, we saw a ccaoh at the porter'f
'' " 1 1^ ^ ^'.r^i ix_ ^QQp^ ^{jQ (Jqqj, -^ijere letters and messages
were received, not the grand door of the
School, which all day stood open for the
benefit of bustling Oecilians. I thought no-
thing of this coach however, as one often
might have seen one there, but while Maria
took back Josephine, I obtained possession
of all the flowers which she placed in my
that on which to repose unshifting security
for the roost ardent musical interest ; yet,
with all its solidity, it was not severe even
in the strictest passages. Of all playing I
ever heard on my adopted instrument, and
I have heard every first-rate and every me-
dium performer in Europe, it was the most
forceful : let this term suffice just here. I
said to him when he had finished with me,
"How much fuller your playing is than
Santonio's I I thought his wonderful until
I heard your's." But with more gentleness
than I had given him credit for, he respond-
ed, laying down my little treasure, " I con-
sider his playing myself far more wonder-
ful than mine. Mine is not wonderful, it is
a wrong word to use. It is full, because I
have studied to make it the playing of a
leader, which must not follow its own va-
garies. Neither does Santonio, who is also
a leader, but a finer player than I finer in
the sense of delicacy, experience, finish.
Now go and eat your supper, Auchester."
" Sir, I don't want any supper."
" But I do, and I cannot have you here."
I knew he meant he was going to prac-
tise ; it was always his supper I found, but
he had become again unapproachable. I
had not gained an inch nearer ground to
him, really, yet. So I retired and slipped
into the refectory, where Franz was keeping
a Beat for me.
I was positively afraid to go out the next
Sunday and the next it rained we all
stayed in. On the following Wednesday
would come our concert, and by this time I
knew that the Chevalier woutd be accom-
panied by certain of his high-born relations.
But do not imagine that we covered for
them galleries with cloth and yellow fringe.
It was altogether to me one of my romance
days, and, as such, I partook in the spirit of
festivity that stirred abroad. The day be-
fore was even something beyond romance.
After dinner we all met in the garden-house,
as we called the pillared alcove, to arrange
the decorations for our hall which were left
entirely to ourselves, at our united request.
About fifty of us were of one mind, and,
somehow or other, I got command of the
whole troop ; I am sure I did not mean to
put myself so. I sent out several in ^jifiTer-
ent directions to gather oak-branches and
lime-boughs, vine-leaves and evergreens, and
then sat down to weave garlands for the
arches amongst a number more. Having
seen them fairly at work, I went forth my-
self, and found Maria Cerinthia at home ;
she came with me directly, and we made
another pilgrimage in search of roses and
myrtles. Josephine went too, and we all
three returned laden from the garden of a
sincere patroness down in the valley beneath
the hill, of whom we had asked such alms.
Jllutering Cecilia, after climbing the slopes
arms, promising to be with us anon in the
garden-house. Past the professors' rooms I
walked ; and I have not yet mentioned the
name of Thauch, our nominal superintend-
ent, the appointed of the Chevalier, who al-
ways laughingly declared he had selected
him because he knew nothing about music,
to care for us out of music. Thauch sat at
the head of the middle table, and we scarce-
ly saw hun otherwise or spoke to him ; thus
I was astonished and rather appalled to be
called upon by him when I reached his room,
which was unclosed, and where he was writ-
ing accounts. I was not aware he even
knew my name, but by it he called upon me.
"Sir I" I said, "what do you want?" as I
did not desire to halt, for fear of crushing
up my sweet fresh roses. He had risen and
was in the doorway, waiting with true Ger-
man deliberation until I was quite recovered
from my breathlessness, and then he did not
answer, but took my shoulders and pushed
me into his parlor, himself leaving the room,
and shutting himself out into the passage.
Shall I ever forget it? For gasping stilly
though I had thrown all my flowers out of
my arms, I confronted the bright old-fash*
ioned, distinct yet dream-like faces of two
who sat together upon the chairs behind the
door. You will not expect me to say how I
felt when I found they were my own sister
Millicent, my own Lenhart Davyj and that
they did not melt away. I suppose I did
something put out ray hands perhaps, or
turned some strange color which made Davy
think I should faint ^for he rose, and coming
to me, with his hilarious laugh, put his arms
about me, and took me to my sister. When
once she had kissed me, and I had felt her
soft face and the shape of her lips, and
smelt the scent of an Indian box at home
that clung to her silk handkerchief yet J
cried ^and she cried too, but we were both
quiet enough about it ; she I only knew was
crying by her cheek pressing wet against
mine. After a few moments so unutterable,
I put myself away from her, and began dis-
tinctly to perceive the strangeness of our
position. Millicent, as I examined her,
seemed to have grown more a woman than
I remembered, but that may have pertained
to her dress, so different from the style witli
which I associated her the white ribboni
and plain caps under the quaint straw bon-
net, and the black silk spencer. Now, she
wore a mantle of very graceful cut, and the
118
CHABLES AUCIIESTER.
bat; this gare to her oval coontenanoe a
blnshfcd olearoess that made her look lovely
m my eyes. And when I did speak, what
do yon think I aaid ? ** Oh, Millicent 1 how
odd it is 1 Oh, Mr. Bavy I how odd yon
look I"
^^ Now Oharlei 1" said he in answer and
how the English accents thrilled the tears
inl my eyes ^* Now Charles ! tell me what
you mean by growing so tall, and being so
self-possessed. Yon are above my shoulder,
and have lost all yonr impudence.'^
** No, Mr. Davy, I havn^t ^kiss me I" said
I ; and I threw my arms about him, and
elung on there till cnriosity swelled uncon-
querable.
^^ Oh, Mr. Davy I how extraordinary it is
of you to come so suddenly, without telling
me. And mother never said the least word
about it. Oh, Millicent 1 how did you get
her to let you come ? and oh I" suddenly it
struck me very forcibly " how very strange
you should come with Mr. Davy 1 Is any-
body ill ? No, yoa would have told me di-
rectly, and you would not be dressed so."
Millicent looked up at Davy with an un-
wonted expression ; a new light in her eyes,
that had ever slept in shade ; and he laughed
again.
^^ No, nobody is ill, and she would not be
dressed so if I had not given her that bon-
net, for which she scolded me instead of
thanking me for it came from Paris."
^^Ohl" I exclaimed, and I felt all over
bathed in delight. I ran to Millicent, and
whispered into that same bonnet ^^ Ob,
Millifcent 1 are yo i married to Mr. Davy 1"
She pulled off one of her pale-colored
gloves, and showed me the left hand I saw
the ring oh, how strangely I felt I hot and
cold, glad and &orry, excited and yet stayed.
I flew to my first friend and kissed his hand :
" Dear Mr. Davy, I am so glad I"
" I thought you would be, Charles. If I
had anticipated any objection on your part I
ihould have written to yon first I"
"Oh, Mr Davy I" I cried laughing, "but
why did they not write and tell me?"
^^ My dear brother, it was that we wished
to spare you all disappointment."
" You mean I could not have come home.
No, I don't think I could ; even for your
wedding, Millicent, and your's, Mr. Davy.
We have been so busy, lately."
Davy laughed : " Oh I see what an im-
portant person you have become. We knew
it ; and it was I who persuaded your mo-
ther not to unsettle you. I did it for the
best."
* It was for the best, dearest Charles,"
said Millicent, looking into Davy^s face, as
if perfectly at home with it. She had never
used to look isto his face at all.
"Ohl" I again exclaimed, suddenly re-
aiDde% "What did yon wear, Millicent, to
Ifewvried in^"
"A white muslin pelisse, Charles, am!
Miss Benette's beautiful veil."
"Yes, and Charles," continned Davy,
" Millicent gratified us both by asking Mise
Benette to be her bridenudd."
"And did she come?" I asked ratb
eagerly.
" No, Charles ; she did not,"
I knew she would not, I thoaght, thoagl
I scarcely knew why.
" But she came, Charles, the night before,
and helped them to dress the table ; and so
beautiful she made it look that everybody
was astonished; yet she had only a few
garden fiowers, and a very few rare ones.^'
" But how long have you been married,
Mr. Davy? and are yon going to live here?
What will the class do ? Oh the dear class !
Who sits by Miss Benette now, Mr. Davy T
He laughed.
" Oh, Choi'les ! if you please, one ques-
tion at a time. We have been married ons
week ; is it not, Millicent ?"
She smiled and blushed.
- " And I am not going to leave my class ;
it is larger now tha& yon remember it, and
I have not left my little house ; but I have
made one more room, and we find it quite
wide enough to contain us."
" Oh, Sir I then you came here for a triJJ.
How delicious 1 Oh Millicent 1 do you liko
Germany? Oh I you will see the Cheva-
lier." __
" Well, Charles, it is only fair,, for we
have heard so much about him. Nothing
in your letters but the Chevalier, and the
Chevalier, and we do not even know his
name from you, Clo says whenever your
letters come * I wish he would tell us bow
he sleeps ;' and my mother hopes that Sert-
phael is ^ a good man,* as yon are so fond of
him."
"But, Charles I" added Davy, with nis
old earnestness, and with a sparkling eye,
"how then shall we see him, and where?
For I would walk barefoot through Ger-
many for that end."
" Without any trouble, Mr. Davy, be-
cause to-morrow will be our doncert, and
he is coming to conduct our new overture-
only his new overture, uiiud! He will sit
in the Hall most part, and you will see him
perfectly."
" My dear, dear Charles !" observed Mil-
licent, ^' it is something strange to hear yon
say ' our concert.' How entirely you have
fulfilled your destiny 1 And shall we hear
you play ?"
" Yes," I replied with mock modesty, but
in such a state of glowing pride, tliat it was
quite as much as I could do to answer witli
becoming indifference ; " Yes, I am to play
a first violin,"
" A first violin I Charles ?" said Davy,
evidently surprised. " What, already ? Oh,
^i diOi not ^Tft^YcX. ^toiv^l What if I had
m
OHABLES AU0HE8TER.
1121
keit you in my olass ? Bnt, Mlllioent, we
must not stay," be added, taming to her,
" we only came to carry Charles away, as
we are on forbidden gronnd."
" Not at all, Mr. Davy 1" I cried, eager to
do the bonors of Cecilia, " a great many of
them go out to see their friends, and have
their friends come to see them, but I bad no
one nntil now yon see."
*^ Yes, bnt Charles," replied my sister,
'*we understand that no visitors are per-
mitted entrance the day before a concert,
and thought it a wise regulation too. They
m&de an exception in our case because we
oame so far, and also because we came to
take you away."
"Vvhere are we going then? Groing
away ?"
''*' Only to the inn, where we have a bed
far you engaged, that we may see something
of you oat of study. You must go with us
now, for we have obtained permission."
" Whatever shall I do ?"
" What now, Charles ?
"Well, Mr. Davy, you may laugh, but
we are to decorate our concert-hali, and
they are waiting for me, I dare say. All
those flowers, too, that you made me throw
down, were for garlands. If I might only
go and tell them how it is" _
" See Charles, there is some one wanting
to speak to yov, I heard a knock."
I turned and let in Franz. He conld not
help glancing at the pink lining wiiile he
breathlessly whispered, " Do not mind us ;
Fraiilein Cerinthia is gone to fetch her
brother, and while they are at sapper we
&hall dress the hall under her directions,
and she says you are to go with your
friends."
"This is my sister, Delemann," said I,
and then I introduced them quite forgetting
chat Millicent had changed her name, which
amused them immensely after Franz was
gone, having gathered up my roses and
taken them off. Then Davy begged me to
come directly, and I hurried to my room,
and took him with me. How vain I felt to
show him my press, my screen, my port-
manteau fall of books, and my private bed ;
my violin 'asleep in its case, and last not
least, his china cup and saucer in the little
bfown box 1 While I was combing my hair,
he stood and watched me with deliglit in
Lis charming countenance, not a cloud
upon it.
*' Oh, dear Mr. Davy, how exquisite it is
that vou should be my brother! I shall
never be able to call you anything but Mr.
Pavy, though."
" You shall call me whatever you please,
[ shall always like it."
** And Sir, please to tell me, am I tidy ?
Fit to walk with a bride and bridegroom ?"
**Kot half smart enough I Your sister
has brought your part of the wedding cere-
mony in her only box, and let me tell you.
Charles, you are highly favored; for tlie
muslin dresses and laces will suffer in oen-
sequenoe I"
" I don^t believe that, Sir," said I, langb*
ing.
** And why not, Sir ?"
" Because Sir, my sisters would non of
them travel about with muslin dresses if
they had only one box."
" They would travel about, as Mrs. Davy
does, in black silk," answered Davy, pursu-
ing me as I ran, but I escaped him, and re-
joined Millieent first, who was waiting fok
us with all possible patience.
There are a few times of our life ^not the
glorious eternal days that stand alone but,
thank God i many hours which are nothing
for us but pure and passive enjoyment in
which we exist, How exquisitely happy
was I on this evening, for example; th^
prospect of the morrow so intensely bright,
the present of such tender sweetness I How
divine is Love in all its modifications I how
inseparable is it from repose, from rapture !
As we went a!oug the village, and passed
the sho]v, ill the freshening sunbeams low-
shining from the bare, blue heaven, I fetched
a present for my brother and sister, in the
j^hape of two concert tickets, which, con-
trary to Tedoscan custom, were issued for
the advantage of any interested strangers.
I put them into Millicent's hand, saying,
" You know I gave you no wedding gift."
" Yes, Charles, you gave me this," and
she looked up at Davy. " I should never
have known him, but for you."
^^ Which means, my love, that I am also
to thank Charles for introducing me to you,"
^and Davy took off his hat with mock
reverence.
" Oh, that won't do, Mr. Davy I for you
said you had seen a beautiful Jewess at our
window before you knew who lived in out
house ; and, of course, you would have got
in there, at last."
'''' Never P^ said Davy, in a manner that
convinced me he never would.
"Then I am very glad," said I; "glad
that I ran away one morning. The Chev-
alier says that nothing happens accidentally
to such as I."
They laughed till they saw how serious I
had grown again, and then smiled at each
other. Arrived at our inn, we rested.
Will it be believed that Davy had brought
some of his own tea, besides several other
small comforts? This much amused me.
After our tea ^a real home tea, which quite
choked my unaccustomed faculties, at first
Davy put his wife on the sofa, and with a
bright authority there was no resisting, bade
her be still, while he fetched my part of the
ceremony. This consisted of a half a dozen
pairs of beautiful white kid gloves, ^treas-
ures these indeed^ to a fiddler I a wUita lk
lU
OHABLES AUOHESTER.
waisiooat, a smaii case of Bpanisli chocolate,
and a large cake iced and almonded.
** That was made at home, Oharles,*' aaid
Millicent ; *^ and is exactly like that we sent
to oar friends.*'
In those days, it was not old fashion,
gentle reader, to send ont bridecake to one^s
friends. I need only mention a white favor
r two, and a frosted silver flower, because
reserved the same, for Josephine Oerinthia.
CHAPTER IX.
In my box-bed at that flower-baptized
inn, I certainly did not sleep so well as in
my own nest at school. Here it was in a
box, as ever in that country of creation, and
in the middle of the night I sat np to won-
der whether my sister and new-fonnd
brother thought the locale as stifling as I
did. I was up before the sun, and dressed
together with his arrangement of his beams.
We had in spite of tlie diflicnlty to get
served in rational fashion a right merry
breakfast, thanks to the company and the
tea ; I had not tasted such, as it appeared
to me, since my infancy.
How Davy did rail againat the toilette
short-comings, the meagre shallow depths
of his basin ! and he was not happy until I
took him to my portion (as we called our
sleeping-places at Cecilia), and let him do as
he pleased with my own water-magazine.
This was an artificial lake of red-ware,
which was properly a baking-dish, and
which I had purchased under that name for
my private need. If it had not been for the
little river which flowed not half a mile
from our school, and which our Cecilians
haunted as a bath through summer, I could
not answer, in my memory's conscience, for
their morality, if as I of course believe,
cleanliness be next to godliness.
After brea^ast, and after I had taken
Davy back, I returned myself alone to seek
Maria and escort her. Davy and Millicent
seemed so utterly indisposed to stir out un-
til it was necessary, and so unfit for any
society but each other's, that I did not hesi-
tate to abscond. I left them together;
Davy lazier than I had ever seen him, and
the more like brilliant evening than unex-
cited morning. What am I writing? Is
morning ever unexcited to the enthusiast?
I think his only repose is in the magical su-
pervention of the mystery night brings to
nis heart
I was sorry to find that neither Maria,
Josephine, nor Joseph were at home. The
way was clear upstairs, but all the doors
were looked as usual when they were out,
aad I went on to Cecilia in a pet. It was
nine when I arrived, quite restored. Ow
concert was to be at ten.
What different hours are kept in Ge^
many I what different hearts cull the honej
of the hours ? Our dining-hall was fuH ;
there was a great din. Our garden house
was swept and garnished as I remembered
it the day I came with One- but not qoit*
so enticing in its provisions ; that is to say,
there were no strawberries which had been
so interesting to me on the first occasion. I
retreated to the library. No one was
there. I might not go among the girk
whose establishment was apart ; but I knew
I should meet them before we had to taJce
our places ; and off I scampered to Franz's
observatory. WTll it be believed he was
still at work? those brass lips embracing
his, already dressed, his white gloves lying
on his monster's cradle. ^* My dear Dele-
mann," I exclaimed, ^^ for pity's sake put
that down now I"
^^ My dear Carl, how shall I feel when
that moment comes ?" ^pointing to the up-
beat of bar 109, where he first came in upon
the field of the Score.
" I don't think you will feel differently if
you practice only half an hour more any
how."
" Yes, I shall ; I want rubbing np. Be-
sides I have been here since six."
^^Oh, Delemann! you are a good boy.
But I don't feel nervous at all."
"You, Caril No, I should think net
You will have no more responsibility than
the hand of a watch, with that Anastase
for the spring works, too, that never want
winding up, and that were bought ready
made by our patroness."
" Dear Franz, do come I . I am dying to
see the hall,"
"I don't think it is done. Fraulein
Cerinthia went out to get some white roses
for a purpose she held secret. The bonghr.
are all up though."
" My dear Franz, you are very matter-of-
fact."
" No, I am not, Carl. The tears ran down
my face at rehearsal."
" That was because I made a mouth at
you, which you wanted to laugh at, and
dared not."
"Ay ell," said Franz, mock mournfully,
"I can do nothing with you here, so
come."
He rolled up his monster, and took up his
gloves, I had a pair of Millicent's in my
pocket.
" We must not forget to call at the gar-
den-house for a rose to put here," said
Franz, running his slight fore-finger iuto bis
button-hole. We accordingly went in there.
A good many had preceded us, and rifled
the baskets of roses, pinks and jessamine
that stood about. While we were turning
^ over t\ioa^ a\l\ W^ \x\\ f^tvwva somebody ant*
OHABLES AUOHESTER.
110
whispereJ that Anastase was bringing in
* the Cerinthias. I eagerly gazed, endeavor-
ing with all my might to look innocent of
BO gazing. But I only beheld between the
pillars the clear brow and waving robes of
ray young master, as he bent so lowly before
a maiden raimented in white, and only as he
left her, for he entered not within the al-
cove. As he retreated Maria advanced. She
was dressed in white, but so dazzling was
her beauty that all eyes were bent upon
her. All the clkoras-singers were in white,
but who looked the least like her? With
the deep azure of our order folded around
her breast, and on that breast a single full
white rose, with that dark hair bound from
the arch of her delicate forehead, she ap-
proached, and presented us each also with a
single rose, exquisite as her own, from the
very little basket I had carried to her that
Sunday, now quite filled with the few flow-
ers it contained. *^ They are so fresh," said
she, '*that they will not die the whole
morning." And I thought, as I saw her,
that nothing in the whole realm of flowers
was so beautiful or just then so fresh, as
herself.
A very little while now and our oonduc-
tor^ Zittermayer, the superior in age of An-
astase, but his admirer and sworn ally,
eame in and ordered the chorus forwanl?.
They having dispersed, he returned for our-
selves, the gentry of the band. As soon as
I aspired through the narrow orchestra
door, I beheld the same sight in front as
from the other end at the day of my initia-
tion into those sceneries ; or very much the
same the morning sun, which gleamed
amidst the leafy arches, and in the fore-
ground on many a rosy garland. For over
the seats reserved for the Chevalier and his
party, the loveliest flowers relieved with
myrtle only, hung in rich festoons ; and as
a keystone to the curtained entrance below
the orchestra, the Cecilia picture framed in
virgin roses by Maria's hand, showed only
less fair than she. At once did this flower-
work form a blooming barrier between
him and the general audience, and illus-
trate his ezclusiveness by a fair if fading
symbbl.
The hall had begun to fill, and I was get-
ting rather nervous about my English
brother and sister, who could not sit to-
gether, however near, when they entered
and found jiist the seats I could have cho-
sen for them. Millicent, at the side of the
chamber was just clear of the flowery di-
vision, for I gesticulated violently at her to
take such plat^e.
I felt so excited then, seeing them down
there of all persons those I should have
inost desired in those very spots ; that I
think I should have burst into tears, but for
a sudden and fresh diversion. Wliile I
had been wvtching my sister and brother
a murmur had begun to roll amidst ths
gathered throng, and just as the conductor
came to the orchestra steps, at the bottom
he arrested himself. The first stroke of
ten had sounded from our little church,
and simultaneously with that stroke the
steward, bearing on his wand the blue ro-
sette and bunch of oak-leaves, threw open
the curtain of the archway under us and
ushered into the appropriated space tlie
party for whose arrival we auspiciously
waited. I said Zittermayer arrested him-
self he waited respectfully until ^ey were
seated, and then bowed, but did not ad-
vance to salute them further. They ako
bowed, and he mounted the steps.
I was enchanted at the decorum which
prevailed at that moment, for as it happen-
ed it was a more satisfactory idea of hom-
age than the most unmitigated applause, oc
the occasion. The perfect stillness alsc
reigned through Chernbini's overture, not
one note of which I heard, though I played
as well as any somnambule, for I need
scarcely say I was looking at that party,
and being blessed with a long sight I saw
as well as it was possible to see all that I
reauired to behold.
First in the line sat a lady, at once so
stately and so young-looking, that I could
only conjecture she was, as she was, hU
mother. A woman was she like in the out-
lines of her beauty to the Medicis and Co-
lonnas, those queens of historic poesy ; un-
like in that beanty^s aspect, which was be-
neficent as powerful, though I traced no
trait of semblance between her and her
super-terrestrial son. She sat like an em-
press, dressed in black, with a superb eye-
glass, one star of diamonds at its rim, in her
hand ; but still and stately, and unsmiling
as she was, she was ever turned slightly
towards him who placed by her side, al-
most nestled into the sable satin of her rai-
ment. He was also dressed in black tliis
day, and held in those exquisite hands a
tiny pair of gloves, which he now swung
backwards and forwards in time to the
movement of our orchestra, and then let
fall upon the floor; when that stately
mother would stoop and gather them up,
and he would receive them with a flashing
smile, to drop them again with inadver
tence, or perhaps to slide into them his
slender flngers. Hardly had I seen and
known him, before I saw and recognueed
another close beside him. If he were small
and sylphid, seated by his majestic mother,
how tiny was that delicate satellite of his,
who was nestled as close to his side as
he to her's. It was my own, my little Star-
wood, so happily attired in a dove-colored
dress, half frock, half coat, trimmed witii
silver buttons ; and holding a huge nosegay
in his morsels of hands. I had scarce!}'
time lo iD.oX\^^ Vv\m ^\fc\ ''^'^ ^\^\ *lc!;^^ ^
ii
CHARLES AdCHESTEU.
my Borprise, bat it was imiMMsible to help
seeing that my pet was aa happy as he
could well be, and that he was quite at
home.
Next Starwood was a brilliant little girl
with long hair, much less than he, nursing a
great doll exquisitely dressed, and again
nearest the doll and the doirs mamma, I
perceived a lady and a pair of gentlemen,
each of whom, aa to size, would have made
two Seraphaels. They were all very atten-
tive apparently, except the Chevalier, and
though he was still by fits, I knew he was
not attending, from the wandering, wistful
gaze, now in the roof, now out at the win-
dows, now downcast, shadowy, and anon
flinging its own brightness over my soul,
like a sunbeam astray from the heavens of
Paradise. When at length the point in the
programme, so dearly longed fur, was close
at hand, he slid beneath the Howery balus-
trade, and as noiselessly as in onr English
music-hall, he took the stairs, and loaned
against the desk until the moment for taking
possession. Then when he entered, still so
inadvertent, the applause broke out, gather-
ing, rolling, prolonging itself, and dissolving
like thunder in the mountains.
I especially enjoyed the fervent shouts of
Anastaae, his eye as clear as fire, his strict
frame rdaxed. Almost before it was over,
and as if to dude further demonstrations,
though he bowed with courteous calmness,
Soraphael signed to us to begin. Then
midst the delicious yet heart-wringing ice-
tones, shone out those beaming lineaments ;
the same peculiar and almost painful keen-
ness turned upon the sight the very edge of
beauty. Fleeting from cheek to brow the
rosy lightnings, his rery hearths flushes were
as the mantling of a sudden glory.
But of his restless and radiant eyes I
could not bear the stressful brightness, it
dimmed my sight; whether dazzled or dis-
solved I know not. And yet, will it be be-
lieved? affectionate, earnest, and devoted as
was the demeanor of those about me, no
countenance glistened except my own in that
atmosphere of bliss. Perhaps I misjudge,
but it appears to me that pure Genius is as
'nrecognisable in human form as was pure
Divinity ^I encroach upon such a subject
no further^ To feel, to feel exquisitely, is
the lot of very many ; it is the charm that
lends a superstitious joy to fear : but to ap-
preciate, belongs to the few to the one or
two alone here and there, the blendid pas-
sion and understanding, that constitute in
its essence, worship.
I did not wonder half so much at the
btrong delight of the audience in the com-
position, flow many they are who perceive
Art as they perceive Beauty, perceive the
fair in Nature, the pure in Science, but re-
celFe not that these intimate and symbolize
hotv wach more frail in realizing the di-
vine ideal, the soi^) beyond the B\ghi^ tbt
ear.
Here, besides, theie were plenty of per-
sons weary with mediocre impressions, and
the efiTect upon them was as the fresh sea-
breeze to the weakling, or the sight of green
fields after trackless deserts. I never, never
can have enough is my feeling when that
exalted music overbrims my heart Bensa-
tion is trebled the soul sees double ^it is
as if brooding on the waste of harmony the
spirit met its shadow like the swan, and
embraced it as itself. I do not know how
tlie composition went, I was so lost in the
au thorns brightness face to face ; but I never
knew anything go ill under his direction.
The sublimity of the last movement so sad-
den, yet complete in its conclusion, left the
audience in a trance ^the spell was not
broken for a minute and a half, and then
burst out a tremendous call for a repeat.
But woe to those fools ! thought I. It was
already too late ; with the mystical modesty
of his nature, Seraphael had flown down
stairs, forgetting the time-stick which he
held in his hand still, and which ho carried
with him through the archway. As soon
as it was really felt he had departed, a great
cry for him was set up, all in vain, and a
deputation from the orchestra was instract*
ed to depart and persuade him to return ;
such things were done in Germany in those
days. Anastase was at the head of this se-
lect few, but returned together with them
discomfited ; no Seraphael being, as they as*
serted, to be found. Anastase announced
this fact in his rare German to the impatient
audience, not a few of whom were standiog
upright on the benches, to the end that they v
might make more clatter with their feet I
than on the firmer floor. As soon as all
iieard, there was a great groan, and some
stray hisses sounded like the erection of a rat-
tlesnake or two ; but, upon second thoughts,
the people seemed to think they should be
more likely to find him if they dispersed,
though what they meant to do with him
when they came upon him I could not con-
jecture, so vulgar did any homage appeal
as an offering to that fragrant soul. My
dear Millicent and her spouse waited patient
ly, though they looked about them with
some curiosity till the crowd grew thin ;
and then, as the stately party underneath
me made a move and disappeared through
the same curtain that had closed over Se-
raphael, I darted downwards past the bar-
rier, and citmbed the intervening forms to
my sister and brotlier. Great was my sat-
isfaction to stand there and chatter with
them ; but presently Davy suggested our
final departure, and I recollected to have
left my fiddle in the orchestra, not even
sheltered by its cradle, but where every dust
could insult iU face.
\ ^^ B\.?i^ Wt^;' \ \xik^\j}t^ \X\Q\a^" wid I wilt
CHAKLES AUOHESTER
1W
run and put it by; I 'will not keep yoa
waiting five rainates."
" Fly I my dear boy," cried Davy, " and
wc will wait until you return however long
you stay."
I did not mean to stay more than five
minutes, nor should I have delayed, but for
my next adventure. When I came to my
door, which I reached in breathless haste,
io ! it was fastened within, or at least would
not be pulled open. I was cross, for I was
in a hurry and very curious too ; so I set
down my violin, to bang and push against
the door. I had given it a good kick, almost
enough to fracture the panel, when a voice
came creeping through that darkness, ^^ only
wait one little moment, and don^t knock me
down, please I" I knew that voice, and
stood stoned with delight to the spot, while
the bolt slid softly back in some velvet
touch, and the door was opened.
'' Oh I sir," I cried as I saw the Chev-
alief, looking at that instant more like some
darling child caught at its pretty mischief,
than the commanding soul of myriads.
" Oh, Sir I I beg your pardon. 1 did not
know you were here."
"I did not suppose so," he answered,
laughing bright.3\ ** I came here because I
knew the way. It is I who ought to beg
thy pardon, Carloraein !"
*' Oh, Sir I to think of your coming into
my room ; I shall always like to tliink you
came. But if I had only known you were
here I would not have interrupted you."
" And I, had I known thou wouldst come,
should not have bolted thy door. But I was
afraid of Anastase, Oarlomein."
" Afraid of Anastase, Sir 1 of Anastase /"
I could find no other words.
^^Yes I am of Anastase even a little
"Oh Sir I don't you like him?" I ex-
claimed ; for I remembered Maria's secret.
" My child," said the Chevalier, " he is
as near an angel as artist can be, a min-
istering spirit; but yet I tell thee, I fear
before him. He is so still, severe, and per-
fect."
" Perfect ! ^perfect before you /"
I could have cried, but a restraining spell
was on my soul, a spell I could not resist
nor appreciate j but in whose after revelation
the reason shone clear of that strange, un-
wonted expression in Seraphael's words.
Thus, instead, I went on, " Sir, I understand
why you came here, that they might not
prosecute you, and I don't wonder, for they
are dreadfully noisy ; but Sir, they did not
mean to be rude."
" It is I who have been rude, if it were
jBUch a thing at all ; but it is not ; and now
let me ask after what I have not forgotten,
thy health."
" Sir, I am very well, I thank you, and
ton, Sir V
^* I never was so well, thank God I and
yet, Oarlomein, thy cheek is thinner."
*^ Oh, that is only because I grow so tall
My sister who is just come from England."
Here I suddenly arrested myself, for my un*
address stared me in the face. He just laid
his little hand on my hair, and smiled in-
quiringly, " Oh, tell me about thy sister."
" Sir, she said I looked so very well."
^* That's good, but about her. Is she
young and pretty ?"
" Sir, she is a very darling sister to me,
but not pretty at all, only very interesting ;
and she is very young to be married."
" She is married, then ?" He smiled still
more inquiringly.
** Yes, Sir, she is married to Mr. Davy,
my musical godfather."
" I remember, and this Mr. Davy is he
here too?" He left off speaking, and sat
upon the side of my bed, tucking up on
foot like a little boy.
" Yes, Sir."
^* And now I shall ask thee a favor."
"What is that,, Sir?"
** That thou wilt let me see her, and speak
to her ; I want to tell her what a brother
she has. Not only so, to invite her; do
not be shy, Oarlomein I to my birthday
leaSb.
" Oh, Sir I" I exclaimed, and, regardless
of his presence, I threw myself into the
very length of my bed, and covered my
face.
" Now, if thou wilt come to my feast, is
another question. I have not reached that
yet,"
" But please to reach it, Sir I" I cried,
rendered doubly audacious by joy.
"But thou wilt have some trouble in
coming ; shalt thou be afraid ? Not only to
dance and eat sugar plnoas."
" It is all the better Sir, if I have some*'
thing to do, I am never so comfortable as
then."
" But thy sister must come to see thee.
She must not meddle, nor the godpapa
either."
" Oh, Sir 1 Mr. Davy could not meddle ;
and he would rather stay with Millicent ;
but he does sing so beautifully."
He made no answer, but with wayward
grace he started up.
" I think they are all gone. Oannot we
now go ? I am afraid of losing my Quern.'"
" Sir, who is she ?"
" Oannot it be imagined by thee ?"
"Well, Sir, I know of o/w."
" Thou art right. A queen is only one^
just like any other lady. Oome, say thoa
the name, it is a virgin name, and stilhi ths
heart like solitude."
" I don't think that does still."
" Ah I thou hast found that, too 1"
" Sir, you said you wished tc go."
118
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
he littd played with as he stood, and I ran
out first
The {Mkvilion was crowded. " Oh dear t^^
aid Serapbael, a little piqned, ^^ it^s exceed-
ingly hot Oanst thon contrive to find thy
friends in all this fuss? I cannot find mine,'^^
'* Sir, my brother and sister were to wait
for me in the concert-hall; they cannot
come here, you know Sir. If I knew your
friends, I think I could find them, even in
this crowd."
^^ No," answered the Ohevalier, decbive-
ly, as he cast his brilliant eyes once round
the room, ^^ I know they are not here. I do
not feel them. Garlomein I am assured
they are in the garden. For one thing, they
could not breathe here."
*'*' Let us go to them to the garden."
He made way instantly, gliding through
the assemby, so that they scarcely turned a
liead. We were soon on the grass so fresh
after the autumn rains. Grossing that
green, we cLcered the lime- walk. The first
)er8on I saw was Anastase. He was walk-
ing lonely, and looking down, as he rarely
appeared. So abstracted indeed was he,
that we might have walked over blm, if
Seraphael had not forced me by a touch to
pause, and waited until be should approach
to our hand.
''See!" said the Ohevalier, gleefully:
^^how solemn he is. No strange thing,
Garlomein, that I should be afraid of him.
I wonder what he is thinking of! He has
quite a countenance for a picture."
But Anastase had reached us before I
liad time to say, as I intended, " I know of
what he is thinking."
He arrested himself suddenly, with a
grace that charmed from his cool demeanor,
and swept off his cap involuntarily. Hold-
ing it in his hand,, and raising his serious
gaze, he seemed waiting for the voice of
the Ohevalier. But to my surprise, he had
to wait for several moments, dunng which
they both regarded each other. At last
Seraphael fairly laughed.
"iDoyou know, I had forgotten what I
had to say, in contemplating yon. It is
what I call a musical phiz, yours."
Anastase smiled slightly, and then shut
up his lips, but a sort of flush tinged his
cheeks I thought.
" Perhaps Auchester, you can remind the
Chevalier Seraphael." . .
I was so irritated at this observation, that
I kicked the gravel and dust, but did not
trust myself to speak.
*'Ohl" exclaimed Seraphael, quickly, "it
was to request of you a favor, a favor I
should not dare to ask you unless I had
heard what I heard to-day, and seen what I
saw.
?
It might have been my fancy, but it
struck me that the tones were singularly at
rar/anoe with tht words, here. A sup-
pressed disdain breathed underneath his s
cent.
" Sir," returned Anastase, with scarcely
more warmth, ^^ it is impossible, but that 1
shall be ready to grant any favor in my
power. I rejoice to learn that such a thing
is so. . I shall be much indebted if you can
explain it to me at once, as I have to carry
a message from Spoda to tho Frauleiu Ce*
rinthia."
Spoda was Marians master for the voice.
** Let us turn back then," exclaimed Sera*
phael, adroitly. "I will walk with you
wherever you may be going, and tell yon on
the way." Seraphael's " I will " was irre-
sistible, even to Anastase.
I suddenly remembered uiy relations, who
would imagine I had gone to a star on spec-
ulation : it was too bad for me to have left
them all that time. My impression that
Seraphael had to treat at some length with
my master, induced me to say, *^ Sir, Have
left my brother and sister ever so long, 1
must run to them, I think."
^^ Bun then," eaid the Ohevalier ; " thou
certainly shouldst, and tell them what de-
tained thee. But return to me, and bring
them with thee."
I conceived this could not be done, and
said so.
''*' I will come to thee then, in perhaps
half an hour. But if thou canst not waitsc
long, go home with thy dear friends, and I
will write thee a letter.
I would have given something for a letter,
it is true, but I secretly resolved to wait all
day rather than not see him instead, and
rather than th^ should not see him.
I ran off at full speed, and it was not until
I reached the sunny lawn beyond the leafy
shade, that I looked back. They were botJ[i
in the distance, and beneath the flickering
limes showed bright and dark as sunlight
crossed the shadow. I watched thorn to
the end of the avenue, and then raced on.
It was well I did so, or I should have missed
Davy and my sister, wliOj astonished at my
prolonged alienee, were just about to insti^
tute a search.
" Oh, Millicent I" I cried, as I breathlessly
attained a seat in front of both their faces ;
" I am so sorry, but I was obliged to go
with the Ohevalier." And then I related
how I had found him in my room.
They were much edified, and then I got
into one of my agonies to know what they
both thought about him. Davy, with his
bright smile at noonday, said in reply to my
impassioned queries : '^ He certainly is,
Oharles, the very handsomest person 1 Lave
ever seen."
"Mr. Davyl Handsome! I am quite
sure you are laughiug, or you'would never
call him handsome."
" Well, I have just given offence to my
^w\ie \u t\\ft aa\w^vj.^, \\,\^^v^ ^qU tor
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
119
me that Milliceut does not espeoLolly care
for what is handsome."
"But she likes beanty, Mr. Dayy; she
likes whatever I like, and I know just ex-
actly how she feels when she looks at your
eyes. What very beautiful eyes yours' are,
Mr. Davy I don^t you think so, Millicent ?"
Dayy laughed so very loud tliat the echoes
called back to him again, and Millicent
8aid:
^ He kncws what I think, Charles."
" But you never told me so much, did yon
my love r '
"I like to hear yon say 'my love' to
Millicent, Mr. Davy."
" And I like to say it, Charles."
"And she likes to hear it. Now Mr.
Davy, about handsome. You should not
call him so, why do you ? You did not at
the Festival."
" Well, Charles, when I saw this wonder-
ful being at the Ff^stival, there was a melan-
choly in his expression which was, though
touching, almost painful ; and I do not see
it any longer, but, on the contrary, an ex-
quisite sprightliness instead. He was also
thinner .then, and paler no one can wish
to see him so pale : but his color now looks
like the brightest health. He certainly is
handsome. Charles."
*' Oh 1 Mr. Davy, I am so sorry you think
o. But he does look well ; I know what
vou mean^ and I should think that he must
be very happy. But besides that, Mr.
Davy, you cannot tell how often his face
changes. I have seen it change and change
till 1 wondered what was coming next I
suppose Mr. Davy, it is his forehead you
call handsome."
" It is the brow of genius, and as such re-
quires no crown. . Otherwise, I should say,
his air is quite royal. Does he teach here,
Charles? Surely not I"
" No Mr. Davy, but he appoints our pro-
fessors. I suppose you know he chose my
master, Anastase, though he is so young, to
be at the head of all the violins."
" No Charles, it is not easy to find out
what is done here, without the walls."
" No Mr. Davy, nor within them either.
I don't know much about the Chevalier's
private life, but I know he is very rich, and
has no Christian name. He has done an
immense deal for Cecilia. No one knows
exactly how much, for he won't let it be
told, but it is because he is so rich, I sup-
pose, that he does not give lessons. But he
is to superintend our grand examinations
next year."
" You told US so in your last letter,
Charles," observed Millicent, and then I was
entreated to relate the whole story of my
first introduction to Cecilia, and of the
Volkslied, to which I had only alluded for
Indeed it was not a thing to write about,
though of it 1 have sadly written I
' I was in the heart cf my narration, in the
middle of the benches, and no doubt ndaking
a great noise, when Davy, who was in front
where he could see the door motioned me
to silence ; I verv well knew why, and
obeyed him with the best possible grace.
As soon as I decently could, I turned and
ran to meet' the Chevalier, who was ad vane
ing almost timidly, holding little Starwood
in his hand. The instant Starwood saw me
coming, he left his hold, and flew into my
arms; in spite of my whispered remon-
strances, he i/DOuld cling to my neck so fast,
that I had to present the Chevalier while
hiarm8 were entwined about me. But no
circumstance could interfere with even the
slightest effect he was destined to produce.
Standing before Davy, with his little hands
folded, and his whole face grave, though
his eyes sparkled, he said, " Will you come
to my birthday feast, kind friends ? For we
cannot be strangers with this Carl between
us. My birthday is next week, and as I am
growing a man, I wish to make the most
of it."
" How old Sir, shall you be on your birth*
day 1" I asked, I fear rather impertinently,
but because I could not help it.
" Ten, Carloraein."
"Oh, Sir!" we all laughed, MilUcenl
most of all. He looked at her.
" You are a bride. Madam, and can read-
ily understand my feelings, when I say it
is rather discomposing to step into a new
state. Having been a child so long, I feel it
so on becoming a man, but in your case the
trial is even more obvious."
Millicent now blushed with all her might,
as well as laughed, Davy (to relieve her em-
barrassment) taking up the parable,
" And when. Sir, and where, will it be our
happiness to attend you ?"
"At the Gluckhaus, not four miles off. It
is a queer place which I bought because it
suited me better than many a new one, for
it is very old, but I have dressed it in new
clothes. I shall hope to make Charles at
home some time or other before we welcome
you, that he may make you too, feel at
home."
" It would be difficult Sir, to feel other-
wise in your society," said Davy, with all
his countenance on flame.
" I hope we shall find it so together, and
that this is only the beginning of our friend-
ship."
He held out his hand to Millicent, and
then to Davy, with the most perfect adap-
tation to an English custom considered un*
couth in Germany; Millicent looking as
excited as if she were doing her part of the
nuptial ceremony over again. Meantime,
for I knew we must part, I whispered to
Starwood" So you are happy enough. Star,
I should suppose?"
"01^ CliO^vlQal too liwj\^^, M^ i3a.oatt
tso
OHAELES AUOHKSTER.
was very nngry at first, iliat the Olieralier
carried me away/'
^ He carried yon away then ? I thought
as tnaeh. And so Aronaoh was angry ?^'
^VOnly for a little bit, bnt itdidn^t matter ;
for the Ohevalier took me away in his car*
riage, and said to master, ^ Til send yon a
rainbow, when the storm is over.' And
oh 1 Charles, I practice fonr honrs at a time
now, and it never tires me in the least. I
shall never play like him, bnt I mean to be
his shadow.'
I loved my little friend for this.
"Oh! Oharles; I am so glad yon are
coming to his birthday. Oh, Oharles I I
wish I conld tell yon everything all in a min-
nte, bnt I can't.''
" Never mind abont that, for if yon are
happy it is all clear to me. Only one thing,
Star. Tell me what I have got to do on
this birth-day."
^^ Charles, it's the silver wedding, don't
yon know ?"
" What, is he going to be married ?"
" Who, Carloraein 1 Starwood won't tell T'
said ^e Ohevalier, taming sharply npon me,
and bending his eyes till he seemed to peop
through the lashes. " He knows all about
it, bnt he won't tell. Wilt thou, my shad-
ow? By the by, there is a better word in
English, 'chum,' but we must not talk
slang, at least not till we grow up. As for
thee, Carlomein, Anastase will enligiiten
thee, and thou shalt not be blinded in that
operation, I promise thee. 'Tis nothing very
tremendous."
'^ Charles, I think we detain the Chev-
alier," observed Davy, ever anxions, and
this time I thought so too.
'^ That would be impossible, after my de-
taining you ; but I tiiink I must find my
mother, she will certainly think I have taken
a walk to the moon. Come, Sterne I or wilt
thou leave me in the lurch for that Carl of
thine ?"
'^ Oh, I beg pardon, Sir, please let me
come, too." And I dearly longed to ** come
too," when I saw them leave the Hall, hand
in hand.
" Now Charles, we will carry you off, and
give you some dinner."
** I don't want any dinner, Mr. Davy, I
must go to Anastase."
*' I knew he was going to say so 1" said
Millicent, '^ but Charles, dnty calls first, and
if you don't dine, we shall have you ill."
*' I don't know whether I may go to the
inn."
'* Oh yes I Lenhart obtained leave of ab-
i^nce at meals for you as long as we are
here."
'* Oh I by the by Millicent, yon said you
had only come for one week."
'^ Bat, Charles, we may never have snch
MDoti)eT opportunity."
^-Tfis," added Davj, "i would willingly
Btarre a month or two for the sake ot thk
feast."
" Bravo, Mr. Davy, Bui then, Millicent?"
" Oh, Millicent, she shall starve along
with me." We all langhed, and as we walk-
ed out of the court-yard into the bright
country, he continued :
'* Ton know, Charles, I suppose, what is
to be done, musically, at this birthday ?"
*' No Mr. Davy, not in the least, and it U
because I did not that I refused my dinner
After dinner though I shall go and call ob
Maria Oerinthia and make her tell me."
'^ A beautiful name, Charles ; is she a fa-
vorite of yours?"
'^ She is the most wonderful person I em
saw or dreamt of, Millioent ; she does treat
me very kindly, but she is above all of os
except the Chevalier."
^^Is she such a celebrated singer thenT
^^ She is only fifteen, but then she seeois
older than yon are, she is so lofty and yet
so full of lightness."
" A very good description of the Oheva-
lier himself, Charles.*'
" Yes, Mr. Davy, and the Chevalier too
treats her in a very high manner, I mean as
if he held her to be very high."
^^ Is she at the school too I"
" She only attends for lier lessons ; she
lives in the town with her brother, who
teaches here himself, and her little sister.
They are orphans, and so fond of one an-
other."
I was just about to say, she is to marry
Anastase, but as I had not received general
permission to open out npon the snbject, I
torbore. We dined a| our little inn, and
then, after depositing Davy by the side ot
Millioent who was reposing, for he tended
her like some choice catting from the Gar-
den of Eden, I set out on my special errand.
On mounting the stairs to Maria's room, I
took the precaution to listen ; tliere were
no voices to be heard just then, and I
knocked, was admitted, and entered. In
the bright chamber I found my dread young
master, certainly in the very best company ;
for Josephine was half lost in leaning oat of
the window, and side by side sate Anastase
and Maria. I did not expect to see him in
the least, and felt inclined to effect a retreat,
when she, without turning her eyes, which
were shining full upon his face, stretched
out both her lovely hands to me; and
Anastase even said, ^' Do not go. Auchester,
for we had, perhaps, better consult together.*'
" Yes, oh yes, there is room l^^re. Car-
lino ; sit by me."
But having spdcen thus, she opened not
her lips again, and seemed to wait upon hia
silence. I took the seat beside her, she was
between us ; and I felt as one feels when
one stands in a flower-garden in the dusk
of night, for her spiritual presence as fra
\ grauce s^\\^(i t!l^^ &ii^ xXv^ \(i^t^TY of liei
OUABLES AUOHESTER.
M
Msion made Its outward form an darkness.
Her white dress was still folded round lier,
and her hair was still nnroffled, bat she was
leaning back, and I perceived, for the first
time, that his arm was round her; the
islender fingers of his listless hand rested
npon the shoulder near me, and they seemed
far too much at ease to trifle even with the
glorious hair, silk-drooping its braids within
his reach. He leaned forwards, and looked
from one to the other of us, his blue eyes all
tearless and unperturbed ; but there was a
stirred blush upon his cheeks, especially the
one at her side ; and so deep it burned, that
I could but fancy her lips Imd lately left
their seal upon it, a rose-leaf kiss. Such a
whirl of excitement this fancy raised around
me, (I hope I was not preternatural either,)
that I could scarcely attend to what was
going on.
"The Chevalier Seraphael,^' said Anas-
tase, in his stilly voice, ^* has been writing a
two-act piece to perform at his birthnight
feast, which is in honor, not so much of his
own nativity, as of his parents' arriving just
that day, at the twenty-fifth anniversary of
their nuptials. ^ He was born in the fifth
year of their marriage, and upon their mar-
riage-day. We have not too much time to
work (but a week), as I made bold to tell
him, but it appears this little work suggested
itself to him suddenly, in his sleep, as he
Bays. It is a fairy libretto, ard I should
imagine of first-rate attraction. This is the
Bcore, and as it is only in manuscript, I need
not Bay all our care is required to preserve
it just as it now is. Your part, Auchester,
will be sr.fiiciently obvious, when you look
it over with the Fraulein Oerinthia, as she
is good enough to permit you to do so ; but
you had better not look at it at all until that
time."
" But) Sir, she can't undertake to perfect
me in j.he fiddle-part, can she ?"
" She could, I have no doubt, were it ne-
cessary," said Anastase, not satirically but
seriously ; ^' but it just happens you are not
to play."
^^ Not to play I then what on earth am I
to do? Sing?"
"Just so, sing."
" Oh, how exquisite I but I have not sung
for ever so long. In a chorus, I suppose. Sir ?"
" By no means. Tou see, Auchester, I
don't know your vocal powers, and may not
do you justice ; but the Chevalier is pleased
to prefer them to a I others for tliis special
part."
