THE CASTLE OF PALENKA.
While his heart sank within him, at the idea of being so suddenly
rendered helpless and unfit for active exertion, in such a place and
at such a time, his first thought was to ascertain that Milano's
despatches were safe and dry. With difficulty he found that they
were so, in his sabretache, and after putting fresh cartridges in his
pistols, to be ready (though one handed now) for any emergency, he
took his horse by the bridle, and somewhat disconsolately led it up a
slope, towards where some lights were twinkling, high in the air
above him, to all appearance, and about a mile distant.
Up, up the steep slope he struggled, by a path that led through an
open gateway, and pursued a winding direction, till he reached a
terrace or plateau, before a castellated edifice of striking outline
and considerable dimensions, to all appearance the abode of some
Servian magnate or landholder; but he was so faint with pain and
exertion, that all he looked on seemed to be whirling around him.
An appeal to the knocker, a huge ring in the mouth of a grotesque
face, brought a servant, a tall and robust fellow, in a species of
livery, to the door, and by the lights in the vestibule that opened
beyond, he stared with equal surprise and alarm upon the dripping
visitor, who in a somewhat polyglot language, stated the predicament
he was in. Another and another came, and ere long they made out that
Cecil was an officer of the Servian cavalry--a messenger from the
king, who had met with an accident; and as such he found himself
rather abruptly ushered into an apartment of palatial aspect, where
two ladies, an elder and a younger, were intent upon a game of chess,
by the light of a large shaded lamp, the globe of which was supported
on the shoulders of a silver statuette of Atlas; but both now arose
with astonishment expressed in their faces.
Cecil at that time felt himself as if in a dream, or only half
conscious of what was passing around him; he remembered afterwards
his words of explanation, the commiseration of their replies in the
most softly modulated Servian (a soft language at all times) and he
found himself committed to the care of 'Theodore,' the man whom he
had first seen, and who proved to have been an old soldier, who had
seen many broken bones in his time.
Cecil's sodden uniform was removed, and his hurt at once seen to, by
the valet and an attendant of the lady of the house, who had been for
a time one of the good sisters of the _Santas Kreuz Militar_, and
knew precisely what to do, so fortunately for Cecil he was in good
hands.
By them, gently, but firmly, the partial dislocation of the arm at
the shoulder--fortunately it was only a partial one--was speedily
reduced, a process during which Cecil nearly fainted. Cloths dipped
in vinegar were then applied; some wine was given him, and soon after
he was left to repose; but he, who had slept on the bare ground for
months past--though now in a charming room and luxurious bed, with a
coverlet of rich silk lace, lined with pale blue silk, surrounded by
luxuries to him unknown since he quitted Britain--felt sleepless, and
as the hours passed by they were hours of pain and anxiety--pain to
endure, and anxiety to be gone on his duty.
Great weariness weighed down his eyelids, and pain would be exchanged
for what he thought at times was a dream, or sound sleep; and as
parts of the dream, he saw the walls of a handsome room, a little
Greek oratory with a _prie dieu_ before it; and therein the figure of
some saint, with a gilt halo of horseshoe-shape around the head, and
a tiny pink lamp burning before it, and the girl, Ottilie, for such
was her name, watching and flitting about it noiselessly.
She was more than pretty, with a violet-coloured velvet jacket,
embroidered with gold, under which she wore a habit-shirt of the
softest white cambric; and her dark sheeny hair was braided close
round her small head, not under, but over a skull-cap of crimson
cloth.
These, and other details, Cecil took note of next day, rather than on
the night in question; and closing his eyes, he strove to collect his
thoughts and think--think of what, or of whom, but Mary Montgomerie?
He was now to deem as past and gone for ever the love that made his
veins to tingle and his heart to thrill in his bosom; yet he could
not but remember with intense tenderness the last kiss she had given
him, and the time--one of those, so some one says, that are given us
by God to help us by the sweetness of their memory, in weary days to
come.
She was so far away--so far away! It seemed he could but think of
her as the living do of the dead--perhaps as the dead may do of the
living.
To him the slow hours were passed restlessly--almost without repose.
'There is,' says a writer, 'a strong contrast between a sleepless
night and the first hours that follow it. Everything appears from so
different a point of view! The phantoms of night become again
familiar objects, in the same way as in the region of ideas things
gigantic reassume ordinary proportions. We fancy we are contending
with the impossible, and find ourselves in presence of paltry
difficulties. We believed that heroism was demanded of us, and find
that it is simple duty we have to accomplish.'
So it was with Cecil when day dawned, and brought with it ideas that
were practical.
Betimes came Theodore with hot coffee on a silver salver, which he
proffered with a military salute, and the information that 'his
excellency's' horse had been attended to at the stables, and there
was his uniform, dry and brushed to perfection, with his pistols and
sword, burnished as only an old soldier could burnish them, for
Theodore had served with the Austrian army in Bohemia, and been twice
wounded at Sadowa, where his regiment was that remarkable one which
perished nearly to a man under the new and terrible fire of the
Prussian needle-gun; with all of which facts he informed Cecil, while
re-dressing his hurt and assisting him to attire.
He also informed him of something else--that he was in the family
residence of Michail, Count Palenka; and so, by mid-day, with his arm
in a sling, Cecil expressed his anxiety to thank his hostess, the
widowed mother of the count, for her kindness to him.
He announced himself as 'Sub-Lieutenant Cecil Falconer, of
"Tchernaieff's Own," aide-de-camp on the staff,' and was ushered into
the presence of the ladies whom he had seen on the preceding night.
'The preserver of my son's life in the battle by the Morava!'
exclaimed the countess, coming forward and taking his left hand
between both of hers, and gazing upon his face with humid yet beaming
eyes.
'I only did my duty, madam, though the count was pleased to think I
did more,' replied Cecil, 'and bestowed this ring upon me.'
'My birthday gift to my dear brother!' said the younger lady,
laughingly.
'Your hand has worn it, then?' asked Cecil.
'Since I was a little girl in Vienna.'
'That enhances the value of it to me,' said Cecil gallantly, with a
bow; 'but surely it must have been a world too wide for one of your
fingers.'
'True; but I had