" But I never sang to him,"
" He has a prepossession, I suppose. At
all events, it will be rather a ticklish posi-
tion for you, as you are to exhibit yourself
and your voice, in counterpart to the person
who takes the precedence of all others, in
songful S2A. personal gifts."
"Sir/' I was astonished, for his still
voice thrilled with the s.ightest tremble.,
and I knew he meant Mana,-r-" I am not fit
to sing with her, or to stand by lier, 1
know ; bat I think, perhaps, I could manage
better than most other people, for most
persons would be thinking of their own
voices, and how to set them off against
Ar's, now I shall only think how to keep
my voice down, bo that her's may sound
above it, and everybody may listen to it,
rather than to mine."
Maria looked continually in her lap, hut
her lips moved. "Will you not love him,
Florlmond ?" she whispered, and something
more, but I only heard this.
" I could well, Maria, if I had any love
left to bestow, but you know how it is. I
am not surprised at Charles's worship."
It was the first time he had called mo
Charles, and I liked it' very well him, hot-
ter than ever.
" I suppose Sir I niay have a look at the
score, though ?"
" No, you may not," said Maria, " for I
don't mean we should use this copy. I
shall write it all out, first."
**But that will be useless," answered
Anastase ; "he made that copy for us."
" I beg your pardon, I took care to ask
him, and he has only written out the parts
for the instruments. He thinks nothing of
throwing about his writing, but it shall be
preserved for all that."
" And how do you mean to achieve this
copy ?" demanded Anastase, " When will ic
be written?"
" It will be ready to-morrow morning."
"Fraulein Cerinthial" I cried, aghast,
" you are not going to sit up all night 1"
"No, she is not," returned Anastase,
coolly, and he left the sofa, and walked to
tiie table in tlie window, where it lay a
green bound oblong volume, of no slight
thickuesii. "I take this home with me
Maria, and you will not see it until to-mor-
row at recreation time, wh^n I will arran;^^e
for Auchester to join you, and you shall do
what yon can together."
"Thanks, Sir I but surely you won't sit
up all night."
"No, I shall not, nor will a copy he
made. In the first place, it will not be
proper to make a copy^eave has not been
given, and it cannot be thought of without
leave ; did you not know that, Maria ] No,
I shall nut sit up ; I am to well off, and far
too selfibh, too considerate perhaps, besides,
to wish to be ill."
Maria bore this as if she were thinking
of something else, namely, Florimond's fore-
head, on which she had fixed her eyes;
and truly, as he stood in the full light
which so few contours pass into without
detriment, it looked like lambent pearl be-
neath the golden shadow of his calm brown
hair.
it^
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
Mj hand was .in the back of the sofa ;
he caaght it suddenly in her .own, and
pressed it, as if stirred to commotion by
agonjr of bliss, and at the same moment, yet
looking on him, she said, *^ I wonder whether
the Ohevalier had so many fine reasons,
when be chose somebody to administer the
leadership, or. whether he did it, simply,
because there was no better to be had ?^^
He smiled, still looking at the book which
he had safely imprisoned between his two
arms, ^^Most likely, in all simplicity. Bot a
leader, even of an orchestra, under his di-
rection, is not a fairy qneen/*
"Is Herr Anastase to lead the violins,
then ? How glorious I^' I said to Maria.
" I knew you would say so. What then
can go wrong ?"
" And now I know what the Ohevalier
meant, when he said, ' I must go find my
queen.' You are to be Titania.''
"They say so. You shall hear all to-
morrow : I have not thought about it, for
when Florimond brought me home, I was
thinking of something else."
" He brought you home, then f'
" And told me on the way. But he had to
tell me over again, when we came up stairs."
' " But about the rehearsals ?"
"We shall rehearse here, in this very
room, and also with the orchestra at a room
in the village where the Chevalier will meet
us : for he has his parents staying with him,
and they are to know nothing that is to
happen."
" I wish I could begin to study it to-night.
I am so dreadfully out of voice since I had
my violin ; I have never sung at all, indeed,
except on Sundays, and then one does not
hear one^s self sing at all."
" It is of no consequence, for the Oheva-
lier told us your master, Aronach, told him
ill at your voice was like your violin, but
that it would not do to tell you so, because
you might lose it, and your violin, once
gained, you could never lose."
" That is true; but how very kind of him
to say so I He need not have been afraid
though, for all I am so fond of singing.
Perhaps he was afraid of making rae vain."
Anastase caught mo up quickly : " Carl !
do not speak nonsense. No musicians are
vain ; no true artists, ever so young ; they
could no more be vain, than the angels of
the Most High I"
" Well said, Florimond !" criod Maria, in
a moment : " but it strikes me that many a
false artist, fallen-argel-like, indulges in that
propensity; so that jt is best to guard
against the possibility of being suspected, by
announcing with free tongues, the pride we
have in our art."
" That is better to be announced by free
fingers, or a voice like thine, than by tongues,
however free, for even the false prophet can
/?rate of troth,"
I perceived now the turn they were tak
ing, so I said, " And do miracles in th
name of music too. Sir, can't t)iey ? like
Marc Iskar. who, I know is not a true artist,
for all that."
Anastase raised his brows. " True artists
avoid personalties. That is the reason why
we should use our hands instead of onr
tongues. Play a false artist do^n by the
interpretation of true music ; but never cav-
il, ont of music, about what is false and
true."
" Florimond, that is worthy to be yonr
creed I yon have mastery, we are onlv chUd-
ren.
" And children always chatter, I reipem-
ber that ; but it is perhaps scarcely fair tc
blame those who own the power of express-
ion for using it, when we : feel our own
tongue cleave to the roof of our mouth."
So generous too! I thought, and the
thought fastened on me. I felt more than
ever satisfied that all should remain as it
was between them.
CHAPTER X.
The day had come the evening an ear-
ly evening, for entertainments are early in
Oermany, or were so in my Gennan days.
The band Jiad preceded us, and we four
drove alone ; Maria shrouded in her man-
tilla which she had never abandoned ; little
Josephine, Anastase, and myself. Lumbering-
ly enough under any other circumstances,
on this occasion as if in an aerial ear.
Dark glitter fell from pine-groves, the son
called out the green fields, the wild flowers
looked enchanted ; but for quite two boors
we met no one and saw nothing that re*
minded us of our destination. At length,
issuing from a valley haunted by the oldest
trees, and opening upon the. freest upland,
we beheld an ancient house all gabled, pine-
darkened also from behind, but with tor-
rents of flowers in front sweeping its win-
dows, and trailing heavily upon the stone
of the illustrated gateway. A new made
lawn, itself more moss than grass, was also
islanded with flowers in a thick mosaic;
almost English in taste and keeping, was
this garden-land. I had expected some-
thing of the kind from the allusion of the
Ohevalier, but it was evident much had
been done, more than any could have done
but himself, to mask in such loveliness that
gray seclusion. The gateway was already
studded with bright-hued lamps unlighted,
hung amongst the swinging garlands, and
as we entered we were smitten througli and
through with the festal fragrance. In the
entraTi ViaW 1 ^t^Nq b^k^vldered^ and only
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
m
iesired to keep as near to Anastase and Ma-
ria as possible. Here we were left a few
^ibntes, a9 it wore alone, and while I was
expecting a special retainer to lead ns again
thence, as in England, the cnrtain of a some-
what obsonre archway at the end of the
space was.thmst aside, and a little hand
beckoned us instantaneously forwards. For-
'vrards we all flew, and I was the first to
Bunder the folded damask, an9 stand clear
of the mystery. As I passed beneath it,
and felt who stood so near me, I was sub-
dued, and not the less when I discovered
where I stood. It was in a little theatre,
real and sound, but of design rare as if raised
within/ an Oriental dream. We entered at
the side of tlie stage ; before us, tier above
tier, treto)ied tiny boxes with a single chair
in each, aod over each, festooned, a curtain
of softest rose-color met another of softest
blue. The central chandelier, as yet un-
lighted, hung like a gigantic dewdrop from
a grove of oak-branches, and the workmen
were yet nailing long green wreaths from
front to front of the nest-like boxes. Sera-
phael had been directing, and he led us on-
wards to the centre of the house.
"How exquisite I" "how dream-like I"
"how fairy I" broke from one and an-
other; but I was quite in a maze at present,
and in mortal fear of forgetting my part.
The Chevalier, in complete undress, was
pale and restless ; still to us all he seemed
to cling, passing amidst us confidingly, as a
fearful and bhy-smitten child. I thought I
nndei'stood this mood, but was not prepared
for its sudden alteration. For he called to
some one behind the curtain, and tlie cur-
tain rose rose upon the empty theatre with
the scenery complete with the first act.
And then the soul of all that scenery, the
light of the fairy life, flashed back into his
eyes, elfin-like in his jubilance he clapped
those little hands. Our satisfaction charm-
ed him, but I must not anticipate. Letting
the curtain again fall, he preceded us to the
back of the scenery ; and I will not, because
1 cannot in conscience, reveal what took
place in that seclusion for artists great and
small sacred itself to art, and upon whicli
no one dwells who is pressing onwards to
the demonstration, ever so reduced and
concentrated^ of art in its highest form.
At seven o'clock the curtain finally rose.
It rose upon that tiny theatre crowded now
with clustering faces ; upon the chandelier
all glittering, like a sphere of water with a
bouT of fire; the lingeiing day-beams shut
out' and shaded by a leaf-like screen. Out
of all precedent the curtain rose, not even
upon the overture; for as yet not a note
had sounded since the orchestra was tuned,
before the theatre filled. It rose upon a
hedge of mingled green and silver, densely
tangled leafage, and a burst of moon-color-
letia fiuwera, veiling every player lioiu view,
and hiding every instrument of the silent
throng, who with arm and bow uplifted,
awaited the magic summons. But by all
the names of magic, how arose that flower-
tower in the midst ? For raised above the
screen of sylvan symbol was a turret of
roots, entwisted as one sees in old oaks that
interlace their gnarled arms, facing the au-
dience, and also in sight of the orchestra:
and this wild nest was clad with silver
lilies, twice the size of life, whose drooping
buds made a coronal of the margin where
the turret edged into the air. And in the
turret, azure robed, glitter-winged ; those
wings sweeping tlie folded lilies as with the
lustrous shadow of theu: light stood our
Ariel, the Ariel of our imaginations, the
Ariel of that haunted music, yet unspelled
from the silent strings and pipes I
We, behind, among the rocks those
gently painted rocks that faded into a
heavenly distance could only glimpse that
delicate form, hovering amidist up-climbing
lilies; those silver-shadowy plumes: that
glorious face was shining into the light of
the theatre itself, and we waited for his
voice to reassure us. We need not have
feared, even Maria and I ; I was quivering
and shuddering, but yet she did not sigh,
her confidence was too unshaken; albeit iu
such a trying position, so minutely critical
to maintain, did author perhaps never ap-
pear. In an instant, as the first soft blaze
had broken on the world in front, did
our Ariel raise his wand no longer liks the
stem of a lily, but a lily-stem itself, all set with
silver leaves, and whose crowning blossom
sparkled with silver frostwork. He raised it,
but not yet again let it sweep, descending
downwards ; on the contrary, he clasped it in
his roseate lilied fingers, and all amidst the
great white buds, that made him shrink to
elfin clearness; he began in a voice that
might have been the soul of that charmed
orchestra, to recite the little prologu*^
which may thus be rendered into English.
A while ago, a long bright while, [ dwelt
In that old island with my Proepero.
He gave, not lent m& Freedom which I fed
Sometime on spicy aire that heavenward roll,
From flowers that wing their spiriis to the BtarB,
And scented shade that droppeih fruit or balm.
But soon a change smote through me, and I feU
Weary of sUIlness In the wide blue day,
Weary of breathless beauty, where the rose
or sunset flushes with no fragrant sigh :
For that my soul was native with the spheres
Where music makes an everlasting morn.
All music in that ancient isle was mine
That pulsed the air, or floated on the calm ;
Old music veiled in the bemoaning breeze,
Or whispering kisses to the veaming sea
Where foam upblown sprayM with its liquid ^tn
My plumes for all their dim cerulean grain.
From age to age the lonely Tones I stored
In crystal deeps of unheard memory
Froze them with vjrgiu cold fust to the cups
Of wavering lilies bade the roses bind
The orbed harmonies in burning reit
Thrilled with that dread elixir, dreaming son^
The veins of violets made the green gipom
Of myrtle leaves hush the sounds intricat^^
Oliar^jed the due^ ceUiirs with ail mourning cbordsii-*
(
124
CHARLES AUOHESTEH.
And hnving wUle and flv d]IRiaed my wealtb
Viife gnrnered, spelled unknown of reoaonlag meo-*
f I^nv to ummon It, to disenchant
My most melodious treasure breathless hid
In bell and blade, in bloasom-blush and budi|
And mvstic verdure, ttie soft shade of rest.
Blethinks in this wild wood, this home of flowen^
Wy harmonies are clustered, yea, I feel
The voiceless silence atir with volceful awe,
I feel the fanning of a thousand airs
That will not be repressed, that crave to wake
In resurrection of Tone Infinite
IVora tl e trancV heauty, her di finest death.
Arise my Spirits! wake ray slumbering Spells I
Uawn on the dieamland of these alien dells!
As the last words died away, pronounced
alike with the rest in accents so peculiar,
yet so pare ; so soft, yet so unshaicen ; he
swept the stem of lilies aronnd his brow.
The frosted flower flashed shndderingly
against the lamplight, and with its motion
without a pause, opened the overture, as by
those wonis themselves invoked and magic-
ally won from the abyss of sylvan silence.
Three long, longing sighs from the unseen
wind instruments, in withering notes, pre-
pared the brain for the rush of fairy melody
that was as the subtlest essences of thought
and fragrance enfranchised. The elfin pro-
gresion, prestissimo, of the subject, was
scarcely realized as the full suggestion
dawned of the leafy shivering it portrayed.
The violins, their splendors concentrated like
the rainbows of the dewdrops, seemed but
the veiling voices for that ideal strain to
filter through; and yet, when the horns
spoke out, a blaze of golden notes, one felt
the deeper glory of the strings to be more
than ever quenchless as they returned to
that ever-pulsing flow. Accumulating in
orchestral richness, as if flower after flower
of music were unsheathing to the sun ; no
words, no expression self-agonized to carica-
ture can describe that fairy overture. I am
only reverting to the feeling, the passion, it
suggested ; not to its existent art and actual
interpretation.
Its dissolution not immediate, but at its
fullest stream subsiding, ebbing ; seemed, in-
stead of breaking up and scattering the ideal
hnpression received, to retain it and expand
it in itself through another transition of ec-
stasy into a musical state beyond. During
the ethereal modulations, by a sudden illu-
mination of the stage, the scenery behind
uncurtained all along, started into light.
Still beneath the leafy cloud by mystic man-
agement, the hidden band reposed; but be-
fore the audience a sylvan dream had spread.
The time was sunset, and upon those hills I
spoke of it seemed to blush and burn, still
leaving the foreground distinct in a sort of
pearly shadow. That foreground was mask-
ed in verdure, itself precipitous with de-
scending sides clothed thick with shrubs
that lifted their red bells clear to the crim-
son beams behind, and shelving into a bed
oi enormous leaves of black-green growth,
fiaoA as one sometimes comes upon in the
very core of the forest. Beneath thosf
leaves we nestled, Maria acd I; I can only
speak of what I felt and otbera saw ; not of
that which any of us heard. For simulta-
neously with the blissful modulation into
the key-note of the primeval strain, we be-
gan our part side by side unseen. It was a
duet for Titania and Oberon, tJie alto being
mine, the my:zo-soprano hers ; and it was
to be treatea with the most distant soft*
ness. The excitement had overpassed its
crisis with me, and no calm could have been
more trance-like than that of both our
voices, so far fulfilling his aspiration ; which
conceived for that effect all the passionless
serenity of a nature devoid of pain tho
prerogative of a Fairy Life alone.
Ariel I we hear thee ;
Slumbering, dreaming, nev theeu
Bursting Itom control
As firom deatir the soul
From the bud the flower
From the will the power-
Risen, by the spell
Thou alone can\t quell,
Hear we, Ariel,
Ariel ! we feel thee.
Music, to reveal thee,
Drowns, as dawn the nf ght,
Us in thy delight
We, immortal, own
The supreme alone.
Strongest, in the spell
Thou can'st raise or quell,
Feel we, Ariel I
And Maria shook the leaves above her
spreading, and waving aside the broad green
fans, stood out to the audience as a fresh*
ly blossomed Idea from the shadow of a
Poet^s dream. For here had Music and
Poetry met together; here even as right-
eousness and peace had embraced, heaven-
sent and spiritual ; nor was there aught of
earth in that Fancy-Hour. I was nearest
her, and supported her with my arm ; her
floating scart^ transparent, spangled, feU
upon my own rose-hued mantle, which
blushed through its lucid mist. Her hair
trembling with water-like gems clothed her
to the very knees ; her cheek was white as
her streaming robe, but her eye was as a
midnight moon, bright yet lambent; and
while she sang she looked at Anastase
as he stood a little above the others in the
band; and appeared to have eyes for his
violin alone. The next movement was a
fairy march, pianissimo ; a rustling gather-
ing accompaniment that muffled a measure
delicate as precise ; it was as for the mar*
shalling of troops of fairies, who, by the
shifting of the scenery appeared clustering
to the stems of the red foxgloves, that bent
not beneath that fragile weight. And as
the march waned ravishingly, another veret
arose for the duet we sang,
Ariel I behold us
In thy strains enfold us
Mmoing but that we
Ministrant may be
On thy flreak or sport
V7&\a ovLT ti!it^ Q()i\sAr*-
CHAELES AUOHESTER.
Mortals eannot tell
How to cross iby spell
Nor we Ariel I
4
I Ariel lifted the lily-waad, and silence
ad his reply. Still while he spoke in
ecitative bo singularly contrasting with
ice of any song, might be heard weird
les from the veiled orchestra, as if
fainted from delight of him, strange
8 indeed, now sigh, now sob, that
against his nufaltering accents, yet
bed them not.
tde I royal darlings of mine andent age 1
xnie, right welcome, in the realm of sound
ajety and honor I sooth to say
: time I languished for your presences
notlung sare our Music eeeks and flnds,
gh Poesy seelcs to find and has not met
e through might of Music, face to face.
' potence is my boon, I bid it work
I mine own spells, in souI-UIec eager flame
s^ about my spirit and make Day,
IS in times of old, we shine as one.
n those undulating vales apart
stle lifts its glittering ghostly hue.
oee calm walls that years spare tenderly
Lleth the rival Soul of Farie
Music, one whose very name Is spell
utable for that fixed name is Love.
Love holds yonder his best festal rite
evening when the moontime draweth nigh.
n Souls love there, and meet ; but not as cleft
ite long partingthey have met and loved
-8 upon years since youth, none ever loved
ng as they unparted, unappalled,
I my Titania and her Oberon 1
Lwenty-flve their one-like summers count
s the dim rapture of the bridal druam.
I among Mortals Jubilant they call
sliver Wedding rare and purer crown
1 the wreathed myrtle of the marriage mom.
bat is rare and pure is of our owu ;
elements mix gladly into Joy :
chiefly Love is our own atmosphere,
chiefly those who love our pensioners
ain for where unsullied Love.remains
I FaSrie consecrate iu festal strains.
e cnrtain fell on the first act as Ariel
led speaking. Again rising, the scene
d had changed. The gray castle im-
ately fronted the audience, its buttresses
ning in the perfect moonlight; the
languid orb itself divided by the dark
of a tower. The many windows shone
with the gleam inside that seemed
r to pour through tlie very stonework ;
)n the ground floor especially, the radi-
^as as if sun-lamps blazed within,
amidst the blaze, scarcely softened by
uter silver shine, rose the exciting^ ex-
iting burden of an exquisite dance meas-
brilliant, almost delirious; albeit dis-
!-clouded, as it issued from anotlier
behind the stage. The long straight
3 of moon-bathed lindens to which the
5-whirIwind floated, parted on either
, and left a smooth expanse of lawn
white heaving like a moon-kissed sea,
IS soon as the measure had passed into
:lad refrain, two little Loves struck
the lime avenues to the lawn, directly
e the ball-room. I call them Loves,
hey were anything but Oupids, for they
mystical little creatures enough, and
le prevailing moonlight showed like
bright birds of bl ashing plumage, as they
each carried a roseate torch of tinted flame
that made their small bodies look much Hko
flame themselves. They were no othen
than Josephine and my own StarwoocT, bat
it would have been impossible to reoogiiz
them, unprepared. As they stood they
Eaused an instant, and then flung the torchei
igh into the air against the side of the cat-
tle ; and as the rose-flamo kissed the moon*
beams upon the walls, it was extingnished,
but the whole building burst into an illaini-
nation, entirely of silver lamps ; calm, not
corruscant; translucent, streaming; itselt
like concentrated moonshine, or the liglit ot
the very lilies. And with the light that
drank up into itself tlie rose-radiance ; our
Ariel with tlie silvered hedge, the lilies, the
shine, the shimmer, swelled upon the vision
in softest swiftness ; and Ariel leaning opon
his nest seemed listening to the dance sym^
phonies afar.
Soon a great shout arose, no elfin call,
but a cry of wonder-stricken earthlingB.
And then the hall front opened, a massy
portal that rolled back, and out of the ball-
room amidst the diminishing dance-song,
poured the dancers upon the lawn in ranks,
their fluttering airy dresses passing into the
silver-light like clouds. And as they stream-
ed forth, there broke a delicate peal of
laughter in response to the wondering shout,
accompanied by the top-notes of the violins,
vividly piano ; then Aiiel arose, and himself
addressed the liiultitude. 8harp sweet notes
in unison, intermitted this time with his
words, but ceased when he turned to his
fairy troop, and incited them to do homage
to tlie name of Love. Nor do I even essay
to describe our feats subsequently, which
might in their relation tend to deteriorate
from the conviction that the illustrated mu-
sic was all in all, not their companion, but
their element and creator.
Except that in the last scene, after ex-
hibiting every kind of charm that ^n 'x-
exist with scenic transition ; the portraits
of the father and mother in whose honor
the Fairydom had* united, appeared framed
in an archway of lilies with tlieir leaves of
silver, painted with . such skill that the
imagery almost issued froiu the canvas : and
while Titania and Oberon supported the
lustrous framework on either hand, them-
selves all shiyering with the silver radiance,
on either hand to form a vista from which
the gazers caught th6 picture, rose trees of
giant harebells, all silver white as if veined
with moonshine, and the attendant iairies
springing winged from their roots, shook
them until the tremulous silver shudder was
as it were itself a sound ^for as they quiv-
ered, or . seemed to quiver, did the final
chorus in praise of wedded Loye, rise chime
upon chime from the fairy yoices, and th%
186
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
** All that's bright must fade.^ Tliis pas-
ftioDate proverb is trite and trayestied
enough, bnt d either in its interpretation of
necessity irrelevant or grotesque. I do not
envy those who would strangle melancholy
as it is born into the soul^ nnd again to
quote, though from a source far higher and
less investigated " there are woes, ill bar-
tered for the garishncss of joy." Such
troubles we may not christen in the name
of sorrow ; for sorrow concerns our per-
sonality, and in these we agonize for others,
not a thought of self intrudes ; we only feel
and know that we can do nothing, and are
silent
At this distance of time, with the mists
of boyish inexperience upon my memory of
myself, I can only advert to the issues of
that evening as they appeared. As they
are, they can only be read where all things
tell, where nothing that has happened shall
be in vain ; where mystery is eternal light.
How strangely I recall the smothered sound,
the long-repressed shout of rapture, that
soared and pierced through the fallen and
folded curtain! the eminent oblivion of
everything but him for whom it was uttered,
or rather, kept back. For the music be-
witched them still, and they could no more
realize their position in front, even among
the garlanded tiers, than we behind, stum-
bling into regions of lampless chaos.
I felt I must faint if I could not retreat,
and as instinctively, I had sought for Maria's
band ; I found it and it saved me, for though
I could not hear her speak I knew she was
leading me away. I had closed my eyes,
and when I opened them we were together
again in the little dressing-room that had
been devoted to us alone, and in which we
had robed and waited.
"Oh Carlinol" said Maria, "I hope no
one is coming, for I feel I must cry."
" Do not, pray I" I cried, for her paleness
frightened me, " but let me help you to un-
dress. I can do that, though I c^uld not
dress you, as the Ohevalier seemed to
think."
For the Ohevalier had Slily entered before-
hand, and had himself invested her with the
glittering costume. I was still in a dream
of those elfin hands as they had sleeked the
plumes and soothed the spangled undula-
tions of the scarf, and I could not bear her
to be denuded of them, they had become so
natural now. I had stripped off my own
roseate mantle, and all the rest, in a mo-
ment ; and had my own coat on before she
had moved from the chair into which she
had lluug herself, or 1 had considered what
was to be done next. I was running my
fingers through my hair, somewhat dis-
traught in fancy, when some one knocked
at the door. 1 went to it, and beheld, as I
expected, our Ariel ; unarieliaed yet, except
that he had doffed his wings.
" Is she tired ?" he whispered softly "ij
she very tired ?" and without even looking
at me he passed in, and stood before her.
"Thank you for all your goodness!" skid
he, in the tenderest of all his voices, no
longer cold, but as if fanned by the same
fire that had scorched his delicate cheek t^
a hectic like the rose fresh open to the son.
** And you. Sir, oh you !" Maria exclaimed
with enthusiasm, lifting her eyes from all
that cloud of hair, as twin starbeams from
the dark of night" Oh your music ! your
music ! it is of all that is the most divine,
and nothing ever has been or shall be to ex-
cel it. It breaks the heart with beauty ; it
is for the soul that seeks and comprehends
it, all in all. And will you not, as yod evei.
promised, reform the Drama?"
"If it yet remains to me, after all ii
known. That I cannot yet discern infant
germ of all my Art's dread children ! in-
spiration demands thee only !" He checked
hhnself, but as naturally as if no deep insaf-
ferable sentiment had imbued his words ;
his caressing calm returned. "I did not
come for a compliment ; I came to help yoii.
Also to bring y'ou some pretty ice, made in
a mould like a little bird in a little nest^
but I will not give it you now, because you
are too warm." He was smiling now, as be
glanced downwards at the crystal plate he
held.
" I am not warm," she answered very in-
differently, still with grateful intention,
"and I should like some ice better than
anything, if you are so kind as to give it
?
\
me.
" Let me feed you, then 1" was his sweet
reply, and she made no resistance. And he
fed her, spoonful by spoonful presenting
her with morsels so fairy, that I felt he pro-
longed the opportunity vaguely, and almost
wondered why. Before it was over another
knock came, very impatient for so cool a
hand, as it was that of Anastaso himself.
However, there was no exhilaration of man-
ner on his part; one should not have thought
he had just been playing the violin.
" They are all inquiring for you, Sir," he
said, very respectfully, to Seraphael ; " your
name is calling through and through the
theatre."
" I dare say," replied the Ohevalier, light-
ly, daringly ; but he made no show of mov-
ing, though Maria had finished the ice-bird,
and last straw of the nest. Then Anastase
approached. " That weight of hair will tire
you ; let me fasten it up for you, Maria, and
then we need detain no one, for Oarl, I see,
is ready." A change came upon the Ohev-
alier, as if ice had passed upon his cheek,
he paled, he turned proud to the very top-
most steep of his shadeless brow, he laughed
coldly, but airily. " Oh, if that is it, and
you Yraut to get rid of us, Oarl and I will
go. Com^^ Oax\omtti^iQ?c n?^ w^ \i^\\v of
CMARLE8 AUOHESTER.
IfTi
Q8 m the way ; but I will say, it is the first
time any one ever dared to interfere be-
tween the queen and her choaeu consort.'*
*' It would be impossible," said Anastase,
with still politeness, " that yon should be in
the way, that is our case indeed ; but Maria,
as Maria^ would certainly not detain you."
" Maria, as Maria, would have said, you
are too good. Sir, to notice the least of your
servants, too good to have come and stayed,
biit,'* she added, looking at Anastase with
her most enchanting sweetness, a smile like
love itself, "^ewill always have it, that I
am content he should do everything for
me." I was astonished, for nothing, except
the seasonable excitement, could have drawn
forth such demonstration from her before
the Chevalier. He was not looking at her ;
he looked at me, vividly : I could not bear
his eyes, simultaneously with Maria's words
he had so allured my own, though I longed
to gaze away.
^^ Come !" ^he continued, holding his hand
to me *'Oome, Oarlomeinl" I took his
hand, he grasped me as if those elfin fingers
were charged with lightning, I shook and
trembled, even outwardly, but he drew me
on with that convulsive pressur^, never
heeding, and holding his head so high, that
the curls fell backwards from the forehead.
We passed to the stage ; he led me behind
the stage, deserted, dim, to another door
behind that opened by waving drapery to
the garden-land, he led me in the air round
the outside of the temporary theatre to the
main front of the house, to the entrance
through the hall, swiftly, silently up the
stairs into the corridor, and so to a chamber
I had never known nor entered. I saw no-
thing that was in the room, and generally 1
see everything. I believe there were books ;
I feel there was an organ, and I heard it a
long tifue afterwards ; but I was only con-
scious this night that then, I was with him,
shut up and closed together, with his awful
presence, in the travail of presentiment.
He had placed me on a seat, and he sate
by me, still holding my hand, but his own
was now relaxed and soft, the fingei*s cold
as if benumbed.
"Oarlomein," he said, "I have always
loved you, as you know ; but I little thought
it would be for this."
"How, Sir? why? I am frightened, for
you look so strange, and speak so strangely,
and I feel as if I were going to die."
** I wish we both were 1 but do not be
frightened ^ah 1 that is only excitement, my
darling; you will let me call you so to-
night."
"Let you, dear, dearest Sir 1 You have
always been my darling ; but . am too weak
and young to be of any use to you, and that
is why I wish to die."
'* My child, if thou wert strong and manly,
how could I confide in thee? Yet, God tor-
give me I if I show this little one too muoli
too early."
His eyes wore here an ezpr^bSsion so
divine, so little earthly, that I turned away,
still folding his hand which I bathed in tears
that fell shiveringly from ray dull heart like
rain from a sultry sky. u was the tone
that pierced me, for I knew not what he
meant, or only had a dream of perceiving
how miuih,
" Sir, yon could not tell me too much.
You have taught me all I know already, and
I don't intend ever to learn of anybody else."
" My child, it is God who taught thee ; it
is something thou hast to teach fM now."
"Sir, is it anything about myself?" I
chose to say so, but did not think it.
" No, about some one those eyes of thine
do love to watch and wait on, so that some-
times I am almost jealous of thine eyes!
But it cannot be a hardened jealousy while
they are so baby-kind."
"It is Maria then, Sir, of course. But
they are not babies, my eyes I mean ; for
they know all about her. and so do X. I
know why sometimes she seems looking
through us instead of at us ; it is because
she is seeing other eyes in her soul, and our
eves are only just eyes to her and nothing
else ; you know what I mean, Sir ?"
I said all this because I had an instinctive
dread of his self-betrayal beyond what was
needed ; alas ! I had not even curiosity left
But I was mistaken in him, so far. He
leaned forwards, stroked my hair and kissed
it.
" Whose eyes, then, Oarlomein ?"
"My master Anastase is that person
whose eyes I mean."
"Impossible! but I was wrong to ask
thee; assuredly thou art an infant, and
couldst even make me smile. That is a fancy,
only. Not Anastase, my child! any one
but Anastase."
What anguish curled beneath those coax-
ing tones !
"Sir, I know nothing about it, except
that it is true. But that it is true I do
know, for Maria told me so herself; and
they will be married as soon as she is edu-
cated." I trembled as I spoke in sore dis-
ftiay, for the truth was borne to me that
moment in a fiash of misery, and all I could
feel was what 1 was fool enough to say
" Oh ! that I were Maria." He turned to
me in an instant; made a sort of motion
with both his arms like wings, having re-
leased the hand I held. I looked up. now
and saw that a more awful paleness, a.vir*
gin shadow appalling as that of death had
fixed his features. 1 threw myself into his
arms: he was very still, mute, all gentle-
ness. I kissed the glistening dress, the
spangled sleeves ; he moved not, murmured
not. At last my tears would flow, tliey
rushed^ ^ll\ft^ ^iaidftd\ 1 .1\a1 ^^ ^1 ^Vsa
128
CHARLES AUCHESTER.
midflfc of tbem, and heard that iiy own
oioe, child as I was, feh follow through
my hot lips.
** Oh, let my heart hurst ? do let me
break my heart V^ I sobbed, and a shiver
seemed to spread from my frame to his;
he brought me closer to his breast, and
bowed his soft cnrls till ihey were wet with
my wild weeping through and through. It
lieaved not no passion swelled the pulses
of that heart, still he shivered as if his
breath were passing. In many many min-
utes, I heard his voice. It was a voice all
tremble, like a harp-string jarred and break-
ing. " OarlomeinI you will ever be dearer
to me than I can say from this night ; for
you have seen sorrow no man should have
seen, and no woman could have suffered.
You know what I wished ^yet perhaps not
yet, how should you? Oarloraein, when
you become a man I hope you will love me
as you do now, when you know what I do
feel, what I do wish. May you never de-
spise suSerinff, for my sake ! May you never
suffer as I do ! You only could. I know
no one else poor child ! God take you first,
before you suffer so. You see the worst of
it is, Carlomein, that we need not have suf-
fered at all, if I had only known it from
the beginning. But it is very strange, is it
uot ?^' He spoke as if inviting me to ques-
tion him.
" What, dearest Sir V
"That she should not love me. How
could she help it ?"
Of all his words, few as they were in-
deed, these touched me most. I felt indeed,
bow could she help it ? But I was, child as
I was, too wise to say so.
" You roe. Sir, she could not help loving
Anastase !"
** Nor could I help loving her, nor can I ;
but the sorrow is Carlomein, that neither on
earth nor in heaven will she w^ish to be
mine."
'* Sir ! In heaven it won't matter whether
she married Anastase or not, for if she were
perfect here she could but love you, while
there she wiU be perfect and will understand
you. Sir."
" Sweet religion, if true. Sweet pliiloso-
phy false as pleasant."
" But Sir, you will not be unhappy, be-
cause it is of no use, and besides she will
find it out, and you would not like that.
And you will not break your heart. Sir, be-
cause of music."
"I should never break my heart, Oarl-
chen, under any earthly circumstances."
He emiled upon me indifferently; a pure
disdain chiselled every feature in that atti-
tude. " There is now no more to be said.
I need scarcely say, my child, never speak
of this, but I will command you to forget it
A9 1 forget have already forgotten."
ffe rose, aad passed h is hand with weary
grace over the cuiris that had fallen for*
wards, and then he took me by the band
and we went out together, I knew not
whither.
I returned that night widi my brother
and sister to Cecilia. I never had takes
part in a scene so brilliant as the conclndiug
banquet, which was in the open air, and
under shade lamp-fruited; but I knew bo-
thmg that happened to me was cold all
over, and for a time at least, laid aside my
very consciousness. Millicent was positives
ly alarmed by my paleness, which she attrib-
uted, neither wrongly, to excitement ; and
it was in consequence of her suspicion that
we retired very early.
We met no one, having bowed to the
king and queen of the night's festival, nor
did I behold the Chevalier except in the
distance as he glided from table to table, to
watch that all should fare well at them,
though he never sat himself. Maria was
seated by Anastase. I noticed them, but ,
did not gaze upon them-^their aspect sicic*
ened me. It was well that Millicent be-
lieved me ill, for I was thus not obliged to
speak, and she and Davy had it all to them-
selves on the road.
Tliat time, when she got me to bed, I be-
came strangely affected in a fashion of my
own ; and not sleeping at all, was compelled
to remain there day after day, for a week,
not having the most shadowy notion of that
which was mv affection. It was oonve-
nient that Davy knew a great deal aboot
such suffering on his own account, or I might
have been severely tampered with. He
would not send for a doctor, as he under*
stood what was the matter with me ; and
presently I got right. In fact, my nerves,
ever in my way, were asserting themselves
furiously ; and as I needed no physic, 1
took none, but trusted Davy and kept quiet.
I heard, upon my resuscitation, that Ma-
ria, Anastase, and Delemann, had all been
to inquire after me, and, oh strange sweet-
ness ! also the Chevalier. It was some sat-
isfaction when Millicent said he was looking
very well, and had talked to her for half an
hour. This news tended most to my resto-
ration of anything; and it was not ten days
before I returned to school, my people hav-
ing left the village the same morning only.
I saw as much of Anastase as before, now ;
but I felt as if till now I had never known
him, nor of how infinite importance a finite
creature may become, under certain circum-
stances. In a day or two, I had worked up
to the maiJcsufiiciently to permit myself a
breath of leisure, and towards the after-
noon I went after Marid to accompany her
home. This she permitted, but I knew An-
astase would be with her in the evening,
and refujed her invitation to enter, for I felt
I could not bear to see them together jni^t
\t\\eti. 1 ft\i\x^Xfe^\i^x ^stitove to *ake a
OHARLES AUOHSSTEB.
m
^plk with me instead. She hesitated, on
account of her preparation for the morrow,
bat when I reminded her that Anastase de-
sired her to walk abroad daily, she assent-
ed, " Floriraond would be pleased."
Up the green sides of the hill we wander-
ed, and again into the valley. It was a mild
day, with no rude wind to break the silken
thread of conversation, and I was mad to
talk to her. I could hardly tell how to be-
gin, thongh I knew what I wanted to find
out well enough ; but I need not have been
afraid, abe was singularly ux^uspicious.
" So Carl," she began herself, " the Chev-
alier took you mto Lis room : his very room
"where he writes, was it ?"
"I don't know,"- I said, "whether he
writes there. I should think he would
write anywhere ; but it was stuffed full of
lKoks, and had an organ."
.*' A large organ ?"
Heaven help and pardou me I I had not
eeen anything in the room, specifically ; but
I drew upon my imagination, usually a live-
ly spring enough.
^^ Oh yes ; a very large organ with beau-
tiful carving about it, cherubs above with
their wings spread, I believe: and the
books bound exquisitely, and set in cabi-
nets."
" What sort of furniture ?"
" I don't know. Oh 1 I think it was dark
red, and very rich lookiiig ; embroidered
cloths too, upon the tables and sofas, but
reially I may be mistaken, because you see,
I waa not looking at them."
" No, I should think not. Carnation is his
fiivorite color, you know : he told me so."
* He tells you everything, I think, Maria."
^^ Yes, of course he does ; just as one talks
to a little child that asks for stories."
" That is Yiot the reason it cannot be ;
besides, he always talks about himself to
you, and one never talks about one's self to
children."
" Do not you ? But Oarl, he chiefly talks
to me about music."
^^ And for that, is he not himself music ?
But Maria, I call telling you his favorite co-
lor, talking about himself, as much as if he
told you he had a headache."
" Well Carl, he did come to me when he
had scratched his finger, and ask me to tie
it up."
^^And did you! Wa9 that since ike even-
ing
v
" It was the day before yesterday. He
vras going to play somewhere. But Carl,
we shall not hear him play again."
"What do you mean ?"
" I mean not until next ye^r. He is going
to travel."
"To travel agoing away ^4ifere who
with ?" I was stupid.
" He told us all so the other day, just be-
fire you returned) Carl. He went through
all the class-rooms to bid farewell. I was
in the second singing-room with Spoda and
two or three others. He spoke to Spoda :
^Have you any commands for Italy any
part of Italy ? lam going unexpectedly, or
we would have had a concert first, but now
we must wait until May for our concert.*
Spoda behaved very well, and exhibited no
surprise, only showered forth his confetti
speeches about parting. Then the Chev-
alier bowed to us who were there, and said,
' My heart will be half here ; and I shall
hope to find Cecilia upon the selfsame lull,
not a stone wanting.' And then he sigh*
ed, but otherwise he looked exceedingly
happy. And who do you think ia gomg
with him?"
" His father, I should imagine "
" No ; old Aronach, and your little friend,
who Carl I suspect makes a sort of. Chev-
alier of you, from what I hear."
" Yes ; he is very fond of me. But, Ma
ria, what is he going away for 7 Is he going
to be married ?"
She smiled with her own peculiar ex-
pression, wayward, yet warm.
" Oh dear no! nothing of that kind, I am
sure. I cannot fancy the Chevalier in love,
even, ^it seems most absurd."
" I do not think that He is too loveable
not to be loved."
" And that is just why he never will love
to marry, I mean until he has tried
everything else, and pleased himself in every
manner."
" Maria, how do you know ? and do yop
think he will marry one day ?"
" Carl, I believe there is not anything he
will not do ; and yet he will be happy, very
happy, oniy not as he expects. I am certain
the Chevalier thinks he should find as much
in love as in music, ^for himself, I mean
now, I believe it would be nothing to him,
in comparison." _
I could scarcely contain myself, I so sin-
cerely felt that she was mistaken, but I se-
riously resolved to humor her, lest I should
say too much, or she should say too little.
" Oh of course. But I don't think he
would expect to find more in love, because
he knows how he is loved,"
" Not Jiow Carl, only how much."
" But Maria, I fancy he wants as much
love as music, and that is plenty."
" But Carl, he makes the music, and we
love him, in it, just as we love God in His
works, and I cannot conceive of any love
being acceptable to him when it infringed
his right as supreme."
" You mean that he is proud."
" So proud that if love came to him with-
c nt music, I don't think he would take any
notice of it."
I lelt as surely as she did, sure of that
singular pride, but also that it was not a
fallen pride and tliat she could read it not
IM
CHARLES AU0HE8TER.
^ Ton mean Maria, that f yon and I were
not mnsical, supposing sno i a thing to be
possible, he wonld not like us nor treat us
as he does now ?**
" I know he wonld not."
** But then it wonld be impossible for ns
to be as we are if we were changed as to
mnsic, and we conld not love as we do."
" I don^t think that has anything to do
with it, and indeed I am sure not. You see
Carl, yon make me speak to yon openly. I
have never done so before, and I shonld not
bnt that yon force me to it ^not that J dis-
like to speak of it, for I think of nothing
eke ; ^bnt that it might be tronblesome."
Conld it be that she was abont in any
sense to open her heart ? Mine felt as if it
had collapsed, and conld never expand
again ; but I was very rejoiced, for many
reasons.
^* Oh Maria ! if I conld hoar yon talk all
day about your own feelings, I should know
really that yon cared to be my friend, bnt I
oonld not ask yon to do so nor wish it, un-
less yon did."
" Carl, if yon were not younger than I am
I shonld hesitate and still more if where
I came from we did not become grown up
BO fast, that our lives seem too quick too
bright I Oh I I have often thought so and
shall think so again ^but I will not now,
because I intend to be very happy. Yon
know Carl yon cannot understand though
you m&y feel, what I feel when I think of
florimond. And it is possible you think
him higher than I do. For yon do him jus-
tice now."
"I suppose I do I am very certain that
I adore his playing."
" I do not car^for his playing or scarce-
ly. And yet I am aware that it is the
playing of a master, of a musician ; and I am
proud to say so still I would rather be that
violin than hear it, and endure the sweet
anguish he pours into it than be as I am, so
far more divided from him than it is."
"Maria!"
" But Florimond does not mind my feel-
ing this, or I should not say it on the con-
trary he feels the same, and when first
Heaven made him love me he felt it even
then."
"Was that long ago, Maria?"
" It is beginning to be a long time, for it
was in the summer that I was twelve, be-
fore my father died. I was in France that
summer and very miserable, working hard
and seeming to do nothing, for my father,
rest his soul I was very severe with me, and
petted Josephine ; ^for which I thank and
praise him, and love her all the better. We
,]rere twenty miles from Paris, and lodged
in a cottage whose roof was all ruins ; but
it was a dry year and no harm came be-
s/dea we had been brought up like gipsies
the day I practise^l my voice and studied
Italian or German ^then prepared ear din*
ner which we ate under a tree in the gar-
den, Josephine and I, though she was al-
most a baby then, and slept half her time.
One noon she was asleep upon the grass
and I was playing with the flowers she had
plucked, with no sabots on, for I was very
warm ^when I heard a step, and peeped
behind that tree. I saw a boy or as 1
thought him, a very wonderfnl man, pot-
ting aside the boughs to look upon me
You have told me Carl, how yon felt wheo
you first saw the Chevalier ^well, it was a
little as I felt when I saw that face, only in-
stead of looking on as yon did, I was
obliged to look away and hide my eyes
with my hand. He was to my sight more
beautiful than anything I had ever seen or
dreamed about ^and therefore I could not
look upon him, for I know I was not thioji-
ing about myself. Still I felt sure he was
coming to speak to me, and so he did bat
not for a long time, for he stepped round
the tree, and sat down upon the turf just
near me and played with the sabots and t\k
wild thyme I had played with, and present-
ly put out his hand to stroke Josephine's
hair as it lay in my lap. I never thought
of being angry, or of wondering at him
even, for the longer I had him near me the
better ; though I was rather frightened lest
my father should return but at last he did
speak and when once he began there was
not soon an end. We talked of all things.
I can remember nothing, but 1 do know
this ; that we never spoke of music except
that I told how I passed ray time, and how
my father taught me. He went away be-
fore Josephine awoke, and nobody knew he
had come ; bnt I returned the next day to
the place where I had seen him, and again
I found him there. In that country one
could do such things, and it was the hour
that my father was absent for he had
other pupils at the honses of the inhabitants
several miles about, and we lived frugally
in order that he might give us all advan-
tages when we should be old enough. I
saw Florimond every day for a week and
then for a week he never came. That w-eek
I was taken ill, I could not help it ; I was
too young to hide it ; and when he came
again I told him I should have died if he
had stayed away. And then he said that
he loved me, but that he was going a jour-
ney and should not for a long time see m
again, but that I was never, never to forget
him ; and he gave me a bit of his hair, soft-
er than any curl. I gave him too my
mother's ring, that I had always kept warm
in my bosom ; and I never even lamented
that he was departing; because I knewl
should be his for ever. He had a long long
. ^-g,.-., ^^ ..-^ ^.^ .talk of feelings, and fears, and mysteri*}*
Mad were sometimsfi taken for them. In \ol\.\ie^ONw^cil\v^t!.NQsiwid earth ofdorj
0HARLE8 AUOHESTER.
181
and bliss of hope aad ecstasy we poured
oat onr hearts together and did not even
Iroable oarselves to say we U)ved. I think
he was there three honrs, but I sent him
away myself Justin time to be qnite ready
and not at all in a tremble, for my father^s
copper. Papa came home by sunset, but
much later than usual ; and I tried hard to
wake up, but was as a wanderer in sleep ; un-
til he took from his pocket a parcel and gave
It me to open. He was in great good hu-
mor to-night for he had heard of my broth-
er's Bucoess at the Academic, but it was
not my brother who sent the parcel, which
contained two tickets for a grand concert in
Paris the next morning, and a little anony-
mous billet to beg that we would go ; I and
my father.
^^ My father was much flattered, and still
more because there was a handful of gold
te pay the expenses of our journey. This
settled the matter we did go in the dili-
gence that night; ^I took my best frock
and gloves, and we slept at a grand hotel
tor once in our lives, and supped there, and
breakfasted the next morning before setting
out for the concert. When I walked into
the street with my father I envied the
ladies their bonnets, for I had not even my
mantilla, it was too shabby; and I wore
alone a wreath of ivy that I had gathered
from under that very tree at home, and I
was thinking too seriously of one only per-
son to wish to see, or to be seen. We went
into the very best places, but! thoug^ as
I sat down how I must have changed in a
short time ; for a little while before I would
have almost sold myself to go to this same
concert, and now I did not care. There
was a grand vocal trio first, and then a fan-
tasia for the harp, and then a tenor solo.
But next in the programme came one of
Eesca^s solos for the violin, and when I
saw the violinist come up into the front
I fell backwards, and should have swoon-
ed had he not begun to play. His tones
sustained me drew me upwards it was
Florimond my Florimond mine then as
n
now.
" I thought it would turn out so," I ex-
claimed, rudely enough ; ^^ but', Maria, when
you said music had nothing to do with love,
1 think you were mistaken, or that you mis-
understood yourself, for though I can't ex-
press it I am sure that our being musical
makes a great difference in the way we feel,
and that though we don't allude to it, it
will go through everything, and make us
what we are."
" Perhaps you are right, and Oarl, I should
dot like to contradict you. But I know I
should have loved Florimond if he had not
oeen a musician if he had been a shoema-
ker, for instance."
^^ Yes, because he still might have been
toaiiiCal and, if the nj'*sic had ramtincd
within him it might have influenced his
feelings even more than it does now."
" Carl, but I don't love in that way all
those who are musical, therefore, why must
it be the music that makes me love him f
What will you say to me now when I tell
yon I cannot imagine wishing to marry the
Chevalier."
" Maria I"
*^ Carl, I could not ^it would abase the
power of worship in my soul ^it would
cloud my idea of heaven ^it would crush
all my life within me. I should be trans-
ported into a place where the water was all
light, and I oould not drink the air was all
fire to wither me. I should flee from my-
self in Him, and in fleeing, die."
Her strange words, so unlike her youth,
consumed my doubts as she pronounced
them. I shuddered inwardly, but strove to
keep serene. ^* Maria, that may be because
you had loved when yon saw him, and it
would have been impossible for yon to be
inconstant."
^^ Carlino, no. Tou and I are talking of
droll things for a girl and a boy ; but I would
rather you knew me well, because perhaps
it will help you when you grow up to un-
derstand some lady better than you would
if I did not speak so openly. Under no cir-
cumstances could I have loved him, as to
wish to belong to him in that sense. For
Carl, though it might have been inconstant,
it would not have been unfaithful to myself
if I had seen and loved him bettor than
Florimond ^it might have been that I had
not before found out what I ought to sub-
mit my soul to, nor could I have helped it ;
such things, have happened to many, I dare
say ^to many natures, but not to mine ; if I
feel once, it is entirely, and for always, and
I cannot think how it is that so few women,
even of my own race, are so unfixed about
their feelings and have so many fancies. I
sometimes believe there is a reason for my
being different, which, if it is true, will make
him sadder than the saddest ^you can guess
what I mean ?"
^^ Tes Maria, but I know there is nothing
in it, it is what my mother would call a
morbid presentiment, and I wish she could
talk to yuu about it. I should think there
might be truth in it, but that it always
proves false. My sister had it once, so had
my dear brother, Mr. Davy. I don't be-
lieve people have it when they are really
going to die."
**lt is not a morbid presentiment, for
morbid means diseased, and I am sure J am
not diseased ; but my idea is that people
who form so fast cannot live long. I am
only fifteen, and I feel as if I had lived
longer than anybody I know."
'' Then," said I, laughing, for I felt it was
wrong |o permit her mach range hert, ^1
CHABLES AUCHESTEE.
" H J, Carl, Too are not formed ^you are
like an infant your heart tells itself out
one may count its beats, and sing songs to
them, as Florimond says, but your brain
keeps you back, though it is itself so for-
ward."
I was utterly puzzled. " I don^t under-
stand, Maria."
^*But you will some time. Your brain
is burning ^busy always dreaming, and
working. The dreams of the brain are often
tliose which play through the slumbers of
the heart If your heart even awoke, your
brain would still have the upper hand, and
would keep down ^keep back, your heart.
Ther^ is no fear for you, Carl, passionate as
you are."
^^ Well, Maria, I must confess it frightens
me a little when you talk so ; firat, because
you are so young yourself; and, secondly,
because, if it is all true, how much you must
know ^you must know almost mo.re than
you feel ; it is too much for a girl to know,
or a boy either, and I would rather know
nothing than so very much."
^' OarL all that I know I get from my
heart i am really excessively ignorant, and
can teach and tell of nothing in the world
but love. That is my life, and mj faith,
and when my heart is bathing in the love
that is my own on earth, all earth seems to
sink beneath my feet, and I tremble as if
raised to heaven. I feel as if God were be-
hind my joy, and as if it must be more than
every other knowledge to make me feel so.
And when I sing it is the same the music
wraps up the love ^I feel it more and more."
"But, Maria, you are so awfully musical."
"Carl, till I knew Florimond I never
really sang ^I practised, it is true, and was
very sick of failure, but tkefn my voice grew
clear and strong, and I found what it was
meant for ; therefore I cannot be so musical
as you are. And I revere you for it Carl,
and prophesy of you such performances that
jou can never excel them, however much
you excel."
" Why, Maria, how we used to talk about
music together I"
" I did not know you so well then, Carl ;
but do you suppose that music, in one sense,
is not all to me ? I sometimes think when
women try to rise too high, either in their
deeds or their desires, that the Spirit which
bade them so rise sinks back again beneath
Jbhe weakness of their earthly constitution,
and never appeals again or else that the
Spirit being too strong, does away with the
mortal altogether they die, or rather they
live again."
" Do jrou ever talk in this strange manner
to Anastose, Maria? I mean do you tell
him you love him better than music ?"
" He knows of himself, not but that I hav
often told him ; but you may im^gine how
/ Jove him, Oarl^ when I tell you he lo?(is
Music better than me, and yet I wonld hsTi
it so ; chiefly for one reason."
** What is that?"
** Tliat if I am taken from him ho wul
still have something to live tor, until we
meet again."
It is a strange truth that I was nnappalled
and scarcely touched by these pathetic hints
of hers in fact, looking at her then, it wu
as impossible to associate -with her radiant
beauty any idea of death, as for any but the
most tasteless moralist to attach it to a new-
blown rose-flower with stainless petals. Il
was a day also of the most perfect weather,
and the suggestion to my mind was, that
neither the day nor she neither the bril-
liant vault above, nor those transparent
eyes, could ever *' change or pass." I was
occupied besides in reflecting upon the mys-
tery that divided the two souls I felt ought
never to have been separated, even thought
of, apart I did not know then how far she
was right in her mystical assertion that the
premature fulness of the brain maintaloi
the heart's first'^ slumber^ in Its- longest un*
broken rest. ; - ^
^ * . 1
t V"
p^^
I LEFT her atTSBr-hsendl'etumecito
Oecilia feeling very lonely, and as if I onght
to be very miserable, but I could not con-
tinue it ; for I was, instead of recalling her
words, in a mood to recall those of Clara in
our parting conversation. The same age as
Maria, with no less power in her heavenly
maidenhood, she came upon me as if I had
seen them together, and watched the strange
calm distance of those unclouded eyes next
the transparent fervors of Maria's soul
that soul in its self-betrayal so wildly beauti-
ful, so undone with its own emotion. Clara
I remembered as one not to be approached
or reached but by fathoming her crystal in-
tellect, and even then it appeared to me
that there was more passion in her enshrin-
ing stillness, than in anything but the musio
that claimed and owned her. But Maria
had seemed on fire as she had spoken, and
even wheii she spoke not she passed into
the very heart by sympathy abounding,
summer-like. I little thought how soon, io
that respect, her change wonld come.
There was one too, whom I saw not agaifc
until that change. Over this leaf of my his'
tory I can only glance, for it would be as
sheet of light unrelieved by any shade or
pencilling suflSoe it to sny, that day by day
m morning's golden dream, at dream-likt
afternoon, I studied and soared. I wiia
after the Chevalier had left, and the excite
raent of his possible presence had oeaseil
bWssWAj \\a^v^ tV5a.\v\^ft.\X'i ui uiUoU the sajw
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
188
tate as when I lived with Aronach ; cer-
tainly I did not expand, as Maria might
liave said. The advent of the Chevalier,
vrhich was as a king's visit, being delayed
until the spring, I had left off hoping he
might appear any fine morning, and my
initiation " by trance" went on apace ; I
"was utterly nndistorbed.
At Christmas .we had a concert* a oon-
csert worthy of the name and with all
the Christmas heartedness of Germany we
dressed oar beloved hall with its evergreens
and streamers. Besides that overture the
*^ Mer de Glace," which even nnder an in-
ferior condootor wonld make its way, was
one of our interpretations, and it appeared
to have some effect npon the whole crew
that was not very material ; as nothing
wonld do in our after sledging party, hot
that all the instruments should be carried
also and an attempt made to refrigerate the
Ice-movement over again, by performing it
in the frosty air, npon the frost-spelled
water. I was to have gone to England this
year as arranged, but the old-fashioned
fmrap, a very hard winter, had laid in great
stores of snow, with great raving winds;
and my mother took fright at the idea of
my crossing the water ; besides ii^was agreed
that as Millicent and Davy had seen me so
lately, I could get on very well as I was
ontil June.
It was not snch a disappointment as it
ihould have been, for I knew that Clara had
gone to London, and that I could not have
seen her she was making mysterious pro-
gress according to Davy, but I could not get
out all I wanted, for I did not like to ask for
it There was something too in ray present
mode of life' exiling from all excitement ;
and it is difficult for me to look back and
believe it anything but the dream of fiction ;
still that is not strange, for fiction often
strikes us as more real than fact.
I had a small letter from Starwood about
this time :
" Dearest Carl," he wrote, as he always
spoke to me, in English. ^^I wish you
ooald see the Chevalier now, how well he
looks, and how he enjoys this beautiful
oounfry. We have been to see all the pic-
tures^ and the palaces, and all the theatres ;
wo have heard all the cathedral services,
and have climbed over all the mountains ;
for, Carl, we went also to Switzerland ; and
when I saw the Mer de Glace, I thought it
was like that music. Now we are in a villa
all marble, not white, but a soft pale gray
color, and there are orange trees upon the
grass. All about are green hills, and behind
them hills of blue, and the sky here is like
90 other oky, for it is always the same with-
out clouds, and yet as dark as our sky at
night, but yet at, the same time it is day,
and the sua is very clear. The moon and
tars are hig, hut there is something in tlu \
air tliat makes me aiways want to cry. ft
is melancholy, and a very quiet coantry ; it
seems quite dead after Germany, but then
we do live away from the towns.
^'The Chevalier is wriiing continually,
except when he is out ; and the Herr Aro^
nach is very good ^oes not notice me
mnch, which I like. His whole thoughts
are upon the Chevalier, I think, and no
wonder. Carl, I am getting on fast with
my studies, am learning Itahan," &c. There
was more in the little letter, but from such
a babe I could not expect the information I
wanted. Maria and her suite (as I always
caUed her brother Joseph and the little
Josephine) ha^ left Cecilia for Christmas
day, which they were to spend with some
acquaintance a tew leagues off, and a friend
too of Anostase, who indeed accompanied
them. On Christinas eve I was quite alone ;
for though I had received many invitations,
I had accepted none, and I went over to the
old place where I had lived with Aronach,
to see the illuminations in every house. It
was a chilly eifin time to me, but I got
through it, and sang about the angels in the
church next day.
To my miraculous astonishment, Maria
returned alone, long before Josephine and
her brother, and even without Anastase.
He, it appeared, had gone to Paris to hear a
new opera, and also to plav at several places
on the road. It was only five days after \
Christmas that she came and fetched me
from my own room, where I was shut in
practising, to her own home. When she
appeared rolled in furs, I was fain to suppose
her another than herself produced by the
oldest of all old gentlemen for my edifica-
tion, and I screamed aloud, for she had en-
tered without knocking, or I had not heard
her She would not speak to me then and
there, saving only to invite me ; and on the
road, which was lightened over with snow,
she scarcely spoke more; but, arrived on
that floor I was so fond of, and screened by
the winter hangings from the air, while the
soft warmth of the stove bade all idea of
winter make away, we sat down together
upon the sofa to talk. I inquired why she
had returned so soon ?
^^Carl," she said, smoothing down her
hair, and laying over my 'knees the furry
cloak, ^* I ain altering very much, I think,
or else I have become a woman too sudden-
ly. I don^t care about these things any
longer."
^'What things, Maria? fur mantles, or
hair so long that you can tread upon it ?"
^^ No, Carl. But I forget that I was not
talking to you yesterday, nor yet the day
before, nor for many days ; and I have been
dreaming more than ever since I saw you."
*' What about ?"
" Many unknown thln^ chieflY ^^^ ^'^'
u
CHARLES AUOUESTEB.
to be. Carl, I osed to lore Christmas, and
Easter, and St. John^s day ; now they are
all like so many cast-off children's pictores.
1 can have no im agnation, I am afraid ; or
else it is all drawn away somewhere else.
Do yon know, Carl, that I came away be-
cause I oonld not bear to stay with those
creatures after Florimond was gone. Flori-
mond is, like me, a dreamer too ; and much
as I nsed to wonder at his melancholy, it b
jast now qnite clear to me that nothing else
is worth while."
^^ Anastase melancholy f Well, so he is,
(cccept when he is playing ; but then I fan-
cied that was because he was so abstracted,
and so bound to music hand and foot, as
well as heart and soul."
" Very well, Carl, you are always right ;
but my melancholy, and such I beliere his
to be, is exquisite pleasure, too fine a joy to
breathe in, Carl. How people fame them-
selves about affairs that only last an hour,
and music and joy are forever."
^^ Tou have come back to music, Maria ;
if so, I am not sorry you went away."
" I never left it Carl, it left me ; but now
I know why ; it went to heaven to bring
me a gift out of its eternal treasure, and I
believe I have it. Carl I Carl I my fit of
folly has served me in good stead."
^^ Tou mean what we talked about before
you went, before the Chevalier went also."
" Yes, I meant what I said then ; but I
was very empty and in an idle frame. I
thought the last spark of music had passed
out of me, but there has come a flame from
it at last."
^ What do you mean ? and what has that
to do with your coming back and with your
being melancholy ? which I cannot believe
quite, Maria."
" Oh 1 Carl, I am very ignorant, and have
read no books, but I pretty sure it is said
somewhere that melancholy is but the shad-
ow of too much happiness, thrown by our
own spirits upon the sunshine side of life.
I was in that queer mood wlien I went to
Obertheil that if an angel had walked out
of the clouds I should not have taken the
trouble to watch him : Florimond was all
and enough. So is he still ; but listen, Carl.
On Christmas we were in the large room,
before the table, where the green moss glit-
tered beneath the children's tree, and there
were children of all sizes gazing at the lights.
They crowded so together that Florimond,
who was behind, and standing next to me,
said, '^ Come Maria, you have seen all this
before, shall we go up stairs together?"
And we did go out, silently, we were not
even missed. We went to the room which
Florimond had hired, for it was only a
friend's house, and Florimond is as proud as
fo/ne one who has not his light hair. The
J/t tie window waa full of stars; we heard
no Boaad as ire stood there except when the
\
icicles fell from the roof. The wiDd(.\T wu
open too, but I felt no cold for he held me
in his arms, and I sheltered him and lie me.
We watched the stars so long ad that thej
began to dance below before we spoke.
Then Florimond said that the stars often re-
minded him how little constancy there was
in anything said or done, for that they ever
shone upon that which was forgotten. And
I replied it was well that they did so, for
many things happened which had better be
forgotten, or something as unmeaning. He
said then, it was on that account we held
back from expressing, even remotely, what
we felt most. And I asked him whether it
might not rather be that music might main-
tain its privilege of expressing what it was
forbidden to pronounce or articulate other-
wise. Then he suggested that it was for*
bidden to an artist to exalt himself in his
craft, as he is so fond of saying, yon know,
except by means of it, when it asserts itself.
And then I demanded of him that he should
make it assert itself ; and after I had tor-
mented him a good while, he fetched out
his violin and played to me a song of the
stars.
*^ And in that wilderness of tone I seem-
ed to fall aaleep and dream, a dream I have
already* begun to follow up, and viU fulfil.
I have heard it said, Carl, . that sometimes
great players who are no authors, have given
ideas in their random moments to the great-
est writers, that these have reproduced at
leisure. I suppose, much as a painter takes
notions from the colored clouds and verdant
shadows, but I don't know. Florimond,
who is certainly no writer, has given me an
idea for a new musical poem, and what is
more strange I have half finished it, and
have the whole in my mind."
"Maria I have you actually been writ-
ing?" I sprang from the sofa quite wild,
though I merely forsaw some touching me-
mento in wordness lied, or scherzo for
one- voiced instrument; of a one-hearted
theme.
" I have not written a note, Carl that
remains to be done, and that is why I came
back so soon ; to be undisturbed and to learn
of you, for you know more of such things
than I do ; for instance, how to arrange a
score."
" Maria, you are not going to write in
score ? if so, pray wait until the Chevalier
comes back."
"Tlie Chevalier! as if I should ever
plague him about my writing. Besides, I
am most particularly anxious to finish i
before any one knows it is begun."
"But, Maria, what will you do I I never
heard of a woman writing in score exoept
for exercise, and how will you be pleased to
hear it never once ?"
^'^ A.V\\ vfft \\\\ \atfiN Jaout tliat whei it
CHARLES AUCIIESTEB.
185
** Maria, you look very evil evil as an
dlf, bat you are pale enough already what
if this work make you ill ?"
" Nothing ever makes us ill that we like
to do, only what we like to Lave. I ac-
knowledge, Carl, that it might make me ill
If this symphony were to be rehearsed, with
a fall band, before the Chevalier. But as
nothing of that kind can happen, I shall take
n^y own way."
"A symphony, Maria? The Chevalier
says, that the symphony is Uie highest style
of' music, and that none can even attempt it
but the most formed, as well as naturally
framed, musicians."
^* I should think I knew that, but it is not
in me to attempt any but the highest effect.
I would rather fail there, than succeed in an
inferior. The structure of the symphony is
quite clear to my brain, it always has been
so, for I believe I understand it naturally,
though I never knew why until now. Carl,
a wom'an has never yet dared anything of
the kind, and if I wait a few years longer I
must give it up entirely. If I am married,
my thoughts will not make themselves
ready, and now they haunt me."
^^ Maria, do not write I Wait at least un-
til Anastase returns, and ask his own ad-
vice."
"Carl, I never knew you cold befol-e,
what is it ? As if Florimond could advise
me I Could I advise him how to improve
his present method? and why should I
wait? I shall not expose myself; it is for
myself alone."
'* Maria, this is the reason. Yon do look
80 fixed and strange, even while you talk
about it, tiiat I think you will do yourself
some harm ; that is all ; you did not use to
look so."
" Am I so frightful then, Carl?"
" You are too beautiful, Maria ; but your
eyes seem to have no sleep in them."
" They have not had, and they will not
have until I have completed this task the
angel set me."
^^ Oh, Maria ; you are thinking of the
Chevalier."
" I was not, I was thinking of St. Cecilia.
If the Chevalier had ordered me to make a
aymphpny, I should to everlasting have re-
mained among the dunces."
I often, often lament; most sadly, that I
am obliged to form her words into a foreign
mould, almost at times to fuse them with
my own expression ; but the words about
the angel were exactly her own, and I have
often remembered them bitterly.
" You will find it very hard to write with-
out any prospect of rehearsal, Maria."
" I can condense it, and so try it over ;
but I am certain of hearing it ia my head,
and that is enough."
"You will not think so still when it is
written. How did it first occur to you ?"
. "In a moment, as I telt yua, Carl ; while
tfie violin tones, hot as stars that are cold in
distance, were dropping into my heart.
The subjects rose in Alps before rae. I both
saw and heard them ; they were vistas of
sound, but no torrents ; it was all glacier-
likedeath enfolding life."
" What shall you call it, Maria ?"
" No name, Carl. Perhaps I shall give it
a name when it shall be really finished ; but
if it is to be what I expect no one would re-
member its name on hearing it."
" Is it so beautiful then, Maria ?"
" To my fancy most beautiful, Carl."
" That is like the Chevalier."
'^' He has written, and knows what he has
written ; but I do not believe he has ever
felt such satisfaction in any work as I in
this."
"I think in any one else it would be
dreadfully presumptuous ; in yon it is am-
bitious, I believe ; but I have no fear about
your succeeding."
" Thank you, Carl ; nor I. Will you stay
here with me, and help me ?"
"No Maria, for you do not want help,
and I should think no one could write un-
less alone. But I will prevent any one else
from coming,"
" No one else will come, but if you care
to stay here Carl, I can write in my room ;
and you^ as you said you had set yourself
certain tasks, can work in this one. I am
very selfish I am afraid, for I feel pleasantly
safe when you are near me. I think Carl,
you must have been a Sunday-child."
" No Maria, I was bom upon a Friday,
and my mother was in a great fright. Shall
you write this evening ?"
"I must go out and buy some paper."
CHAPTER XI.
We dined together, and then walked. I
cannot record Marians conversation, for her
force now waned, and I should have had to
entertain myself but for the unutterable en-
tertainment to me at all times of a walk.
She bought enough paper to score a whole
opera had she been so disposed ; and her
preparations rather scared me on her ac-
count. For me, I returned to Cecilia, to
inform our Powers why I should absent my-
self, and where remain ; and when I came
back with " books and work" of my own,
she was very quietly awaiting me for sup-
per ; certainly not making attempts either
dread or ecstatic at present. I was indeed
anxious that if she accomplished her inten-
tions at ail, it should be in the vacation, as
she studied so ardently at every other time ;
and it was this anxiety that induced me to
IM
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
leave her alone the next day, and every
morning of that week. I knew nothing or
what she did meanwliile, aqd as I returned
every night to Cecilia for sleep I left her
over early, and heard not a note of her pro-
gress; whether she made any or not re-
maining at present a secret
We reassemhled in Fehmary. At oar
first meeting which was a very festive han-
^\x^et^ oar nominal Head and the leading pro-
fessors gave as an intimation that the
ezaminationa would extend* for 'a month,
and would hegin in May ; when the results
would he communicated to the Chevalier
Seraphael, who would he amongst us again
at that time and distrihnte the prizes after
his own device ; also confer the certificates
upon those who were ahout to leave the
school. I was not of coarse, in this nam-
her, as the usual term of prohation was
throe years in any specific department, and
six for the academical coarse the latter
had been advised ibr me by Davy, and ac-
ceded to by ]|i9^Qother. I gave up at pres-
ent nearly my whole time to mastering the
mere mechanism of my instrument, and had
no notion of trying for any prize at all. I
believe those of my contemporaries who as-
pired thus were very few at idl, and Marc
Iskar being among them had the effect upon
me of quenching the slight fever of a desire
I might have had so to distinguish myself.
It struck me that Maria should try for the
reward of successful composition ; but she
was so hurt and looked so white when I al-
luded to it, that it was only once I did so.
As to her proceedings, whatever they were,
the most perfect calm pervaded them, and
also her. 1 scarcely now heard her voice
in speech ; though it was spoken aloud by
Spoda, and no longer whispered, that she
would very soon be fit for the next initiation
into a stage career, or its attendant and in-
ductive mysteries. One evening I went to
see her expressly to ascertain whether she
' would really leave us, and I asked her also
about her intentions.
"Carl," she said, "I wish I had any. I
don't really care what they do with me,
-though I wish to be able to marry as soon
as possible. I believe I am to study under
Madlle. Venelli, at Berlin, when I leave Ceci-
lia ; she teaches declamation and that style."
" Maria, you are very cool about it, I sup-
nose you don't mind a bit about going."
'I should break my heart about it if I
did not know I must go one day, and that
the sooner I go the sooner I shall return
to all I want at least. But I have it not in
my power to say I will do this or will not
have that, as it is my brother who educates
me, and to whom I am indebted."
^' If you go Maria, I shall not see you for
years and years."
'' Foa wIU DOt mind that after a little
^ Maria, I have never loved to talk to an)
one so well."
^^ If that is the onlv reason yoa are sorry,
I am very glad I go.'^
She smiled as she spoke, but not a happy
smile, I could see she was very sad, and m
it were at a distance from her usual self.
" Mariar you have not told me one word
about the symphony."
" You did not ask me."
" Were you so proud, then ? As if I wai
not dying to see it to hear it. For Marm
don't tell me yon would be contented with-
out its being heard ?"
*^ I am not contented at all, Carl. I am
often discontented. Particularly now."
'^ About Apastase? Does nut Anastaae
approve of your writing?"
" He knows nothing of it, I would not tell
him for a world, nor Carl, would you I"
" I don't know. I would tell him if it
would do you any good, even though you
disliked me to do so."
^^ Thanks ^but it woald do mo no good
Florimond is poor^~he coold no^ collect an
orchestra; and proud he would not like
me to be laughed at."
" Then what is it, Maria ?"
" Carl, you know I am not vain."
I laughed, but answered nothing ; it was
too absurd a position.
" Well, I am dying of thirst to hear my
first movement, which is written^ and whick
is that sight to my eyes that my ears desire
it to the full as much as they. The second
still lingers ^it will not be invoked ; I could,
if I could calculate the effect of the fipst,'
produce a second equal to it, I know ; but
as it is vet in my brain, it will'not give plad;
to anoffier."
" You have tried it upon the piano ^try
it for me."
^^ Ko, I cannot Carl, it is nothing thus ^
and strange to say, though I have written it
I cannot play it."
" I can believe that."
" But no one else would, Carl, and there*
fore it must be folly for me to have under-
taken this writing; for we are both chil-
dren, and I suppose must remain so after
all."
It struck me that the melancholy which
poured that pale mask upon her face was
both natural and not unnecessary I even
delighted in it ^for a thought, almost aa
idea, flashed straight across my brain and
lighted up the future that was still to remain
ray own although that dazzle was with-
drawn. I knew what to do now, though I
trembled lest I should not find the way to
do it.
^^ So Maria, yon are not going to finish it
just now. Suppose you lend it to me for a
little. I should like to examine it, and it
wUl do me good."
\ ^^ OaiV^ \\. \a Txot ^\3ffikdw^'0c5 cS\&5.to le
i
CHARLES AnOHXStER.
m
ttllU
f'
yon good, but I wish yon wonid take it
away, for if I keep it with me I shall destroy
It ; and I shall like it to remain until some
day, when Grod has taoght hie more than in
myself I know or that f can learn of men."
'* I will take the greatest care of it, Maria,"
I said ; almost fearing it to be a freak on her
part that she suffered my possession; or
that she might withdraw it. "You will
ask me for it when yon want it ; and,
Alaria, I have heard it said that it is a good
thing to let your compositions lie by and
oome to them with a fresh impression."
" That is exactly what I think. You
with me, Carl, that alHrhich has to do w
mnsio is not music, now."
*'* I think that there is less qf the world In
music than in anything else, evett'ln poetry,
Maria ; but of course musicymust itself fall
short of our ideas of it &13AI dare say you
found that your beautiful feelings would not
change themselves into ffiusio exactly as
beautiful as they were. 1 know very little
music yet, Maria; but I never found any
that did not disappoint my feeling abont it
when I was hearing it, except the Ohev-
fOier's."
" That is it, Carl. What am I to endeavor
aftv anything that he has accomplished?
But rteel iiigt if I could not produce the
very highest musical work in the very high-
est style, I would not produce any, and
would rather die."
^'I cannot understand that. I wonld
ather worship than be worshipped."
" I would not. I cannot tell why, but I
have a feeling which will not let me he con-
tent with pi aving what has gone before me.
Dearly a 1 love Floiimond, he could not
put this feeling out of me. I am n8t con-
tent to be an actress; there have been
actresses who were queens, and some few
angels; I know my heart k pure in its
desires, and I should have no objection to
feign, but it must be over a new kingdom.
No woman has ever yet composed."
'' Oh yes, Maria."
" I say no to you, Carl. Not as I mean.
I mean no woman has been supreme among
men as the Chevalier among musicians. I
have often wondered why. And I feel at
least I did feel ^that I could be so and dc
this ; but I feel it no longer it has passed.
Carl, I am vcrv miserable and cast down."
I could easfty believe it, but I was too
young to trugt to my own decision; had
Clara been ||^aking I should have implicitly
relied, for she always knew herself; but
Maria was so wayward, so fitful, and of late
o peculiar, that I dared not entertain that
confidence in her genius which was yet the
strongest presentiment that had ever taken
hold upon me. I carried away the score,
which I had folded up while she had spoken,
ja^ I shall never forget the half forlorn,
H&U wistful look wit^i which she followed it
in my arms as I left her. But I dared not
stav for fear she should change her mind ;
and allhough I would fain have entered into
her heart to comfort her, I could not even
try. I was in a breathless state to see Iha^
score, but not much came to my examina-
tion. The sheets were exouisitely written,
the manner of Seraphael being exactly
imitated, or naturally identical ^the very
noting a facsimile as well as the autograpli.
It was stvled "First Symphony," and the
key was F minor ; bnt the composition was
so full and close a to swamp completely my
childish criticism. I thought it appeared all
right, and very, very wonderful, but that was
all. I wrapped it in one of my best silk
handkerchietis to keep it from tlie dnst, and
laid it away in my box together with my
other treasures from home which ever re*
posed there, and then I returned to my
work, but certainly ratire melancholy than I
had ever remembered nivself in my life.
In march one day, Maria stayed from
school, but her brothei Joseph brought me
from her a message. She was indisposed,
or said to be so, and 1 egged me to go and
see her. There was no difficulty in doing
so, but I was surprised thit Anastase should
not be with her ; or at leint that he should
appear, as he did, so UDconcornod. Wlien I
expressed my regret to Joeeph Cerinthia, he
added that she was onlv in bed for a cold.
I was both pleased and flattered that she
had sent for me, but still could not compre-
hend it as she was so little ill. I ran down,
after tlio morning, intending to dine with
her, or not, I did not care which ; but in-
stead of her being in bed, slie was in the
parlor.
" I thought, Maria, you were not up."
*' I was not ; and now I am not dressed.
Carl, I sent for you to ask for the manu-
script again."
I looked at her to see whether sho
meant her request, for it was by no meanc
easy to say. She looked very brilliant, but
had an unusual darkness round her eyefs
a wide ring of the deepest violet; she
either had wept forth that shadow, or was
in a peculiar state. Neither tears nor smiles
were upon her face, and her lips burned -
with a living scarlet, no rose-soft red &m
wont ; her hair fastened under her cap in
long bands fell here and there, and seemerl
to have no strength. She had been drink-
ing eau sucr6e, for a glass of it was upon
the table, and a few fresh flowers which she
hastened to put away from her as I entered*
I was so much affected by her looks, though
no fear seized me, that I tools^ her hand. It
was dry and warm, but very weak and
tremulous.
"Maria, you were at that garden lasl
night, and danced. I knew ho^v it would
be ; it was too early in the year. *
" I Vf aa not at th^ SQi4lhiliA fr -h-^*
138
CHARLES ^UCHESTER.
r^sj/iinoud said none of yon vrero going froir
Cecilia, I declined. But no dancing would
liave made me ill as I have been ; it was no-
thing to care for, and is now past."
*^ Was it cold then ? it seems more like
fever."
*^ It was neither, or perhaps a little of
joth. Let me have my score again, Carl ;
I need only ask for it yon know, as it is
mine."
^^Yon need not be so prond, Maria; I
nhall, of coarse return it, but not Unless you
promise me to do no more to it just now."
"Not just now. But I made believe to
be ill on purpose that I might have a day^s
leisure, I must also copy it out."
" Maria I you never made believe, for if
you could tell a lie, it would not be for your-
aeif. Tou have been ill, and I suspect much
that I know how. If you will tell me, I
will fetch the score ; that is, if it is good for
yon to have it ; but I would rather burn it
tlum that it should hurt you ; and I tell you
it uU depends upon that."
'' I will tell you, Carl, and more because it
is over now and cannot happen again. I
was lying in my bed, and heard the clock
strike ten. I thought also tliat I had heard
it rain ; so I got up and looked out. There
was no rain, but there were stara, and see*
ing them my thoughts grew bright ; bright
as when I imagined that music and being
in the same mood, that is quiet and yet ex-
cited, if you can believe in both together, I
went to my writing. It was all there ready
for me ; and Josephine, who always disturbs
mo because she talks, was very fast asleep.
It may sound proudly Carlino ; but I am
certain the Chevalier was with me that he
tood behind my chair, and I could not look
round for fear of seeing him ; he guided my
hand, he thrust out my ideas, all grew clear;
and I was not afraid, even of a ghost com-
panion."
" But the Chevalier is alive and well."
" And yet I tell you his ghost was with
me. Well Carl, I had wiitten until I could
not see, for my lamp went out and it was
not yet light ; I suppose I then fell asleep,
for I certainly had a vision."
" What was that, Maria ?"
" Countless crowds Carl, first ; and then
a most horrible whirl and rusli ; then a
serene place gray as morning befqre the sun,
with great golden organ-pipes that shot up
into, and cut through the sky ; for although
it was gray beneath, and I seemed to stand
upon clouds, it was all blue over me, and
when I looked up it seemed to return my
ga:'.e. I heard a sound under me, like an
orchestra, such as we have often heard ; but
above there was another music, and the
golden pipeo quivered af* if with its trem-
bling ; yet it was not the organ that seemed
lo speak, am\ do instrument was there be-
gjdes. This munio did not interfere wiUi
the music of the orcbostns still pla) JLg nc
wards, but it swelled through and througl^
it^ and seemed to stretch like a sky into the
sky. Oh I Carl ; that I could describe it to
you I It was like all we feel of music be- ^
yond all we hear, given to us in heariog."
She paused ; now a ligbt^ quenched io
thrilling tears, arose, and glittered from her
eyes. She looked overwrought, seraphic;
for though her hand, which I still held, was
nut changed nor cold, her countenance told
unutterable wonder; the terrors of the
taf venliest enthusiasm, I knew not how to
aeoount for.
^ Maria dear, I hav^ had quite as strange
dreams, and almost as sweet ; it was very
natural, but you were very, very naughty
all the same. What did you do when yon
awoke ?"
" I awoke, I don't know how, Carl, nor
when ; but I resolved to give into my sym-
phony all that the dream had given me;
and I wrote again. This time I left oS^
though in a very odd manner. The clock
struck five, and all the people were in the
streets ; I was cold, which I had forgotten,
and my feet were quite as ice. I was about
to turn a leaf, when I shivered and dropped
my pen ; but when I stooped down to find
it in the early twilight, which I thought
would help me, I fell upon the floor. My
head was as if fire ^ad burst into it, and a
violent pain came on, that drove me to my
bed. I have had such pain before, a little
but very much less, for I believed I could
not bear it. I did tall asleep too for a long
time, and never heard a sound ; and when I
arose, I was as well as I need to be or ever
expect. But as I don't wish to be ill again,
I must finish the symphony at once."
"So you think I shall allow it? No,
Maria ; it is out of the question ; but I will
fetch a doctor for you."
" Carl, yoi#are a baby. I have seen a
doctor in Paris for this very pain ; he can
do nothing for it, and says it is constitu-
tional, and that I shall always be subject to
it. Everybody has something they are sub-
ject to : Florimond has the gout."
I laughed, glad to have anything at all to
laugh at.
"I am really well now^ Carl ; have had a
warm bath, and leeches upon my temples-^ *
everything. The woman. here has waited
upon me, and has been very Itind, and now
I have sent her away, for I do hate to seen*
ill and be thought ill." ^
" Leeches, Maria ?" ^
"Oh, that is nothing; I put them on
whenever I choose. Did you never hav^
tliem on, Carl?"
"No, never; I had a blister for the
measles, because I could not bear to think
about leeches. I did not know people pu;
them on for the headache."
\ ^''1 aVwo^^ ^Q^ wid (0 does everybody for
l.HMiL6 AUCRESTEH
ISi
meh hettdaobes as nine. Bat they have
taken away the pain, and that is all I care
fir. They are little cold creepers, thongh,
and I was glad to pall them off/'
" Show me the marks, MariaJ'
She lifted herbeaatifal soft hair: those
ornel little notches were some hieroglyph to
me of unknown suffering ; bat then it was
an unknown snffering that her face express-
ed, though I was too yoang and far too ig-
noTSJit to imagine of what kind and import.
^^I promise yoo, Maria, that if you at-
tempt to write any more, I will tell Anas-
tase. Or no, I have thought of something
far more clever; I will make off with the
rest at once."
I had an idea of finding her sheets in her
own room, and plunging into it ^frightening
Josephine, who was nursing her doll, into a
remote corner. I gatltered all the papers,
and, folding tliem together, was about to
rush down stairs witliout returning to
Maria, when she called upon me so, that I
dared not help listening. For, ^' You dare
not do it, G||l I" she cried. '' You will kill
me, and I snail die now."
Agonized by her expression, which was
not even girl-like, I halted for an instant at
her open door.
^*' Thn, Maria, if I leave them here, on
your honor you will not touch them, or
attempt to w^rite."
^^It is not your affair, Oarl, and I am
angry."
She showed she was angry, very pale
with two crimson spots, and she bit her lip
almost black.
^^ It is my affair, as you told me^ and not
your brother or Florimond. He or Flori-
uiond would not allow it, you know as well
as I do."
^^They should and would. And pray
why is it I am not to write 9 I should say
you were jealous, Carl, if you were not Oarl.
But you have no right to forbid it, and shall
not."
*^ I do not know how to express my fear,
but I am afraid ; and, Maria, I will not let
it be done."
Lest I shoiU commit myself, I closed the
door, sti^bpl^l^wn the dark staircase,
tore througI^./beKreet, and deposited the
sheets with ^Lei Ihers in the box. I am
conscious thse wails are tedious and op
pressive, bi)t)the^cannot be withheld be-
cause of what I^HI have to touch upon.
FearfuUaaAr4H consequences Uiat de-
^^cende^tpon myoevoted head.^ I little ex-
ptqtei^hem, and suffered from tliem ab-
surdlgi^ child as I was and most webtless at
that time. Maria returned on the following
^ay "^V^k, and looking quite herself, except
^or those violet shades yet lingering ; still
not herself to me in any sense. She scarcely
looked at me, and did not speak to me at all
when ] managed to meet hat, Auactiuc ^
alone seemed conscioUA thni the had been
ill ; he appeared unable to rid himself of tlic
impression, for actually dunng my lesson,
when his custom was to eschew a conven-
tionalism even as a wrong note, he asked
me what had been the matter with her. I
told him I believed a very awful headache
with fever, and that I considered she had
been very ill indeed. I saw his face cloud,
though he made reply, all coolness '^You
are mistaken, Auchester; it was a cold,
which always' produces fever, and often
pain." Thus we were all alike deluded;
thus was that motherless one hurried to hei
Father^s house.
Meantime, silent as I kept myself on the
subject of the symphony, it held me day by
day more firmly. I longed almost witli suf-
fering for the season when I should emanci-
pate myself from all my doubts.
r CHAPTER XII.
The season came, and I shall never forget
its openii^i;. It was late in April, exquisite
weather^ halcyon, blooming ; my memory
expai^ to it now. From Italy ho return-
ed. He came upon us suddenly ; there was
no time to organize a procession, to /oarshal
a welcome chorus ; none knew of his 'ar-
rival until he appeared.
We had been rambling in the woods,
Franz and I, and were lounging homewards
laden with wild fiowSrs and lily-bunches.
Franz was ^ kind creature to me now, and
in my loL.eliuess I sought him always. We
heard, even among the moss, a noise of
distant shoutings nobody shouted in that
spot except our own and we hurried home-
wards. I was quite faint with expectation,
and being very wearied sat down to rest on
one of those seats that everywhere invite
in shady places, while Delemann sped on- '
wards for information.
Returning, he announced most gleefully,
" The Chevalier has arrived ; they are draw-
ing the carriage up the hill." I am ashamed
of what I did. I could not return to Ce-
cilia ; I wandered about in the village pos-
sessed by a vague aspiration that I should
see him there, or that he would espy me :
no such thing.
I came back to supper, excited, expect-
ant ; he was gone. I deserved it, and felt
I did, for my cowardice ; but at the* end of
supper the head of the central table, having
waited until then, deliberately took from his
deep pocket and presented me with a note,
a very tiny note, that was none the freshei
for having lain an hour or two amidst
snuff and ^^ tabac." But this noteling al-
most set me raving. It was short indeed^
yet honey sweeU
140
CHARLES ATJOHESTER.
*^ I am not to find thee here, my Carl, al-
llioiigli I came on purpose. Art not thon
itill my eldest child f Gome to me then,
to-morrow, it will he thy Sunday, and thy
room shall he ready ; also two little friends
of thine, I and he. Do not forget me
tliine. Seraphael."
He had made every arrangement for my
risit, and I never think of his kindness in
these particulars, without being reminded
that in proportion to the power of this
Genius was it ever beneficently gentle. I
spent such an afternoon as would have been
cneaply purchased by a whole life of soli-
tude; but I mu8t only advert to one cir-
cumstance that distinguished it.
We were walking upon the lovely ter-
race, amongst bright marbles just arranged,
and dnzzing flowers ; he was gentle, genial,
animated I felt my time was come. I
therefore taught myself to say-*-" Sir, I have
fi very, most particular favor to ask of you ;
it is that you will condescend to give me
your opinion of a piece of music which some
one has written : I have brought it with me
cm purpose may I fetch it ? it is in my hat
in the house."
" By all means, this very moment, Oarlo-
inein or no, rather we will go in doors to-
gether, and examine it quietly. It is thine
own, of course ?"
" Oh 1 no Sir, I should have said so di-
rectly. It is a young lady^s, and she knows
nothing of my bringing it. I stole it from
her."
" Ah ! true," ho replied, simply, and led
me to that beautiful music-room. I was
fain to realize Maria's dream as I beheld
those radiant organ-pipes beneath their glori-
ous arch that deep-wooded pianoforte,
with its keys milk-white and satin-soft, re-
pealling me but to that which was lovelier
than her very vision the lustrous presenr^
pervading that luxury of artistic life. S^
aphael was more innocent, more brilliant
in behavior at his home than anywhere;
tho noble spaces and exquisisitely-appointed
rooms seemed to affect him merely as se-
cluded (varmth affects an exotic flower ; he
expanded more fully, fragrantly, in the rich
repose.
At the cedar-writing table he paused, and
stood waiting silently while I fetched the
score. As I unfolded it before him, I was
even more astonished than ever at the per-
fection of its appearance ; I hesitated not the
least to place it in those most delicate of all
delicate hands. I saw his eyes, that seem-
ed to have drawn into them the very violet
of the Italian heaven, so dark they gleamed
through the down-let lashes, fasten them-
selves eagerly for an instant upon the title
heet, where after his own fashion, Maria
bad written her ancient name " Oerinthia"
only, In the corner; bat then he laid the
the table and knelt down before it, piungn^g
fiis Angers into the splendid curs of his
regal head, his verv brow being buried in
their shadow as he bent, bowed, leaned
into the page, and page after page until
the en^.
With restless rapidity his hand flashed
back the leaves his eye drank the spirit of
those signs ; but lie spoke not, stirred not ;
it seemed to me that I must not watch bim,
as I was doing most decidedly ; and I dis-
entangled myself from that reverie with a
shock.
I walked to the carved music-stands-^tlie
painted music cases. I examined the costly
manuscripts and olden tomes arrayed on
polished cabinets. I blinded myself with
the sunshine streaming through stained
compartments in the windows to carnation-
toned velvet of the furniture^-I peered into
the pianoforte, and yearned for it to awaken
and rested long and rapturously before a
mighty marble likeness of the self-crowned
Beethoven. It was garlanded with grapes
and vine leaves' that fondled 1)^$ wild locks
in gracefullest fraternity; it was mounted
upon a pedestal of granite, where also the
alabaster fruits and tendrils clustered, clasp-
ing it like frozen summer, and beneath the
bust the own investment glittered
**Ton]ciiiiirt'8 Bacchus.*'
It was no lonprer difficult to pass away th
time without being troublesome to myself
or Seraphael. I was lost in a triumphant
reminiscence that the stormy brow, the eyes
of lightning, the torn heart, the weary sonl,
were now heaven's light, heaven's love, its
calm, its gladness. For quite an hour I
stood there, so remembering and desiring
ever to remember. And then that sweet,
that living voice aroused me. Without
looking up he said
"Do you mean to say, Oarlomein, that
she has had no help here 1"
" Sir, she could have had none ; it was all
and entirely her own. No one knew she
had written except myself."
Then in his clearest tones he answered-
"It is as I expected. It is terrible, Oarlo-
mein, to think that this Ivork might have
perished, and I embrace thee, Oarlomein,
for having secured to me ite possession."
"Is it so very good then, Sir? Mark
was very ignorant about it, and could not
even play it for herself."
" I dare say not, she has made too Ml a
score." He smiled his sweetest smile " btit
for all that we will not strike out one note.
Why is it not finished, Oarlomein ?"
I might have related the whole story from
beginning to end, but his manner was very
regal just now, and I merely said"!
tatViex t\\\nk %1\q 'was dissatisfied witli the
v
score, having opened t^'e first page^ upon\fttBt, \,\vo tft\^mn\^lc#t tJiJOoRs^^ ^Axa said
CKABUSS AUOHESTEB.
Ul
he coidd finish ifc, she did not, and I have
kept it Bome time."
" You should have written to ine, Oarlo-
mein, or sent it to me ; it most and sliall be
finished. The work is of Heaven^s own.
What earthly inspiration could have taught
her strains like these ? they are of a priestess
and a prophetess she has soared beyond
us all."
He arose snddenly, a fixed glow was upon
his face, his eyes were one solemn glory.
He came to the piano, he pushed me gently
aside, he took his seat as noiselessly, he be-
gan to play. I would not retire I stood
where I could both see and hear. It was
the second movement that first arrested
him. He gave to the white-faced keys a
hundred voices. Tone upon tone was built,
the chords grew larger and larger ; no other
hand could have so elicited the force, the
burden, the breadth of the orchestral me-
dium, from those faint notes and few. His
articulating finger supplied all ueeds of
mechanism ; he doubled and redoubled his
power.
Kever shall I forget it. The measure so
long and lingering the modulations so like
his own the very subject moulded from
the chosen key like sculpture of the most
perfect chiselling from a block of the softest
grain so appropriate, so masterly. But
what pained me through the loveliness of
the conception was .to realize the^nood sug-
gesting it a plaint of spiritual suffering, a
hungering and thirsting hearty a plea of ex-
hausted sadness.
He felt it too ; for as the weary, yet un-
reproachful strain fdi trom under his music-
burdened fingers, he drooped his glorious
head as a lily in the drenching rain hia
lips grew grave, the ecstatic smile was lost,
and in his eyes there was a dim expression
though they melted not to tears. I wad
sure that Maria had conserved her dream,
for a strange intermittent accompaniment
streamed through the loftier appeal, and
was as a golden mist over too much piercing
brightness.
The movement was very long, and he
never spoke all through it, neither when he
had played as far as she had written ; but
turned back to the first, as yet untried.
Again was I forcibly reminded of what I
had isaid on my first acquaintance with her,
she had without servile intention, caught
the very spirit of Seraphael as it wandered
through his compositions, and imprisoned
it in the sympathy of her own. It was as
two flowers whose form is single and tlie
same, but the hues were of diti'erent distri-
bution, and still his own supreme. I cannot
describe the first movement further ; I was
too young to be astonished, carried away by
the mirade of its consummation under such
peculiar circumstances ; but I can remember
how o-j^^jplctely I felt I uii^hi always trust
myself in future when any on should gait
such ascendancy over my convictions, vEiok
by the way, never happened.
I must not dwell upon that evening; snU
fice it to say that I left the score with the
Chevalier, and though he did not tell me in
so ninny words, I felt sure he himself would
restore it to the writer.
On Monday evening I was very expects
ant, and not in vain, for she sent me a note
of invitation ^an attention I had not re*
ceived from her since my rebellious beha-
vior. She was alone, and even now writing ;
she arose hastily, ^and for some moments
could not command her voice; she said
what I shall not repeat, except that she was
too generous, as regarded her late distance ;
and then she explained what follows.
'* The Chevalier came this morning, and
Carl, I could, only send for you because it is
you who have done it all for me in spite of
my ingratitude, and alas 1 I never can repay
you. I feel Carl, now, that it is better not
to have all one wishes for at once ; if I had
not waited, the shock would have killed me.^
I looked at her tried to make out to my
sight that she did not, even now, look as if
ready to die : her lips had lost their fever
rose, and were pale as the violets that strew-
ed her eyes ; the faint blue threads of veins
on the backs of her hands ; the thin polish
of those temples standing clear from her
darkest hair these things burned upon my
brain, and gave me a sickening thrill. I felt,
can Anastase have seen her ? can he have
known this?
I was most of all alarmed at whi^t I my-
self had done, still I was altogether surprised
at the renewal of my fears, for on the Satur-
day she had not only seemed, but beer
herself her cheeks, her lips, her brow, ali
wearing the old healthful radiance.
"Maiial" I exclaimed "dear Maria-
will you tell me why this symphony makes
you ill, or look so ill ? You were quite well
on Saturday I thought, or you muy qnitt
believe I should never have done what 1
did."
" Do I look ill, Carl ? I do not feel ill,
only desperately excited. I have no head
ache, and what is better, no heart pain now.
Do you know what is to be? I tell you, l*e-
cause you will rejoice that you have done
it. This work is to be finished and to b
heard. An orchestra will return my dreai&
to God."
"Ah 1 your dream, Maria I thought of
that. But shall / hear it, Maria ?"
" You will play for me, Carl and Flori*
mond. Oh! I must not remember that
And the Chevalier, Carl. He even entreat-
ed, the proud soul the divinely missioned
entreated me to perpetuate the work. I can
write now without fear, he has made m^i
free. I feared myself before, now I onlv
fear Moi "
i4S
0HARLE8 AUOHESTER.
^ Maria, what of Aoaatase? Does he
taow, and what does he tlilnk ?^
" Do not ask me, Oarl, for I cannot tell
jon what he did. He was foolish, and so
was I, but it was for joy on both our parts."
'^ Ton cned then ? There is nothing to
be ashamed of."
^^WeooG^ht to have restrained ourselves
when the Cheri^ier was by. He mnst love
Florimond now, for he fetched him himself,
and told him what I had done and was still
to do."
It is well for as that time does not stay
not grievous, but a gladsome thought, that
all we most dread is carried beyond our
reach by its force, and that all we love and
long to cherish is int taken that it may re-
main, beyond us, to ripen in eternity, until
we too ripen to rejoin it. Still there is a
pain wholly untinctured with pleasure in
recalling certain of its shocks, re-living
them, returning upon them with memory.
The most glorious of our days, however,
strike us with as troubled a reminiscence, so
that we ought not to complain, nor to desire
other than that the past should rest, as it
does, and as alone the dead beside repose
in hope. I have brought myself to the re-
collection of certain passages in my youth's
history, simply because there is nothing
more precious than the Sympathy, so rare,
of Circumstance with Passion nothing so
difficult to describe, yet that we so long to
win.
It is seldom that what happens is chance
we would have left unchanged could we
have passed sentence of our will upon it,
but still more unwonted is it to feel, after a
lapse of eventful times, that what has hap-
pened was not only the best, but the only
thing to happen, all things considered that
have intervened. "Jhis I feel now about the
saddest lesson I learned in my exuberant
boyhood a lesson I have never forgotten,
and can never desire to discharge from my
life's remembrance.
Everything prospered with us after the
arrangement our friend and lord had made
for Maria. I can only say of my impi-essions
that they were of the utmost perfectibility
of human Vishes in their accomplishment,
for she had Indeed nothing left to wish for.
I would fain delineate the singular and
touching gratitude she evinced towards Se-
raphael, but it did not distribute itself in
words; I believe she was altogether so
much affected by his goodness that she
dared not dwell upon it. I saw her con-
stantly between his return and the approach-
ing examinations, but our intercourse was
still and silent. I watched her glide from
room to room at Cecilia, or found her dark
hair sweeping the score at her home, so
oalmly she herself calmer than the calmest
calm asAnasiaae himself. Indeed to him
Mb^f appeared to have transferred tlie whole
impetuonsnes s of her nature ; he was chac^
ed also, his kindness towards myself wann-
er than it ever had been, but his brow op-
pressed, Iiis air of agitation, I deemed bim
verily most anxious for the result. Maria
had not more than a month to work on the
rest of the symphony and to complete it, as
Beraphaei had resolutely resolved that it
should be rehearsed before our summer sepa^
ration.
Maria I believe would not have listened
to such an arrangement from any other lips,
and Florimond*s dissatisfaction at a prema-
ture publicity was such, that the Chevalier,
autocratic even in granting a favor
which he must ever grant in his own way,
had permitted the following order to be
observed in anticipation.
After our own morning performance by
the pupils only and their respective roas-
ters, the hall would be cleared, the audience
and members should disperse, and only the
strictly required players for the orchestra
remain, Beraphaei himself having chosen
these. Maria was herself to conduct the
rehearsal, and those alone whose assistance
she would demand had received an intima-
tion of the secret of her authorship. 1
trembled when the- concluding announce
ment was made to me, for I had a feeling
that she could not be kept too quiet ; also
Anastase, to my manifest appreciation,
shared my fear; but Beraphaei was irresis-
tible, especially as Maria had assented, had
absorbed herself in the contemplation of hei
intentions, even to eagerness that they
should be achieved.
Our orchestra was, though small, brilliant;
and in such perfect training as I seldom ex-
perience in England. Our own rehearsals
were concluded by the week before the con-
cert, and there remained rather less for me
to do. Those few days I was inexpressibly
wretched, a foreboding drowned my ecstat-
ic hopes in dread ; they became a constant
effort to maintain, though everything still
smiled around us.
The Tuesday was our concert morning,
and on the Sunday that week I met Maria
as we came from church. She was sitting
in the sunlight, upon one of the graves. Jo-
sephine was not near her nor her brother ;
only Florimond, who was behind me, ran
and joined her before I beheld that she
beckoned to me. I did hardly like to go
forward as they were both together, but he
also bade me approach by a very gentle
smile. The broad lime-trees shadowed the
church, and the blossoms unopened hung
over them in ripest bud ; it was one of those
oppressively sweet seasons that remind on^*
at least me of the resurrection mori-
ing.
" Sit down by me Carl," said Maria, wlio
had taken off her gloves, and was already
\\Aa.pv^ "^AvV "SYoinmoTk!^'^ Angers as if sIm
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
143
were quite alone with him, tboagh the
churchyard was yet half filled with people.
^^ Maria,^^ I said, sitting down at the foot
of a cross that was hung with faded gar-
lands, '^ why don^t yon sit in the shade ? it
is a very warm day."
" So it is very warm, and that is what I
like ; I am never warm enough iiere, and
Florimond too loves the snn. I conld not
sit nnder a tree this day, everything is so
hright, hnt nothing can he as bright as I
wish it. Carl, I was going to tell Flori-
mond, and I will tell you, that I feel as if I
were too glad to bear what is before me.
I did not think so nntil it came so very
near. I am afraid when I stand up my
heart will fail."
*'^ Are yon frightened, Maria ?" I asked in
my simplicity.
^^ That is not it, though I am also fright-
ened. But I feel as if it were scarcely the
thing for me to do, to stand up and control
those of whom I am no master. Is it not
so, Florimond ?"
" Maria, the Chevalier is the only judge,
and I am certain yon will not, as a woman,
allow your feelings to get the better of
you. I have a great deal more to suffer on
your account than you can possibly feel."
" I do not see that."
" It is so, and should be seen by you. If
yonr work should in any respect fail, imag-
ine what that failure would cost me."
I looked up in utter indignation, but was
disarmed by the expression of his counte-
nance; a vague sadness possessed it, a cer-
tain air. of tender resignation ; his hauteur
had melted, though his manner retained its
distance.
"As if it could be a failure 1" I exclaim-
ed ; " why we already' know how much it
isl"
^ I do not, Auchester, and I am not un-
willing to confess my ignorance. If our
symphony even prove worthy of our Cecilia,
I shall still be anxious."
" Why, Florimond I" she demanded wist-
fdlly.
" On account of your health. You know
what yon promised me."
" Not to write for a year. That is easy
to say."
* " But not so easy to do. You make every
point an extreme, Maria."
^^I cannot think what you mean about
my health."
'*You cannot?"
She blushed lightly and frowned a shade.
" I have told you Florimond, how often I
have had that pain before."
" And you told me also what they said."
Dis tones were now so grave that I could
not bear to conjecture their significance.
He went on :
" I do not consider, Maria, that for a per-
son of genius it i^ any hardship to be dis-
couraged from too mnch eftbrt, especiaJy
when the effect will become enhanced by a
matured experience."
" You are very unkind, Florimond."
Indeed I thought so too.
" I only care to please you."
" No Maria, yon had not a thought of me
in writing."
" And yet yon yourself gave me the first
idea. But yon are right ; I wrote without
reference to any one, and because I burned
to do so."
" And you burn less now for it ; tell me
that."
" I do not burn any longer, I weary for it
to be over ; I desire to hear it once, and then
you may take it away, and I will never see
it any more."
^* That is quite as unnatural as the excee^
sive desire, to have fatigued of what yon
loved. But, Maria, I trust this weariness of
yours will not appear before the Chevalier,
after all his pains and interest."
" I liope so too, Florimond, but I do not
know."
It did not. The next day the Chevalier
came over to Cecilia, and slept that night in
the village. The tremendous consequence
of the next twenty-four hours might ai most
have erased, as a rolling sea, all identical re-
membrance, and indeed it has sufficed to
leave behind it what is as but a picture once
discerned and then forever darkened. The
cool early romance of the wreaths and gar-
lands ^for we all rose at dawn to decorate
the entrance, the corridors, the hall, the ro-
ception-toom the masses of may-bloom and
lilies that arrived with the sun ; the wild
beauty overhanging everything, the myste-
rious freshness, I have mentioned; or some
effects just so conceived, before.
I myself adorned with laurels and lilies
the Conductor's desk, and the whole time as
much in a dream as ever when asleep ; at
all events I could even realize less. Maria
was not at hand nor could I see her. She
breakfasted alone with Anastase, and al-
though I shall never know what happened
between them that morning, I have ever re-
joiced that she did so.
When our floral arrangements were per-
fected I could not even criticise them; I
flew to mybed and sat down upon it, hold-
ing my violin, my dearest, in my arms.
There I rested, perhaps slept; strange
thoughts were mine in that short time,
which seemed immeasurably lengthening.
Most like dreams, too, those very thoughts,
for they were all rushing to a crisis. I re-
called ray cue, however, and what tliat
alarming peal of a drum meant, sounding
through the avenues of Cecilia.
As we ever cast off things behind, my
passion could only hold upon the future. I
was but, with all my speed, just in time to
[fall into procession with the rest. Tk
144
GHABLES AUOHESTEB.
ehonis first siDgiDg, tho imnd in tbe midst,
behind our professors in order, and on either
side our own dark lines, the female pnpils a
double streak of white. I have not alluded
to our examinations, with which however,
I had had little enough to do. But we all
pressed forwards in contemporaneous state,
and so entered the ante-chamber of the hall.
It was the most purely brilliant scene I ever
saw ; prepared under the eye of the masters
in our universal absence, I could recognize
but one taste, but one eye, one hand, in that
blending of all deep with all most dazi^ling
flower-tints.
One double garland, a harp in a circle, the
$ymbol of immortal harmony, wrought out
of snowy roses and azure ribbons, hung ex-
actly above the table ; but tbe table was it-
self covered with snowy damask, fold upon
fluted fold, so that nothing, whatever lay
beneath it could be given to the gaze.
Through the ante-chamber to the decorat-
ed hall we passed, and then a lapse of mu-
sic half restored me to myself; only half,
despite the overture of his, with choral re-
lief, with intersong, that I had never heard
before and that he had written only for us ;
despite his presence, his conducting charm.
In little more than an hour we returned,
pell-mell now, just as we pleased, notwith-
standing calls to order and the pulses of the
measuring voices. Just then 1 found my-
self by Maria. Through that sea-like reson-
ance she whispered
" Do not be surprised Carl, if the Cheva-
lier presents you with a prize."
" I have not tried for one, Maria."
"I know that, but he will nevertheless
distinguish you, I am certain of it."
"I hope not. Keep near me, Maria."
*' Yes surely, if I can ; but oh I Carl, I am
glad to be near you. Is that a lyre above
the table? for I can scarcely see."
She was, as I expected, pale ; not paler
than ever ; for it was very long since she
had been paler than any one I ever saw,
except the Chevalier. But his was as the
lustre of the whitest glowing fire ; hers was
as the light of snow. She was all pale ex-
cept her eyes, and that strange halo she had
never lost shoce dim as the darkliest violets,
a soft yet awftd hue. I had replied to her
question hurrielly, " Yes ; and it must have
taken all the roces in his garden." And last
of all, she said ^x) me, in a tone which sug-
gested more suffering than all her air "I
wish I were one of those rosea."
The table, when the rich cover was re-
V moved, presentel a spectacle of fascination
^,fcarcely to be appreciated except by those
iimnediately aff( cted. Masses of magnifi-
contly bound volumes, painted and carved
instrument cases busts and portraits of the
hierarchy of music ; lay together in accord-
ing contrast For, as I have not yet raen-
Uonod, the Cher.iUor had carried out \\\a
abolition of the badges to the utmost; tLert
was not a medal to be seen. But these
prizes were beyond the worth of any medal,
each by each. One after another left the
table in those delicate hands, wafted to its
fortunate possessor by a compliment more
delicate still, and I fancied no more re-
mained.
Maria still stood near me, and as the mo-
ments flew, a stillness more utter than I
could have imagined pervaded her ; a
marbled quietness crept over every muscle ;
and as I met her exquisite countenance in
profile with the eyes downward and fixed
and not an eyelash stimng, she might have
been the victim of Despair, ortlie genius of
enraptured Hope.
I saw that the Chevaher had proceeded
to toss over and over the flowers which had
strewn the gifts ^as if it were all, also, over
now ^and he so long continued to trifle
with them, that I felt as if he saw Maria,
and desired to attract from her all other
eyes, for he talked the whole time lightly,
laughingly, with an air of the most ravish-
ing gaiety, to those about him, and to every
one except ourselves.
In a few minutes, which appeared to me
a very hour, he gathered up with a handful
of flowers that he let slip through his fin-
gers directly, something which he retaiaed
in his hand, and which it now struck me
that he had concealed, whatever it was, by
that flower-play of his all along ^for it was
even diffidently, certainly with reserve of
some kind, that he approached us last, as
we stood together and did not stir.
^^ These," said he to me, in a voice that
just trembled, though aerially joyous, " are
too small to make speeches about ; but in
memory of several secrets we have between
us, I hope you will sometimes wear them."
He then looked full at Maria, but she re-
sponded not even to that electric force that
is itself the touch of light ^her eyes still
downcast, her lips unmoved. He turned to
me, and softly, seriously, yet half surprised
as it were, shook his head ; placing in her
hand the first of the unknown caskets he
had brought, and the other in my own.
She took it without looking up, or even
murmuring her thanks ; still immediately as
he returned to the table, I forced it from
her, feeling it might and ouglit to occasioa
a revulsion of sensation, however slight.
It succeeded so far as that she gazed, still
bending downwards, upon what I held in
my own hand now and exhibited to her.
It was a full-blown rose of beaten silver,
white as snow, without a leaf but exquis-
itely set upon a silver stem, and having
upon one of its broad petals a large dew-
drop of the living diamond.
I opened my own strange treasure thea,
having resigned to her her own ; this was h
\brea8\,\)m ot \\ani6t %o\d^ with the head a
CHARLES AUOHESTEH.
iUf
great violet cut from a single amethyst as
perfectly executed as hers. I thrust it into
my pocket, for I could not at that instant
even rejoic9 in i ts possession. And now soon,
very soon, the flower-lighted space was clear-
ad ; and we, the chosen few, fidone remained.
My heart felt as if it could only break, so
violent was the pnlse that shook it. I knew
ihat I must make an effort transcending all,
or I should lose my power to handle the
bow ; and at least I achieved composure of
behavior. Anastase, I can remember, came
to me : he touched my hand, and as if he
longed with all loosened passion for some-
thing like sympathy, looked into my very
eyes. I could scarcely endure that gaze it
was inquisitive to scrutiny, yet dim with un-
ntterable forecast.
The flowers in. the Concert Hall were al-
ready withering, when after a short separa-
tion for refreshment, we returned there and
were shut in safely by the closed doors from
the distant festal throng.
It was a strange sight those deserted
seats in front, where now none rested saving
only the Chevalier, who after hovering
atnidst the orchestra until all the ranks were
filled, had descended as was arranged into
the void *^pace, that he might be prepared
to criticf'se the performance. He did not
seem much in the mood for criticism ^his
countenance was lightening with excitement
bis eyes burned like stars brought near ;
that hectic fire, that tremulous blaze, were
both for her.
As he retreated, and folding his slender
arms, and raising his glorious head, still
stood ^Maria entered with Anastase. Flo-
rimond led her forwards in her white dress
aa he had promised himself to lead her cap-
tive on the day of her espousals ; neither
liarried nor abashed she came, in her virgin
calm ^her virgin paleness. But as they
stood for one moment at the foot of the or-
chestra, he paused, arrested her, his hand
was raised ; and in a moment with a smile
whose tenderness for that jnoment triumph-
ed, he had placed the silver rose in her dark
hair, where it glistened in angelic symbol to
'ihe recognition of every one present. She
did not smile in return, nor raise her eyes,
but mounted instantly, and stood amidst us.
I had no idea until indeed she stood there,
a girl amidst us until she appeared in that
light of which she herself was light how
very small she was, how slightly framed ;
every motion was articulated by the fragili-
ty of her form as she stirred so calmly,
silently. The bright afternoon from many
windows poured upon the polish of her
forehead so arched, so eminent, but alasl
npon the langours also that had woven their
awful mists around her eyes. Her softly
curling lips spoke nothing now but the lan-
guage of sleep in infancy, so gently parted,
but not as w inspiration. As she raised .
K
that irm so calmly, and the first movement
came upon me, I could not yet regard her,
nor until a rest occurred. Then I saw her
the same again, except that her eyes were
filled with tears, and over all her face that
there was a shadow playing as from some
sweeping solemn wing, like the imagery of
summer leaves that trembles upon a moon
lit grass.
Only once I heard that music, but I do
not remember it, nor can call upon myself
to describe it. I only know that while in
the full thrilling tide of that first movement
I was not aware of playing, or how I played^
though very conscious of the weight npoor
my heart and upon every instrument. Even
Anastase, next whom I stood, was not him-
self in playing. I cannot tell whether the
conductress were herself unsteady, but she
unnerved us all, or something too near un-
nerved us we were noiselessly preparing
for that which was at hand.
At the close of the movement a rushing
cadence of ultimate rapidity broke from the
stringed force, but the wind flowed in upon
the final chords ; they waned, they expand*^
ed, and, at the simultaneous pause, she also
paused. Then strangelv, suddenly, her arm
fell powerless ^her paleness quickened to
crimson her brow grew warm with a burst-
ing, blood-red blush she sank to the floor
upon her side, silently as in the south wind
a leaf just flutters and is at rest ; nor was
there a sound through the stricken orchestra
as Florimond raised her, and carried her
from us in his arms.
None moved beside, except the Chevalier,
who, with a gaze that was as of one sudden-
ly blinded, followed Anastase instantaneous-
ly. We remained as we stood, in a suspense
that I for one could never have broken.
Poor Florimond's violin lay shattereTt upon
the floor, the strings shivered, and yet shud-
dering ; the rose lay also low ; none gathered
either up none stirred nor any brought
us word. I believe I should never have
moved again if Delemann in his living kind-
ness had not sped from us at last.
He, too, was long away long, long to re-
turn ; nor did he, in returning, re-enter the
orchestra. He beckoned to me from the
screen of the ante-chamber. I met him
amidst the glorious garlands, but I made
way to him I know not how. That room
was deserted also, and all who had been
there had gone. Whither? ohl where
might they now remain? Franz whispered
to me, and of his few sad words ^lialf iiope,
half fear, all anguish I cannot repeat the
echo. But it is sufficient for all to remind
myself how soon the hope had faded, after
few, not many days ; how the fear passed
witli it, but not alone. Yet, whatever pass-
ed, whatever faded, left us Love forever-
Love with its dear regrets, its infinite ei
146
UHABLES AUOHESTEB.
PART III.
THE CROWN OF MARTYRDOM
^ '
CHAPTER I.
TwxLYX years of after-life cannot but
weigh lighter in the balance of recollec-
tion than half that namber in very ear-
ly yonth. I think this now, pondering
apon the threshold of middle age with an
enthnsiasm fixed and deepened by every
change ; bat I did not think so the day to
which I shall defer my particular remem-
brances the day I had left Germany for-
ever except in dreams. There were other
things I might have left behind, that now I
carried with me to my home ; things them-
selves all dreams, yet containing in their
reminiscences the symbols of my very real-
ity. Eternity alone coald contain the sub-
stance of those shadows that shore we
deem itself a shadow, alone contains the
resolation into glory of all our longings, into
peace of all our pain.
Such feelings, engendered by loneliness,
took me by the very hand and led me for-
wards that dreary December evening when
I landed in England last, having obtained
all that was absolutely necessary to be
made my own abroad.
I have not tormented my reader or two
with the most insignificant mention of my-
self between this evening, and a time some
yeara before ; it would have been impracti-
cable, or, if practicable, impertinent, as I
lived those after-years entirely within and
to myself. The sudden desertion which had
stricken Cecilia of her hero lord, and that
suspension of his presence which ensued,
had no more power upon me than to call
out what was indeed demanded of me under
such circumstances all the persistency of
my nature. And if there had been a com-
plete and actual surrender of all her privi-
leges by professors and pupils, I should have
been the last to be fonnd there ; and I think
that I should have played to the very empty
halla until Ruin hungered for them, and we
had fallen together. As it happened, how-
ever, my solitude was more actual than any
I could have provided for myself; my
spirit retreated, and to music alone remained
either master or slave.
The very representative of music was no
longer such to him ; for when we came to-
ge&er fdter that fatal Midsammer no sign
wue left of Anastase "a new king bad
wiaen id Egyp% who knew not Joaepli.^^
To him I ought, perhaps, to confess that f
owed a good deal, but I cannot believe it;
I am fain to think I should have done a
well alone ; but there was that in the asso-
ciation and habitude of the place, that in the
knowledge of being still under the superin-
tendence, however formal and abstacted, of
its head, that I could not and would not
have flung up the chances of its academical
career.
It was, however, no effort to disengage
myself from the spot, for any notion of the
presence of him I best loved was, alas!
now, and had been long, entirely dissociated
from it. Not one smile from those fair
lips, not one ray from those awful eyes, had
sunned the countenances of the ever-stu-
dious throng. A monastery could not have
been more secluded from the incarnate pres-
ence of the Deity than were we in thai
quiet institution from its distant director.
Let it not be imagined, at the same timei
that we could have existed in ignorance of
that influence which was streamingbn
"eastern star" through .the country that
contained him as a light of life ; which, iu
the few fleeting years of ray boyhood, had
garnered such lustrous immortality for one
scarcely past his own first youth. But, in
leaving Germany, I was neither leaving the
name nor the fame of Seraphael, except to
meet them again, where they were dearer
yet and brighter than in their cradle-land.
None could estimate ^and, young as I yet
was, 1 well knew it the proportion of the
renown his early works had gained in this
strange country. The noblest attribute of
Race the irresistible conception of the
power of Race had scarcely then received
a remote encouragement, though physiolo-
gists abounded; but, like our artists, they
lacked an ideal ; or, like our politicians, " a
man.
Still, whether people knew it or not, they
insensibly worshipped the perfect beauty
whose development was itself Music, and
whose organization matchless and sub-
limated was but the purest type of that hu-
man natm*e on which the Divine One placed
his signet, and which he instituted by shar-
ing, the nearest to his own. Those who
did know it, denied it in the face of their
rational conviction, because it was so hard
to allow that to be a special privilege in
V'wYAoYi^i^ies iWi\i%w: tlq v.atUuy part Foi
OP^^i: LtS AUOUESTER.
14^
.;" it^Cv? of ^he earth c?a*Ti'*c i^k.%^ ^iairn
Olio tep o/ \hi\\ Kace, nor ^in j Jidh in each
milL nniuiii it cinritaalappro^i.n.ulon to an
everlasting ou.^iUnce. Or poihapa, to dxi
tbena justice, tiife very conviction was aa
dark to them as ibihi of death, which all
must hold, and so fen cjio to remind them-
selves of. At all evoDtu, It was yet a whis-
per ; and a whisper not so aLXversally wafted
as whispers in general are ; tliat Seraphael
was of nnperverted Hebrew ancestry, both
recognisant of the fact, and anspioious in its
entertainmeni.
Many thingd Affected me as changt-s when
I landed at Lojdon Bridge, for I LaJ not
been at home for three whole years ; and
was not prepared t^) meet snch changec,
though aware of mhLy in myself.
I cannot allade to any now, except tho
railway, which was tho first I had seen, and
whose line to our very ftown, almost to our
very house, had been riit six months com-
pleted. I shall never forget the effect,
nor has it ever left mt when I travel ; I
cannot find it monotonous, nor anything but
marvel. It was certainly evening when I
jentered the stupendous tt'rminus, and no-
thing could have so adapC^d itself to the
architecture as the black-gruy gloom, lamp-
strung, streaming with gas-jets.
Such gloom breathed deadly cold, presag-
ing the white storm or the icing wind, and
it was the long drear line it^ielf that drew
my spirit forth, as itself lonely to bask in
loneliness such weird, wild insecurity
seemed hovering upon the darkened dis-
tance'-H3Uch a dream of hopeless achieve-
ment seemed the space. to be overpassed
Ui&i awful evening. As I walked along the
carriage-line 1 felt this, although the engine
fire glowed furiously, and it spit out sparks
in bravery; bat the murmur of exhaustless
power prevented my feeling in full force
what that power must really be.
It was not until we rolled away, and left
the lamps in their ruddy sea behind us
had lost ourselves far out in the dark coun-
try ; had begun to rush into the very arms
of night that I could even bear to remem-
ber how. little people had told me of what
steam-travelling by land would prove in my
experience. It seemed to me as if I, too,
ought to have changed, and to carry wings ;
^he spirit pined for an enfranchisement of
its own as peculiar, and recalled all pain-
fully that its pinings were in vain.
A thousand chapters have been expended
upon the delights of return to home, and a
thousand more will probably insure for
themselves laudable publicity. I should be
an all-ungrateful wretch if I refused my
single Ave at that olden shrine. I cannot
quito forget, either, that none of my wildest
recollections outdazzled its near brightness
AS I approached ; the poetic isolation of my
late life, precious as it was in itself, and in-
separable from my choicest appreointion,
seeming but to enhance the genial sweetnese
o* Lhe reality in my reception.
Lor.r before I arrived in that familiar
parloi, ?. presence awaited me which had
ever i:p^H.'U'ed to stand between my actual
and my id^al world-4t was that of my
brother a. id c&rliest friend, dear Lenhart
Davy, who htA walked out into the winter
night expressly and entirely to meet me ;
and who was eo completely unaged, un
changed, and cnjHoyed, that I could but
wonder at the froshuess of the life within
him, until I rQLiemborcd the fountains
where it fed. He was as bright, as earnest,
as in the days of my infabt iaith ; but there
was little to be said until we arrived at
home.
Cold as was the season, and peculiarly
sasoeptible as our family has ever been to
cold, the street-door positively stood ajar !
and LiuiDg behind it was Margareth, oblivi-
ous of xht/Umatisra and frost, to receive her
nursling. AVhen she had pronounced upon
my growth her enchanted eulogy, that I
was taller thaa ever and more like myself,
I was dragged iuto the parlor by Davy, and
found them all ; the bloom of the firelight
restoring their faces exactly as I had left
them. My mother, as I told her, looked
younger than myself, which might easily bo
the case as I believe I was born grown up ;
and Glo was very handsome in her fashion,
wearing the old pictorial raiment. My sis-
ter Lydia had lately received preferment,
and introduced ine on the instant to her
prospects, a gentlemanly individual upon the
sofa who had not even concluded his college
career, but was in full tilt for high mathe-
matical honora at that which I have heard
called Oxford's rival, but upon whose merits
as a residence and Academe celestial I am
not competent to sit in judgment.
These worthies dismissed, I was at liber-
ty to spend myself upon the most precious
of the party. They were Millicent and her
baby, which last I had never seen ; a lady
of eighteen months, kept thus late out of
her cradle that she, too, might greet her un-
cle. She was a delicious child ^I have
never found her equal and had that inde-
scribable rarity of appearance which belongs,
or we imagine it to belong, to an only one.
Oarlotta so they christened her after un-
worthy me was already calling upon my
name, to the solemn ecstasy of Davy and his
wife's less sustained gratification.
I have never really seen such a sight as
that sister and brother of mine, with that
only child of theirs. When we drew to the
table, gloriously spread for supper, and my
mother in one of her old-fashioned agoniec.
implored for Oarlotta to be taken up stairs ;
Davy, perfectly heedless, brought her along
with him to his chair, placed on his knee
and fed her, fostered her until she fell Asle^f
148
CHAKLES AUCHESIBK.
and tombled against his shonlder, when he
opened his coat-breast for her and Just let
her sleep on. Oalling no attention to her
beantios iu so many words, certainly ; but
paying very little attention to anything else ;
and at last, when we all retired, carrying
her away with hirn up-stairs, where I heard
him walking up and down the room, with
a hushing footstep, long after I had entered
mine.
It was not until the next morning that I
was made fully aware of Daly's position.
After breakfast, as soon as the sun was high
enough to prepare the frosty atmosphere
for the reception of the bahyi I returned
with Millicent and himself to their own,,
home. I had been witness to certain im-
provements in that little droll house, but a
great deal more had been done since my
last visit.
For example, there was a room down-
atairs, built out, for the books, which had
accumulated too many ; and over this room
had Davy designed a very sweet greenhouse,
to be approached from the parlor itself.
The same order overlaid everything ; the
same perfume of cleanliness permeated
every corner ; and it was just as well this was
the case, so jammed and choked up with all
sorts of treasures and curiosities were the
little landing-place, the tiny drawing-room,
the very bed-room and a hal/^ as Davy call-
ed mv own little closet with the little oar-
ven ued's-head. Everywhere his shadow,
lading and smiling silently, though at the
roper time she had plenty to say too, came
[illicent after him ; nor was the baby ever
far behind; for at the utmost distance might
be glimpsed a nest of basket-work, lined
with blush color, placed on a chair or two
among the geraniums and myrtles, and in
that basket the baby lay : while her mam-
ma, who only kept one servant, made vari-
ous useful and ornamental progresses
through the house.
While Davy was at home, however, Oar-
lotta was never out of his arms, or, at least,
off his lap; she had learned to lie quite
quiescently across his kness while he wrote
or read, making no more disturbance than
a dove would liave done. I believe he was
iialf jealous because, when I took her, she
did not cry ; but began to put her fingers
into my eyes and to carry my own fingers to
her mouth. This morning we had her be-
tween us when we began to talk, and it was
with his eyes upon her that Davy first
said
" WeU, Charles, you have told me nothing
of your plans yet ; I suppose they are hard-
y formed."
" Oh yes, quite formed, ^at least as form-
ed as they can be without your sanction.
You know what you wrote to me about
Four last letter ?"
** Yon received that extemporaneous ex-
travaganza, then, Charles? wlich I ifter
wards desired I had burned."
^^ I take that as especially unkiud on youi
part, as I could not but enter with the most
eager interest into every line."
^*- Not unkind, though I own it was a little
cowardly. I felt rather awed in submitting
my ideas to you when you were at the very
midst of music in its most perfect exposi*
tion."
^* Oh I I did not quite discover that, Lea-
hart. There are imperfections everywhere,
and will be, in such a mixed multitude aa
of those who press into the service of what
is altogether perfect."
" The old story, Charlie."
" Rather the new one. I find it every
day placed before me in a stronger light;
but it has not long held, even with me.
How very little we can do, e^^en at the ut-
most, and how very hard we must labor
even to do that little 1"
*'I am thankful to hear you say so,
Charles, coming fresh from the severities of
study; but we are some few of us in tha
same mind."
** Then let us hold together, and this
brings me to my purpose. I am not going
to settle in London, Lenhart ; that is a-mis
take of yours. I will never leave you while
I can be of any use."
" Leave me, Charlie ? Ah ! would that 1
could cherish the possibility of your remain-
ing here I But, with your power and your
promise of success, who would not blame
those who should prevent your appearance,
in London ?"
'* I will never make my appearance any-
where, my dearest brotlier, at least not as
you intend. I could have no objection to
play anywhere, if I wore wanted, and if any
one cared to hear me ; but I will never give
up the actual hold I have on this place. As
much may be done here as anywhere else,
and more, I am certain, than "in London.
There is more room here; less strain and
stress, and, once more, I will not leave
you"
)
"But how, ray Charlie? in what sense?"
" I will work along with you and for you
while I work for myself. I am young, very
young, and, I dare say, very presumptuous
in believing myself equal to the task ; but I
should wish, besides being resident professor,
to devote myself especially to the organiza-
tion of that band of which you wrote, and
which, in your letter, you gave me to un-
derstand it is your desire to amalgamate
with your class. You do not see, Lenhart,
that, young as I am, nothing could give me
a position like this, and that, if I fail, I can
but nturn to a less ambitious course."
^ There is no course, Charles, that I da
not consider you equal to; but I cannot re-
concile it with my conscience to bind you to
a aarvlce so signal for my own sake ; it is a
CHAKLES AUOHESTER.
149
r\\ e sketch of a Spanish oastle I had reared
Uk v 1 idle honr."
. ** We wil] raise a sure fame on solid fonn-
datioDs, Lenhart, and I do not care about
fame for its own sake. After all, yon can-
not, with yonr mnsical edecticism, prefer
me to become mixed np in the horrible
struggle for precedence which, in London,
degrades the very nature of art, and readers
Its pursuit a misnomer.*'
*' You have not given up one of your old
prejudices, Charles."
" No, Davy. I feel we can do more act-
ing together than either separately, for the
cause we love best and desire to serve.
You know me well, and that, whatever I
have learned in my life abroad, no taste is
so dear to me as yours no jndgraent I
Bhould follow to the death so gladly. Be-
sides, all the rest, which is made up of a
good deal more than one can say, I could
never consent, as an instrumentalist, and as
holding that instrument to be part of my-
self, to infect my style with whims and
fashions which alone would render it gen-
erally acceptable. I must reserve what I
fflusioaUy believe as my musical expression,
and nothing can satisfy me in that respect
but the development of the orchestra."
"Poor orchestral it is a very germ, a
winter-seed, at present, my ever-sanguine
Charlie."
** I am not eanguine ; on the contrary, I
nm disposed to suspect treachery every-
where, even in myself, and certainly in you,
if you would have me go to London, take
f^hionable lodgings, and starve myself on
popular precedents, among which that most
magnificent one of lionizing mnsical pro-
fessors. No, I could not bear that, and no
tme would care a whit for my playing as I
feel, I should be starved out-and-out. If
you can initiate me a little yourself into
your proceedings, I think I shall be able to
persuade you that I ought to be only where
my impulse directs me to remain."
Davy at this juncture deprived me of the
baby, who had been munching my finger
all the time we talked, and when be had
placed her in her nest,- -a portent of vast
significance, -he enlightened me indeed to
the full; and we informed Millicent 'when
she came up stairs, for nothing could be
done without asking her accord. It was
greatly to my satisfaction that she entirely
agreed with me, and a great relief to Davy,
who, in the plenitude of his delicate pride,
could hardly bear the thought of suggesting
ahy thing to anybody, lest his suggestion
should unsteady any fixed idea of their own.
Millicent cordially asserted that she felt
there was a more interesting sphere about
tiiem than she could imagine to exist any-
where else; and perhaps she was right, for
no one could sufficiently laud the extirpa-
voioe and ardent heart. I could not pos-
sibly calculate at that moment the force and
extent of his singular efforts, and their still
more unwonted effects in so short a time
made manifest. I heard of these from Mil-
licent, who could talk of nothing else, to m^
at leaeit ; after Davy, ever anxious, had left
us for his morning's lessons which occupied
him in private, though not much more than
formerly, as his peculiar attention and near-
ly whole time were devoted more deter-
rainately than ever to the instruction and
elevation of the vocal institution he had or-
ganized.
"No one can tell, Charles," said Milli-
cent, among other things, " how heroically
and patiently he has worked, rejecting all
but the barest remuneration, to bring all
forwards as he has succeeded in doing, and
has nobly done. You will say so when yon
hear, and you must hear to-morrow even-
ing."
" I shall indeed feel strange, Millicent,'* I
replied, " to sit at his feet once more, and
to feel again all that went through me in
the days when I learned of him alone. But
I am very curious about another friend of
mine. I suppose you can tell me jast as
well as he."
" About Miss Benette, Charles ?"
" Yes, and also little Laura."
" I know nothing ; we know nothing ot
her or what she has been doing, ^but yoa
must have heard of Clara ?"
" Not a word. I have been very quiet I
assure you."
"So much the better for you, Charles.
But she has not lost your good opinion ?"
"She would have that wherever she
went."
" I believe it. My husband has, of course,
never lost sight of her ; yet it was not until
the other day, and quite by accident, thai
we heard of all she has become. A very
old Italian stager, Stelli by name, called on
Lenhart the other day at the class, and, af-
ter hearing several of the pieces, asked nim
whether his pupil. Miss Benette, bad not
belonged to it once on a time. He said
yes ; and, finding that the signer was ac-
quainted with her, brought him home to
dinner, and we were told a great deal that
it is very difficult to tell, even to you,
Charles. She must, however, be exactly
what you always imagined."
" I should not only imagine, but expect,
she would remain unaltered. I do not be-
lieve such eyes could change, or the owner
of such eyes."
" He says just so : he says that she is an
angel ; he continued to call her angcla, an-
gela, and could call her nothing else."
" Is she singing in Italy just now ?"
" It is just that we asked him. You know
she went to Italy for study^ and no one
yon f anelert prejudices by Davy's firm^W.^iatA st'vox^tjJowsXV^t*^ ^i ^^ \iSi\ ^xssV
150
OnARiJ MJCIIESTEH.
to wrile, btit never mentioned what she
wao doing. Only the third year she sent
Ds news of her debut. Thb was bat last
May. The news was in a paper, not in
her letter. In lier letter she only spoke of
oarselves, and sent ns a present for baby,
r-Qch a piece of work, Oharles, as yon never
saw. 1 tb ought she would have quite given
up work dy that time. The letter was a
Hunple, exquisite expression of regard for
her old Master; and when Lenhart answer^
ed it, she wrote again. I%is letter con-
tained the most delicate intimation of her
prosperous views. She was entirely en-
gaged al^that time, but told us she trusted
to come to England an early month next
tear, for she says she finds, having been to
Italy, she loves England best.^'
^* That is rather what I should have ex-
pected. 8he had not an Italian touch about
her ; she would weary there."
" I should scarcely think so, Oharles, for
Stelli described her beauty as something
rose-like and healthful, * fresher than your
infant there,^ he said, pointing to baby ; and
from her style of singing grand and sacred
airs, she has been fancifully named and is
called everywhere, *La Benetta Benedetta.' "
*'*' That strikes home to me very pleasantly,
Millioent She had something blessed and
infantine in her very look. I admire that
soubriquet, but those usually bestowed by
the populace are most unmeaning ; her own
name, however, suits her best ; it is limpid
like the light in her eyes. There is no word
so apt as ^ clear' for the expression of her
soul. And what, Millicent, of her voice and
style ?"
^^ Something wonderful, no doubt, Oharles,
if she obtained an engagement in the midst
of such an operatic pressure as there was
this year. I hope she will do something for
England too. We have not so many like
her that we can afford to lose her al-
together."
*^ I know of not one, Millicent^ and shall,
if it be my good fortune to see her, persuade
her not to desert us, ^but Lenhart will have
more chance."
^^La Benetta Benedetta!" I could not
forget it ^it haunted me like words of some
chosen song : I was ever singing it in my
mind ; it seemed the most fitting, and the
only not irreverent homage with which one
could have strewed the letters of her name,
A most successful hieroglyph. Nor the less
was I reminded of her when on the follow-
ing evening I accompanied my sister, who,
for once, bad allowed Olo to take charge of
her baby, to the place now so altered since
I left, where the vocal family united. We
entered at the same door we approached
the same room ; but none could again have
known it unless, as in my case, he could
Aa ve pointed out the exact spot on whicb
lio had baea accustomed to sit. The too?
was raised, the rafbu.^ ^ns stained tbal
favorite sylvan tint of Dv v\*s the windowi
lightly pencilled with it upon their groan^.
glass arches the walls painted the softest
shade of gray, harmonizing perfectly with
the purple-crimson tone of the cloth tJiAt
covered seats and platform. Alas I as I
surveyed that platform, I felt with Davy
how much room there was for increased
and novel yet necessary organism, in the
perfectibility of the system, for on that
glowing void outspread, where his slight
dark form, and white face and glancing
hands alone shone out I could but dream
of beholding the whole array in closteriDg
companionship, of those mystic shapes that
suggest to us in their varied yet accordi&g
forms, the sounds that creep, that wind,
that pierce, that electrify, through parch-
ment, or brass, or string.
In a word, they wanted a band very much.
It would not have signified whether they
had one or not, had the class continued in it
primitive position, and in which its enemies
would have desired it to remain an unpro-
gressive mediocrity. But as it is the natare
of true art to be progressive ever, it is jast
as ignorant to expect shortcomings of a truo
artist as it would be vain to look for idea,
success amongst the leaders of musical taste,
neither endowed with aspiration nor voli-
tion. Now, to hear those voices rise, pro-
long themselves, lean in uncorrupted tone
upon the calm motet, or rest in unagrtated
simplicity over a pause of RavenscrolVs old
heavenly verses made one almost leap to
reduce such a host to the service of an ap-
propriate band, and to institute orchestral
woi*ship there. I could but remind myself
of certain great works, paradises of musical
creation from whose rightful interpretation
we are debarred, either by the inconsistency
with the chosen band of the selected chorus,
or by the inequality of the band itself. It
struck me that a perfect dream might here
be realized in full perfection should my own
capabilities at least keep pace with the de-
mand upon them were I permitted to take
my part in Davy's plan as we had treated
of it to each other. I told him as we walked
home together a little of my. mind ; he was
in as bright spirits as at his earliest man*
hood ; it was a favorable moment, and in
the keen December moonlight we made a
vow to stand by each other then and ever.
Delightful as was the task, and respoi*sive
to my inmost resolutions, the final result 1
scarcely dared anticipate : it was no mora
easy at first than to trace the source of such
a river as the Nile. Many difl^culties dark-
ened the way before me, and my own mu-
sical knowledge seemed but as a light flung
immediately out of my own soul, making
the narrow circle of a radiance for my feet
t\\a,\. -waa wvio^aW^XiV^ vt any others. My
CHARLES AUGIIESTER.
15i
certain hold upon my pupils; bat no one
can imagine what snifering they weetlessly
imposed upon me. The number I began
with, receiving each singly not at my own
home but in a hired room, was not more
than eight, amateurs and neophytes, either ;
the amateurs esteeming themselves no less
than amateurs, and something more; the
neophytes chiefly connexions of the choral
force, and of an individual stubbornness not
altogether to be appreciated at an early pe-
riod. I could laugh to remember myself
those awful mornings when, after a break-
fast at home which I coiild not have touched
had it been less delicately prepared, I used
to repair to that room of mine and await
the advent of those gentlemen, all older
than myself except one, and he the most
presto in pretensions of the set. The room
was at the back and top of a house ; and
over the swinging window-blind I could
discern a rush now and then of a deep dark
smoke ; and a wail, as of a demon sorely
tried, would shrill along my nerves as 'the
train dashed by. The trains were my chief
support during the predominance of my
ordeal, they superinduced a sensation that
was neither of music nor of stolidity.
After a month or two, however, dating
from the first week of February, when to-
gether with the outpeering of the first snow-
drop from the frost I assumed my dignities,
I discovered that I had gained a certain
standing, owing to the fact of my being
aware what I was about, and always attend-
ing to the matter in hand. Of my senior
pupils, one was immensely conversable, so
conversable that, until he had disgorged
himself of a certain quantity of chat, it was
impossible to induce him to take up his
bow ; another, contemplative, so contem-
plative that I always had to unpack his in-
strument for him, and to send it after him
when he was gone, in a general way; a
third, so deficient in natural musicality that
he did not like my playing I and soon put
up for a vacant oboe in the band of the
local theatre, and left me in the lurch.
But desperately irate with them as I was,
and almost disgusted with my petty efforte,
I made no show of either to Davy, nor did
they affect my intentions, nor stagger my
fixed assurance. All my experiences were
hoarded and husbanded by me to such pur-
pose on my own account, that I advanced
myself in exact proportion to the calm statu
quo in which remained at present my or-
chestral nucleus. My patience was reward-
ed, however, before 1 could have dared to
hope, by a steady increase of patronage dur-
ing April and May ; in fact I had so much to
do in the eight weeks of those two months
that my piother declared I was working
too hard, and projected a trip for me some-
where. Bless her ever benignant heart!
he always held that everybody, no matter
who, and no matter whet they had to dOb
should recreate daring three months oat of
every twelve 1 How my family, all cele-
brated as they were for nerves of salioot
self-asfiertion, endured my home-neoessary
practice, I cannot divine ; but they one and
all made light of it, even declaring they
scarcely heard that all-penetrating sound
distilled down the staircase and through
closed parlor doors. But I was obliged to
keep in my own hand most vigorously, and
sustained myself by the hope that I should
one day lead off my dependants in the re-
gion now made sacred by voice and verse
alone. It was my habit to give no lessons
after dinner, but to pursue my own studies,
sadly deficient as I was in too many respects
in the long afternoons of spring, and to walk
in the lengthening evenings, more delicioos
in my remembrance than an^ of my boyish
treasure-times. On class nights I would
walk to Davy's, find him in a paroxysm of
anxiety just gone off, leaving Mill! cent to
bemoan his want of appetite and to devise
elegant but inexpensive sappers : I would
have one good night game with my soft-
lipped niece watch her mamma unswathe
the cambric from her rosy limbs see the
white lids drop their lashes over her blue
eyes* sleepfulness listen to the breath that
arose like the pulses of a fiower to the air
feel her sweetness make me almost sad, and
creep down stairs most noiselessly. Milli-
cent would follow me to fetch her work
basket from the little conservatory ^would
talk a moment before she returned up stairs
to work by the cradle-side would steal with
me to the door, look up to the stars or the
moon a moment, and heave a sigh, a sigh as
from happiness too large fot heart to hold
and I, having picked my path around the
narrow gravel, smelling the fresh mould in
the darkness; having reached the gate,
would just glance round to sign adieu, and
not till then would she withdraw into the
warm little hall, and close the door. Then,
off I was to the class to see the windows
aglow from the street ^to hear the choral
glory greeting me in sounds like chastened
organ-tones ^to mount, unquestioned, into
the room, to find the*^crimson seats all full,
the crimson platform bare, save of that
quick, dark form, and those gleaming handb.
1 sit down behind, and bask luxuriously in
that which to me is precious as the " sun
shine to the bee ;" or I come down stoop-
ingly a few steps, and taking the edge of a
bench, where genial faces smile Tor me, I
peep over the sheet of the pale mechanic or
rejoicing weaver, whose visage is drawn out
of its dread fatigue as by a celestial galvan-
ism, and join in the psalm, or mix my spirit
in tke soaring antiphon. Davy meets me
afterwards we wait until everybody has
passed out wo pack away the books we
turn down the gae or at least a gentleman
152
CHARLES AUCI1ES*.1:R.
Ooea, who appears to think it an essential
part of mnsic that a sapreme bustle should
precede and follow its celebrations, and
who, locking the door after we attain the
street, tenders Davy the key in a perfect
agony of coarteons patronage, and bows al-
most nnto the earth. I accompany my
hrother home, and Millicent and he and I
^up together, the happiest tcio in the town.
On other nights I snp at home, and after
iny walk, as I come in earlier, and after I
have given reports of Millicent, and her
pouse, and the baby ; also, whether it has
been out this day (my mother having a
righteous prejudice against certain winds)
I sometimes play to them such moving mel-
odies as I fancy will touch them, but not
too deeply ^and indulge in the lighter
moods that music does not deny, even to
the uninitiated often trifling with my mem-
ory of old times as they begin to seem to
me ; and, alas I have seemed many years
already -though I am young, so young that
I scarcely know yet how young I am.
CHAPTER II.
I WAS in the most contented frame of
mind that can be conceived of until the very
May -month of the year I speak of, when my
sensations, as nsud, began to be peculiar.
I don't think anybody can love summer
better than I do^-can more approvedly lan-
guish out by heavy-shaded stream, in an
atmosphere all roses, the summer noons
can easier spend in insomnie the lustrous
moony nights.
But May does something to me of which
I am not aware during June or July, or at
the first delicate spring-time. When the
laburnums rain their gold, and the lilacs
toss, broad-bloomed, their grape-like clus-
ters ^when the leaves, full swelling, are yet
all veined with light ^I cannot very well
work hard, and would rather slave the live-
long eleven months beside, to have that
month a holiday. So it happened now; and
though I had no absolute right to leave my
pupils, and desert the first stones of my
musical masonry just laid and smoothed, I
was obliged to t^ink that if I were to have
a holiday at all, I had better take it then.
J^ut I had not decided until I received a
double intimation, one from Davy, and one
from the county newspaper, which last
never chronicled events that stirred in Lon-
don unless they stirred beyond it. My joy-
ous brother brought mo the letter, and the
paper was upon our table the same morning
when I came down to breakfast.
**Se0 here, C/jarJes," said Olo, who, sit-
jpff in Jjer own corner^ over her own book^
was unwontedly excited, " liere is a piece
of news for you, and mv mother fonnd it
first I''
I read, in a castaway paragraph eiio:iffh,
that the Chevalier Seraphael, the pianibt
and composer, was to pay a visit to Englaod
this very summer; though to remaia in
strict seclusion, he would not be iuaccessUiIfl
to professoriB. He brought with him, I
learned, ** the fruits of several years' solitary
travel, no doubt worthy of his genius and
peculiar industry."
Extremely to the purpose were these ex-
Eressions, for they told me all I wanted to
now that he was alive, must be himself
agdn, and had been writing for those who
loved him ^for men and angels. Now, for
my letter I had held it without opening it,
for I chose to do so when alone, and waited
until after breakfast. It was a choice little
supplement to that choicest of all invites for
my spirit and heart :a note on foreign
paper the graceful, firm character of thcr
writing found no difficulty to stand ont clear
and black from that milken-water hue and
spongy texture. It was from Clara, a sim-
ple form that a child might have dictated,
yet containing certain business reports fot
Davy, direct as from one who could master
even bus^iness.
She was coming definitely to England, not
either for any purposes save those all worth}
of herself: she had accepted, after much
consideration, a London engagement for the
season ; and, said she,
*^ I only have my fears lest I should do
less than I ought for what I love best it is
so difficult to do what is right by music in
these times when it is fashionable to seeoi
to like it. You will give me a little of your
advice, dear Sir, if I need it, as perhaps I
iiiuy ; but I hope not, because I have trou-
bled you too much already. I trust vour
little daughter is growing like you to please
her mother, and like her mother to please
you. I shall be delighted to see it when I
come to London, if you can allow me to do
so."
The style of this end of a letter both
amused and absorbed me: it was Clara'f
very idiosyncracy. I could but think, is it
possible that she has not altered more thac
her style of expressing herself has done? 1
must go and see.
Davy received my ravings with due com-
passion, and more indulgence than I had
dared to hope. The suspension of my dutieis
leaving our orchestra in limbo still longer,
disconcerted him a little, but he was the
first to say I must surely go to London.
The only thing to be discovered was when
to go, so as not to frustrate either one of wy
designs or the other, and I declared he must,
to that end, address Clara on the very sub-
ject.
\ He d\^ ^0^ k.^^ Va ^ tQit\a\^lLt there camf
OHARLES AU0HE8TER.
15S
file coolesfc note, to say she woald be in
London tbenezt day, aqd that she had heard
the great innsiciaa would arrive before the
end of t}je month. I inly marvelled wheth-
er, in all the course of his wanderings,
lara and the Chevalier had met ; but still
I thoaght and prophesied not. I was really
reltietant to leave Davy with his hands and
bead fall, that I might saunter with my own
in kid gloves and swarming witii Hay fan-
cies; bat for once my selfishness or some-
thing higher whose mortal frame is selfish-
neis-^impelled me. I found myself in the
train at the end of the next week, carrying
Clara's address in my memorandum-book,
and my violin* case in the carriage along
vith me.
It was early afternoon, and exquisitely
splendid weather, when I arrived in London.
In London, however, I had little to do just
tben, as the address of the house to which I
^as bound was rather out of London above
tbe smoke beyond the stir ^at the very
firat plunge into the surrounding country,
^t lingers yet as a dream upon her day-
''^Uty, with which dreams suit not ill, and
from which they seldom part. I love the
Jeaft of Jjondon, in whose awful deeps re-
'^^ct the mysteries unfathomable of every
J^reti and where the homeless are best at
aome where the home-bred fear not to
^ander, assured of sweet return ; but I do
^ot love its immediate precincts, that rude
taking stage between that profound and
he conserved, untainted sylvan vision, that,
^Cice overpfist it, dawns upon us.
Dashing as abruptly as possible, and bv
he nearest way through all the brick wil-
lerness outward, I reached in no long weary
jme, and by no long weary journey though
m foot, a quiet road, which by a continuous
)ut gentle rise carried me to the clustered
louses neither quite hamlet nor altogether
riUagO) where Miss Benette had hidden her
leart among the leaves.
Cool and shady was the^ side I took,
hough the sunshine whitened the highway,
;nd every summer promise beamed from
he soft sky^s azure, the greea earth^s bloom.
The painted gates I tpet at intervals, or the
ron^wreathed portals, guarded dim walks
hrongh whose perspective villas glistened
^all beautiful as they were discerned afar
Q their frames of tossing creepers, with gay
'erandahs or flashing greenhouses. But the
rail I fo.Uowed gave me not a transient
glimpse of gardens inwards; so thickly
)lazed the laburnums and the paler flames
)f the rich acacia, not to speak of hedges
ill sweet briar matted into one embrace with
louble-blossomed hawthorn. I passed gar-
len i^ter garden and gate after gate, aeeing
10 oae ; for the great charm of those re-
;ions consists in the extreme privacy of
ivery habitation privacy which the most
txilusiverobleman might envy, and never
excel in his wilderuiis parks ir shnib-
beries and when at lengtn I attained the
summit of the elevation where two roads
met end shut in a sweep of actual country,
and I came to the end of the houses, I lio-
gan to look about for some. one to direct
me; then, turning the corner, I came in
turning upon what I had been seeking,
without having really sought it by any ef-
fort.
The turn in the road I speak of went ta-
pering olf between hedgerows ; and mea-
dow-lands as yet unencroached upon swept
within them as far as J could see. But just
where 1 stobd, a cottage, older than any
of the villas and framed in shade more an-
cient than the light groves I left behind me,
peeped from the golden and purple May-
trees across a moss-green lawn ^a perfect
picture in its silence, and a very paradise of
fragrance. It was built of wood, and had
its roof-hung windows and drooping eaves
protected by a spreading chesnut-tree, whose
great green fans beat coolness against every
lattice, and whose blossoms had kindled
their rose-white tapers at the sun. The
garden was so full of flowers that one could
scarcely bear the sweetness, except that the
cool chestnut shadow dashed the breeze
with freshness as it swept the heavy foliage,
and sank upon the chequered grass to a
swoon. I was not long lost in contempla-
ting the niche my saint had chosen, fur I
could have expected nothing fitter, but I
was at some loss to enter, for the reminis-
cences of my childhood burdened me, and I
dreaded lest I should be deprived of any-
thing I now held stored within me, by a
novel. shock of being. I need not have
feared.
After waiting till I was ashamed, I open-
ed the tiny gate and walked across the grass,
still soft with the mowing of the morning,
to the front door, where 1 pulled a little
bell-handle half smothered in the wreaths
of monthly roses that were quivering and
fluttering like pink doves about the door
and lower windows. Tliis was as it should
be, the very door-bell dressed with flowers ;
but more as it should be it was, that Thone
opened the door. I was almost ready to
disappear again, but that her manner was
the most reassuring to troublesome nerves.
She did not appear to have any idea who
I was, nor did she even stare when I pre-
sented my card, but like some strange
bronze escaped from its pedestal and attired
in muslin, she conducted me onwards down
a little low hall half filled with the brightest
plants, into a double parlor whose folding-
doors were closed, and whose diamond-
paned back-window looked out far and
very far into the country.
Hearing not a voice in the next room, nor
any rustle, nor even a soft foot hastily cross
the beamed ceiling overhead, I dared look
1S4
OIlATiLEa AUOHESTER.
aboafc m? for a moment hid my hat in
confusion under a oliair saw tlmt the ronnd
table had a bowl of flowers in its centre
caught sight of my face in the intensely pol-
ished glass-door of a small closed bookcase
and, as if detected in some act, walked
*way to the window.
I could not have done a better thing to
prepare myself for any fresh excitement ; I
was ready in an instant to weep with joy at
the beauty which flooded my spirit. Over
and beyond tlie garden J gazed ; it did not
detain my eye I passed its tree-tops, all
apple-bloom and lilac, and its sudden bursts
of grass where the tree-tops parted. I look-
ed out to the country, an undulating conn-
try, a sea of green flushed here and there
with a bloomy level or a breeze upon the
crimson clover odorous bean-fields quiver-
el, and their scent was floating everywhere,
it drowned the very garden sweetness, and
Wended in with waftures of unknown fra-
grance, all wild essences shed from wood-
bines, from dog-roses, and the new-cut
grass, or plumy meadow-sweet by the wa-
ters of rills flowing up into the distance,
silver in the sunlight. Soft hills against the
Jieaven swept over visionary valleys the
sunshine lay white and warm upon glisten-
ing summer seats and picture cottages
over all spread the purple melting, brooding
sky, transparent on every leaf and blossom,
shining upon those tender sloping hills with
an amethyst haze of light, not shade..
As I stood, the things that seemed had
never been, and the things that had been
grew dilated and indefinitely bright ^tbe
soft tlirall of the suspense that bound me in-
tertwining itself with mine " electric chain,"
as the May-dream mixed itself with all ray
music, veiling it as moonlight the colors of
the flowers, or as music itself veils passion.
I w^atted quite half an hour and had lost
myself completely, feeling as if no change
could come, when, without a sound, some
one entered behind me. I knew it by the light
that burst through the folding-door, which
had however again closed when I turned
for the tread was so silent I might otherwise
have gone dreaming on. Clara stood before
me^so little altered, that I could have im-
agined she had been put away in' a trance
when I left her last, and but this instant
was restored to me.
She was not more womanly, nor less
child* like; and for her being an actress, it
seemed a thing impossible. I could but
stand and gaze ; nor did she seem surprised,
nor did her eyes droop, nor her fair cheek
mantle through the untrembling lashes I
caught the crystal light as she opposed ine,
still waiting for me to speak.
I was heartily ashamed at last, and re-
Bolved to make her welcome as she main-
tained that strange regard. I put out my
Jijind, and in an instant she greeted m ^ttio
infantine smile sl.jne suddenly, that ha^
soothed me so long ago.
" I am very glad to see you, MissBenette.
It was very kind of you to let me come.**
" By no means," she replied, with the
slightest possible Italian softening of her ao
cent. " I am very much obliged to yon,
and I am very pleased also. Please sit down
Sir, for you have been standing, I am afraid,
a long time. I was out at first, and since 1
returned I made haste, but still I fear I have
kept you waiting,"
" I could have waited all day. Miss Bfr-
nette, to see such a window as this % How
did you manage to put your foot into such a
nest r
^* It is a very sweet little place, and the
country is most beautiful. I don't know
what they mean by its being too near Lon-
don. I must be near London, and yet I
could not exactly live in it, for it makes me
idle."
" How very strange, it has the same effect
upon me ^that is to say, I always dream in
those streets and lose half my purpose.
Still it must be almost a temptation to in-
dulge a certain kind of idleness here ; in
such a garden as that, for example, one
could pass all one's time."
" I do pass half ray time in the garden,
and yet I do not think it is too much, for it
makes me well, and I cannot work when 1
am not well, I was always fortunate in that
respect."
" How do you think I look, by the by,
Miss Benotte? Am I very much changed?
It is perhaps however, not a safe question."
" Quite safe, Sir. You have grown more
and more like your inseparable companion
^you always had a look of it, and now it
takes the place of all other expression."
" I don't know whether that is compli-
mentary or not, you see, for I never heard
your opinion in old times. I was a very
little silly boy then, and not quite so well
aware of what I owed to you as I may be
now."
" I do not feel that you owe anything to
anybody, Mr. Auchester; for you would
have gone to your own desires as resolutely
through peril as through pleasure; at aU
events, if you are still as modest as you
were, it is a great blessing now you have
become a soul which bears so great a^art
If I must speak truth, however, about your
looks, you seem as delicate as you used to
be, and I do not suppose you could be any-
thing else. You have not altered except to
have grown up."
" And you, if I may say so, have not al-
tered in growing up."
Nor had she. She had not gained an inch
in height ; she could never have worn that
black silk frock those years ; yet the folds
80 gvave and costly still shielded her gentla
breast to xsi^^t \Xi^ viQ^-^Q^ ruffle that
oiiARLES AincnK:.R.
151
her throat; nor had she omament
sr neither braceletnorriog upon the
i hands, the delicate wrists. Though
:eD hair had lengthened into wreaths
rreaths behind, she still preserved
aby-cnrls npon her temples, nor had
more majesty gathered to her brow ;
d innocence was throned there, and
forth from her eyes as from a shrine,
ras evident that there was nothing
ler from head to foot on which she
herself a rare shortcoming of femi-
iturity. The only perceptible differ-
tbe face was when she spoke or
and then the change, the deepened
)S8, can be no more given to de-
n than the notion of music to a des-
ar. It was something of a reserve
ard to be approached, and too subtile
ae its own iiiHuence ; like perfume
iseen flowers, diffusing itself when
d awakens, while we know neither
the windy fragrance comes nor
it flows.
b possible. Miss Benette," i continued
forced myself absolutely to speak, I
JO infinitely have preferred to watch
ntly "that you can have passed
I so much since I saw you ?"
I have lived a very quiet life ; it is
o have lived in all the stir until you
lere is not any calm at all."
tould have certainly found calm here.
a, I thought, and indeed I know,
ad every kind of excittiment ready
o your hand, and only waiting for
touch the springs.''
we had no excitement till I came
le ? Why who could have had more
10 could have borne the same so
? "VTe have heard of you hero, and
have been a transcending tempest
shock to echo so far."
o not call singing in theatres, and
excitement. I always felt cool and
d in them ; for I knew they were
I, and that I should fi;et through them
nd very glad should I be ; so I was
and did my best. You look at me
1 ; I knew I should shock you after
talk."
, fie ! Miss Benette, to talk so, then,
shock yourself as you must, if you
hless."
:T I, faithless! well, I am noji im-
. enough for it to signify. And yet
i like to tell you what I mean, be-
ou were always kind to me, and I
not wish you to despise me now.
r. Auchester, I am not faithless; I
asic more and more ; it is tlie form
'eligion I dare to call it altogether
[ am sure indeed, it mnst be so, or it
have been trodden down long ago
thing with the evil they Lavo tieapcd
over it to hide it, and fhe 'uataxes they
have made about it. I act and I shig-W
oaose that is what I can do beat, but my
idea of mnsio goes with yonra, and therefor*
I am not excited as I should be if I wer
filling up a phioe anoh as that which yon
fill ; though I would not leave my own foi
any consideration, and hope to continue is
it. My excitement since I came here, wherf
most ladies would be dull or sick, has arisei
from the feeling that I am brought into con*
t4ict with what is most like music as I al*
ways find solitude, and also because since I
came I have been raised higher by several
spirits which are lofty in their desires, in-
stead of being dragged through a mass of
all opinions as I was abroad. My pleasures
here are so great that I feel ray soul to be
quite young again, and to grow younger;
aod you oannot fancy what It is to return
here after being in London, because you do
not go to London, and if yon did go to Lon*
don, yon wonld not do as I do."
6he turned to me here, and told me it
was her dinner-hour, asking me to remain
and dine with her. It was about two o'clock,
and 1 hesitated not to stay^; indeed I know
not that I could have gone.
We arose together, and I led her for-
wards; we crossed the hall to a door be-
yond us ; when, removing her little hand
from my arm, and laying it on the lock, she
looked into my face and smiled.
" Yon remembered me so well that I hope
you will remember an old friend of mine
who is staying here with me."
Before I could reply, or even marvel, she
open the door, and we entered^, The little
dining-room was lined with warmer hues
than the airy drawing-room, but white mus-
lin chrtains made sails within the crimson
ones, and some person stood within these,
lightly screened, and looking out over th
blind.
"Laura," said Miss Benette ^and she
turned with exquisite elegance had it not
been for her name which touched my mem-
ory, I could not have remembered her cer-
tainly, at least, not then.
Perhaps when we were seated opposite
at table, with nothing between us but a vase
of garden-flowers, 1 might have made out
her lineaments, but I was called upon by my
reminding chivalry to assist the hostess in
the dissection of spring chickens and roast-
ed lamb, and there was something besides
about that very Laura I did noc like to face
until she should at least speak and reveal
herself, as by the voice one cannot fail tc
do.
However, she spoke not, nor did Olara
speak to her, though we two talked a good
deal, that is to say /talked, as so it behoved
me to behave, and as I wished tc see Miss
Benette eat When, at last all traces of the
\bi\oNV^' ddinaak wcrj awe^jt out by a pair of
156
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
ingl^ ; ** I think it is ha.*^y fair to makeiW
remind you."
^^ It is my desert, if I remembered it first
Yon thongbt me very vnlgar, and yon told
me as much, though in more polite lan-
guage."
" If I thought so then, I may be allofw^I
to have forgotten it now. Miss Lemark, as I
think your friend will grant, when I look s^
you."
" You do not admire my style, Mr. An-
Chester ; I know you ; it is precisely against
your taste. Even Clara does not approve
it, and you have not half her forbearance, i^
indeed, you have any."
" Nobody, Laura dear, would dispute that
you can bear more dressing than I can ; it
does not suit roe to wear colors, and yoa
look like a flower in them. Does not diat
color suit her well, Mr. Auchester ?"
^^ Indeed I think so, and especially this
glorious weather, when the mos^ .idhnes
are starting out of every old stone. But
Miss Lemark could afford to wear green, a
very unusual suitability ; it is the hoe of her
eyes, I think."
Laura had looked down, with that haotear
more fixed than ever now the light of her
eyes was lost; she drew in the corners of
her mouth, and turned a shade colder, if not
paler, in complexion. I could not imt^ne
what she was thinking, till she said, with
out raising her eyes,
" You know, Clara, that is not the reason
you wear black and I do npt. You know
that you look woll in anything, because no-
body looks at anything you happen to wear;
besides, there is a reason I could give if I
chose."
" There is no other reason that you know
of, Laura," she answered, and then she
asked me a question on quite another sub-
ject.
I was rather anxious to discover whether
Laura had fulfilled her destiny as far as we
had compassed ours ; but I did not find it
easy, for she scarcely spoke, and had not
lost a certain abstraction in her air that
alienated the observer insensibly from her.
Aftor dinner Clara rose, and I made some
demonstration of going, which she mot so
that I could not refuse her invitation to re-
main, at least an hour or two. We all three
retired into the little drawing-room; Miss
Benette placed me a chair in tbo open win-
dow which I had admired, and herself sat
down opposite, easily as a child, and saying^
" I will not be rude to-day, as 1 used to be,
in taking out. my work whenever you
came."
** It suited you very well, however, and I
perceive, by your kind present to my little
niece, that you have not forgotten that deli-
^ What did I eny then that I dare not say I cate art of yours."
Bowf lam fiure I Jon't remember." \ "1 Vi^i^l \Kv\. \\, a\^*^^ ^it5e^t to wofk for
**Toa rna^r reDtemher" said Clara, 8m\l-\\)a\\es,aou^fcWm^^\i^\* '*i%&\w\%vjwy^\\a^
careful hands, and we were left alone with
the cut decanters, the early strawberries and
sweet summer-oranges, I did determine to
look, for fear Miss Lemark should think I
did not dare to do so. I was not mistaken
as it happened, in believing her to be quite
capable of this construction as I discovered
on regarding her immediately.
Her childish nonchalance had ripened into
a hauteur quite alarming, for tliough she
was scarcely my own age, she might have
been ten years older. 'Sot that her form
was not lithe lithe as it could be to be en-
dowed with the proper complement of mus-
cles but for a certain sharpness of outline
her countenance would have been languid
in repose : her brow retained its singular
breadth, but had not gained in elevation;
her eyes were large and lambent, fringed
with lashes that swept her cheek, though
not darker than lier hair, which waved as
the willow in slightly-turned tresses to her
wa]6t. That waist was so extremely slight
that it scarcely looked natural, and yet was
entirely so as was evident from the way she
moved in her clothes.
She afforded a curious contrast to Clara
in her black silk robe, for she was dressed
lu muslin of the deepest rose-color, with an
immense skirt, its trimmings lace entirely,
the sleeves dropped upon her arms which
were loaded with braoelets of all kinds,
while she wore a splendid chain upon her
neck. She bore this over effect very well,
and would not have become any other it ap-
peared to me, though there was something
faded in her appearance even then a want
of color in her aspect that demanded of cos-
tume the intensest contrasts.
" You have very much grown, Miss
lemark," I ventured to say, after I had
contemplated her to my satisfaction. She
had indeed grown ; she was taller than I.
" So have you, Mr. Auchester."
"She has grown in many respects, Mr.
Auchester, which you cannot imagine,"
said Clara, with a winning mischief in her
glance.
" I should imagine anything you pleased
I am afraid Miss Benette, if you inspired
me. But I have been thinking it is a very
curious thing that we should meet in this
way, we three alone, after meeting as we
did the first time in our lives."
" It was rather different then," exclaimed
Laura, all abruptly, " and the difference is,
not that we are grown up, but that when
met on the first occasion we told each other
our minds,' and now we don't dare."
" I am sure I dare," I retorted.
"No, you would not, no more would
Clara ; perhaps I might, but it would be of
no use." .
OEAKtEB AUOHESTER.
101
J to work for ; and when Mr. Davy
6 word in snoh joy that his little girl
)m, I WAS 80 rejoiced to he ahle to
aps and frocks.*'
sistei was very ranch ohiiged to you
rmer occasion, too, Mi^s Benette.*'
9, 1 suppose she was very much ohiiged
did not accept Mr. Davy^s hand, or
bare heen, only she did not kuow it!"
id not mean so. I was rememheriDg
handiwork graced her on her mar-
n
ly
1 I Ibrgot the veil. I have made
since that one, hut not one like that
, because I desired that should be
You have not told me, Mr. Au-
, anything about Seraphael and his
s so nsed to call him and to hear
lUed, the Chevalier, that at first I
, tut was soon in a deep monologue
lat had happened tO me in connexion
imC.|^d his music, only suppressing
lich I was in the habit of reserving,
I my own mind, from my conscious
n the midst of my relation, Laura,
itly uninterested, as she had been
in a chair with a book in her hands,
room, and we stayed in our talk and
at each other at the same instant.
ly do you look so, Mr. Auohester ?"
ira half amused, but with a touch of
ation, too.
^as expecting to be asked what I
t of that young lady, and you see I
reeably disappointed,^ for you are too
ed to ask.'*
such thing. I thought you would
yourself if you liked, but that you
prefer not to do so, because you are
erson. Sir, to assume critical airs over
n you have only seen a very few
u do me more than justice, Miss Be-
But though I despair of ever curing
of the disposition to criticise, I am
onvertiblo. I admire Miss Lemark ;
mproved she is distinguished ; a lit-
e, and she would be lady-like."
iougbt lady-liko meant less than dis-
ced. You make it mean more.**
rhaps I do mean that Miss Leuiark is
,ctly like yourself, and that when she
ed with you a little longer, she will
ed all that she can be made.**
at would be foolish to say so ; par-
jr she has lived with me two years
ad has most likely taken as much
le by imitation as she ever will, or by
ou perhaps would call sympathy.**
lud, or should fancy I might find to
great dissympathy between you.'*
uppose dissympathy is one of those
;tle German words that ap used to
I what nobody ought to say. I
t you would not go there for nothing.
If year dissym, athy means not to agree Id
sentiment, 1 do not know that any two
bodies could agree quite in feeling, nor would
it be so pleasant as to he alone in some
moods. J should be very sorry never to be
able to retreat into the cool shade and know
tliat as I troubled nobody, so nobody could
get at me, would not you T*
^^ Oil, I suppose so, in the sense you mean.
But how is it I have not heard of this grace,
or muse, taking leave to furl her wings at
your nest? I should have thought that
Davy would have known.'*
^^ Should I tell Mr. Davy what I pay to
Thone for keeping my house in oraer, or
whether I went to church on a Sunday ?
Laura and I always agreed to live togrether,
but we could not accomplish it until lately ;
I mean, since I was in Italy. We met then
as we said we would. I carried her from
Paris, where she was alone, with every one
but those who should have befriended her ;
her father had died, and she was living with
Mile. Margondret ; that person I did not like
when I was young. If I had known where
Laura was, I should have fetched her away
before.
I felt for a moment as if I wished that
Laura had never been born, but only for oce
moment. I then resumed
^^Does she not dance in London? She
looks just ready for it.**
*^She bos accepted no engagement for
this season, at present. I cannot tell wliat
she may do, however. "Would you like to
see my garden, Mr. Auohester ?*'
^^ Indeed, I should very particularly like
to see it, above all, if you will condescend to
accompany me. There is a great deal more
that I cannot help wishing for, MissBenette,
but I scarcely like to dream of asking about
it to-night.**
" For me to sing ? Oh, I will sing for you
any time, but I would certainly rather talk
to you, at least until the beautiful day be-
gins to go, and it is all bright yet."
She walked before me without her bonnet
down the winding garden-steps ; the trellis-
ed balustrade was lost in rose-wreaths. We
were soon in the rustling air, among the
flowers that had not a withered petal, burst-
ing hour by hour.
" It would teaze you to carry flowers, Mr.
Auchester, or I should be tempted to gather
a nosegay for you to take back to liondon.
I cannot leave them alone while they are sc
fresh, and they quite ask to be gathered.
Look at all the buds upon this bush ; you
could not count them.*'
" They are Provence roses. What a quan-
tity you have 1"
''Thon6 chose this cottage for me, be-
cause of the number of the fiowers. I be-
lieve she thinks there is some charm in
flowers which will prevent my becoming
wicked 1 If you had been so kind as to
158
OHABLES AUOHESTER.
bring your violin, I womd have fllled up the
case ivith roses, and thei yon would not
have had to carry them in yonr hands.*^
^^ Bat may I not have some, although I
did not bring my violin ? I never think of
any thing but violets, though, for strewing
tbat sarcophagus/'
^* Sarcophagus means tomb, does it not ?
It Is a fine idea of resurrection, when you
take out the sleeping mnsio and make it
live. I know what you mean shout violets ;
their perfume is like the tones of yonr in-
strument, and one can separate it from all
other scents in the spring, as those tones
from all other tones of the orchestra.'*
^* I have a tender thought for violets, a
very sad one, Miss Benette, but still sweet
now that what I remember has happened a
long while ago."
^^That is the best of sorrow, all passes
off with time but that which is not bitter,
though we can hardly call it sweet. I am
grieved I talked of violets, to touch upon
any sorrow you may had to bear; still
more grieved that you have had a sorrow,
for you are very young."
*^ I seem to feel. Miss Benette, as if you
must know exactly what I have gone
through since I saw you, and I am forced to
remember it is not the case. I am not
sorry yon spoke about violets, or rather that
I did, because some day I must tell you the
whole story of my trouble. I know not
why the violet should remind me more
than does tho beautiful white flower upon
that rose-bash over there, for I have in my
possession both a white rose that has lived
five summers and an everlasting violet,
which will never allow me to forget."
" I know, from your look, that it is about
some one dying ; but why is that so sad ?
We must all die, Mr. Aucbester, and cannot
stay after we have been called."
^^ It may be so, and mast indeed ; but it
was hard to understand and I cannot now
read, why a creature so formed to teach
earth all that is most like Heaven should
go before any one had dreamed she could
possibly be taken ; for she had so much to
do. You would not wonder at the regret I
must ever feel, if yoa had also known her."
Clara had led me onwards as I spoke, and
we stood before that rose-tree ; she broke
off a fresh rose quietly, and placed it in my
hand.
" I am more and more unhappy. It was
not because I was not sorry that I said so
pray tell me about lier I"
" She was very yoang. Miss Benette, only
sixteen, ar.d more beautiful than any flower
in tins garden, or than any star in the sky ;
for it was a beauty of spirit, of passion, of
awful imagination. She was at school with
me^ and I was taught by her how slightly I
Aad learned all thiDgs ; she had learned too
inucb, and of what men coild not teach her.
I never saw such a face--but that was ncN
thing. I never heard snch a voicebnf
neither had it any power, compared with
her heavenly genius and its sway upon the
soul. She had written a symphony; yon
know what it is to do that! She wrote it
in three months, and during the slight leis-
nre of a most laborious student life. I was
alarmed at her progress, yet there was
something about it that made it seem Data*
ral. She was ill once, but got over the at-
tack ; and the time came when this strange
girl was to stand in the light of an orches-
tra, and command its interpretation. It
was a private performance, but I was amoDg
the players. She did not carry it through.
In tlie very midst she fell to the grouDd,
overwhelmed by illness. We thought her
dead then, bat she lived four days."
" And died. Sir? Oh I she did not die!"
^^ Yes, Miss Benette, she died ; hot noooe
then could have wished her to live."
*'She suffered sol" ' *'
" No, she was only too happy. I did
not know what joy could rise to, until I be-
held her face with the pain all passed, and
saw her smile in dying."
" She must have been happy then. Per-
haps she had nothing she loved except Je-
hovah, and no home but Heaven.
" Indeed, she must have been happy, fof
she left some one behind her who had been
to her so dear as to make her promise to
become his own."
" I am glad she was so wiseHhen, as to
hide from him that she broke her heart to
part with him; for she could not helpH:
and it was worthy of a young girl vhr
could write a symphony," said Clara, very
calmly, bat with her eyes closed among the
flowers she was holding in her hand. *' Sir,
what did they do with the symphony ? and,
if it is not rude, what did the rose and the
violet have to do with tbid sad tale?"
" Oh I I shonld have told you first, but I
wished to get the worst part over ; I do not
generally tell people. It was the day onr
prizes were distributed she took her death-
blow, and I received from the Chevalier
Seraphael, who superintended all our affairs
and who ordered the rewards, a breast-pin,
with a violet in amethyst, in memory of cer-
tain words he spoke to me in a rather mys-
tical chat we had held one day, in which he
let fan, * the violin is the violet.' And poor
Maria received a silver rose, in memory of
St. Cecilia to whom he had once compared
her, and to whom there was a too true rt*
semblance in her fateful lite. The rose was
placed in her hair by the person I told you
she loved best, just as she was about to
stand forth before the orchestra, and when
she fainted it fell to my feet. I gathered it
up, and have kept it ever since. I do not
know whether I had any right to do so, bat
\ t\\ on\y i^^tsou \.o N\iQivsi\ t^xiVd have com-
CHAKLE8 AUCHE8TER.
1611
mitted it, it was imiiossible to insult by re*
iQinding of her. In fact, he would not per-
mit it; he left Cecilia after she was baried,
and never retarned."
Olara here raised her eyes, bright and
Jiqnid/and yet all-searching I had not seen
them 80.
^4 feel for him all that my heart can feel.
Has be never ceased t6 safifer ? Was she all
to him ?"
*^ He will never cease to suffer until he
eeaaes to breathe, and then he will, perhaps,
be fit to bear the bliss that was withdrawn
from him as too great for any mortal
bdart; that is his feeling, I believe, for ho
is still now, ' and uncomplaining ever
proud, but only proud about his sorrow.
Some day you will, I trust, hear him
play, and you will agree with me how
that grief must have grown into a soul so
passionate.^*
"You mean, when you, say he is proud,
be will not be comforted, I suppose 1 There
&re persons like that, I know, but I do not
Oiiderstand it."
'4 hope yon never will, Miss Benette.
YoQ most suffer with your whole nature to
J'efuse comfort."
*^ To any one so suffering I should say, the
comfort is that aJl those who suffer are re-
served for joy."
" Not here, though."
*^ But it will not be less joy because it is
Baved for by and by. Now that way of
talking makes me angry ; I believe there is
Very little faith."
**Very little, I grant. But poor Flori-
mond Anastase does not fail there." ^
She stopped beside me as we were pacing
the lawn.
'^Florimond Anastase I you did not say
so ? Do you mean the great player ? I have
heard of that person."
Her face flushed vividly, as rose hues
flowing into pearl, her aspect altered, she
seemed convicted of some mistaken conclu-
sion; but, recovering herself almost in-
tantly, resumed ;
" Thank you for telling me that story ; it
will make me better, I hope. I do not de-
serve to have grown up so well and strong.
May I do my duty for it, and, at least, be
grateful I You did not say what was done
with the symphony ?"
" The person I mentioned would not allow
it to be retained. And, indeed, what else
oomld be done? It was buried in her virgin
grave, a maiden work. She sleeps with
her music, and I know not who could have
divided them."
"You have told me a story that has
turned you all over like the feeling before a
thundei storm. I will not hear a word
more. You cannot afford to talk of what
affects you. Now, let me be verj iinperti-
uenU ftnd change the key.**
'^ By all means ; I have saio pite nongh,
and will thank you.**
" There is Laura in the arbor, just across
the grass, we will go to her if yon please,
and you shall see her pretty pink frock
among the roses instead of my black gown.
On the way I will tell you that there is soma
one, a lady too, so much interested in yoq
that she was going down to your neighbor-
hood on purpose to find out about you ; but
I prevented her from coming, by saying you
would be here, and she answered :
" ^ Tell him, then, to come and call upon
jn
me.
" It can only have been one living lady
who would have sent Uiat message ^Misa
Lawrence. Actually I had forgotten all
about her, and she returns upon me with a
strong sense of my own ingratitude. I will
certainly call upon her, and I shall be only
too glad to identify my benefactress."
"That you cannot do she will not allow
it; at least to this hour she persists in per-
fect innocence of the fact."
" That she provided us both witli exactly
what we wanted at exactly the right time ?
She chalked out my career, at least. Til
make her understand how I feel. Is she not
a character ?"
" Not more so than youreelf, but still one
certainly ; and a peculiarity of hers is, that
generous ^too generous almost as she is,
she will not suffer the slightest allusion to
her generosities to be made, nor hint to be
circulated that she has a heart at all."
Laura was sitting in the arbor, which was
now at hand, but not, as Olara prophesied^
among the roses in any sense, for the green
branches that festooned the lattice were
flowerless until the later summer, and her
face appeared fading into a mist of green.
The delicate leaves framed her as a picture
of melancholy that has attired itself in mirth,
which mirth but served to fling out the
shadow by contrast, and betray the source.
Clara sat on one side, I on the other, and pre-
sently we went into tea. But I did not hear
the voice I longed for that evening, nor was
the piano opened that I so well remembered
standing in its " dark corner.**
CHAPTER HI.
I DETEHMiNBD not to Ici a day pass with-
out calling on' Miss Lawrence, for I had
obtained her address before I left the cot-
tage, and I set forth the following morning.
It was in the midst of a desert of west-end
houses, none . of which have any peculiar
characteristic, or suggest any peculiar no-
tion. "When I reached the-door, I knocked,
and it being o|;ened^ gave in my card to the
140
CHARLES AUCHESTER.
footman, who showed me into a dining-
room void of inhabitants, and there left me.
It seemed strange enough to my percep-
tion, after I conld sit down to breathe, that
a lady shonld live all by herself in snch an
immense place ; bnt I corrected myself by
remembering s^e might possibly not live by
herself, bnt have brothers, sisters, nay any
number ot relations. or dependants. She
certainly did not dine in that great room, at
that long table polished as a looking-glass,
where half a regiment might have messea
for change. There were heavy curtains,
striped blue and crimson, and a noblo side-
board framed in an arch of yellow marble.
The walls were decorated with deep-toned
pictures on a ground almost gold color; and
I was fastened upon one I could not mistake
as a Murillo, when the footman returned,
but only to show me out, for Miss Lawrence
was engaged. I was a little crestfallen, not
conceitedly so, but simply thinking I had
better not have taken her at her word, and
retreated in some confusion. Returning
very leisurely to my two apartments near
the Strand, and stopping very often on the
way at music or print-shops, I did not ar-
rive there for at least an hour, and was
amazed on my entrance to find a note, di-
rected to myself, lying upon the parlor table-
cloth.
I appealed to my landlady from the top
of the kitchen stairs, and she said a man in
livery had left it, and was to call for an an-
swer. I read the same on the spot ; it had
no seal to break, but was twisted backwards
and forwards, and had this merit, that it
was very difficult to open. It was from
Miss Lawrence, without any comment on
my call, but requesting my company that
very evening to dinner, at the awful hour
of seven. Never having dined at seven
o'clock in my existence, nor even at six,
I was lost in the prospect, and almost desir-
ed to decline, but that I had no excuse of
any kind on hand ; and therefore compelled
myself to frame a polite assent, which I de-
spatched, and then sat down to practise.
I made out to myself that she would cer-
tainly be alone, as she was the very person
to have fashionable habits on her own ac-
count ; or at least, that she would be sur-
rounded merely by the people belonging to
her in her home. But I was still uucon^
fessedly nervous when I drew the door after
me and issued into the streets, precisely as
the quarter chimes had struck for seven,
and while the streets still streamed with
daylight, and all was defined as at noon.
When I entered the square so large and
btill, with its broad roads and tranquil
ijentrc-piece of green, I was appalled to ob-
crve a carriage or two, and flattered ray-
se/f they were at another door ; but they
pelled to advance, after having stood Ksid
to permit a lady in purple satin, and two
younger ladies in white, to illustrate tb
doorway in making their procession first.
Then I came on, and was rather surprised
to find myself so well treated ; for a gentle-
man out of livery, in neater black clothes
than a clergyman, deprived me of my hat,
and showed me up stairs directly. It stnicfc
me very forcibly that it was a very good
thing my hair had the habit of staying up-
on my forehead as it should do, and that I
was not anxious to tie my neck-handker-
chief over again, as I was to be admitted
into the drawing-room in statu quo.
I ascended. It was a well-staircase, whose
great height was easy of attainment from
the exceeding lowness of the steps ston^^^
with a narrow crimson centre strip, soft as
thick-piled velvet. On the landing-place
was a brilliant globe of humming-birds, in-
terspersed with gem-like spars and many a
moss- wreath. Tlie drawing-room door was
opened for me before I had done looking;
I walked straight in, and by instinct straight
up to the lady of the house, who as instant-
ly met me with a frank faniiliarity that dif-
fers from all other, and supersedes the rar-
est courtesy.
I had a vague idea that Miss Lawrenco'
must have been married since I saw her, so
completely was she mistress of herself, ari'l*
so easy was her deportment not to speak
of her dress, which was black lace, with a
single feather in her hair of the most vivi3
green; but unstudied as very few costonies-
i^re, even of married women. She was still
aRss Lawrence, though, for some one ad-
dressed her by name a broad-featured man
behind her and she turned her head alone,
and answered him over her shoulder.
She dismissed him very shortly, or sent
him to some one-else, for she led me-^-as a
queen might lead one of her knights, by
her finger-tips small as a Spaniard's, upott
the tips of my gloves, while she held her
own gloves in her other hand to a gentle-
man upon the rug, a real gentleman of the
old school, to whom she introduced me
simply, as to her father ; and then she
brought me back again to a low easy-chair,
out of a group of easy-chairs close by the
piano, and herself sat down quite near me
on the extreme corner of an immense em*
broidered ottoman.
"You see how it is, my dear Mr. An-,
Chester," she began in her genial voice, '* a
dinner, which I should not have dreamed
to annoy you with but for one party we ex-
pect. You have seen Seraphael, of coufse,
and felie little Bnrney ? or perhaps not ; they
have \)een in town only two days."
I was about to express something raliier
beyond surprise, when a fresh appeardfhce!
at tive dooT caxTv^d her away, and I coi^
had drawn up at the very front, alas! thatlat tive doox caxmd her away, and I coi^
IJjjid visited in the momfng. I was c^m-lonAy wa\.o\v\X\ft ^^Ti^\M\s^!i\u^^^\Y%a=l|
COiABLES AUOHESTEB
161
away from me. To stifle my seoaa-
JQst glanced roond the room ; it waa
rge, bnt so high and so apportioned,
e felt no space to spare,
iraperies, withdrawn for the sunset
) enter, were of palest sky-eolor; the
f the palest blnsh ; the tables in oor-
e chairs in clusters, the cabinets in
rjlt and carTcn, were of the deepest
d crimson ; upon a carpet of all im-
i hues, like dashed flower petals,
ma as waa the fxiniiture, in nothing
led even the calmest taste ; and the
: must have lavisbed upon it a pro-
isure.
pianoforte was a grand one, of dark
trous polish; its stools were velvet;
lamp, unlighted, with gold tracery
3 moon-like globe, issued frcnn a
In the wall immediately over it^ and
ized with a circle of those same
ibove the centre ottoman, and with
e upon the mantle-shelf guarding a
il French dock, and reflected in a
perfect glass sweeping to the ceiling.
) were about five-and-twenty persons
who seemed multiplied, by their
and thefa* dresses, into thrice as
emd who would have presented a
ble aspect but for tlie hopes roused
me to a tremendous anticipation,
ad time, during the hum and pecu-
tle, to scrutinize the taces present :
rere none worth carrying away, ex-
it shaded by the emerald plume, and
red it from chair to chair, fondly
it would return to mine. It did not ;
was evident we were waiting fop*
le.
) was a general lull ; two minutes by
ch (as I ascertained very improperly)
I ^and two minutes seems very long
i set dinner. Suddenly, while I was
ing after our hostess, the door flew
ad I heard a voice repeat :
\ Chevalier Seraphael and Mr. Bur-
entered calmly, as I could hear not
my eyes seemed to turn in ray head,
ivoluntarily looked away. The for-
Droached the hostess, who had ad-
almost to the door to meet him, and
sed, but very slightly, for his late
.nee, {^dding a few words in a lower
iich I could not catch. He was still
his companion by the hand, and,
;hey had time to part, the dinner was
oed with state.
. sight of him, long before I obeyed
ftnons, leading a lady assigned to me
taller than myself, who held a hand-
f in her hand that looked lilce a lace
d shook it in my face as we walked
he stairs. I can never sympathize
le abuse heaped upon these dinner-
as I have heard, since I recall that
especial oocaaton, not onW mJtML, but with
a sense of its Arabiao 19lgbt-like chann ;
the long table, glistering with damask too
white for the eye to endure ; the shining
silver, tile flashing crystal ; the blaze and
mitigated brightness ; the pyramid of flow-
ers, the fragrance, and the picture quiet.
As we passed in noiselessly, and sat down
one by one, I saw that the genius, apart
from these, was seated by Miss Lawrence at
the top of the table, and I was at the very
bottom, though certainly opposite. Star-
wood was on my own side, but far above
mo. I was constrained to talk with the
lady I had seated next me, and, as she did
not disdain to respond at length, to listen
while she answered; but I was not con-
strained to look upon her, nor did I ; nor at
anything but that face so long removed, so
suddenly and inexplicably restored.
It is impossible to describe the nameless
change that had crept upon those faultless
features, nor how it touched mo, clove to
my heart within. Seraphael had entirely
lost the flitting healthful bloom of his very
early youth : a perfect paleness toned Ins
face, as if with purity outshadowed ; such
pearly clearness flinging into relief the starry
distance of his full, deep-colored eyes ; the
forehead, more bare, more arched, was dis-
tinctly veined; and the temples were of
chiselled keenness ; the cheek was thinner,
the Hebrew contour more defined; the
countenance had gained in apparent calm,
but, when meeting his gaze, you could pecf
into those orbs so evening-blue, their star
light was passionately restless.
He was talking to Miss Lawrence; he
scarcely ceased, but his conversation was
evidently not that which imported anything
to himself; not the least shade of change
thwarted the paleness I have mentioned,
which was that of watchfulness or of intense
fatigue. She to whom he spoke, on the
contrary, seemed passed into another form ;
she brightened more and more, she flashed,
not only from her splendid eyes, but from
her glowing cheek, her brilliant smile ; she
was on fire with joy that would not be ex-
tinguished. It assuredly was the time of
" all her wealth ;" and, had her mood pos-
sessed no other charm, it would have ex-
cited my furious taste by its interesting con-
trast with his pale aspect and indrawn ex-
pression.
It was during dessert, when the oonverce
had sprung up like a sudden air in a calm,
when politeness quickened and elegance un-
consciously thawed, that as I watched the
little hands I so loved gleaming in the pur
pie of the grapes which the light fingers
separated one by one I passed insensibly
to the countenance ; it was smiling, and fur
me; a sudden light broke through the lips,
which folded themselves again instantly, as
if never to smile again ; but not until I had
163
CHARLES AUCHESTER.
cnown the dawn of the old liviag express-
ion, that thongh it had slept I felt now
was able to awaken, and with more thank-
^ fulness than I can put into words. He was
' of those who stood at the door when the
ladies withdrew, and after their retreat, he
began to speak to me across the table,
serving rae with a skill I conld not appre-
ciate too delicately, to the merest triviali-
ties, and making a sign to Starwood to
take the chair now empty next me.
This was exactly what I Wftnted, for I had
not seen him in the least ^not that I was
afraid he had altered, but that I was anx-
ious to encounter him the same. Although
still a little one, he had grown more than I
expected ; his blue eye was the same the
same his shrinking lip but a great power
seemed called oat of both ; he was exceed-
ingly formed, mnscnlar though delicate ; his
voice was that which I remembered, but he
had canght Seraphael's accent, and quite
slightly, his style only not his manner,
which no one could approach or imitate. I
learned from Starwood, as we sipped our
single glass of wine, that the Chevalier had
been to Miss Lawrence^s that very morning.
*^ He told rae where he was going, and
left me at the hotel ; when he came back he
said we were invited for to-night. Miss
Lawrence had asked him to spend one even-
ing, and he was engaged for every one but
this. She was very sorry, she said, that
her father had a party to-day. The Cheva-
lier, however, did not mind he told her, and
should be very happy to corne anyhow."
^^ But how does it happen that he is so
constantly engaged ? it cannot be to
certs every evening ?"
" Carl, you have no idea how much he is
engaged; the rehearsals are to be every
other day, and the rest of the evenings he
has been worried into accepting invitations.
I wish to goodness people would let him
alone; if they knew what I knpw they
wonld."
** What, ray dear boy ?"
"That for every evening he spends in
company, he sits up half the night ; I know
it, for I have watdied that light under his
door, and can hear him make the least little
stir, when all is so qoiet. At least, I could
at Stralenfield, where he stayed last, for my
room was across the landing-place; and
since we came to London, he told me he
has not slept.^
^ I should think you might entreat him
to do otherwise, Starwood, or at least re-
quest his friends to do so."
" He might have no friends so far as any
Inflaence they have goes. Just try your-
self Carl, and when ypa see his face, you
will not be inclined to do so any more.
** You spoke of rehearsals. Star, what may
these bei I hare Dot heard anything."
*^Jod1j know tJiat he has brought wiih\ tlift better tot tvtA&te oIV^wwjX^ Ihlijga,'
him two symphonies, three or four qnaitet^
and a great roll of organ fugues, besides tl:^^
score of his oratorio."
" I had no idea of such a thing. An ora^
torio ?"
" It is what he wrote in Italy, some time
ago, and only lately went over and'preparod.
It is in manuscript."
"Shall we hear it?"
*'"It is for the third or fourth week in
June, but has been kept very quiet."
" How did Miss Lawrence come to know
him ? she did not use to know him."
" She seems to know everybody, and to
get her own way in everything. You might
ask her; she would tell you, and there
would be no fear of her being angry."
At last we rose. The lamps were lighted
when we returned to the drawing-room ; it
was nearly ten o^clock, but all was brilliant
festive. I had scarcely found a seat when
Seraphael touched my shoulder.
" I want very much to go, Charles. Will
you come home with me ? I have all sorts
of favors to ask of you, and that is the
first."
" But Sir, Miss Lawrence is going to thd
piano ; will not you play first ?"
" Not at all to-night : we agreed. Thew
are many here who would rather be excused
from music ; they can get it at the opera.^'
He laughed, and so did I. He then placed
his other hand on Starwood, still touching
ray shoulder, when Miss Lawrence ap-
proached,
^ Sir, you know what you said, nor can I
ask you to retract it. But may I say how
con- %orry I am to have been so exacting this
morning ? It was a demand upon your time
I would not have made had I known what
Inow know."
" What is that ? pray have the goodness
to tell me, for I cannot imagine."
" That you have brought with you what
calls upon every one to beware how he of
she engages you with trifles, lest they suffer
from that repentance which comes too late.
I hear of your great work, and shall rely
upon you to allow me to assist you, if it lie
at all possible I can in the very least and
lowest degree,"
She spoke earnestly, with an eager trouble
in her air. He smiled serenely.
" Oh I you quite mistake my motive. Miss
Lawrence ; it had not to do with music ; ii
was because I have had no sleep that 1
wished to retire early, and you must permit
me to make amends for my awkwardness.
If it will not exhaust your guests, as I see
you were about to play, let me make the
opening, and oblige me by choosing what
you like best."
"Sir, I cannot refuse, selfish as I am, to
permit myself such exquisite pleasure. There
\B anoUier thirsty soul here who will be )!
V
CHARLES AUCHESTER.
im
She turned to ixie elated. I looked into
Ms face: lie moved to the piano, made no
eestnre eitlier of impatience or satisfaction,
Bat drew the stool to him, and when seated,
glanced to Miss Lawrence, wlio stood beside
him, and whispered sometYiing. I drew,
with Starwood, behind, and where I coald
iratch liis hands.
He played for perhaps twenty minntes ;
tn andante from Beethoven, an allegro from
Ifozart, an aria from Weber, cathedral
Mboes from Pnrcel], fngno-points from Bach,
&nd, mixing them like gathered flowers,
boond them together with a wild delicious
Bcherzo finale, his own. Bnt^ though that
plajJDg was indeed nnto me as heaven in
forecast, and though it filled the heart up to
the brim, it was extremely cold, and I do
Dot remember ever feeling that he was sep-
arable from his playing before. Wlien he
arose so quietly, lifting his awful forehead
from the curls* that had fallen over it as he
bent his face, he was unfln^hed as calm, and
^0 instantly shook hands with Miss Law-
rence, only leaving her to leave the room.
*^ followed him naturally, remembering
'^iB request, but she detained me a moment
to say
" You must come and see me on Thurs-
day, and must also come to breakfast. I
^ball be alone, and have something to show
you. You are going along with him, I find
^"*flo much the better ; take care of him ;
^d good night."
Starwood had followed Seraphael im-
Illicitly ; they were both below. We got
Into a carriage at the door, and were driven
I know not whither ; but it was enough to
be with him, even in that silent mood.
With the same absent grace he ordered
another bed-room when we stayed at his
hotel. I could no more have remonstrated
with him than with a monarch when we
found ourselves in the stately sitting-room.
" A pair of candles for the chamber," was
his next command ; and when they were
brought he said to us, "The waiter will
show you to your rooms, dear children ; you
must not wait a moment."
I could not so I felt object, nor entreat
him himself to sleep. Starwood and I de-
parted, and, whether it was from the novelty
of the circumstances, or my own transcend-
ing happiness, or whether it was because I
put myself into one of Starwood's dresses in
default of my own, I do not conjecture ; but
I certainly could not sleep, and was forced
to leave it alone.
I sat upright for an hour or two, and then
rolled amongst the great hot pillows ; I ex-
amined the register of tlie grate ; I looked
into the tall giass at i^y own double ; but
all would not exhaust mf , and towards the
very morning I left ny bed, and made a
sally upon the lan(!iflg-jl5.!*?. I knew the
uumber ot SeraphaeVa door, fur tStarwood
had pointed it out to nie as we passed along,
and I felt drawn, as by odylic force, to that
very metal lock.
'There was no crack, but a key-hole, an'
the key-hole was bright as any star; I
peeped in also, and shall never forget my
delight yet dread, to behold that outline of
a figure which decided me to make an en-
trance into untried regions, upon inexperi-
enced moods. Without any hesitation, I
knocked, but, recalling to myself his tem-
perament, I spoke simultaneously :
"Dear Sir, may I come in ?"
Though I waited not for his reply, and
opened the door quite innocent of the ghostly
apparel I wore, and how very strange must
have been my appearance. Never shall I
forget the look that came home to me as I
advanced more near him; that indrawn,
awful aspect, that sweetness without a
smile.
The table was loaded with papers, but
there was no Htrew that "spirit" ever
moulded to harmony its slightest ^^ motion ;"
one delicate hand was outspread over a
sheet, a pen was in the other ; he did not
seem surprised, scarcely aroused. I rushed
up to him precipitately.
"Dear, dearest Sir, I would not have
been so rude, but I could not bear to think
you might be sitting up, and I came to
see. I pray you, for God^s sake; do go to
bed!"
" Oarl, very Oari, little Oarl, great Oari I"
he answered, with the utmost gentleness,
but stJIl unsmiling, why should I go to bed.
and why shouldst thou come out of thine ?"
" Sir, if it is anything, I cannot sleep whil%
you are not sleeping, and while you ought
to be besides."
" Is that it ? How very kind, how good !
I do not wake wilfully ; but if I am awake
I must work ^thou knowest that. In truth,
Carl, hadst thou not been so weary, I should
have asked thee this very night what I must
ask thee to-morrow morning."
" Ask me now Sir, for, if you remember,
it is to-morrow morning already."
" Go, get into your bed, then."
"No, Sir, certainly not while you arc
sitting there."
A frown, like the shadow of a butterfly,
floated over his forehead.
" If thou wilt have it so, I will even go to
this naughty bed but not to sleep. The
fact is, Oarl, I cannot sleep in London. I
think that something in the air distresses
my brain ; it will not shut itse f up. I was
about to ask thee whether there is no coun-
try, nothing green, no pure wind, to be had
within four miles ?"
"Sir, you have hit upon a prodigious
providence. There is, as I can assure yov
experimentally, fresh green, \}\ire country
air of heaven^s own distilling, within thai
dlstaxice^ aiid tlv^t^ \ alA xauAh more
164
OHABLlilS ATJCHESTEH.
there is something yoa would like even
better.^
" What is that, Oarlomein T
/^ I will not tell yoQ, Sir, nnless von sleep
to-night."
"To be sly becomes thee, precisely be-
cause thon art not a fox. I will lie down
bat sleep is Qod^s best gift, next to love,
and he has deprived me of both."
"If I be sly, Sir^ yon are bitter. Bat
there is not too maoh slight, nor bitterness
either, where they can be expressed from
words. So Sir, come to bed I"
" Well spoken, Oarlomein I am coming
sleep thoa I"
Bat I woald not, and I did not leave him
nntil I had seen his head laid low in all the
bareness of its beaaty ^had seen his large
eyelids fall, and had drawn his cartains in
their softest gloom aroand the burdened pil-
low. Then I, too, went back to bed, and
I slept delectably and dreamless.
CHAPTER IV.
YxRT late I slept, and before I had finish-
ed dressing, Starwood came for me. Sera-
phael had been down some time he told
me ; I was very sorry, but relieved to dis-
cover how much more of his old bright self
he wore than on the previous evening.
" Now, Oarlomein," he began immediate-
ly *^ we are going on a pilgrimage directly
after breakfast."
I could tell he was excited, for he ate no-
thing, and was * every moment at the win^
dow. To Starwood his abstinence seemed
a matter of course, I was afraid indeed that
it was no new thing. I could not remon-
strate, however, having done quite enough
in that line for the present. It was not
half-past ten when we found ourselves in an
open carriage, into which the Chevalier
sprang last, and in springing, said to me:
"Give your own orders, Oarlomein." I
was for an instant lost, but recovered my-
self quite in time to direct before we drove
from the hotel to the exact locality of Clara^s
cottage, unknowing whether I did well or
iil^ but determined to direct to no other
place. As we passed from London and met
the breeze from the fields and gardens, miles
and miles of flower-land, I could observe a
clearing of Seraphael's countenance, its wan
shadow melted, he seemed actually aban-
doned to enjoyment; though he was cer-
tainly in his silent mood, and only called out
lor my sympathy by his impressive glances
as he stood up in the carriage with his hat
06^ aad swaying to and fro. And when wo
reached, after & rapid and exhilarating drive
youngest leaf, he only began to spe&k he
had not before spoken.
" How refreshing !" he exclaimed, " and
what ft lovely shade I I will surely not go
on a step furtlier, but remain and make in;
bed. It will be very unfortunate for rae if
all those pretty houses I see are full, and
how can we get at them ?"
" I am nearly sure Sir, that you can live
here if you like, or close upon this place;
but if you will allow me I will go on firat
and announce your arrival to to a friend of
mine, who wiu be rather surprised at oar
all coming together, though she would be
more happy than I could express for her, tQ
welcome you at her house."
"It is then that I was brought to seer-a
friend of thine ^thou hast not the assorance
to tell .me that any friend of thine will be
glad to welcome another I But go, Oarlo-
mein I" and he opened the carriage door--
" go and get over thy meeting first ; we will
give thee time. Oh I Oarlomein ^I little
thought what a man thou hadst grown
when I saw thee so tall I get out and go
quickly ; I would not keep thee now for all
the cedars of Lebanon 1"
I could tell his mood now very accurate:
ly, but it made no difference ; I knew what
I was about, or I thought I knew, and did
not remain to answer. I ran along tbs
road ^I turned the corner ^the white gate
shone upon me- and again I stopped to
breathe. More roses more narcissus Unk
bent as lilies ^more sweetness, and still
more rest ! The grass had been cut that
morning, and lay in its litUe heaps all oy^t
the sunny lawn. The gravel was warm to
my feet as I walked to the door, and long
before the door was opened, I heard a voice
So ardent did my desire expand to identi-
fy it with its owner, that I begged the ser-
vant not to announce me nor to disturb Misp
Benette if singing. Thon6 took the cn^
gave me a kind of smile, and preceded me
with a noiseless march to the very back
parlor ; I advanced on tiptoe and .crouching
forwards. Laura too was there, sitting at
the table; she neither read nor worked, noi
had anything in her hands, but with more
tact than I should have expected from her
only bowed, and did not move her lips. Id
the morning light my angel sat, and her
notes full orbed and star-like, descended
upon my brain. Few notes I heard she
was just concluding the strain ebbed as
the memory of a kiss itself dissolving but
I heard enough to know that her voice was
indeed the realization of all her ideal prom-
ise. I addressed her as she arose, aod
told her, in very few words, my errand.
She was perturbless as usual, and only look,
ed enchanted, the enchantment betraying
itself in the eyo, not in any tremble or the
tbe winding road with its summer-trees m\ ^''DoWxii^tXifem^^vpX^ ^8k ^^vd^ " and ai
CHARLES AC0HE8TER.
IM
o% ay tbifl gratleman htJS eaten nothing, I
^IV ^ what I can do to make him eat It
18 81 important that I wonder you conld al-
low him to come out until he had break-
&8ted,'' ^for I had told her of his impa-
tience " afterwards, if he likes, he can go
to see the houses. There ar^ several, I do
believe, if they have not been taken since
yesterday."
I went back to the carriage, and it was
brought on to the gate, I walking beside it.
Thon6 was waiting, and held it open the
sweet hay scented every breath.
^Oh, how delicious 1" said Seraphael,
as he alighted, standing still and looking
around.
The meadows, the hedges, the secluded
ways, f rst attracted him ; and then the gar-
den, which I thought he would never have
overpassed then the porch, in which he
stood.
*^And this is England!" he exclaimed;
*Mt is strange how unlike it is to that wild
dream-country I went to when last I came
to London. This is more like heaven, quiet
and full of life !"
These words recalled to me Olara. He
M put his head into the very midst of
those roses that showered over the porch.
"Oh I I must gather one rose of all these
*^tLere are so many, she will never miss it."
And then he laughed. * A soft, soft echo
of his laugh was heard ^it startled me by
its softness, it was so like an infantas. I
looked over my shoulder, and there, in the
shadow of the hall,X beheld her, ^lier very
Self. It was she indeed who laaghed, and
her eye yet smiled. Without waiting for
my introduction, she curtseyed with a pro-
found but easy air, and while, to match this
(singular greeting, Seraphael made his regal
bow, she said looking at him, *'*' You shall
have all the roses. Sir, and all my flowers,
if you will let my servant gather them, for I
believe you might prick your fingers, there
being also thorns. But while Thon6 is at
that work, perhaps you will like to walk in
out of the sun, which is too hot for you, I
am sure." She led ns to the parlor where
she had been singing the piano still stood
(^en.
"But," said Seraphael, taking the first
chair as if it were his own ; " we disturb
you ! "What were you doing, you and Oarl?
I ask his pardon ^Mr. Auchester."
" We two did nothing, Sir. I was only
singing, but that can very well be put off till
after breakfast, which will be ready in a few
minutes."
Breakfast? I thought, but Clara's face told
no tales her loveliness was unruffled. The
clear blue eye, the divine mouth, were evi-
dently studies for Seraphael; he sat and
watclied her eagerly, even while he answer-
ed her.
To9 look 08 if yon had had breakfast V'
n
** Indeed I am very hungry, and S4; Is my
friend, Mr. Auchester."
** He always looks so, Mademoiselle t" re*
plied the Ohevalier, mirthfully ; " but I do
really think he might be elegant enough to
tell me your name. He has forgotten to do
so in his embarrassment; I cannot guess
whether it be Enelish, French or German^
Italian, Greek or Hebrew."
" I am called Clara Benette, Sir, that it
my name."
"It is not Benette ^La Benetta Bene*
detta 7 Carlomein, why hast thou so for
gotten! Allow me to congratulate you,
Mademoiselle, on possessing the right to
be so named. And for this do I sive you
Joy ; that not for your gifts it has been be-
stowed, nor for that genius which is alone
of the possessor, but for that goodness
which I now experience, and feel to have
been truly ascribed to you."
He stood to her and held out his hand,
calmly she gave hers to it, and gravely
smiled.
"Sir, I thank you the more because 7
huno your name. I hope you will excuse
me for keeping you so long without your
breakfast."
He laughed again, and again sat down ,
but his manner, though of that playful court-
liness, was quite drawn out to her; he
scarcely looked at Laura ; I did not even be-
lieve that he was aware of her presence, ^
nor was / aware of the power of his own
upon her. After ten minutes Thon6 enter-
ed, and went up to Clara : she motioned to
us all then, and we arose ; but as she looked
at Seraphael first, he took her out and into
the dining-room. The table was snowed
with damask ^flowers were heaped up in
the centre, a bowl of honeysuckles and
heartsease; the dishes here were white
bread, brown bread, golden butter, new-
laid eggs in a' nest of moss, the freshest
cream, the earliest strawberries , and before
the chair which Clara took stood a silver
chocolate jug foaming, and coffee above a
day-pale spirit lamp. On the sideboard
were garnished meat, and poultry already
carved, the decanters, and still more flow-
ers ; it was a feast raised as if by magic,
and unutterably tempting at that hour of
the day. Clara asked no questions of her
chief guest, but pouring out both chocolate
and coffee, offered them both ; he accepted
the former, nor refused the wing of a chick-
en which Thon6 brought, nor the bread
which Clara asked me to cut. I was per-
fectly astounded; she had helped herself
also and was eating so quietly, after admin*
istering her delicious cups all round, that
no one thought of speaking. At last, Star-
wood, by one of those unfortunate chances
that befall timid people, spoke, arid instant-
ly turned scarlet, dropping his eyes fortJj-
^v^au^ UiQyU Uq only said^"I never sa^
{
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
the OLdyalier eat so maoli.** Olara an-
swered, with lier fork ih her dimpled hand,
'^ That is because you gentlemeQ haTe bad
a long drive ; it always raises the appetite
to come oat of London into the country.
You cannot eat too much here/'
" Do you think I shall find a boose that
will bold me and my younger son ?" said
Serapbael presently, pointing at Starwood
his slight finger, ^^ and a servant or two ?''
^^ If you like to send my servant, Sir, she
will find out for you."
^^ No, perhaps you will not djslike to drive
a little way with us, I know Carl will be
so glad I"
^^ We shall be be most pleased. Sir," she
answered, quite quietly, though there was
that in his expression which might easily
have fluttered her. I could not at all ac-
count for this elfish mood, though I had
been witness to freaks and fantasies in my
boy-days. Never had I seen bis presence
afi^ct any one so little as Olara. Had she
not been of a loveliness so peculiarly genial,
I should have called her cold ; as it was, I
felt he had never made himself more at
liome with any one in my sight. While,
having graciously deferred to her the pro-
posal for an instant search, he sauntered out
into the little front garden, she went for
her bonnet, and came down in it, a white
straw, with a white satin ribbon. and lining,
and a little white veil of her own work, as
I couM tell directly I caught her face
through its wavering and web-like tracery.
Serapbael placed her in the carriage, and
then looked back.
*^ Oh, Laura, that is Miss Lemark, is not
coming," observed Miss Benette this did
not stnke me except as a rather agreeable
arrangement, and off we drove. Fritz,
SeraphaePs own man, was on the box a
perfect German, of very reserved deport-
ment, who, however, one could see, would
have allowed Serapbael to walk upon him.
His heavy demonstrations about situations
and suitabilities made even Olara laugh, as
they were met by Seraphael's wayward an-
swers and skittish sallies. We had a very
long round, and then went back to dinner
with our lady ; but Serapbael, by the time
the moon had risen, fell into May-evening
ecstasies with a very old-fashioned tene-
ment, built of black wood and girded by a
quickset hedge, because it suddenly, in the
silver shine, reminded him of his own house
in Germany, as he said. It was so near
the cottage, that two persons might even
whisper together over the low and moss-
greened garden- wall.
The invitation of Miss Lawrence I could
not forget, even through the intenser fas-
cination spread about me. I returned with
Beraph&eJ to town again, and again to the
)uuutry; he having thither removed liia
I
whole effects so important though of ^,
slight bulk, they consisting almost entir^^.
of scored and other compositions, whaoA
were safely deposited in a little empty iooid
of the rambling house he had chosen. This
room he and Starwood and I soon made &t
to be seen and inhabited, by our distributi^ii
of all odd furiSiture over it, and all the cou-
veniences of the story. Three large coantrj-
scented bed-rooms, with beds big enough
for three chevaliers in each, and two drav?-
ing-rooms, were all that we cared for be-
sides. Serapbael was only like a child that
night that is preparing for a whole holiday;
he wandered from room to room ; lie shut
himself into pantry, wine-cellar, and china-
closet ; he danced like a day-beam tbroagh
the low-ceiled sitting-chambers, and almost
threw himself into the garden when he saw
it ont of the window. It was the wildest
place ; the walks all sown with grass, an
orchard on a bank all moss, forests of fruit-
trees and moss-rose bushes, and the great
white lilies in ranks all round the close-
fringed lawn ; all old-fashioned flowers la
their favorite soils, a fountain and a grotto,
and no end of weeping ashes, arbors bent
from willows, and arcades of nut and filbert*
trees. The back of the house was veiled
with a spreading vine too luxuriant that
shut out all but fresh green light from the
upper bed-rooms ; but Serapbael would not
have a spray cut off, nor did he express the
slightest dissatisfaction at being overlooked
by the chimneys and roof-hung windows of
Olara^s little cottage, which peeped abova
the hedge. The late inhabitant' and present
owner of the house, an eccentric gentle-
woman who abjured all innovation, bad de-
sired that no change should pass upon her
tenement during her absence for a sea-side
summer. Even the enormous mastiff, chain-
ed in the yard to his own house, was to re-
main barking or baying as he listed; and
we were rather alarmed, Starwood and I, to
discover that Serapbael had let him loose,
in spite of the warnings of the housekeeper,
who rustled her scant black silk skirts
against the door-step in anger and in dread.
I was about to make some slight movement
in deprecation, for the dog was fiercely
strong and of a tremendous expression in-
deed, but he only lay down before the
Ohevalier and licked the leather of his boots,
afterwards following him over the whole
place until darkness came, when he howled
on being tied up again until Serapbael car-
ried him a bone from our supper-table. Our
gentle master retired to rest, and his candle-
flame was lost in the moonlight, long before
I could bring myself to go to bed. I can
never describe the satisfaction, if not the
calm, of lying between two poles of such
excitement as the cottage and that haunted
mausvoiv.
f.f
^
CHARLES AUOIIESTER
ir
CHAPTER V,
Sbbafhasl h-id desired me to gtay witli
hliD, tleiefore ^.uq ne^kt moriv.*Dg I inveiided
to gi?e np my Ijondon lodgiugs on the road
to Miss Lawrence N 8qQa. or Ta* her on f
the road. When I came down stairs into
the snn-lit breakfast-room, I fonad Star-
wood alone, and writing to liis father ; bnt
no Chevalier. Nor was he in his own room,
for the snn was streaming through the vine-
shade on the tossed bed-clothes, and the
door and window were both open as I de-
fioended. Starwood said that he had gone
to walk in the garden, and that we were
not to wait for him ""What, without his
breakfast?*' said I. But Starwood smiled,
BQch a meaning sniile that I was astonished,
and could only sit down.
We ate and drank, but neither of us
spoke : I was anxious to be off, and Star to
^Qish his letter, though as we both arose
and were still aloue, he yet looked naughty.
1 would not pretend to understand him, for
if he has a fault, that darling friend of miue,
it is that he sees through people rather too
^ooD, construing their intentions before they
inform experience.
I could not make up my mind to ride,
but set off on foot along the sun-glittering
road, through emerald shades, past gold-
flecked meadows, till through the mediant
chaos of brick-fields and dust-heaps, I en-
tered the dense halo surrounding London
** smoke the tiar of commerce," as a pearl
of poets has called it. The square looked
positively lifeless when I came there, I al-
most shrank from my expedition, not because
of any fear I had on my own account, but
because all the inhabitants might have been
asleep, behind the glaze of their many
windows,
I was admitted noiselessly, and as if ex-
pected shown into the drawing-room, so
large, so light, and splendid in the early
sun. All was noiseless, too, within ; an air
of affluent calm pervaded as an atmosphere
itself the rich-grouped furniture, the piano
closed, the stools withdrawn, l was not
kept two minutes ; Miss Lawrence entered,
in the act of holding out her hand. I was
instantly at home with her, though she was
one of the grandest persons I ever saw. She
accepted my arm, and not speaking, took
me to a landing higher, and to a room which
appeared to form one of a suite, for a cur-
tain extended across one whole side, a
buftain as before an oratory in a dwelling-
house.
Breakfast was outspread here; on the
walls, a pale sea-green, shone delectable
pictures in dead-gold frames, pictures even
to an inexperienced eye, pure relics of art.
The windows had no curtains, only a broad
gold cornice; the cliairs were damask,
white, aud green ; thif caipet oak-leavea oa
a lighter ground. It was evidently a retreat
of the lesser art ; it could no^ be call*d a
ooudoit^ neither ornamoPt nor mirror, ^\sc
lor boo^btand, broke the preva.etit array. 1
said I had breakfasted, buv she lutAe me ait
h} er an told me
^* 1 have not, and I am sure you will ex-
cuse me. One must eat, and I am not so
capable to exist upon little as you are. Yet
you shall not sit, if you would rather see
the pictures, because there are not too many
to tire you in walking round. Too manv
together is a worse mistake than too few."
I arose immediately, but I took oppor-
tunity to examine my entertainer in pauses
as I moved from picture to picture. She
wore black brocaded silk this morning, with
a Venetian chain and her watch, and a collar
all lace ; her hair, the blackest I had ever
seen except Marians, was coiled in snake-like
wreaths to her head so small behind, while
it arched so broadly and benevolently over
her noble eyes. She was older tiian I had
imagined, and may have been fortv at tbat
time, the only observation one could retain
about the fact being, that her gathered
years had but served to soften every crudity
of an extremely decided organization, and
to crown wisdom with refinement.
She soon pushed back her cup and plate,
and came to my side. She looked sudden-
ly, a little anxiously, at me.
^^You must be rather curious to know
why I asked you to come to me to-day;
and were you not a gentleman, you would
have been also curious, I fancy, to know
why I could not see you on Tuesday. I
want you* to come this way,"
I followed ; she slid the curtain along its
rings, and we entered the oratory. I know
not that it was so far unlike such precinct,
for from thence art reared her consecrated
offering to the presence of every beauty. I
felt this, and that the artist was pure in
heart, even before her entire character faced
my own. The walls here, of the same soft
marine shade, were also lighted by pictures ;
the strangest, the wildest, the least assorted,
yet all according.
A peculiar and unique style was theirs ;
each to each presented the atmosphere of
one imagination. Dark and ' sombrous
woods, moon-pierced, gleamed duskly from
a chair where they were standing frameless
resting against them a crowd of baby
faces clustered in a giant fiower-chalice ^a
great lotus was the hieroglyph of a third
on the walls faces smiled or frowned, huge
profiles dank pillars mirrored in rushy
pools ^fragments of heathen temples doraea
of diaphanous distance in a violet sky aw-
ful palms dread oceans, with the last
ghost-sLadow of a wandering wreck. 1
stood lost, unaccustomed either to the freuk.i
or the ti'iumphs of pictorial art; I could
^ou\^ ^a^ 'D. \si^ e^uvjuMa^ " Axe these aL
len
CHARLES AUCHESTER.
yours f How wo&derfuIP She smiled
Tery oarelessly.
*^ I did not intend yon to look at those,
except askance, if yoa were kind enough. I
keep them to advertise my own deficiencies,
and to compare the present with the past.
The present is very aspiring, and for the
]resent devonrs my future. I hope it will
dedicate itself thereunto. I wish you to
come here, to this light."
She was placed before an immense easel
to the right of a large-paned window, where
the best Loudon day streamed above the
lower dimness. An Immense sheet of can-
vas was turned away from ns upon the
easel ; bat in a moment she had placed it
Ifefore us, and fell back in the same mo-
ment, a little from mo.
Nor shall I ever forget that moment*s
issue. I forgot it was a picture, and all I
could feel was a trance*like presence bi*ought
unto me in a day-dream of immutable satis-
faction. On either side, the clouds light
golden and lucid crimson passed into a cen-
tral sphere of the perfect blue. And reared
into that, as it were the empyrean of the
azure, gleamed in full relief the head, life-
sized of Swaphael. The bosom white-
vested) the reg^ throat., shone as the trans-
parent depths of the moon, not moonlight,
against the blue unshadowed. The clouds
deeper, heavier, and of a dense violet, were
rolled upon the rest of the form ; the bases
of tiiose clouds as livid as the storm, but
their edges where they flowed into the vir-
gin raiment, sun-fringed, glittering. The
visage was raised, the head thrown back
into the ether, but the eyes were drooping,
tM snow-sealed lips at rest. The month
faint crimson, thrilling, spiritual, appalled
by its utter reminiscence; the smile so
fiery-soft just touched the lips unparted..
No symbol strewed the cloudy calm below,
neither lyre, laurel-wreathed nor flowery
ohaplet, but on either side, where the clouds
disparted in wavering flushes and golden
pallors, two hands of light, long, lambent,
life-like, but not earthly, held over the brow
a crown.
Passing my eye among the cloud-lights
for I cannot call them shadows ^I could
just gather with an eager vision, as one
gathers the thready moon-crescent in a mid-
day-sky, that on either side a visage gleam-
ed, veiled and drenched also in the rose-
golden mist.
One countenance was dread and glorious,
of sharp-toned ecstasy that cut through the
quivering medium, a self-sheathed Seraph
the other was mild and awful, infonnod
with stedfast beauty, a shining Oherub.
They wore Beethoven and Bach, as they
might he knovfii in Heaven, but who, ez-
cept the masicianf woaid have known them
for themselves on earth 1 It was not for
we to speak their names I could not utter
them : my heart was dry ; I was thirsty fbi
the realization of that picture promise.
The crown they uplifted in those soft
sliining hands was a circle of stars, gathered
to each other out of that heavenly silence,
and into the azure vague arose that brow,
over which the conqueror's sign, suspended,
shook its silver terrors. For such awful
fancies shivered through the brain upon itfi
contemplation, that I can but call it tran-
scendental beyond expression ; the feeling,
the fear, the mystery of starlight, pressed
upon the spirit, and gave new pulses to the
heart. The luminous essence from the lai^
white points seemed raised upon that fore-
head and upon the deep tints of the god-Ilke
locks ; they turned all clear upon their orbed
clusters, they melted into the radiant halo
which flooded, yet as with a glory one could
not penetrate, the impenetrable elevation of
the lineaments.
I dared only gaze ; had I spoken I should
have wept, and I would not disturb the
image by my tears. I soon perceived how
awfully the paintress had possessed herself
of the aspiration, the melancholy, and the
joy. The crown indeed was grounded upon
rest, and of unbroken splendor; but it
beamed upon the aspect of exhaustion and
longing strife, upon lips yet thirsty, and im-
ploring patience.
I suppose my silence satisfied the artist,
for before I had spoken or even unriveted
my gaze, she said, herself
** That I have worked upon for a year. I
was allowing myself to dream one day^
just such a day as this ^last spring ; and in-
sensibly my vision framed itself into form.
The faces came before I knew, at least those
l)ehind the clouds, and having caught them,
I conceived the rest. I could not, however,
be certain of my impressions about the
chief countenance, and I waited with it un-
finished enougti until the approach of the
season, for I knew he was coming now, and
before he arrived I sent him a letter to his
house in Germany. I had a pretty business
to find out the address, and wrote to all
kinds of persons, but at last I succeeded, and
my suit was al^o successful. I had asked
him to sit to me."
" Then you had not known him before f
Yon did not know him all those years ?"
" I had seen him often, but never known
him. Oh yes ! I had seen his face. You
have a tolerable share of courage, could you
have asked him such a favor ?"
" You see. Miss Lawrence, I have received
so many favors from him without asking for
them. Had I possessed such genius as
yours, I should not only have done the
same, but have felt to do it was ray duty.
It is a portrait for all the ages, not only for
men but for angels."
'' OuA'Y ^ot Mi^5^a^\l ^\ %.\, ^W, For that
OHABLKS AUOHSSTER.
1
freheiMioii o( the beantifn]. It must ever
reinsin a solitary idea to any one who hns
received it. Tea will be shocked if I teli
yov that his beauty prevails more with mc
than his mosic.''
^* But is it not the immediate conseqnenoe
of such musical investment ?"
" I believe, ou the contrary, that the mu-
Mcal investment, as you charmingly express
it, is the direct conseqnenoe of the lofty
organization."
'* That is a new notion for me, I must turn
it( over before I take it home. I would
lat^)^ consider the complement of his gifts
to be that heavenly heart of his which en-
dows them each and all with what must live
forever in unaltered perfection."
^ And it pleases roe to feel that he is of
like passions with us, protected from the
infraction of laws celestial by the image of
the Creator still conserved to his mortal
nature, and stamping it with a character
beyond the age. But about his actual ad-
vent. He answered my letter in person ; I
was certainly appalled to hear of his arrival,
and that he was down stairs. I was up
here muddling with my brushes, without
knowing what to be at; up comes my
servant-
" * Mr. Seraphaol.'
^Imagine such an announcement! I
descend we meet for the first time in
private, except, indeed, on the occasion
when his shadow was introduced to me, as
jou may remember. He was in the draw^
mg-room, )ale from travelling, full of the
languor left by sea-sickness, looking like a
spirit e8cap.jd from prison. I was almost
ashamed of my daring, far more so than
alarmed. I thought he was about to ap-
point a day ^but no. He said
** ^ I am at your service this morning, if
it suits you, but as you did not favor me
with your address, I could not arrange be-
forehand. I went to my music-sellers, and
aaked them about you. I need not tell you
tliat you were known there, and that I am
much obliged to them.'
^^ Actually it was a fact that I had not
furnished him with my address, but I was
rirfectly innocent of my folly. What could
do but not lose a moment? I asked him
to take refreshment ; no, he had breakfast-
ed or dined or something, and we came up
here directly. I never saw such behavior.
He did not even inquire what I was about,
but sat like a god in marble last where I
had placed him out there. You perceive
that 1 have lost the eyes, or at least have
rendered them up to mystery. Well, when
having caught the outline of the forehead
and touched the temples, I descended to
those eyes and saw they were full upon me, I
oonld do nothing with them. I cannot paint
Vght^ only its ghost ; nor fire, only its shade.
His eyes are at once fire and light, I know
not of which the most; or, at leaet, that
which is the light of fire. Even the stream-
ing lashes scarcely tempered the radiAoce
there. I let them fall, and veiled wliat cne
scarcely dares to meet, at Jeqgt T. Ue sat to
me four hours, but though . knew not liow
the time went, and may be forgiven for in-
consideration, I hau no idea that he was
going straight to the Committee of the
ChoiL'-day, on the top of that sitting. I
kept him long enough for what I wanted,
and as he did not ask to see the picture, I
did not show it him. He shall see it when
it is fioished."
'^ What finish does it require ? I see no
change that it can need to carry out tlie
likeness, which is all we want."
^*0h yes! more depth in the darkness,
and more glory in the light ; less electric ex-
pression, more ideal serenity; above all,
more pain upon the forehead, more peace
about the crown. Moon-light without a
moon, sunshine without the solar rays the
day of Heaven."
^ I can only say, Miss Lawrence, that you
deserve to be able to do as you have done,
and to feel that no one else could have done
it"
" Very exclusive that feeling, but perhaps
necessary. I have it, but my deserts will
only be transcended if Seraphael himself
shall approve. And now for another question
Will you go with me to this Choir-day ?"
" I am trying to imagine what yon mean.
I have not heard the name until you spoke
it. Is it in the North ?"
"Certainly not, though even York Min-
ster would not be a bad notion, that is to
say, it would suit our Beethoven exactly,
but this is another Hierarch. What do you
think of an oratorio in Westminster Abbey,
the conductor our own, the whole affair of
his ? no wonder you have heard nothing, iC
has been kept very snug, and was only ar^
ranged by the interposition of various indi-
viduals whose influence is more of mammon
than of art; the objection at first beitg
chiefly on the part of the profession, but
that is over-ruled by their being pretty
nearly every one included in the orchesti'a.
Such a thing is never likely to occur again.
Say that you will go with me. If it be any-
thing to you, I shall give you one of the
best seats in the very centre, where you will
see and hear better than most people ; imag-
ine the music in that place of tombs, it is a
melancholy but glorious project, may we
realize it I"
/ could not at present, it was out of the
question, nor could I bear to stay, there was
nothing for it but t6 make haste out, where
the air made soUtude. I bade the paintress
good morning, and quitted her : I believt
she understood my frama.
no
CHARLES AUCHESTER.
CHAPTER VI
1 w lunp home also, and was to erabi j
tired. Entenug the nonse as oDe ct iiotne
there, I found nobody at home, no Star-
wood, no Chevalier. I lay npon the sofa in
a day-dream or two, and when rested, went
oat into the garden I searched every cor-
ner too, in vain , out wandering pant the
dividing hedge, a voice floated artionlately
over the si ill afternoon.
All was calm and warm, the slightest
flonnd made way ; and I hesitated not to
scale the green barrier, nowhere too high
for me to leap it, and to approach the parlor
of the cottage in that unwonted fashion. I
was in for pictures this while, I suppose, for
when I reached the glass-doors that swept
the lawn wide open, and could peep through
tliem without disturbing foot on that soft
soil) I saw indeed another, a less impressive,
not less expressive view. Clara sat at her
piano her side-face was in the light : his
own, which I was sure to find there, in pro-
file also, was immediately behind her ; but
as he stood the shade had veiled him ^the
shade from the trembling leaves without,
through which one sunbeam shot, and upon
the carpet kissed his feet She was singing,
as I could hear, scarcely see, for her lips
opened not more than for a kiss, to sing.
The strains moulded themselves impercep-
tibly, or as a warble shaken in the tliroat
of a careless nightingale, that knew no lis-
tener.
Seraphael, as he stood apart drinking in
the notes with such eagerness that his lips
were also parted, had never appeared to me
so borne out of himself, so cradled in a sec-
ond nature. I could scarcely have believed
tliat the face I knew so well had yet an ex-
pression hidden I knew not of; but it was
so, kindled at anotlier fire than that which
his genius had stolen from above ^his eye
was charged, his cheek flushed.
So exquisitely beautiful they looked to-
gether, he in that soft shadow, she in that
tremulous light, that at first I noticed not a
third figure, now brought before me. Be-
hind them both, but sitting so that she could
see his face, was Laura, or rather she half
lay some antique figures carved in statuary
have an attitude as listless, that bend on
monuments, or crouch in relievo. She had
both her arms outspread upon the little
work-table, hanging over the edge, the
hands just clasped together, as reckless in
repose ; her face all colorless, her eyes all
clear, but with scarcely more tinting, were
fixed, rapt, upon Seraphael.
I could not tell whether she were feeding
upon his eye, his cheek, or Iiis beauteous
hair; all her life came forth from her glance,
but it spent itself without expression. Still
that deep, that feeding gaze, was enough for
me ; there was in it neither look of hope nor
of despair, as I could have uterpreted it I
did not like to advance, and waited till iny
feet were stiflf hut neither couhl I retir'^
I wLited wide Ola.%, witK^m. cor\n:i.enl
' on her part, or request on his, ghded from
song to scena, from the romance of a wilder-
ness to the simplest troll. Her fingers just
touched the keys as we touch them for the
violin solo, snpporting^ but unnoticeable.
At last, when afraid to be caught for the
face of the Chevalier, in its ne\v expression,
I rather dreaded I went back like a thief,
the way I came, and still more like a thief
in that I carried away a treasure of remem-
brance from those who knew not they had
lost it.
I found Starwood yet out, and roved very
impatiently all over the house until, at per-
haps five o^elock, Seraphael came in for
something. The dog in the yard barked
out, but I was in no humor to let him loose,
and ran straight into the hall.
" Carlomein," said the Chevalier, " 1
thought you were in London. Is it possible,
my child, that you have not dined ?" and
he gave orders for an instant preparation.
^^ I am truly vexed that I did not know it^
but Sterne is gone to hi father, and will
stay till the last coach to-mgbt. I thought
you would be absent also."
^^ And so, Sir, I suppose you had deter-
mined to go without your dinner."
He smiled.
'* Not at all, Carlomein. The fact is I have
dined. I could not resist La Benetta Beno-
detta. I never knew what young potatoes
were until I tasted them over there."
^^ I dare say not," I thought, but I was
wise enough to hold my tongue.
"Thefl, Sir, I shall dine alone, and very
much I shall enjoy it. There is nothing I
like so well as dining alone, except to dine
alone with you."
"Carl I Carll hadst thou been in that
devil when he tempted Eve I Pardon, bat
I have come home for a few things, and
have promised to return."
" Sir, if you will not think it rude, I must
say, that for once in your life you are en-
joying what you confer upon others. I am
so glad 1"
"I thought it says, 'it is better to
give than to receive.' I do like receiving,
but perhaps that is because I cannot give
this which I now receive. Carlomein, there
is a spell upon thee; there is a charm about
thee, that makes thee lead all thou lovest
to all they love ! it is a thing I cannot com-
prehend, but am too content to feel."
He ran into his study, and returning, just
glanced into the room with an air ef alio*
gresse to bid me adieu ; but what had lie in
his arms if it were not the score of his ora-
torio ? I knew its narae by this time ; I
saw it in tLatJ nervous writing whiph J
could read at any earthly distance wliat
CHARLES AUOHKSTER.
ilk
was t be done ^th it, and what thenf
was he going to the reheana], or to a re-
^learsal of his own ?
, I bad not been half an honr qaieti play-
ing to myself, having unpacked my nddle
for the first time since I came to London ;
when the lady of the scanty silk arrived at
my door, and aroused me. Some gentle-
Dben bad called to see the Ohevalier, and as
he wa0 supposed to be absent, must see me.
I went down into a great dampish dining-
room we had not lived in at all, and fonnd
three or four wortliies, a deputation from
the band and chorus, who had helplessly as-
sembled two hours ago in London, and were
at present waiting for the Oonductor.
It was no pleasant task to infringe the
fragrant privacy of the cottage, bnt I had to
do it ; I went to the front gate this time,
and sent np a messAge, that I might not
render myself more intrusive tlian necessary.
He came down as upon the wings of the
wind, with his hat half falling from his curls,
and flew to the deputation without a syllable
to me ; they carried him off in triumph, so
immediately that I could only fancy he
looked annoyed, and may have been about
that matter mistaken.
Certainly Olara was not annoyed, whom
I went in-doors to see ; Laura had vanished,
and she herself wss alone in the room, an-
swering my first notes of admiration, merely,
** Yes, I have sung to him a good while."
I was, however, so struck by the change,
not in manner, but in her mien, that I would
stay on to watch, at the risk of being
in the way more than evcr in my days.
Since I had entered, she had not once looked
up; but an unusual flush was upon her
face; she appeared serious, but intent
something seemed to occupy her. At last,
after turning about the music-sheets that
strewed the chamber everywhere, and plac-
ing them by in silence ^and a very long
time she tookshe raised her eyes. Their
lustre was indeed quickened ; never saw I
BO much excitement in them ; they were still
not BO grave as significant full of un-
wonted suggestions. I ventured to say then
^^ And now. Miss Benette, I may ask you
what you feel about the personality of this
hero ?"
I could not put it better; she replied not
directly, but came and sat beside me on tlie
sofa by the window. She laid her little
hands into her lap, and her glance followed
after them ; I could see she was inexpress-
ibly bfurdened with some inward revelation.
I could not for a moment believe she trem-
bled, bnt certainly there was a quiver of her
lips her silken curls so calm did not hide
the pulsation, infantinely rapid, of those
temples where the harebell-ozuro veins pen-
cilled the rose-flower skin. After a few mo-
ments' pause, during which she evidently
collected herself she addressed me^ her uwn
sweet voice as clear as ever, but the same
trouble in it that touched her gaze.
^ Sir, I am going to tell you something,
and to ask your advice besides."
'^I am all attention!" indeed, I was in
an agony to attend and learn.
" I have had a strange visitor this morn-
ing very sudden, and I was not prepared.
Ton will think me very foolish, when yon
hear what is the matter with me, that I
have not written to Mr. Davy, but I prefer
to ask you. You are more enlightened,
though you are so young."
" Miss Benette, I know your visitor, for
on returning home next door, I missed my
master, and I knew he could be only here.
What has he done that could possibly raise
a difiiculty, or said that could create a qnes*-
tion ? He is my unerring faith, and should
be yours."
^^ I do not wonder ; but I have not known
him so long, you see, and contemplate him
difierently. I had been telling him, as he
requested to know my plans, of the treat-
ment I had received at the opera, and how
I had not quite settled whether to come out
now or ucxt year as an actress. He ak*
swered,
" ' Do neither.'
" I inquired, why ?
^^ * You must not accept any engagenient
for the stage in England, and pray do not
hold out to them any idea that you will.'
^^Now, what does he meant Am I to
give up my only chance of being able to
live in England ? for I wish to live here.
And am I to act unconscientiously ? for my
conscience tells me that the pure-hearted
should always follow their impulses. Now
I know very few persons, but I am born to
be known of many, at least I suppose so, or
why was I gifted with this voice, my only
gift?"
^^Miss Benette, you cannot suppose the
Chevalier desires your voice to be lost.
Has he not been informing and interpene-
trating himself with it the whole mornirg ?
He has a higher range in view for you, be
assured or he had not persuaded you, / am
certain, to annul your present privileges.
He has the right to will what he pleases."
" And are we all to obey him ?"
^^ Certainly; and only him, in matters
musical. If you knew him as I do, you
would feel this."
^^ But is it like ^ musician, to ^raw me
away from my duty ?"
"Not obviously; bnt there may be no
duty here. You do not know how com-
pletely, in the case of dramatic, and, indeed,
of all other art, the foundations are out of
course."
" You mean they do not fulfil their first
intentions. But then nothing does, except
certainly, as it was first created. We have
lost that long."
t
172
CHARLES AUOBfiSTER.
^* If neio, Ifiss Benette, it apf^esre to mo,
dO long as it preserves its parity, inaj eon
seorate all the forms of art by raising them
iot its own atmosphere govern them as
tlie Boal Ihe body. Bat where mosie is it-
self degraded its very type deiraced--^its
worship rendered ridionlons its natare
mere name: by its own master the rest
ftdls. I know not much abont it, but I
know how little the dmma depends on mu-
sic in this coantry, and how completely, in
the first place, one must lend one^s self to
its meanest effect in order to fulfil the pur-
pose of the writer. All writers for the stage
have become profane ; atid dramatic writers
whom we still confess to, are banished from
the stage in proportion to the elevation of
their works. I even go so far as to think
an artist does worse who lends an incom-
parable organ to snch service than an un-
heeded player (myself for example), who
should form one m the ranks of such an
orchestra as that of our opera-houses, where
the bare notion or ontltiie-of harmony is all
that is provided for us. While the idea of
the highest prevails with us, our artist-life
must harmonize, or Art will suffer, ^and it
suffers enough now. I have said too long a
say, and perhaps I am very ignorant, bat
this is what I think."
^* Ton cannot speak too mnch. Sir, artd
yon know a great deal more than I do. My
feeling was, that I could perhaps have
shown the world that simplicity of life is
not interfered with by a public career; and
that those who love what is beautiful, must
also love what is good, and endeavor to
live up to it besides. I have spoken to
several musicians abroad, who came to me
on purpose ; they all ezU^led my voice, and
entreated me to sing upon the stage. I
did so then, because I was poor, and had
several things I wished to do ; but I cannot
bay I felt at home with music on the stage
in Italy^ The gentleman who was here to-
day was the first who disturbed my ideas,
and dissuaded me. I was astonished, not
. because I am piqued, ^for you do not know
how much I should prefer to live a quiet
life but because everybody else had told
me a different story. I do not like to think
[ sliall only be able to sing in concerts, for
there are very few concerts* tliat content
me, and I do so love an orchestra. Am I
to give it all up ? If this gentleman had
said, ^ Only sing in this opera, or that,' I
could hjive made up my mind. But am I
never to sing in any ? Am I to waste my
voice that God gave nae, as he gives to
others a free hand, or a great imagination ?
You cannot think so, with all your indus-
try, and all your troe enthusiasm.^'
'^ Miss Benette, yon must not be shocked
Ml what I shall now say, because I mean it
with all reverence. J could no more call in
faeatioB the deciaioa of socb geniufe than 1
ooold that of Providence if it sent me death
sickness or took away my friends. I am
certain that the motive, which yon eamiot
make dear just yet^ is t^at 3rou trodd ap-
prove of.*'
" And yon also, Sir t"
** And I also, though it is as dark to me
as to you. Let it stand over then, but for
all our sakes do not thwart him ; be has
suffered too mueh to be thwarted.'*
** Has he suffsred f I did not know that"
^ Can snch a one live and not suffer ? A
nature which is all love an imagination aU
mnsic."
^ I thought that he looked delicate, but
very happy ^happy as a child or an angeh
I have seen your smile turn bitter. Sir, par-
don I but never his. I am sure if it matters
to him that I should accede, I will do so,
and I oannct thank yon enough for telling
me.
** Miss Benette^ if you are destined to do
anything great tor music, it may be in one
way as well as in another ; that is, if yon
befriend the greatest musician, it is as much
as if you befriended music. Now you can*
not but befriend him if you do exactly as
he requests you."
^ In all instances you recommend f "
*^ / at least, could refuse him nothing.
The nourishment such a spirit requires is
not just the same as our own, perhaps, but
it must not the lete be supfJied. If I could,
now, dean his boots better than any one
else, or if he liked my cookery, I would
give up what I am about and take a place
in his service."
^^ What I yon would give up vosr violin,
your career, your place among the Choir of
Ages 1"
^ 1 would, for in rendering a single hour
of his existence on earth un&etted in pre-
serving to him one day of ease and comfort
^I should be doing more for all people, all
time, at least for the ideal, who will be few
in every age, but many in all the ages ; and
who I believe leaven society tetter than a
priesthood. I would not say so except to a
person who perfectly understands me ; for
as I hold laws to be necessary, I would in*
fringe no social or religious regime- by one
heterodox utterance to the ear of the mt-
initiated ; still, having said it, I keep to my
text, that you must do exactly as be pleases.
He has not set a seal upon your throat at
present, if you have been singing all the
morning."
^^ I have been singing from his new great
work. There is a contralto solo, ^ Art thou
not from Everlasting?' which spoiled my
voice ; I could not keep the tears down, it
was so beautiful and entreating. He was a
little angry at me ; at least 1^ said, ^ Tou
must not do that.' There is also a very
long v^Wk^ 'w\k\5^v \ ^cax^^ tried^ we had
\
CHAitLES AUOHESTER.
17B
mg agaii. amd again nntil I oompoeed
liiTs^. What a mercy Mr. Dayy taught
a to read so fast ! I hare foond it help me
rflr sinee. Do yoa mean to go to this ora*
torio f "
^ I am to go with Miss lAwrenc^. How
noble, bow glurioQs he is l^
** Yonr eyes sparkle when Ton apeak of
b^. I knew yon wonld there nod a fHend."
^ I hope yoo, too, will hear it, Miss Be-
nelte. I shall speak to tlie Chevalier abont
it"
^ I pray yoa not to do so ; there will not
be any reason, for I find ont all abont those
affidns. Take care of yoQiaelf, Mr. Anohes-
ter, or rather make Miss Lawvenoe take oare
of yon; she wfll like to have to do so."
^^I most go home if it is not to be Just
yet, and retnrn on parpose for the day."
^Bmt that will fatigne yon rery nineh;
cannot you prevent it? One ought to be
quiet before a great excitement."
^^ Oh I yoQ have fonnd that; I oannot be
quiet until aftarwardsw"
'* I have never had a great exottement,"
aaid Clara, innocently, '^ and I hope I never
may. It sails me to be still"
^^ May that calm remain in yon and for
yoa with which you never fm\ to heal the
sonl within your power. Miss Benette i"
^^I shonld indeed be proud, Mr. Anohes-
ter, to keep yoa qniet, bat that yoa will
never be nntil it is forever."
^^In that sense no one oonld, for who
could ever desire to awaken from that rest t
and from ati rest here it is bat to awakes."
I felt I onght to go, or that I might even
remaia too long. It was havder at that mo-
mont ta le&ve her than it had ever been be-
fore, bat I had a prescience that for that
very reason it was better to depart. Star-
woNDd bad returned, I fonnd, and was wailaog
abont in the evening, before the candies came.
We both watched the golden sbade that
bonnd the snnaet to its crimson glow, and
then the violet dark as it melted downwards
to embrace the earth. We were both silent,
Starwood from habit (I have never seen
Bodh power of abstraotion)^ I by choice. An
agitated knock came suddenly, abont nine,
and into Uie room boanced the big dog,
tearing the carpet up with his capers. Se*
raphael followed, silent at first as we ; he
stole after us to tlie window, and looked
softly forth. I coold tell even in the uncer-
tain silver darkness of that thinnest shell of
a moon, that his face was alight with happi-
ness, an ineffable gentIenes8-not the dread
alien air of heaven soothed the passion of
his countenance. He laid for long his tiny
hand upon my shoulder, his arm crept ronnd
my neck, and drawing closer still, he sighed
rather than sold, after a thrilling panse
^Carlomein, wilt thou come into my
room ? I have a secret for thee; it will not
take }oDg to tell"
^ The kmger tlie better, Sir."
We went ont thron^h the dark drawing-
nom, we came to his writing-chamber;
here the white sheets shone like ghost in
the bloish-blackness, for we were b^ind tfaa
sanset.
^ We will have no candles, becaose wc
shall return so soon. And I love seereti
told in tlie dark, or between the dark and
light. I have prevented that child ih)m
taking her own way. It was very nangh^,
and I want to be shriven. Shrive mc
Charles."
'' In all good part, Sir, instantly."
** I have been qnarrelling with the mana-
ger. He was very angry, and his whiskers
stood ont like the bristles of a cat, for- 1 had
snatched the moose from under his paw,
yon see."
' ^ The mouse must have been glad enough
to get away. Sir. And yon have drawn a
line throngh her engagement t She has told
me something of it, and we tare grateful."
^^ I have cancelled her engagement I Wdl,
this one bat I am going to give her anoth*-
er. She does not know it, bat she will sing
for me at another time. Art thon angry,
Carl 1 Thou art rather a dread confessor."
^^I ooold not do anything but rejoice. Sir.
How little she expects to bear such a part I
She is alone fitted for it ; an angel, if he
came into her heart, coald not fine one stain
upon his habitation."
^* The reason yon take home to you, then^
Carlomein ?"
^'iSir, I imagine Ihat yon consider her
wanting in dramatic power, or that as a
dramatic songstress under tlie present dis-
pensation, alie woold bnt disappoint her-
self, and perhaps^ ourselves. Or that she is
too delicately organized, which . is no new
notion to me."
*"* All of these reasons, and yet not one.
Not even becaose, Carlomein, in all my ef-
forts I have not written directly. for the
stage, nor becaase a lingering recollection
ever forbids profiEine endeavor. There is
yet a reason, obvious to myselt^ but whicii I
can scarcely make dear to you. Though I
woold have you know, and learn as truth,
that there is nothing I take from this child
I will not restore to her again ; nor shall
we have the lesson to be taught to feel, that
in Heaven alone is happiness."
He made a long, long pause ; I was in no
mood to reply, and it was not until I was
ashamed of my own silence that I spoke ;
then my own accents startled me. I told
Seraphael I must return on the morrow to
my own place if I were to enjoy at length
what Miss Lawrence had set before me
He* replied, that I must come back to bin
when I came, and that he would write to m
meantime.
^^ If I can, Carlomein ; but I cannot al-
wa^^ wtUa^ ^\^\i^ \v\^ cbUd^ to tbea. Thext
i74
CHARLES AITOHESTEH.
b one thing more between ns, a little end of
business."
He lit with a waxen match a waxen taper,
which was coiled into a brazen cnp he
bronght it from the roantleshelf to the table
he took a slip of paper and a pen. The
tiny flame threw out his hand, of a brilliant
Ivory, while his head remained in flickering
hadow I conld trace a shadow-smile.
" Now, Oarlomein, this brother of yonrs.
His name is David, I think !"
"Lenhart Davy, Sir."
*^ Has he many musical friends ?"
" Only his wife, particularly so the class
are all neophytes."
^^ Well, he can do as he pleases. Here is
an order."
He held out the paper in a regal attitude,
and in the other hand brought near the
tremulous taper, that I so might read. It
was " Abbey Ohoir, Westminster. Admit
Mr. Lenhart Davy and party. 21st June.
Seraphael." I could say nothing, nor even
essay to thank him; indeed he would not
permit it as I could perceive. We returned
directly to the drawing-room, and roused
Starwood from a blue study as the Chevalier
expressed it.
** I am ready, and Miss Lemark is tired
of waiting for both of us," said Miss Law-
rence, as she entered, that crown of days,
the studio. '* I have left her in the draw-
ing-room, and by the way, though it is no-
thing to the purpose, she has dressed her-
self very prettily."
" I do not think it is nothing to the pur-
pose people dress to go to church, and
why not then, to honor music ? You have
certainly succeeded, also, Miss Lawrence, if
it is not impertinent that I say so,"
"It is not impertinent. You will draw
^ out the colors of that bit of canvas, if you
'^ gaze so ardently."
It was not so easy to refrain. That morn-
ing the pictured presence had been restored
to its easel frame, and ready for inspection.
I had indeed lost myself in that contempla-
tion; it was hard to tear myself from it
even for the embrace of the reality. The
border, dead gold, of great breadth and
thickness, was studded thickly with raised
bright 8tar3, polished and glittering as
points of steel. The effect thus seemed con-
served and carried out where in general it
abates. I cannot express the picture; it
was finished to that high degree which con-
ceals its own design, and mantles mechanism
with pure suggestion. I turned at length
and followed the paintress, my prospects
more immediate rushed upon me.
Our party, small and" select as the most
seclusive spirit could ask for, consisted of
MiB3 Lawrence and her father, a quiet but
genmae amateur he of Miss Lemark, wbom
injr friend bad included without a question,
with Starwood and myself. We wfcd taet
at Miss Lawrence's, and \\ent together ni
her carriage. She wore a deep blue muslin
dress, blue as that sqmmer heaven ; her
scarf was gossamer, the hue of the yellow
butterfly, and her bonnet was crested with,
feathers drooping like golden hair. Laur^
was just in white ; her Leghorn hat line^
with grass-green gauze ; a green silk scarf
waved around her. Both ladies carried
flowers. Geraniums and July's proud roses
were in Miss Lawrence's carelesss hand, and
Laura's bouquet was of myrtle and yellow
jefisamine.
We drove in that rj|et mood which best
prepares the heart We passed so street hj
street, until at length, and long before we
reached it, the gray Abbey towers beckoned
us from beyond the houses, seeming to grow
distant as we approached, as shapes of hd-
stable shadow, rather than time-fast ma-
sonry.
Into the precinct we passed ; we stayed
at the mist-hung door. It was the strangest
feeling mere physical sensation ^to enter,
from that searching beat, those hot blue
heavens, into the cool, the dream of dim-
ness, where the shady marbles clustered,
and the foot fell dread and awfully where
hints more awful pondered, and for oor
coming waited. Yea, as if from far ana
very far, as if beyond the grave descending,
fell wondrous unwonted echoes from the
tuning choir unseen. Involuntarily we
paused to listen, and many others paused ;
those of the quick hand or melodious fore-
head, those of the alien aspect who ever
draw after music. Now the strings yearned
fitfully, a sea of softest dissonances; the
wind awoke and moaned ; the drum deton^
ated and was still ; past all the organ swept,
a thundering calm.
Entering, still hushed and awful, the centre
of the nave, we caught sight of the transept,
already crowded with hungering, thirstins
faces ; still they too, and all there, hushed
and awful. The vision of the choir itself,
as it is still preserved to me, is as a picture
of Heaven to infancy. What more like one's
idea of Heaven than that height, that aspir-
ing form ? the arches whose sun-kissed
summits glowed in distance, whose vista
stretched its boundaries from the light of
rainbows at one end, on the other to the
organ, music's archetype ? Not less power-
ful predominating this idea of our other
home, because no earthly flowers nor wither^
ing garlands made the thoughts recoil on
death and destiny. The only flowers there,
tlie rays transfused through sun-pierced
windows ; the blue mist-strewing aisle and
wreathing arch, the only garlands. Nor
less because for orce an assembly, gathered
of ail the fraternities of music, had the un-
m\^^ ^lenient of pure enthusiasm thrilliog
t\\TOW^ VYv^ '''' ^^tovi iMWv" from heart to
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
175
desl, (u yet nnhannted ; the orchestra ; the
cboros, as a clond-hnng company, with star-
like faces, in the lofty front.
I knew not roach abont London orches-
traS) and was taking a particnlar stare, when
iGss Lawrence whispered, in a manner that
only aroused, not disturbed me^** There is
oor old friend Santonio. Do look and see
how little he is altered." I canght his conn-
teDance instantly as fine, as handsome, a
little worn at its edges, but rather refined
by that process than otherwise. ^^ I did not
ask about him, because I ^id not know he
was in London. He b then settled here;
and is he very popular ?"
"You need not ask the question; he is
too true to himself. No, Santonio will never
be rich, though he is certainly not poor."
Then she pointed to me one head and an-
other crowned with Fame, but I could only
spare fbr them a glance ; Santonio interested
iQe still. He was reminding me especially
of himself as I remembered him, by laying
^is head as he had used to do upon the only
thing he ever really loved his violin
^hen, so quietly as to take us by surprise,
^eraphael entered, I may almost say rose
^pOD us, as some new-sprung star or sun.
Down the nave the welcome rolled, across
^lie transept it overflowed the echoes ; for a
few moments nothing else could be felt^ but
there was, as it were, a tender shadow upon
the very reverberating jubilance it was
Subdued as only the musical subdue their
proud emotions it was subdued for the
sake of one whose beauty, lifted over us,
appeared descending^ hovering from some
late-left heaven, ready to depart again, but
not without a sign, for which we waited.
Immediately, and while he yet stood with
his eyes of power upon the whole front of
faces, the solo-singers entered also and took
their seats all calmly.
There were others besides Olara, but be-
sides her I saw nothing, except they were
in colors while she wore black, as ever ; but
never had I really known her loveliness
until it shone in contrast with that which
was not so lovely. More I could not per-
ceive, for now the entering bar of silence
riveted, we held our breath for the coming
of the Overture.
It opened like the first dawn of lightning,
yet scarce yet lightened morning ; its vast
subject introduced with strings alone in that
joyous key which so often served him, yet
as in the extreme of vaulting distance ; but
soon the first trombone blazed out, the se-
cond atid third responding with their stn-
pendoub tones as the amplifications of fugue
involved and spread themselves more and
more ; until, like glory filling up and flood-
ing the height of Heaven from the Heaven
of Heavens itself, broke in the organ, and
brimmed the brain with the calm uf an
atter and forceful exp'-ession, realized by
Tone. In sympathy with each instrament,
it was alike with none, even as the white
and boundless ray of which all beams, all
color-tones, are born, Ttie perfect form,
the distinct conception of this unbrothered
work, left our spirits as the sublime fulfil*
ment confronted them : for once had Ge
nius, upon the wings of aspiration that
alone are pure, found all it rose to seek, and
mastered without a struggle all that it do-
sired to embrace ; for the pervading purpose
of that creation was the passioned quietude
with which it wrought its way. The vibra-
ting harmonies pulse-like, clung to our
pulses then, drew up, drew out each heart
deep-beating and undistracted, to adore at
the throne above from whence all beauty
springs. And opening and spreadinff thus,
too intricately, too transcendentally for cri&-
icism, we do do not essay, even feebly, to
portray that immortal work of a music-veil-
ed immortal.
Inextricable holiness, precious as the old
Hebrew psalm of all that hath life and
breath, exhaled from every modulation,
each dropped celestial fragrancies, the fresh-
ness of everlasting Spring. Suggestive
our oratorio suggested nothing here, no-
thing that we find or feel all that we seek
and yearn to clasp, but rest in our restless-
ness to discover is beyond us I In nothing
that form of music reminded of our forms
of worship in the day of Paradise it might
have been dreamed of, an antepast of earth's
last night, and of Eternity at hand^-or it
might be the dream of Heaven that haunts
the loving one's last slumber.
I can no more describe the hush that
hung above and seemed to spiritualize the
listeners, until, like a very cloud of ming-
ling souls, they seemed congregated to wait
for the coming of a Messiah who had left
them long, promising to return. Kor how,
as chorus after chorus, built up, sustained
and self- supported, gathered to the stricken
brain; the cloud of spirits sank, as in slum-
ber sweeter than any dreamful stir, upon
the alternating strains and songs, all soft-
ness all dread soothing, as the fire that
burned upon the strings seemed suddenly
quenched in tears. Faint supplications
wafted now, now deep acclaims of joy, but
all, all surcharged the spirit alike with the
mysterious thrall and tenderness of that
uucreate and unpronounceable Name, v^hose
eternal Love is all we need to assure us of
eternal Life.
It was with one of those alternate strains
that Olara rose to sing, amidst silence yet
unbroken, and the more impressive because
of the milder symphony that stole from the
violoncello, its meandering pathos a^iog to
support and serve her voice. Herself
peneti'ated so deeply with the wisdom oi
genius, she failed to remind us of herself;
even her soft brow and violet eyes^ violet in
IW
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
tbe doQBe glory of the Abbey afternoon
light, were but as outward signs and Tivid
smidows of that spirit that tonched her
oice. Deeper, stiller than the yioloncelk)
notes, hers seemed as those artioalated, snr-
oharged with a revelation beyond all soond.
Cum as deep, clear as still, they were
yot not passionless ; tbongh they dang and
moulded themselves strictly to the passion
of the music lent not a pnlse of their own ;
nor disturbed it the rapt serenity of her
tinging, to gaze upon her angel-face. No
child could have seemed less sensitive to the
surrounding throng, nor have confided more
implicitly in the father of its heart than she
leaned upon SeraphaePs power.
I made this observation afterwards, when
I had time to think at present I could only
feel, and feeling know, that the intellect is
but the servant of the soul. When at length
those two hours, concentrating such an eter-
nity in their perfection of all sensation, had
reached their climax; or rather wlien,
brightening into the final chorus, unim-
grisoned harmonies burstdown from stormy-
earted organ, from strings all shivering
alike, from blasting, rending tubes and
thus bound fast the Alleluia ^it was as if
the multitude had sunk upon tlieir knees, so
profound was the passion-cradling calm.
The blue-golden lustre, dim and tremulous,
still crowned the unwavering ardies -ten-
der and ovei*wrought was laid that vast and
fluctuating mind. So many tears are not
often shed as fell in that silent while, dew-
ttilly they dropped and quickened, but still
not all had wept.
Many wept then who had never wept be-
fore ^many who had wept before could not
weep now among them I. Our party
were as if lost to me ; as I hid my face, my
companion did not disturb me, she was too
far herself in my own case. I do not know
whether I heard, but I was aware of a
stretching and breathing; the old bones
stirring underneath the pavement would
have shaken me less, Imt could not have
been less to ray liking: the rush however
soft, the rustle however subdued, were
agony ^were torment; I could only feel,
^^ Oh that I were in Heaven ! that I might
never return to earth !^' but then it came
upon me, to that end we must all be changed.
This was sad, but of a sadness peculiarly
eoothing : for could we be content to remain
forever as we are here, even in our holiest^
our strongest moments ?
During the last reverberations of that un-
imaginable AUcluiab, I had not looked up
at all ; now I forced myself to do so, lest i
should lose my sight of him^t his seal upon
all that glory. As Seraphael had risen to
depart, thd applause, stifled and trembling,
bat not the less by heartfuls, rose for him.
He turned hia face a moment, the beav-
moment, the ttummer sun, that falling down,
wards in its piercing glare, glowed gorgeooi
against the flower-leaf windows, lung ita
burning bloom, its flushing gold, upon that
oonntenanoe. Wo all saw it, we all felt iL
the seraph-strength, the mortal beauty and
that it was pale as the cheek of tlie quick
and living ch^py d in d u ath il bat his mien
was of no^^e^qFthly pi5(i^7 .: r, v.^
CHAFER Yi[Io
/
He tamed hia face a moment, thebeav-\ ''louya&X.^ow.ouis up stairs; Iknowjoi
eaJy haJf-smile waa there; then, at that very \ cannot )aftw \U \ wm tiqN, xswvife ^jiite of
To that last phase dTanunwordly morn-
ing enoceeded the usual contrasts both of
state and mood. Pushing out, all among
the marbles in a graceless disorder, finding
in the sacred gloom of the pre4nct the
flashing carriages, the crested panels; s^
rattle, a real noise, real things, real people :
these were. as one might expect, and yet I
was very ungrateful ; for I desired especially
to avoid my dear brother and dearest sistei^
who had come from the country that very
day, Uiottgh I yet had failed to recognize or
seek for them. Davy could generally ex-
press what he /eU about muaio, and I did
not know how it might be.
I was thankful to be with Kiss Lawrence,
who behaved exactly as I wished ; that is
to say, when we were fairly seated, she be-
gan to talk to her father, not to me, and
upon indifferent or adverse matters. Of
Lanra I had not even thought until now ;
she was upon my side, though not just next
me ; she leaned back, and was so G^ight, that
nothing could be seen of her, except her
crushedMip dress. While, as -an amusing
point of idiosyncrasy, I may remark that
Miss Lawrence^s dress was as superb as
ever; she also carried her flowers, not one
decayed. Laura had also lost hers al-
together.
Poor Starwood had closed his eves, and
was pretending to be asleep ; he had one qf .
those headaches of his that render silence a
necessity, although they are ^^ only nervous,'*
And do not signity in the least. I had no
headache; I never was better in my life,
and I never felt so forcefally how much life
is beyond Uviniji,
We drove home soon enough; I was
Miss Lawrence's guest, and I knew that
with her generous goodness she had invited
Millicent and Davy We had scarcely en-
tered the drawing-room, where everything
was utterly unreal to me, before Davy's lit-
tle ouiek knock came.
Miss Lawrence then approached me, and
putting her bonnet quite over my &ce, sslU\
in a knowing whisper,
Xo\x yo^^X. %o Q^Vouig up stairs ; I know joa
(CABLES AUOHESTER.
IT?
four stuff, and sLall be bappy to eDtertain
your people. Tear brother and sister are
no snch awful persons to me, I assure yon.''
I obeyed perhaps selfishly but I should
have been poor company indeed ; and went
to my large bed-room. Lar^e and luxu-
riously furnished, it eren looked romantic.
I liked it; I passed to the window aod was
disturbed a moment afterwards by a servant
who bore a tray of eatables with wine, sent
by Miss Lawrence, of course, whose mo-
ments counted themselves out in deeds of
kindness. I took the tray, delivered it to
the charge of the first chair next the door,
and returned to my own at the window-
seat.
The blue sky, so intense and dear, so
deep- piercing, was all I needed to gaze on ;
and I was far gone in reverie when I beard
ft knock at the door of my room. It was a
strange short beat almost as weird as ^^ Jef-
frey," but at least it startled me to rise. I
arose, and opened it. I beheld Lanra. I
f^as scarcely surprised ; yet I should indeed
have been surprised but for my immediate
terror, cJmost awe, at her nn formal aspect.
I never saw a li*'ing creature look so far
like death. There v^as no gleam of life in
her wan face so fallen, agonized ; no mor-
tal, spending sickness, could have so reduced
her! She fixed upon me her wild eyes,
clear as tearless ; but at first she could not
speak. She tried again and again, but at
last she staggered, and I put her, I know
not how exactly, into a chair at hand. She
was light almost as a child of five years old,
but so listless that I was afraid of hurting
her ; and immediately she safe down she
fainted. It was a real unmitigated faint,
and no mistake ; I conld see she had not
herself expected it. I was accustomed to
this kind of thing, however, for Lydia at
home was fond of fainting away in church,
or on the. threshold of the door; aiso Fred's
wife made a point of fainting at regular in-
tervals. But I never saw any one faint as
Laura; she turned to marble in a moment;
there was a rigid fixing of her features that
would have alarmed me had I loved her,
and that rendered my very anxiety for her
a grief. I could not lift her then, for light
as she was she leaned upon me, and I could
only stretch my arm to reach the decanter
from its stand. The wine was, however, of
no use at present ; I had to put the glass
upon the noor after filling it with unmen-
tionable exertion ; but after ten minutes or
80, as I expected from a relaxation of her
countenance, she awoke as out of a breath-
less sleep. She looked at me up into my
face she was again the little Laura, whom
I had known in Davy's class.
" I only wanted to ask you to let me lie
upon your bed, for I am going back to-
night, and have not a room hero ; and I did
not like to ask Miss Lawrence. I hope yoa
M
do not mind. I-shdold not have don m,
if I had not felt so very ill."
The humility of her manner here, so an-
like what I had seen in the little I had seen
of her, made me ashamed, and it also
touched me seriously. I said I was sorry,
very sorry, that she should be ill, but that
it was what any very delicate or feeling per-
son might expect, after so much excits-
ment. And as I spoke, I would have as*
listed her, but she assisted herself, and lay
down upon the bed directly.
**If you please, sit in ^e window away
from me, and go on with your thoughts. Do
not trouble yourself about rae, or I shall go
away again."
^^ I will keep quiet, certainly, because you
yourself should keep so."
And then I gave her the wine, and cov-
ered her with the quilt to the throat, for
although it was so warm, she had begun to
shake and tremble as she lav. I held the
wine to her lips, for she could not hold the
glass ; and while I did so, before she tasted,
she said, with an emphasis I am very un-
likely ever to forget
" I wish it could be poison!"
I saw there was something the matter
then, and as being/responsible at that in-
stant, I mechanically uttered the reply,
'* Will you not .tell me why you wish it ?
I can mix poison, but I should be very sorry
to give it to any one, and above all to you."
*'Why to mef You would be doing
more good than by going to hear all that
music."
I gazed at her for a moment a suspicion
(which had it been a certainty would have
failed to turn rae from her) thwarted my
simple pity. I gazed, and it was enough ;
I felt there was nothing I needed fear to
know ^hat child had never sinned against
her soul. I therefore said, more carelessly
than just then I felt,
^^ Miss Lemark, because you are gifted
because you are good because you are in-
nocent. It is not everybody who is eithbi*
of these, and very few indeed who are all
the three. I will not have you talk Just
now, unless, indeed, you can tell me that I
can do anything for you. You know how
slight my resources are, but you need not
fear to trust me."
" If you did let me talk, what should I
say ? But you have told a lie, or rather, I
made you tell it. I am not gifted, at least
my gifts are such as nobody really cares
for. I am innocent ? I am not innocent ;
and for the other word you used, I do not
think I ought to speak it ; it no more be-
longs to me than beauty, or than happiness."
*^ All that is beautiful belongs to all who
love it, thank God I Miss Lemark, or I
should be very poor indeed in that respect.
But wliy are you so angry with yourself, be
cause^ lidvin^; gone through too much hap-
178
OHARI^S AUOnESTER.
Einess, yen are no longer happy ? It niast
e 80 for all of ns, and I do not regret,
tliongh I have felt W
^^Tou regret it ^you to regret anything I'*
said Laara, haughtily, her haatenr striking
through her paleness reproachfully. " Ton
^a rnan ! I would sell my soul, if I have
a soul, to he a man, to he able to live to my-
self, to be delivered from the torment of
being and feeling what nobody cares for/'
" If we live to ourselves, we men, if I may
oall myself a man, we are not less tormented,
and not less because men are expected to
bear up, and may not give themselves relief
in softer sorrow. My dear Miss Lemark, it
appears to me, that if we allow ourselves to
sink, either for grief or joy, it matters not
which, we are very much to blame, and
more to be pitied. There is ever a hope,
even for the hopeless, as they think them-
selves, how much more for those who need
not and must not despair I And those who
are born with the most hopeful temper, find
that they cannot exist without faith.*'
"That is the way the people always talk
who have everything the world can give
them who have more than everything
they wish for who have all their love
oared for who may express it without
being mocked, and worship without being
trampled on. You are the most enviable
r)rson in the whole world, except one, and
do not envy her, but I do envy you."
" Very amiable. Miss Lemark I" and I felt
my old wrath rising, yet smiled it down.
" You see all this is a conjecture on your
part ; you cannot know what I feel, nor is
it for you to say, that because I am a man
I can have exactly what I please. Very
possibly, precisely because I am a man, I
cannot. But anyhow I shall not. betray
myself, nor is it ever safe to betray our-
selves, unless we cannot help it."
" I do not care about betraying myself: I
am miserable,* and I will have comfort
comfort is for the miserable I"
"Not the comfort a human heart can
bring you, however soft it may cliance to
be."
" I should hate a soft heart's comfort, I
would not take it ; it is because you are not
soft-hearted I want yours."
" I would willingly bestow it upon you if
I knew how; but you know that Keble
says, ^Whom oil and balsams kill, what
salve can cure V "
" I do not not know Keble."
"Then you ought to cultivate his ac-
quaintance, Miss Lemark, as a poet, at least,
if not as a gentleman."
I wished at once to twist the subject
aside, and to make her laugh ; a laugh dis-
pels more mental trouble than any tears at
titnB. Bat, contrary to expectation on my
part, mjr recipe failed here; she broke into
nor did she hide her face, as those for th
most part do who must shed their tears;
she sobbed openly, aloud ; and yet her sor-
row did not inspire me with contempt, for
it was as unsophisticated as any child's ; it
was evident she had not been accnstoiued
to suffering, and knew not how to restrain
its expression, neither that it ought to be
restrained. I moved a few feet from her,
and waited; I did right ^in the rain the
storm exhaled : she wiped away her tears,
but they yet pearled the long pale lashes as'
she resumed.
"I am 'much obliged to you for telling
me I ought not to .say these things, but it
would be better if you could prevent my
feeling them."
" No one can prevent that. Miss Lemark,
and perhaps it does not signify what yon
feel, if you can prevent its interfering with
your duty to others and to yourself."
" You, to talk of duty I You, who pos-
sess every delight that the earth contains,
and with whom I would rather change
places than with the angels."
" I have many delights ; but if I had no
duties to myself, the delights would fail.
An artist I consider. Miss Lemark, has the
especial duty imposed upon him or her, to
let it be seen that art is the nearest thing
in the universe to Grod, after nature, and hia
life must be tolerably pure for that."
" That is just it. But it is easy enough
to do right when you have all that yc ur
heart wants and your mind asks for. I
have nothing."
" Miss Lemark, you are an artist."
" You know very well how you despise
such art as mine, even if I did my duty by
that ; but I do not, and that is what I want
comfort for; you did not think I should tell
you anything else!"
" I would have you tell me nothing that
you are not obliged to say ; it is dangerous,
at least I should find it so."
" You have not suffered, or if you have
you have nsver offended. I have done
what would make you spurn me ; but that
would not matter to me, anything is better
than to seem what I %m not."
"What is the matter, then? I nevei
spurned a lividg creature, God knows ; and
for every feeling of antipathy to some per-
sons, I have felt a proportionate wish for
their good. There are different ranks of
spirits, Miss Lemark, and it is not because we
are in one that we do not sympathise quite
as nmch as is necessary with the rest. Albeit
you and I are of one creed, you know both
artists, and both I believe desirous to serve
Art as we best may; thus we meet on equal
grounds, and whatever you say I shall Lear
as if it were my sister who spoke to me."
" If you meant that, it would be very
klnd^ for 1 V\a^^ no brother ; I have Hone of
tremen(hU9 weepings withoit warning ;\ my \\ooA^wi(ll cAiXv ex^^cX. \vi wi^ ^lae ti
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
n
love me. I do not care to be loved even ;
bat every one mast grow to something.
You know Clara? I see yon do ; you always
felt for her as you could not help. No one
could feel for her as she deserves. I wish I
could die for Clara, and now I cannot die
even for myself. For I feel oh I feel, that
to die is not to die-that music made me
feel it, but I have never felt it before I
have been a heathen. I cannot say I wish
I had not heard it, for anything is better
than to be so shut out as I was. Ton re-
ibember how when I was a little girl I loved
to dance ; I always liked it until I grew up,
but I cannot tell you how at last, when I
came out in Paris, and after the few first
nights which were most beautiful to me
I wearied. Night after night in the same
steps, to the same music music is it
music? you do not look as if you called it
BO. I did not know I danced ; I dreamed,
I am not sure now sometimes, that I was
ever awake those nights. I was lazy and
grew indolent, and when Clara came to
Paris I went along with her. Would you
believe it? I have done nothing ever
i^lnce.^' She paused a long minute ; I did
not reply. "You are not shocked ?"
" No, I think not."
" You don't scorn me and point your face
^t me ? Then you ought, for I lived upon
her and by her, and made no eifort, while
she took no rest, working hard and always.
Bat with it all she kept her health, like the
angels in Heaven, arid I grew ill and weak.
I could not dance then. I felt it to be im-
possible, though sometimes it came upon
mo that I could ; and then the remembrance
of those nights, all alike, night after night ^I
could not. Pray tell me now whether lam not
worthless. But I have no beauty ; I am lost."
"Miss Lemavk, if you were really lost,
and had no beauty, it appears' to me that
you would not complain about it ; people do
not, I assure you, who are ugly or in de-
spau*. You are overdone, and you overrate
your little girlish follies; everything is
touched by the color of your thought, but is
not really what it se^ras. Believe me as
I cannot but believe that your inaction
arose from morbid feeling, and not too
strong health ; not from true want of ener-
gy or courage. You are young, a great deal
too young to trust all you fancy, or even
feel ; and you ought to be thankful there is
nothing more for you to regret than that
weighing down your spirit. You will do
everything we expect and wish when you
become stronger a strong woman, I hope
^for remember you are only a girl. Nor
i%ill you find that you are less likely to suc-
cted then because of this little voluntary of
illease."
" You are only speaking so because it is
troublesome to you to be addressed at all.
Too do not mean it ; yovL are all music."
"There is only one who is all mnsia
Miss Leraark."
She hid her face for many minutes ; at
last she looked up, and said with more soft-
ness, a smile almost sweet
" Mr. Auchester, I feel I am detaining
you; let me beg you to sit down."
I just got up on the side of the bed.
" That will do beautifully. And now, Miss
Lemark, if I am to be your doctor, you must
go to sleep."
" Because I shall not talk ? But I will not
go to sleep, and I will talk. What should yon
do if you were in my place, feeling as I do ?''
" I do not know all."
" You may if you like."
" Then I may guess ; at least I may imag-
ine all I might feel if I were in your place
a delicate young lady who has been fainting
for the love of musifc."
" You are sneering ; I do not mind that.
I have seen just such- an expression upon a
face I admire more than yours. Suppose
you felt you had seen "
" What I could never forget, nor cease to
love" I answered, fast and eagerly ; I could
not let her say it or anything just there
" I should earnestly learn his nature, should
fill myself to the brim with his beauty, just
as with his music. I should feel that, in
keeping my heart pure, above all from envy,
and my life most like his life, I should be
approaching nearer than any earthly tie
could lead me ; should become worthy of his
celestial communion, of his immortal, his
heavenly tendencies. Nor should I regret
to aufifer^ to suffer for his sake."
I used these last words themselves so
well remembered 1 witliout remembering
who said them for me first, till I had fairly
spoken ; then I too longed to weep : Maria^
voice was trembling in my brain, a ghostly
music. As Laura answered the ghostly
music passed, even as a wind shaken and
scattered upon the sea it ^as earth again,
as vague, scarcely less lonely I
" A worhlly man would mock. You do
not a much wiser thing, but you do it for
the best. I will try to hide it forever ; for
there is indeed no hope."
Half imploring, this was hardly a ques-
tion ; yet I answered,
" I do believe none."
" You are cold not cruel. I would rather
know the truth. Yes! I will hide it for-
ever ; I will not even speak of it to you."
" Even from yourself hide it, if it must b
hidden at all. And yet I always think that
a hidden sorrow is tlie best companion we
can have."
"I am very selfish. I know that if Miss
Lawrence finds out I am with you, you will
not like it. You had better let me go down
stairs."
"I will go myself if you nrefec to be
a\o\iQ^ \)ut. 'SOW. \L\)&\ \io\\S!Ly0
18fO
CHARLES AUOUESTER.
*^ I must move ^I will not be found here ;
I had quito forgotten that. I will go this
momont.^'
I did not dream of her actually departing ;
bat before I coald remonstrate further, she
had planted herself lightly upon the carpet,
and looked as well as usual ^it was nothing
extraordinary to see her pale. She smoothed
her long hair at my glass, and arranged her
dress : she shook hands with me afterwards,
4|ko, and then she left the room.
CHAPTER VIII.
I was really alone now, but had a variety
of worrying thoughts, hunting each other to
death, but reproducing each other by thou-
sands. I was irate with Laura, though I
felt very sad; but of all most vexed that
such an incident should have befallen my
experience that crown of days. The awful
power of a single soul struggled in my ap-
prehension with the vain weakness of a
single heart But more overpowering than
either, was the sensation connecting the
two. It was a remembrance tliat I, too,
might be called to suffer.
At last Miss Lawrence sent to know
whether I chose my dinner. Her own hour
was six, and just at hand ; but I felt so ex-
tremely disinclined to eat that I thought I
would refuse, and take a walk another way.
Miss Lawrence was one of those persons
gladdening souls are they I wlio mean ex-
actly what they say, and expect you to say
exactly what you mean : thus I had no diffi-
culty in explaining that I preferred to take
this walk; though it was not, after allfa
walk semplice, for I was bound to the cot-
tage, and desired to rep.oh it as soon as pos-
sible.
I met Miss Lawrenc on the stairs, and
she charged me to take care of Laura; I
could not refuse^ of coarse, and we drove in
one of those delightful cabs that so effectu-
ally debar from connected convei'sation. I
was glad foir once, though I need not have
troubled myself to descant ; tor Laura, in a
great green veil, opened not her lips twice,
nor once looked towards me.
We dismissed the conveyance at the en-
trance of the hamlet, and walked up to-
gether, still silent. It was about half-past
seven then, and vivid as at morning the
atmosphere, if nut tbe light. . Unclouded
sunshine swept tlie clustered leaves of the
intense June foliage, heavyriressed labarnum
wore it instead of blossoms ; but from the
iecluded shade of the wayside gardens
iiieroed tbe universal scent of roses above
all other fragrance except the limes which
Jioj]^ their golden beUs out here and there,
dropping their singular perfume ah lightr
alike.
I saw SeraphaeVs house firsts and return-
ed to it after leaving Laura at that other
white gate. All our windows were open
the breeze blew over a desert of flowers
all was " fairy-land forlorn." I felt certain
no one could be at home. I was right here.
I could not enter. I was drawn to that othei
gate I entered. Thon6 opened the dooi
looking quite as eastern in the western beams.
^^ Is Miss Benette at home ?"
" I will see." For Thon6 cQuld spell out
a little Eoglish now. She went and saw.
" Yes Sir, to you ; and she wishes to see
you."
It was the first time Thon6 had evei
called me Sir, and I felt very grand. A
strange, subtle fancy, sweeter than the
sweetest hope, sprang daringly within me.
But a crushing fear uprose, it swelled and
darkened my butterfly was broken upon
that wheel those rooms so bright and fes-
tal, the air and sunshine falling upon clus-
tered flowers, upon evening freshness as at
morning were not, could bot be for me!
I advanced to the open piano, its glittering
sheets outspread its smiling keys.
Hardly had I felt myself alone before one
otlier entered: alas I I was still alone I
Clara herself approached me, less calm than
I had ever seen her ; her little hand was
chilled as if by the rough kisses of an east-
ern wind, though the south air fanned our
summer ; there was agitation in her whole
air, but more excitement. I had never seen
her excited ; I had not been aware how
strangely I should feel to see her touched so
deeply.
" Mr. Auchester, it must be heaven who
sent you here to-night, for I wanted to see
you more than anybody, and was expect-
ing some one else. I never thought I
should see you first, I wished it so very
much."
" Miss Benette, if it were in my power I
would give you all you wish, for the sake
only of bearing you wish but once. I am
grateful to be able to fulfil your wishes in
the very least degree. What is it now ?"
for her lip quivered like an infantas, and one
tear sUod in each of her blue eyes. She
wiped away those dew drows that I would
have caught upon my heart ; and answered,
her voice of music all quiet now.
^^ I have had a strange letter from the
gentleman you love so weU. I do not feel
equal to what he asks that is, I am not de-
serving ; but still I must answer it ; and
after what you said to me last time yon
were so kind tu^ to talk to me, I do not
think it right t^ overlook iU"
" I may not see the letter ? I do not do-
sire it ; but suffer me to uaderst-and clearlj
what it is about exactly, if you do not think
me too young, ]^liss Benette I"
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
181
** Sir, I always feel as if yon were older,
SBd I relj upon yon. I will do as yoa
please ; I wish to do so only. This Tetter is
to ask me to marry him. Oh 1 how differ-
ently I felt when I was asked to marry Mr.
Davy."
"Yes, I rather suppose so . Yon
are ready to reply ?"
*' Not qnite. I had not considered snoh a
thing, and.should have thonght first of mar-
rying a king or an angel."
"He is above all kings, Miss Benette;
and if he loves yon, no angeFs happiness
oonld be like yonr own. Bot is it so wholly
unexpected ?"
" I never imagined it. Sir, for one single
moment; nor conld any woman think he
wonfd prefer her. Of course, as he is above
all others, he has only to choose where he
pleases."
I conld not look at her as she spoke ; I
dared not trust myself the most thrilling
irony pointed her delicate lovesome tones.
I know not that she knew it, but I did ; it
cut me far deeper than to the heart, and
through and through my spirit the wound
made way. No tampering, however, with
*' oil and balsams" here I
" Wherever he pleases I should say. No
^ne he .could choose could fail (I should
imagine) in pleasing him to please herself."
She retorted, more tenderly. " I think it
awful to remember that I may not be
worthy, that I may make him less happy
than he now is, instead of more so."
" Only love him 1"
" But such a great difference ! He will
rot always walk upon the earth. I cannot
le with him when he is up so high."
" I only say the same. He needs a com-
panion for his earthly honre ; then only is
it lie is alone. His hours of elevation re-
quire no sympathy to fill them they are
Uot solitude."
" I will do as you please, Sir ; for it must
be right. , Do you not wish you were in my
place?" She smiled softly upon me, just
lifting her lovely eyes.
** Miss Benette, I know no one but your-
self who could fill those hours I spoke of,
nor any one but that beloved and glorious
one who is worthy to fill your hdlirt all
hours. More I cannot say, for the whole
affair haa taken me by suqirise."
I had indeed been stricken by shock upon
shock that day; but the last remained to
me, when the wailings of misfortune, the
echoes of my bosom-music, alike had left
my brain. I could not speak, and we both
sate silent, side by ide, until the sun, in
setting, streamed into the room. Then, as
I rose to lower the blind, and was absent
from her at the window, I heard a knock.
I Lad, or ought to have expected it ; yet it
turned me from heftv* to foot it thrilled me
through aT\d through. I well knew the hand
that had raised the echoes like n salute of
fairy cannon I well knew the step that
danced into the hall. I was gone through
the open window, not even looking back.
I ran to the bottom of the garden : I made
for the Queen's highway ; I walked straight
back to London.
There was a great party in Miss Law-
rence's ; I knew it from the comer of the
square; and I had to leave the lustrous
darkness, tlie sleepy stars and great suffus-
ing moonshine, the very streets filled full
and overflowing with waftures of fragrances
from the country, dim yet so delicious, for
that terrible drawing-room. I took advan-
tage of the excitement, however, that dis-
tressed me as it never burned before, to
plunge instantly into a duet for violin and
piano--Miss Lawrence calling me to her by
the white spell of her waving hand the very
moment I entered at the drawing-rooiu
door. My duet, her noble playing, made me
myself, as efcer music saves iCer owriy and I
conducted myself rather less like a night-
mare than I felt. The party consisted ot
first-rate amateurs, the flower of the morn-
ing festival, both from orchestra and audi-
ence^all enchanted all wordy except my
precious Davy, who was very pale, and Star-
wood, whose eyes almost went into his head
with pain.
We all did our best, though Starwood
played most beautifully, and in a style which
made me glory over him Davy sang, though '
his voice was rather nervous ^a great many
people came up to me, but they got nothing
out of me I could not descant upon my
religion. When at length they descended
to supper a miscellaneous meal which Miss
Lawrence always provided in great state I
thought I might be permitted to retire.
Will it be believed, that, half an hour after-
wards, hearing my sister and Davy come up
leisurely to bed, and peeping out to see them,
I heard Millicent distinctly say, "I hope
baby is asleep!" I was to return with
them on the morrow; but directly after
breakfast Miss Lawrence made me one of
her signs, and led me thereby, without con-
trolling me hand or foot, out of the break-
fast room. We were soon alone together in
the studio.
" I thought you would like to be here this
morning, for Seraphael has promised to come
and see it. I think myself that he will be
rather surprised."
I could not help smiling at her tone, it
was so unaffectedly satisfied.
" I should think he will. Miss Lawrence!'*
" I don't mean as to the merits of the pic-
ture, but because he does not know it is~^
what shall I say ? historical ^biographical
allegorical."
^* You mean hieroglyphic ?"
*^ Exactly."
Jot he Vill not be likely to say anything
*'lii
192
CHARLES AUOHESTEB.
about that part of it, will he ? Is he not too
modest or too proud ?"
" Why, one never can know what he will
say or do. I should not wonder the least in
the world if he took the brushes up and put
lie eyes in, open."
I laughed " Does he paint, though ?"
" Between ourselves, Mr. Auchester, there
h nothing he cannot do no accomplishnaent
in which he does not excel. He can paint,
can design, can model, can harmonize all
languages into a language of his own all
mysteries all knowledge ^all wisdom, we
know too well too well! indeed dwell
with him, are of him. I am always afraid,
when I consider these things. What a
blessing to us and to all men if he would
only marry I We should keep him a little
longer, then."
**" Do you think so ? I am fearful it would
make no real diiSerence. There is a point
where all sympathy ceases."
Miss Lawrence shook her head, a lull
came over the animation of her manner
she hastened to arrange her scenery, now
unique. She had placed before the picture
A velvet screen, deep emerald and grass-like
in its shade this veil stood out alone, for
she had cleared away all sign of picture,
sketch, or other frame besides. Nothing
was in the room but the picture on its lofty
easel, and the loftier velvet shade. I appre-
ciated to the full the artist tact of the veil
itself, and said so.
" I think," was her reply, " it will be more
likely to please him if I keep him waiting a
little bit, and his curiosity is touched a mo-
ment."
And then we went down stairs. Davy,
who always had- occupation on hand, and
would not have been destitute of duty on
the shore of a desert island, was absent fn
the City; Millicent, who had taken her
work to a window, was stitching the most
delicate wristband in Europe, ioside tjie
heavy satin curtain, as comfortably as in
her tiny home. Miss Lawrence went and
stood by her, and entertained her enchant-
ingly, eternally reminding her of her bliss
by Mrs. Davying till I could but laugh but
still my honored hostess was very impetu-
ously excited, for her eyes sparkled as most
eyes only light by candleshine, or the setting
sun. She twisted the tassel of the blind,
too, till I thought the silk cord would have
snapped, but Millicent only looked up grate-
fully at ner, without the slightest sign of as-
tonishment or mystification.
" Charles I" exclaimed my sister at length,
when Miss Lawrence, fairly exhausted with
talking, was gathering up her gown into
folds and extempore plaits " Charles I you
wJ]2 be re&dy at two o'clock, and we shall
get borne to tea."
/ could not he angry with her for thiuk-
Jug of her baby-^her little house her lieav
en of home bni there was a going back tc
winter for me in the idea of going away.
The music seemed dead, not slumbering,
that I had heard the day before. But is this
strange? For there is a slumber we call
death. About half-past ten a footman
fetched Miss Lawrence she touched my
arm, apologizing to Millicent, though not
explaining and we left the room together.
She sent me onwards to the studio, and
went down stairs alone. I soon heard them
coming up, indeed, I expected them direct-
ly, for Seraphael never waited for anything,
and never lost a moment. They were talk-
ing, and when he entered he did not at first
perceive me. His face was exquisite. A
charm softened the Hebrew keenness that
was not awful, like the passion music stirring
the hectic, or spreading its white light. He
was flushed, but more as a child that has
been playing until it is weary his eyes,
dilated, were of softer kindness than the
brain gives birth to his happy yet way-
ward smile, as if he rejoiced because self-
willing to rejoice ; his clear gaze ^his eager
footstep reminded me of other days, when
he trembled on the verge of manhood ; it
was, indeed, as a man, that he shone before
me tliat morning, and had never shone be-
fore. They stood now before the screen,
and I was astonished at the utter self-pos-
session of the paintress, she only watched
his face, and seemed to await his wishes.
" That screen is very beautiful velvet, and
very beautifully made. Am I never to look at
anything else ? Is nothing hidden behind it?
I have been very good, Mi^s Lawrence, and
1 waited very patiently. I do not think I
can wait any longer. May I pull it away ?"
" Sir, most certainly. It is for you to do
so at your pleasure. I am not afraid either^
though you will think me not over-modest."
Seraphael touched the screen it was
massive, and resisted his little hand ; he
became impatient Miss Lawrence only
laughed, but I rushed out of ray corner to
help him. Before he looked at the picture,
he gave me that little hand and a smile of
his very own.
" Look, dearest Sir !" I cried, " pray look
now !" and indeed, he looked, and indeed,
I shalU not forget it. It was so iciinge to
turn from the living lineaiii^ts the eye of
the sun and starlight the Ibrilliant paleness
the changeful glow the look of intense
and concentrated vitality upon temple and
lip and skin, to the still immortal vi:age
the aspect of glory beyond the grave the
lustre unearthly, but not of death, that struck
from those breathless lips those snow-
sealed eyes. And, above all, to see that the
light seemed not to descend from the crown
upon the forehead, but to aspire from the
forehead to the crown ^so the vsiys were
m\xft^ a.Yi^ ^\x%fev\. \\\\.o the idea of that et-er-
n\ly \\i vj\i\Q\\ \X\^x^ ^\\^ a^ ^ ws^^ ^ctU
CHARLES AU0IIE8TER.
18^1
besides another heayen ! ^Tbat transcending
picture! how would it affect bim? I little
knew. For aa he stood, and gazed, he grew
more like it the smile faded ^the deep
melancholy I had seldom seen, and never
without a shudder, swept back as the sun
goes into a cloud, his face assumed a dark-
licr paleness he appeared to suffer, but did
not speak. In some minutes still, he started,
tamed to Miss Lawrence, and sighing gently,
as gently said, *^ I wish I were more like it !
I wish I were as that is ! but we may not
dream dreams, though we may paint pic-
tures. I should like to deserve yoar idea,
but I do not at present. Happy for us all
who build upon the future! as you have
done in^ that painting. I mean entirely as
to the perfection of the work."
'* Have I your permission to keep it. Sir ?"
^^ What else, Madam, would you do with
itr
**0h, if you had- not approved I should
have slashed it into pieces with a carving
knife, or my father's razor. I shall keep it,
^ith your permission ; it will be very valu-
able and precious, and I have to thank you
for the inestimable privilege of possessing
it."
This cool treatment of Miss Lawrence's
delighted me ^it was the only one to restore
^pr Chevalier. He, indeed, returned unto
^is rest, for he left the house that moment,
^or could I have desired him to remain
^^Qre was only one presence in which 1 cared
^ imagine him
CHAPTER IX.
Thk day had come and gone when Clara,
for the firet time, dressed in white. The
Bun-grain of August had kissed the corn,
the golden-drooping sheaves waved through
the land fresh cut, and the latest roses mix-
ed pale amidst the lilies beneath the boun-
teous harve8t-raoon, when she left us but
not alone. It was like dying twice over to
part ^^ylt^ them that once, and therefore it
e'beljeved how soon I could re-
e farewfell, and feed upon Clara's
rhich never failed me once a month,
they more sustained me than
anything else could have done; for they
told of a life secluded as any who loved him
could desire for him, and not more free from
pain |;han care. Of herself she never spoke,
except to breathe sweet wishes for her
friends; but her whole soul seemed bent
upon his existence, and her descriptions
were almost a diary. I could not be aston-
ished at her influence, for it had governed
my best days ; but that she should be able
to secure each a boon to us as a year of un
mitigated repose for him, w^s precisely what
I had not anticipated, nor dared to expect.
Meantime, and during that year, our work
was harder than ever. Davy and I were
unconscious of progressing, yet were per-
fectly happy, and as ever determined ; in-
deed, nothing like a slight contumacy on tlie
part of the pupils kept Davy up to the mark.
From Starwood, who had returned to Ger-
many, I also received accounts, but he was
no letter-writer, except when there was
anything very particular to say. He was
still a student, and still under Seraphael's
roof. Strange and Arabian dreams were
those I had of that house, in the heart of a
country so far away ; for the Chevalier had
moved nearer the Rhine, and nothing in his
idiosyncrasy so betokened the Oriental tinc-
ture of his blood as his restless fondness for
making many homes, while he was actually
at honde in none.
We lived very happily, as I said. It was
Ferhaps not extraordinary that to my violin
grew infinitely more attached was one
with k^ and could scarcely^ divide myself
from it I lived at home still, that is I
slept at home, and usually ate there ; but
Davy's house was also homeit had grown
dearer to me than ever, and was now fairer.
The summer after our friends had left us
was brilliant as the last, and now the shell
was almost hidden by the clinging of all
loveliest creepers ; the dahlias in the gar-
den had given place to standard rQse-trees,
and though Carldtta could not reach them,
she had learned to say **rose !" and to put
up her pretty hand for me to pluck her
one. With a flower she would sit and
play an entire morning, and we never had
any trouble with her. Millicent worked
and studied as conveniently as though she
had never been borne ; for it was Davy's
supreme wish to educate his daughter at
home, and her mamma had very elaborate
ideas of self-culture in anticipation. During
that Autumn we found ourselves making
some slight way. Davy took it into his
head to give utterance, for the first time,
to a public concert ; and I will not say I
was myself averse. We had a great deal of
conversation and a great many sessions on
the subject, not exactly able to settle
whether we would undertake a selection or
some entire work. Our people were rather
revived oat of utter darkness concerning
music, but its light was little diffused, and
seemed condensed in our class-room as a
fqcus. The band and chorus, of course,
made great demonstrations in favor of the
Messiah ; and my mother who had taken an
extraordinary interest in the affair, said in-
nocently enough
" Then why, my dears, not represent the
Messiah ? It will be at Christmas time, and
, very suitable."
r \ TL\iVft \i lift \iO\ \Xi^ Y^\\!i}^\q^ \iW^\aj!!i. x^
184
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
minded roe of the fact, that the fosttval for
the approaching year at the centre of the
town would open with that work unless
indeed the committee departed from their
precedent on all former occasions. My idea
wonld have been a performance all Bach,
Beethoven, and Seraphael, with HandeVs
ode for a commencement, on the 22d of
November ^but Davy shook his head at
me
"That would be for Germany, not for
England ;" and I obliged myself to believe
him. At length we accepted the Messiah,
to the great delight of the choms and the
band.
It was a pressing time all through that an-
tnmn, I do not suppose I ever thought of
anything but fiddles, fiddles, fiddles, from
morning till ni;;ht. They edged my dreams
with music, and sometimes with that which
was very much the reverse of music ; for we
had our difficulties. Prejudice is best de-
stroyed by passion, which as yet we had not
kindled. Davy met with little support, and
no sympathy, except from his own this
mattered little Mther so long as his own was
concerned, but now in prospect of our illus-
tration it was necessary to secure certain
instrumental assistance.
I undertook this besides my own strings
we had brass and wind, but not sufficient.
I shall not forget the difficulty of thawing
the players I visited I will not call them
artists into anything like genial participa-
tion. Their engagement was sufficiently
formal, nor did they like me ; I suppose
they owed a grudge against my youth, for
3'outh is unpardonable and inadmissible ex-
cept in the case of genius. Neither did
they thaw any more than the weather, on
Christmas Eve ; it was on Christmas Eve
we were to perform. It was an eve of ice,
not snow, the blue sky silvery, the earth
bound fast in sleep. We had hired a ball-
room at the chief hotel, an elegant and
rather rare room ; It was warmed by three
wide fire-places, and the crimson cartains
closed, with the chairs instead of benches,
gave a social and unusual charm to the
whole proceeding.
If our audience entered aghast, looking
frozen, rolled in furs and contempts, they
could not help smiling upon the fires, the
roseate glow, though they also could not
help being disconcerted to find themselves
treated all alike, for Davy would have no
reserved seats, nor any exclusiveness, on this
occasion. As he intended, besides, to re-
store the work exactly as it was first written,
we expected a little cold, and a few black
looks. No modern listeners can receive an
oratorio as orthodox, without an organ of
Titan-build in the very middle that takcH
care to sound.
The overture^ beautifully played, was
taken down with dill politeness; but t?.y
own party were so |)!eased with themuelve^
and {nade such ecstatic motions with their
features, that it was quite enough for me.
The first chorus, so lightly, delicately shown
Qp, not extinguishe1 by the orchestra, and
indeed chorus after chorus, found no moi^
favor yet: still no one could help feeling t!te
perfect training here I knew as well as
Davy, envy or prid alone kept back the
free confession. Tiie exquisite shading in
the chorus, the public's darling " Unto us
a child is bom," and the grandeur of the
final effect^ sulNlned them a little; they
cheered, and Davy gave me a glance over
his shoulder, which I understood to say,
^^ One must come in for certain disadvan-
tages if one is well received ;" for Davy ab-
horred a noise as much as I did. When we
waited between the parts, some one fetched
Davy away in an immense hurry : he did
not return immediately, and I grew alarmed.
I peeped into the concert-room; there sat
Miilioent most composedly, and Lj-dia with
her lord, and OIo in her dove-colored silk
and spectacles, and my mother in her black
satin and white kid gloves, looking crowned
with happiness : it was evident that nothing
was the matter at home. But having a few
minutes, I went to speak to them ; and then
my mother, in her surmises about Davy,
whom she loved as her own son and Glo,
whose principles were flattered, not shocked,
in her approval ^took up so much time, that
I was at last obliged to fly to my little band^
who were assembled again, and tuning by-~
fits. Still Davy was not there. But pr
sontly, and just at the very moment when i
was necessary to begin, he appeared, si
looking that I was sure either somethin
very dread or very joyous had befallen hi
His eye gazed brightfy out to his own roo
as he faced, instead of turning from it.
could not help smiling, and his voice qui
ed as he spoke. He said, in those fond
cents
^^I have the pleasure to announce t
the Citevalier Seraphael, having just arri
from Germany on a visit to myself, has
seated to conduct the Second Part hims^^^"
I ha^been sure the (Tlievaliei! was in ftn/zn
before he spoke, but I little thought ho-"*v/f
would come about. Tinmii(liiiliiiiyTH!fft[i iIihJ
speaking, the curtain abov^'Qs divic^B^ and
that heavenly-inspired ^ne stood b^S U8,
There was that in^ h:^4{}ps^tij^!^I'c^
stirred the slowest, and burned upon tb$
coldest pulses. All cose and shouted wUb
an enthusiasm, when elicited from English j
hearts perhaps more real and touching th&n I
any other a quickening change like soddeo
summer swept the room the music became
infinitely at home there-^we all felt as if
watching over the dead we bad seen th
dead alive again the ^^ old familiar strains^'
uniired us, and none cither wearied among
ihe ii:3Un&ra. I could not, in the trances of
lyUARLES AUOHESTER.
185
my own playing, forbear to worebip tbe
gentle knowledge that had led tbe Hieraroh
to that humble shrine, to consecrate and
ennoble it for ever. Bat the event told even
sooner than I expected, for lo ! at the end,
when the Ohevalier turned his kingly head,
and bowed to the reiterated applaudings,
and had passed out, those plaudits continued,
and wonld not cease till Davy was recalled
himself : the pent-up reverence, restored to
its proper channel, eddied in streams around
him.
What an evemng we spent, or rather what
a night we made that night ! in that little
parlor of Davy's, the httle green-house
thrown open and lighted by Millicent, with
Oarlotta^s Ohristmas candles tbe supper
where there was hardly room for us all at
the table, and hardly room upon the table
for all the good things my mother sent for
from her pantry and larder, and store-eloset
the decoration of the house with green
wreaths and holly-bunches, the swept and
garnished air of the entire tiny premises
standing us in such good stead to welcome
the Christmas visitant with Christmas fes-
tivity ; the punch Davy mixed in Carlotta's
christening-bowl, my mother's present, she
perfectly radiant and staring with satisfac-
tion in the arm-chair, where Seraphael him-
self had placed her as we dosed around the
fire the Christmas music never wanting,
for in the midst of our joyous talk, a sudden
celestial serenade, a deep-voiced carol, burst
torn beyonl tbe garden, and looking out
there we beheld through rimed and frost-
glazed wuidows, a clustered throng, whose
voices were not uncultured tbe warmest-
hearted members of Davy's own. They
were still singing when Carlotta awoke and
cried, had to be brought down stairs, and
was hushed listening in Seraphael's arms.
So after all we did not go to bed that
Qtght, for it was quite tWQ o'clock when I
escoi-ted my mother and sisters home, havibg
left the little room I usually occupied when
I slept at my brother's house, for lEkraphael,
whom no one would sufSer to sleep at the
hotel. I might remind myself of the next
day too, and I surely may : of our all going
to church together after a night of snow,
over the sheeted white beneath a cloudless
heaven of our all sitting together in that
large pew of ours, and the excitement pre-
vailing among tlie congregation afterwards
as they assured themselves of our guest ^f
the chimes swelling high from tlie tower as
we returned, and my walk alone with Sera-
phael to show him where Clara's ly^use had
stood. When we were indeed alone to-
gether, I asked more especially after her,
and listened to his tender voice when it told
of her that she was not then strong enough
to cr^ the sea ; but that, though he could
only leave her for a week, it was her latest
request that he would come to see us all
himself, nor retu.ii without having done so.
And then he spoke of the affairs that had
brought him over an entreaty from the
committee of our own Town Festival that
he would direct that of the comihg year ani/
compose exclusively for it.
It made roe very indignant at first tiiac
tliey should have kept Davy so entirely in
the dark as to their intentions, because he
had been forewarned on all previous occa-
sions before his influence was so strong in
his own circle. But when I expressed a
little my indignation, Seraphael only laughed,
and said,
' " It was what every one must expect who
was such a Purist, unless he would also oon
descend to amuse the people at times and
seasons, or unless he were not yoor?"^
My obligation to accede heie made me
yet more indignant, until I remembp-red how
Seraphael had introduced himself, and so
taken Davy by the hand that it wonld not
be likely for him ever again to be thrust
into obscurity afterwards, were it only be-
cause Seraphael was rich,
" And will you come to us. Sir ?" I asked,
scarcely able to frame a wish upon the sub-
ject.
" \i I live, Carlomein. And I do hope to
live, till then at least. I have also been
rather idle lately, and must work. Indeed 1
have brought nothing with me, except a
psalm or two for your brother. We may
write music to psalms, I suppose. Carlo*
mein ?"
" You may, Sir ; and indeed anybody
may ; for whatever is worthless will be for-
gotten, and whatever is worthy will live
forever."
^^ It is not that anything we offer can be
worthy of the'feet at which we lay it it is
not that anything is sweet or sufficient for
our love's expressiou ; but every little word
of love and smile of love is precious to us,
and mudt be so to Love itself, I think. Only
in music now does God reveal himself as iu
the days of old, and I do believe, Carlomeiu,
that He dwelling not in temples made with
hands, yet dwelietii there. 1 suppose it may
be, that as we make the music that issues
from the orchestra, or from the organ
where all musics mingle; so He makes tiie
love that Beligion burns to utter ; but that
Music, for the musical, alone makes mani-
fest. Ail worship is sacred, but that is un-
utterably holy. How holy should the heart
of the musician be I"
" Dearest Sir, forgive me 1 if you had not
spoken so I could not have presumed so ask
you. But do you, therefore, object to writa
for the stage, in its present promiscuous po-
sition among the arts 1"
^^ Carlomein, the drama is my gi'eatcMt de-
light. The dramatic genius I would over
accept a guide and standard; but, trom
186
CriARTJSS AUCHESTER.
vrriting for the stage. It does not salt ine,
it is in some respects beyond me ; that is, as
ttoagbt to exist. Bot my days are namber-
ed; I have lately known it; and to give
forth opera after opera would reduce my
short span to a mere holiday task. I am too
happy, Carlomein, and to you I will say
lOo 'Jest ^in that I feel I can best express
irhat others left to me because expression
failed them."
^^ Oh ! dearest Sir I it is so, and not alone
in nmsic, but in everything you touch or
tell us I Yet you are ours for years and
years. I feel it: there is so much to be
done, and only you can do it; so much to
learn, yet of what you can only teach us.
Ton cannot, you will not, and are not going
to leave us I I know it; *I could not be so
if I did not know and feel it. You are look-
in;;? better than when even first I saw you
all those years ago."
"I am well, Oarlomein ^I have never
been ill. I do not know sickness, though I
have known sorrow thank God for that in-
expressible mystery in which His light is
hidden. Bat, Oarlomein, you speak as if it
were of all things the saddest thing to die I
I ](QOW not that sensation ; I believe it to
bo mere sensation. Neither is this earth a
wilderness no weariness ! There is not an
air of spring that does not make me long
for death ; the burdening gladness is too
much for life, and summer and winter call
me. Eternity without years is ever present
with me, and the poor music they love so
well, they love because it comes to me from
beyond the grave."
I could not hear him speak so ; it killed
me to all but a ravishment of fear. I could
not help saying, though I fear it was out of
place
" There is one you must not leave, she
cannot live without you."
" Oarlomein, any one can live who is to
live, and whoever is decreed must die.
There is no death for me. I do not call it
BO ; nor do I believe that death could touch
me. I mean I should not know it, for I
could not bear it ; and I fear it not, for no-
thing we cannot bear is given us to en-
dure."
" Sir, if I did not revere too much every
word you utter, I should say that a morbid
presentiment clouds your enthusiasm, and
that you know not what you say."
" Do I look morbid, Oarlomein ? That is
an ugly word, and yoa deserve it as much
as I do, pale-face!"
He laughed out joyously. I looked at
him again. How his eyes radiated their
splendors, as an eastern starlight in a north-
ern sky I How the blossom-bl ashes rose
upon his cheek I health, joy, vitality, all
the flowers of manhood, the fairest laurels
of an OASolJied fame, shone visionary about
btuu He seemed no earthling '' born to [
die." I coold not but smile, stifl it wa at
his beauty, not his mirth.
^^ Sir, yon don^t look much like a martyr
now."
" Oarlomein, I should rather be a martyr
than a saint. The saints are robed in glory,
but the glory streams from heaven upon the
martyr^s face. Oh, he coold feel no pain,
but that light there I I knew he felt none.
The saints wear lilies, or they dream so,
and dream they not the martyra wear the
roses? have not the thorns pierced through
them ? they are thornless roses there, for
passion is made perfect."
^^ Sir, but I do think that the musician,
if duteous, is meet for a starry crown."
"And I could only think, when I saw
that picture, that the crown was not mine
own ; but I dreamed within myself, that it
should not be in vain I desire to deserve
the crown which I should wear, but not
that star-crown. Poetry may be forgiven
for hiding sorrow in bliss, but it is only ma-
sic that hides bliss with sorrow. And see,
Oarlomein, for we re in a tale of dreams
just now, and both alone ; there have been
martyrs for all faiths for love, for poetry,
for patriotism, for religion oh ! for what
cause where passion strikes and stirs has
there not been martyrs ? but I think music
has not many, and those were discrowned
of that glory by the other crown of Fame.
Shall I die young, and not be believed to
have died for music ? for that end must the
music be rapt and purified stolen from life
itself; its pleasures must be strong to pain,
its exercises sharper than agony. I know
of none other choice for myself than to
press forwards to fulfil the call I have
heard since music spoke to me, and was as
the voice of God. There is so much to
undo in very doing, while those who were
not called but have only chosen, music, de-
file her mysteries that the few who an
called must surely witness for her. W^
will not speak again so, Oarlomein. I havt
made your young face careful, and I wouh
rather sees corn work upon it than sach wo4
I am now going to a shop ; are there ai
shops liere, Oarlomein 1"
" Plenty, Sir, but they are closed ; still
am certain you can get anything you wa r - ft
no matter what."
" I have something to make to-ni^
which is most important, and I must ht
nuts, applies, and sugar-plums."
We went to a large confectioners, vrh^zDse
windows were but semi-shuttered. Hi^re
the Ohej^alier quite lost himself in the tr^.as-
ures of those glass magazines; I shou/e/
scarcely have known hi in as he had b&eu.
He chose very selectly, nathless, secnr/^^
only the most delicate and rare of the wq
ders spread about him, and which excited
his naivete to the utmost. His choice com.
prised all crisp white comfits and red-rus^
CBARLES AUOHESrER.
181
ones, almood-eggB, the most ravishing
French bonboDs, all sorts of chocolate,
myriad sugar niillioDS like rain from fairy
rainbows twisted green angelica, golden
strips of crystallized orange-peel, not to
speak of ront-cakes like fish, and frogs, and
mice, and birds*- nest. Kor did these suf-
fice ; off we walked to the toy-shop. Our
town was of world-renown for its toys.
Here it was not so easy to effect an en-
trance ; but it yas effected the moment the
Chevalier showed his face; to this hour I
believe they took him iu there for some ex-
traordinary little boy he certainly behaved
like nothing else. He bought now beads all
colors, and spangles and shining leaf, and of
all things the most exquisite doll, small-
featured, waxen, dressed already in long
white robes, and lying in a cradle about a
foot long, perfectly finished. And next, be-
sides this baby^s baby, he snatched at a box
of letters, tlien at a gilt watch, and finally
at a magic lantern. We so loaded our-
selves with all these baubles that we could
scarcely get along ; for, with his wonted im-
petuosity on the least occasions, he would
not suffer anything to be sent lest it should
not arrive in time. And then, though I
reminded him of the dinner-hour at hand,
there was to be no rest yet, but I must take
him to some garden, or nursery of winter-
plants. Fortunately, a great friend of Davy's
in that line lived very near him for Davy
was a great fiower-fancier this was conve-
nient ; for had it been two miles off, Sera-
pbael would have run there, being in his
uttermost wayward mood. We chose a
gem of a fir-tree, and though both the flor-
ist and I remonstrated with our whole
hearts, would carry it himself, happily not
very far. I was reminded of dear old Ar-
onach's story about his child-days, as I saw
Lim clasp it in his delicate arms so nerved
with power, and caught his brilliant face
through the spires of the foliage. Thus we
approached Davy's house, and I reminded
the Chevalier that we were expected to dine
at my mother's, not -there. In fact, poor
Killicent, in her bonnet, looked out anxious-
ly from the door ; the Chevalier called to
her as she ran to open the gate " See, Mi's.
Davy, see 1 Here's * Birnam Wood come to
Dunsinane' make way !"
"You are very naughty," said Davy, step-
ping forth ; " our beloved mamma will be
coming after us."
" It is very rude, I know, but I am going
to dine with your daughter."
" My daughter is coming, too. Did you
think we should leave her behind?"
Millicent was about, in fact, to mount the
stairs for the baby, but Seraphael rushed
pa^t her.
'^Pardon! but I don't wish to be seen at
present ;" and we both bore our burdens into
the parlor, and laid them on tlie table
" Now, Carh/mein, the u oinont dinner U
over we two shalJ come bat k and lock our-
selves in here."
*^I should like it of all things. Sir, eolfish
wretch tliat I am I but I dipn't think they
will." .
" Oh, yes, I'll make them I"
When at last we descended ready ; Carlotta
in her white beaver bonnet, my own present,
looked as soft as any snowdrop too soft
almost to be kissed. She held out her arms
to Seraphael so very pertinaciously, that he
was obliged to carry her, nor would he give
her up until we reached my mother's door.
It was quite the same at dinner also, she
would sit next him, would stick her tiny
fork into his face with a morsel of turkey at
the end of it, would poke crumbs into his
mouth with her finger, would put up her
lips to kiss him, would say, every moment,
" I like you much much !" with all Davy's
earnestness, though with just so much of
her mother's modesty as made her turn pink
and shy, and put herself completely over
her chair into Seraphael's lap, when we
laughed at her. He was in ecstacies, and
every now and then a shade so tender stole
upon his air, that I knew he could only be
adverting to the tenderest of all human prob-
abilities the dream of his next year's off-
spring.
After dinner. Miss was to retire. She was
carried up-stairs by Margareth, of whom I
can only say she loved Carlotta better than
she had loved Carl. Seraphael then arose,
and gracefully, gleefully, despite the solici-
tations on all hands exhibited, declared he
must also go, that he had to meet the Lord
Chancellor, and could not keep him waiting.
There was no more prayer wasted after
this announcement, everybody laughed too
much ; taking a handful of nuts from a dish^
and throwing a glance of inexpressible elfish-
ness at my mother, he said, " Carl and the
Lord Chancellor and I are going to crack
them in a corner. Come, Carlomein ! we
must not keep so grand a person waiting."
I know not what blank he left behind him,
but I know what a world he carried with
him. We had such an afternoon !. but we
had to be really very busy ; I never worked
so hard in a small way. When all was
finislied, the gilt fruit hung, the necklaces
festooned, the glitter ordei*ed with that mi-
raculous rapidity in which he surpassed all
others, and that fairy craft of his by which
he was enabled to recreate all Arabian,
mystical he placed the cradle in the shade.
" You see, Carlomein, I could not have a
Christ-child up there at the top, because
your brother is rather particular, and might
not choose to approve. It will never occur
to him about the manger, if we don't tell
him ; but you perceive all the same that it
is here, bemg made of straw and very or
, t.\vvdox."
f
188
CHARLES AUCHESTEK.
^ It appears to mo, Sir, that you have
learned English cistoms to some purpose,
as well as German."
He replied by dancing round tlie tree, and
twisting in the tapers red and green.
*^ Now you go, Oarlomeio, and fetch them
all, and when I hear your voioee, I will
light the candles. Begone, Oarlomeinns I"
and he snapped his fingers.
They came immediatelv, all rather mysti-
fied, but very curious. I carried Carlotta,
who talked the whole way home about the
stars. But after clustering a few moments
in the dark passage, and her little whispered
^' obs !" and wondering sighs, when the door
was opened, and the arch musician for all
ages seated at the piano pla} ed a measure
only meet for child or tairy ears, her ecstasy
became quite painful. She shuddered and
shivered, and at last screamed outright
tnd then, even then, only Seraphael had
power to soothe lier ^leading her to the
fairy earth-lights as he led us to the lights
of Heaven
Glorious hours that dye deep our memo-
ries in beauty, music that passes into echo
rod is silent alike arc conserved forever.
Often and often in the months that passed
when he had left us, after a visit so exqui-
site that it might have been diffused millen-
ciuTus and yet have kept its fragrance, did
eny thoughts take such a form as this enun-
riatiou bears ; I was so unutterably grateful
for what had happened, that it helped me
to bear what was yet before me. The grow-
ing, glowing fame, heralded from land to
land in praise of that young genius and
purest youth, had certainly reached its cul-
mination ; neither envy withered nor scandal
darkened the spell of his perfect name. All
grades of artista ^all ranks of critics ^the
old and calm the impertinent but impetu-
ous young bowed as in heart before him.
It was so in every city, I believe ^but in
ours it was peculiar as well as universal.
An odor of heavenly altars had swept our
temple we were fitter to receive him than
we had been. In no instance was this
snown more clearly than on the fortunate
occasion when Davy was treated with, and
requested very humbly to add his vocaJ re-
giment to tlie Festival chorus. One day,
just afterwards, in early April, he came run-
ning to me with a letter, anxious for me to
open it, as he was in a fit of fright about
the parts which ought to have arrived, and
had not. It was only a line or two, ad-
dressed to me by SeraphaePs hand, to tell
us that Clara had borne him twin sons.
Davy^s astonishment amused me ; it ap-
peared that he had formed no idea of their
having been likely to come at all until this
being his, and she no less his own, until '
was not fit company for any one; and it
was long before I became so. I could hardly
believe it, and more especially because they
were all four so far away ; for I am not of
the oiunion of tliose fortunate transcendent-
alists, who aver we can better realize that
which is away from us than that which is
at hand. Time and space must remain to
us our eternity and our fireedom, till freedom
and eternity shall be our own.
CHAPTER X.
We were extremely busy for a little whde
in preparing a box of presents ; and when it
was despatched, we began seriously to an-
ticipate our awful, glorious festival; we
begiftn to have leisure to contemplate it. It
was a delightful dream amidst that dream
to reflect that we should see them all then ;
for Seraphael sent us word, in his grateful
reply to our enclosure, that both his children
and their mother would accompany him.
Meantime, I was also very anxious to spread
the news abroad, and most extraordinary
appointments were made by all kinds of
people to secure places. I began to think
and had I been in Germany should of course
have settled to my own satisfaction, that the
performances must be in the open air after
all such crowds demanded admittance so
early as early in June. It was for the laste
week in July that our triple day was fixed ;
and in the second week of June the long-
expected treasure, the exdnsive composi-
tions, arrived from Lilienstadt. Davy was
one of the committee called immediately,
and I awaited in unuttered longing his re-
turn to hear our glorious doom.
He came back almost wild. I was quite
alarmed, and told him so.
" Charles," he said, '^ there is almost rea-
son. So am I myself, in fact. Just listen
to the contents of the parcel received : an
oratorio for the first morning such a sub-
ject, ^ Heaven and Earth,' a cantata for a
double choir an organ symphony with in-
terludes for voices only a sonata for the
violin a group of songs and fancies. The
last are for the evenings, but otherwise the
evenings are to be filled up with Bach,
Beethoven, llozart, and Handel the pro-
grammes already made out How is it pos-
sible, Charles, that such progress can have
been condensed into a few mere months]
Think of the excitement, the unmitigated
stress of such an industry I Three com]^etod
works in less than a quarter of a year, not
\fy a^eak of the lesser wonders V^
moment, I was glad indeed to be alone, to
think of thiif fairest friend of mine now so
siagaJarIf ble^st, I thought of her in bed\ lizftem^^ \o ftSsfc\. B^^v^'s brwn; as for
with her babies I tliought of the \aViea\me,li^^^t^^^'^^'^^^^^'B^'^^^
OHARLES AITOHESTER.
189
iipfnt moving upon the face of the waters
before the intermomentary light long ages,
as we reckon in this worUrs compatation,
before Uxey framed themselves into. form.
Nor was this conviction lessened w]en I
first became acquainted with the new-born
glories of an imagination on fire of Heaven.
Seraphael came to England, and of coarse
norUiwards, to superintend the earliest re-
hearsals. It was his own wish to do so, and
every one felt it necessary to be introduced
by him alone to what came alone of him.
Those were strange times I do pot seem to
have lived them-- though, in fact, I was
bodily present in that hall, consecrated by
the passion of a child. But they were wild
hours ; all tempest-tost was my spirit amidst
the rush of a manifold enthusiasm.
Seraphael was so anxious to be at his
home again, that the rehearsals were con-
ducted daily ; he was to return again, having
departed, for their ultimate fulfilment. It
appeared very remarkable that he should
not have taken the whole affair at once,
Lave brought his family over then, and there
remained ; but upon the subject he was un-
approachable, only saying, with relation to
his arduous life just then and then to be,
that he could not be too much occupied to
please himself.
He did not stay in our house this time ;
we could not press him to do so, for he was
evidently in that state to which the claims
of friendship may become a burden instead
of a beguiling joy. He was alone greatly at
his hotel, though I can for myself say, that
in his intercourse with me, his gentlenesses
towards me were so sweet that I dare not
remind myself of them. Still, in all he said
and did there was something seeming to be
that was not; an indescribable want of in-
terest in the charms of existence which he
had ever drawn into his bosom ^a constant
endeavor to rouse from a manifest abstrac-
tion. Notwithstanding, he still wore the
air of the most perfect health, nor did I con-
strue these signs except into the fact of his
being absent' from his new-found, his en-
deared and delighting home. He left us so
suddenly, that I was only just in time to see
him off. He would not permit me to ac-
company him to London, from whence he
should instantly embark ; but it was a letter
from Clara that really hastened his depart-
urehis babes were ill. I could not gain
from him the least idea of their affection,
nor whether there was cause for fear his
face expressed alarm, but had an unutterable
look besides; a lookw^hich certainly astound-
ed me, for it might have bespoken indiffer-
ence, and it migiit bespeak despair. One
amile I caught as he departed that was
neither indifferent nor desolate; it wrung
my heart with happiness to reflect that smile
had been for me.
The feeliug I had for those unknown
babies was inexplicable after he was fairly
gone. That I should have loved them,
though unseen, was scarcely strange, for
they were the offspring of the two I loved
best on earth ; but I longed and languished
for one gUmpse of their baby faces, just in
proportion to the haunting certainty which
clutchc^d me, that those baby faces I should
never see. Their beauty had been Sera-
phael's only inspiration when, in convei-sa-
tion witli me, he had fully seemed himself;
the one so light and clear, with eyes as the
blue of midnight his brow, her eyes ; the
other soft and roseate, with her angel fore-
head and his own stai'like gaze ; her smile
upon them both, and the features both of
him. As one who reads of the slauglitered
darlings of the days of Herod ^as one who
pores on chronicles of the cradle plague-
smitten I felt for them; they seemed
never to have been bom, to me.
Oh I tliat they had never been born in-
deed I at least tliere was one while I thought
so. We had a heart-rending letter from
Clara, one fortnight after her lord returned
to her ; the twins were both dead, and by
that time buried in the same grave I With
her pure self-forgetfulness -where another
suffered, she spoke no word of her own sor-
row, but she could not conceal from us how
fearfully ihe blow had fallen upon him
,The little she said made us all draw close
together and tremble with an emotion we
could not confess. But the letter concluded
with an assurance of his supreme and un-
daunted intention, undisturbed by the shocks
and agonies of unexpected woe, to under-
take the conductorship of the Festival-
The sorrow that now shadowed expecta-
tions which lid been too bright temj^ered
also our joy, too keen till then. But after
a week or two, when we received no f ur-
tlier tidings, we began absolutely to expect
him ; and with a stronger anticipation, in-
fatuation, than ever, built upon a future
which no man may dare to call his own,
either for good or evil. The hottest sum-
mer I had ever known interfered not with
the industry alike of band and chorus. The
intense beauty of the music and its marvel-
lous embodiments had fascinated the very
country far and wide ; it was as if Art stood
still, and waited even for him who had
magniHed her above tlie trumpery standai'ds
of her precedented progress.
We were daily expecting a significant as-
surance that he was on our very shores ; I
was myself beginning to tremble in the air
of sorrow that must necessarily surround
them both, himself and his companion, ^
when, one morning I forget the date ; may *
I never remember it I I was reflecting
upon the contents of a paper which Davy
took in every week, a chronicle of musical
events, which I ransacked conscientiously,
tliougU it via,a k^Vvkvj\i\ \s;i^^ \si \\^ ^^vxsk^^^^x
190
CHAKLES A U CHESTER.
Strangely enough I had been reading of the
success of another friend of mine even
Laura, who had not denied herself the privi-
lege of artist-masonry after all, for she was
dancing amidst flowers and fairy elements,
and I was determining I would, at the first
possible opportunity, go to see her. Then I
considered I should like her to come to tlie
Festival ; and was making np a letter of re-
quests to my ever-generous friend, Miss
Lawrence, that slie mi^ht bring Laura, as I
knew she would be willing : when a letter
came for me, was brought by an unconscious
servant, and laid between my hands. It
was in Glara^s writing, once again ; I was
coward enough to spare myself a few mo-
ments ; there was no one in the room ; I
was just on the wing to my band, but I
could not help still sparing myself a little,
and a very little longer. I believe I knew
as well what was in the letter as if I had
opened it, before I broke the seal. I be-
lieve terror and intense presentiment lent
me that stillness and steadiness of percep-
tion which are the very empyrean of sor-
row. Enough 1 I opened it at last, and
found it exactly as I expected : Seraphael
himself was ill. The hurry and trouble of
the letter induced me to believe there was
more behind her words than in them, mourn-
ful and unsatisfactory as they were. He
was, as he believed himself to be, over-
wrought; and though he considered hini-
eejf in no peril, he must have quiet. This
struck me most ; it was all over if he felt
he must have quiet. But the stunning
point was, that he deputed his friend Len-
nart Davy to the conductorship of his own
works, the concerts all being arranged by
himself in preparation, and nothing but a
director being required. Clara concluded
by asking me to come to her if I could.
She did not say he wished to see me, but I
knew she wished to see me herself, and
even for his sake, that call was enough for
me.
My duties, my intentions, all lay in the
dust. I considered but how to make way
thither, with the speed that one fain would
change to wind, to lightning, or yoke to
them as steeds. I packed up nothing, nor
did I leave a single trace of myself behind,
except Clara's letter, and a postscript, in pen-
cil, of my own. I was in my mother's
house when the letter cftme upon me ; and
flying past Davy's on my way to the rail-
road, 1 saw Millicent with Oarlotta looking
out of one of the windows, all framed in
roses : it was a sight I merely recall as we
rec-'ail touches of pathos to medicine us for
deeper sorrow. Two days and nights I
travelled incessantly, without information or
' help, solitary as a pilgrim wlft) is waidering
from home to Heaven ; it could be nothing
else I knew. The burning, glowing summer
tlj0 tossing forests the cornfields yet un-
ravished the glory on the crested lime-
trees the vines smothering rock and wall
and terrace with fruit of life all these j
saw and many other dreams as a dream my-
self I passed. I only know I seemed taking
the whole world; so wide the scattered
sensations spread themselves that I dared
not call home to myself, for they did but
minister to the perfect appreciation that
what I dreamed was true, and what I yearn-
ed to clasp as truth, a dream.
The city of his home was before me but
how can I call it a city ? It was a nest it-
self in a nest of hills. Below the river
rushed, its music ever in a sleep, and its blue
waves softened hyaline by distance. In the
last sunset smile I saw the river and the
valley the vines at hand crawled over it,
and there was not a house around that was
not veiled in flowers. When I entered the
valley from below, the purple evening had
drowned the sunset as with a sea^there
was no mist nor cloud ; the starlight was
all pure, it brightened moment by moment ;
and having hurried all along till now, at
length I rested. For now I felt, that of all
I liad ever endured, the approaching crisis
was the consummation. Had I dared, I
would have returned ; for I even desired
not to advance ; my own utter impotence,
my unavailing presence, weighed me down,
and the might of my passion inspired m^
as did that distant starlight I was as no^
thing to itself. I had shed no tears. Tean
I have ever found the springs of gladness
and grief most dry ; but who could weep i :^::]
that breathless expectation ? who wouL ^
not, when he cannot, rejoice to wee]^ ?
Brighter than I had ever seen them, tlr:^ o
stars shone on me ; and brighter and brigl a ti-
er they seemed to burn through the crystal
clarity of my perception ; my ear felt ofon
I heard sounds born of silence, which in-
deed were no sounds, but themselves silei^oe.
I saw the unknown," which Indeed con Id
not be seen ; and thus I waited, suspended
in the midst of time; yearning for some
Heaven to open^ and take me in. Whatever
air stirred was soft as the pulse of sleep ;
whatever sigh it carried was a sigh of flow-
ers, late summer sweetness, first autumn
sadness, poured into faint embrace. I saw
the church-tower in the valley ; it reacheJ
me as a dream; all was a dream aronoa
about; the dark shade of the terraced
houses their shadier trees ; and I myscl/
the dreamer, to whom those stais above,
those heights so unimaginable, were the
only waking day. At midnight I had not
moved*; and at midnight 1 dreamed another
dream, still standing there.
Tlie midnight hour had struck, and died
along the valley into the quiet, when a sud-
den gathering gleam behind a distant rook
rose like a red moonlight, and tinged th
vfeT^ sky. But there was no moon, and J
CHARLES AUCHESTER.
19.
felt ftfraid, and child-like. I was obliged to
watch, to ascertain. It grew into a glare,
that gleam ; the glare of fire and slowly,
stilly as even in a dream indeed, wound
aboat the rock and parsed 9own along the
valley a dark procession, bearing torches,
with a darker in the midst of them than
tlioy.
Down the valley to the chnrch they came
I knew they were for resting there. No
bell canght up the silence, I heard no tramp
of feet, they might have been spirits for all
the sound they made and when at last
they paused beneath me in the night, the
torches streamed all steadily, and rainel
their flaming smiles npon the imagery in
the midst.
That bier was carried proudly, as of a
warrior called from deadly strife to death^s
own sleep. But not as warrior^s its orna-
ments its crown. The velvet folds passed
dark into the dark grass as they paused, as
Btorm-clouds rolling softly, as gloom itself
at rest. But above, from the face of the
bier the darkness fled away it was covered
^ith a mask of flowers. Wreath within
wreath lay there hue within hue, from vir-
gin white and hopeful azure to the youngest
blush of love- And in the very midst, next
the pale roses and their tender green, a gar-
jand of the deepest crimson glowed; leaf-
jess, brilliant, vivid the full petals, the orb-
like glory, gave out such splendors to the
"me-Iight, that the fresh first youth's blood
^/ a dauntless heart was alone the sugges-
on of its symbol. Keenly in the distance
^^ clear vision, the blaze of softness,
^^ached me ^I stirred not, I rushed not for-
^^rds I joined in the dread feast afar. I
^tood as between the living and the dead ;
^e dead below the living with the stars
^vove; and the plague of my heart was
stayed.
1^^ 1 waited until the bier, bare of its gentle
*^Tirden, stood lonely by the grave. I waited
^ntil the wreaths, flung in, covered the treas-
ure with their kisses, that was a jewel for
^arth to hide. I saw the torches thrown
Vnto the abyss, .quenched by the kisses of the
lowers ; even as the earthly joy, the beauty
liad been quenched in that abyss of light
which to us is only darkness. I watched
the black shadows draw closer round the
grave one suflfocating cry arose, as if all
hearts were broken in that spasm, or as if
Music herself had given up the ghost. But
Music never dies. In reply to that sickening
shout, as if, indeed, a heaven opened to re-
ceive me ; a burst, a peal a shock of tran-
[SiDendent music fell from some distant
height. I saw no sign the while I heard ;
nor was it a mourning strain. Triumphant,
jubilant, sublime in seraph sweetness, joy.
immortal, it mingled into the arms of night.
TVbile yet its echoes rang, another strain
niadc way came forth to meot it and
melted into its enbrace; as jubilant, at
blissful ; but farther, fainter, more ineffable.
Again it yielded to the echoes ; but above
those echoes swelled another, a softer, and
yet another and a softer voice that was but
the mingling of many voices, now far and
far away. Distantly, dyingly, till death
drank distance up, the music wandered;
and at length, when the mystic spell was
broken and I could hear no more, I could
only believe it still went on and on, sound-
ing through all the earth, beyond my ear ;
and rising up to Heaven, from shores of
lands untraversed as that country beyond
the grave 1 All peace came there upon me
^as a waveless deep it welled up and up-
wards from my spirit, till I dared no longer
sorrow ; my love was dispossessed of fear,
and the demon Despair, exorcised, fled as
one who wept, and fain would hide his
weeping. And yet that hope, if hope it
could be that cooled my heart and cheered
my spirit, was not a hope of earth. My
faith had fleeted as an angel into the light,
and that hope alone stayed by me.
It was not until the next morning and
then not early, tliat I visited that house, and
the spirit now within it whose living voice
had called me thither. No longer timidly
if most tenderly, I advanced along the val-
ley, past the church which guarded now
the spot on all this earth the most like
Heaven ; and found the mansion now un-
tenanted that Heaven itself had robbed.
Quiet, stillness not as of death, but most
like new-born wonder possessed that house.
The overhanging balconies, the sunburst on
the garden, the fresh carnations, the carved
gateway, the shaded windows, and over all
the cloudless sky, and around all that
breathed and lived : it was a lay beyond
all poetry, and such a melancholy may
never music utter I Thon6 took mo in, and
I believe she had waited for me at the door:
she spoke not, and I spoke not ; she led ine
only forwards with the air of one who feels
all words are lost between those who un-
derstand but cannot benefit each other.
She led me to a room in which she left me ;
but I was not to be alone. I saw Clara in
stantly she came to meet me from the win-
dow, unchanged as the summer-land without
by the tension or the touch of trouble. I
could not possibly believe, as I saw her, and
seeing her, felt my courage flow back, my
life resume its current; that she had ever
really suffered. Her face so calm, was not
palo ; her eye so clear, was tearless. Nor
was there that writhing smile about her
lovely lips that is more agonizing than any
tears. It was entirely in vain I tried to
speak had she required comfort my words
would have thronged at my will ; but if any
there required comfort, it could not be her-
self. Seeing ray fearful agitation, whioh
would work through all my silence, hei
IM
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
weet Toioe startled me ; I listened as to an
angel, or as to an angel I should never have
listened.
"If I had known how it would be, I
would never have been so rash as to send
for yon. But he was so strange^ for he did
not suffer that I could not think he w.ts
goiag to die. I do not call it dying, not
wonld you if you had seen it. I wish 1
could make that darling feel such death was
better than to live.**
I put a constraint upon myself which no
other presence could have brought me to
exhibit.
" What darling, then," said I, for I could
only think of one, who was darling as well
as king.
" Poor Starwood but you will be able to
comfort him ^yon are the only person who
could."
^ " Perhaps it wonld not be kind to com-
fort him, ^perhaps he would rather suffer.
But I will do my best to please you. Where
is he now ?" n
"I will bring him;" and she left the
room.
In another moment all through the sunny
light, that despite the shaded windows
streamed through the very shade, she en-
tered again with Starwood. He flew at me
and sank upon the ground. I have seen
women many weep, and some few men,
but I have never seen, and may I never
soe ! such weeping as he wept. Tears^-as
if tixpic rains should drench our northern
gardens seemed dissolving with his very
life his gentle temperament I could not
rouse nor raise him. His sodden hair ; his
hands, as damp as death ; his dreadful sobs ;
his moans of misery ; his very crushed and
helpless attitude : appealed to me not in
vain, for I felt at once it was the only thing
to do for him that he should be suffered to
weep till he was satisfied, or till he could
Weep no more. And yet his tears provoked
not mine, but rather drove them inwards,
and froze them to my heart. Nor did Clara
weep, but I could not absolutely say wheth-
er she had already wept or not ^for, where
other eyes grow dim, her's grew only
brighter; and weeping ^had she wept
had only cleared her Heaven. We sat for
hours in that room together that fair but
dreadful room I its brilliant furniture un-
worn, its frescoes delicate as any dream ;
its busts, its pictures crowding calm lights
and glorious colors, all fresh as the face of
Nature, with home upon its very look : save
only where the organ towered, and muffling
in dark velvet its keys and pipes, reminded
us that music had left home for Heaven, and
iro might no more find it there 1
And again it was longed-for evening, the
twilight tarried not It crept it came ^it
fell upon the death-struck woeful vaWcy
OL blessed hoar! the repose alike of \^^
sion and of grief I Oh blessed Beaven! tA
have softened the mystic change from day
to darkness so that we can bear them
both I^never so blessed as when the broken-
hearted seek thy twilights and find refresh^
ment in thy shades ! At that very hour, .
we two alone stood by the glorious grave.
For the first time, as the sun descended,
Starwood had left off weeping; I had my-
self put hira in liis bed, and rested beside
him till he was asleep ; then I had returned
to Clara. She was wrapped in black, wait-
ing for me; we went together, without
speaking, without signifying our intentions
to each other, but we both took the same
way, and stood, where I have said, together ;
and when we had kissed the ground she
spoke. She had not spoken all the day
most grave and serious had been her air
she yet looked more as a child that had lost
its father than a widowed wife as if she
had never been married, she struck me ; an
almost virgin air possessed her, an unserene
reserve, for now her accents faltered.
" I could not say to you till we were
alonci" she said, " and we could not be alone
to-day, how much I thank you for coming ;
so many persons are to be here in a day
or two, and I wish to consult with yon."
"I*willsee them all for you, I will ar-
range everything; but you are not going
away ?"
" Going away ? and yon to say so too I I
will never leave this place till I die I"
" You loved him, then, thank God I"
^^ Loved him I shall I tell you how 1 You
know best what it was to love him, for you
lovel him best 1 Better than I did, and yet
I loved him with all love. Do I look older,
and more like this world, or less ?"
She smiled with a sweet significance-'-*i
smile she had learned from him.
"I have been thinking how young you
look too young almost. You are so fresh,
so child-like, and, may I say it ? so fair."
^^ You may say anything. I think I have
grown fair myself. Very strange to con-
fess, is it ? But you are my friend, to yon I
should confess anything. I have been with
a spirit-angel no wonder I am fresh. I
have been in Heaven no wonder I am fair.
I felt myself grow better, hour by hour.
After I left you with hiin when his arms
were round me ; when be kissed me ; when
his tenderness oppressed me ^I felt raised
to God. No heart ever was so pure, so
overflowing with the light of Heaven. I
can only believe I have been in Heaven, and
have fallen here; not that he has left me,
and I must follow him to find -liim. I will
not follow yet, my friend I I have much to
do that he has left me."
" Thank God I you will not leave us I' but
more, because you loved him, and made
^^ Xovx ^o not ^tVvw^ift Y\ia' Wi%l he yirw
CHAKLES AQCUESTEK.
193
anything but happy. When I think
JlMutent and envy, aiid hatred and
^nger, and care, and eee them painted upon
[other faces, I feel that he must have tasted
Heaven to liave made himself so happy
here. I can fancy a single ta^te of Heaven,
Sir, lasting a whole life long."
She was his taste of Heavea, as a foretaste
even to me! But had she indeed never
I learned the secret of his memory? or had
itlie turned, indeed, its darkness into light?
^^ I wish to hear about the last."
** Yon know nearly as much as I do, or
: as I can tell you. Tou remember the music
jovL heard last night? It was the last be
wrote, and I found it, and saved it, and had
done with it what you heard."
' But I cannot descant on death-beds ; it is
the only theme which I dare believe, if I
were to touch, would scare me at my dying
hour. I will not tampw with those scenes,
but console myself by remindingt that if the
time had been, and that too lately, when
upon Uiat brain fell the light in fever and
the 8un in fire, tlie time was over; and
Bightless painless deaf to the farewells of
dying nmsic -he indeed could not be said
to suffer death.
liTor did he Jenow^ to suffer it, as he had
said. The crown, that piercing with its
fiery (harm unfelt^ had pressed into his
brow the death-sting, should also crown
with its ita/r-fiowers the waking unto life.
"You remember what you said, Mi'.
A^nchester, that he needed a ^ companion for
his earthly hours.' I tried to be his com-
panion ^he allowed me to be so; and one
f the last times he spoke, he said, * Thank
Jarl for giving you to me.'"
The echo reaches me from the summer
night of sadness and still communion : of
pamon''9 slumber by the dead. It is now
Bomo years ago, but never was any love so
fresh to the spirit it enchanted, as is the en-
chantment of this sorrow, still mine own.
8o be it ever mine, till all shall be for ei^er !
I am in England, and again at home.
Great changes have swept the earth ; I know
of none within myself. Through all con-
vulsions the music whispers to me tJiat mu-
tie is, I ought to believe in its existence,
for it is my own life, and the life of the living
round me. Davy is still at work, but not
alone in hope ; sometimes in the midst of
triumph. They tell me I shall never grow
rich, but with my violin I shall never be
poor. I have more than enough for every-
thing, as far as I myself am concerned ; and
as for those I love, there is not one who
prospers not, even by means of music.
Starwood has been three years in London.
His name, enfolded in another name, brought
the whole force of music to his feet. It is
N
not 3asy to procure lessons of the yoong
processor, who can only afford twentv min-
utes to the most exacting pupil. It is still
less easy to hear him play in public ; for he
has a will of his own, and will only play
what he likes, and only what he likes to the
people he likes ; for he is a bit of a oynio,
and does not believe half so much as I do,
that music is making way. He married his
first feminine pupil ^a girl of almost fabu-
lous beauty. I believe he gave her half a
dozen lessons before the crisis, not any after-
wards ; and I know that he was seventeen
and she fifteen years of age, at the time they
married. His whole nature is spent upon
her, but she is kind enough to like me,' and
thus I sometimes receive an invitation,
which I should accept did they reside in the
moon.
But I have other London friends. After
two seasons, more satisfactory than brilliant,
Laura retired from the stage. During the
time she danced, her name was scarcely
whispered, I believe she was even feared in
her spiritual exaltation pf her art ; but no
sooner had she left the lights than all critics
and contemporaries discovered her excel-
lences. She was wooed with the white-
flower garlands of the purest honor, with
the gold so few despise, to return and re-
sume her career, now certain fame; but she
was never won, and I have since made clear
to myself that she only danced in public
until she had raised a certain capital, fot
you will only find her now in her graceful
drawing-room where London is most se-
cluded, surrounded by the most graceful and
loveliest of the children of the peerage. No
one but Mile. Lauretta ^her stage and pro-
fessional name prepares the little rarities
for transplantation into the Oourt-garden, or
rehearses the quadrille for the Prince of
Wales's birthnight-ball. I believe Miss Le-
mark, as she is known still to me, or even
Laura, might have had many homes if she
had chosen homes where she could not
but have felt at home. Clara was even im-
portunate that she should live with her in
Germany. Miss Lawrence was excessively
indignant at being refused herself ^and there
have been worthy gentlemen, shades not to
be evoked or recognized, who would h&ve
been very than^ul to be allowed to dream
of that pale brow veiled, those clear eyes
downcast, those tapering fingers, twined in
theirs: but Laura, like myself, will never
marry.
For Miss Lawrence, too, that glorious
friend of mine, I must have a little corner.
It was Miss Lawrence who carried to Laura
the news of Seraphael's death ^herself heart-
broken who bound up that bleeding heart.
It is Miss Lawrence, whose secretive and
peculiar generosity so permeates the heart
of music in London, that no true musician
is ever actually poor. It is Miss Lawrence
IM
CHARLES AUOHESTER.
who, disdainiDg sabscription-lists, steps un-
seen throagh every embarrassment where
those languish who are too ]TOud or too
humble to complain, and leaves that behind
her which re-assnres and re-establishes, by
the magic of charity, strewn from her artist-
hand. It is Miss Lawrence, who discerns
the temporality of art to be that which is as
inevitable as its spiritual necessity ; who yet
ministers to its uttermost spiritual apprecia*
tion by her patronage of the highest only.
It is Miss Lawrence vou see, wherever music
is to be heard, with her noble brow and
sublimely beneficent eyes, her careless cos-
tume, and music-beaming lips ; but yon can-
not know, as I do, what it is to have her for
a friend.
Miss Lawrence certainly lost caste by re^
ceiving and entertaining as she did Mile.
Lauretta ; for both when Laura was dancing
before the public, and had done with so
dancing. Miss Lawrence would insist upon
her appearing at every party or assembly
6he gave, whether with her father^s sanction
or without, nobody knew. To be introduced
to a ballet-girl, or even a dancing-lady, at
the same table or upon the same carpet with
barristers and baronets, with golden-hearted
bankers, and ^^eamest^^ men of letters I
she certainly lost caste by her resolute un-
conventionalism, did my friend Miss Law-
rence 1 But then, as she said to me, ** What
in life does it matter about losing caste with
people who have no caste to lose?" She
writes to me continually, and her house is
my home in London. I have never been
able to make her confess that she sent me
my violin ; but I know she did, for her in-
terest in me can onlv be explained on that
ground, and there is tnat look upon her face,
whenever I play, which assures me of some-
thing associated in her mind and memory
with my playing that is not itself music.
Miss Lawrence also corresponds with
Clara ; and Clara sees us too ; but no one,
seeing her, would believe her to be childless
and alone : she is more beautiful than ever,
and not less calm more loving and more
beloved.
We had Florimond Anastase, a concert-
player, at our very last festival. He was
exactly like the young Anastase who-iiS^
me, and I should not have been able to be*
lieve him older but for his companion, a
young ladyj who sat below him in the audi-
ence, and at whom I could only gaze. It
was Josephine Cerinthia, no longer a child,
but still a prodigy, for she has the finest
voice, it is said, in Europe. No one will
hear it, however, for Anastase, who adopted
her eight years ago, makes her life the lif'
of a princess, or as very few princesses^ curt
be ; he works for her, he saves for her, anii
has already made her rich. They say ho
will marry her by and by. It may be so,
but I do not myself believe it
Near the house in which Seraphael died,
and rising as from the ashes of his tomb, is
another house which holds his name, and
will ever hold it to be immortal. Sona and
daughters of his own are there of his land,
his race, his genius ^those whom music has
" called " and " chosen " from the children
of humanity. The grandeur of the institu-
tion its stupendous scale, its intention, its
consummation, afford, to the inaagination
that enshrines him, the only monument that
would not insult his name. Nor is that
temple without its priestess ^that altar with-
out its angel. She who devoted the wealth
of his wisdom to that work gave up the
treasure of her life besides, and has conse-
crated herself to the superintendence. At
the Monumental School she would be adored
but that she is too much loved as children
love too much at home there to be feared.
I hold her as my passion forever; she makes
my old years young in memory, and to everj
new morning of my life her name is Music
With another name-^not dearer, but as deai
she is indissolubly connected; and if 1
F reserve my hearths first purity, it is to them
owe it.
I write no more. Had I desired to treat
of Music specifically, I should not have writ-
ten at all ; for that theme demands a tongue
beyond the tongues of men and angels a
voice that is no more heard. But if one
faithful spirit find an echo in my expression,
to his beating heart for music, his inward
song of praise, it is not in vain that I write,
that what I have written is written.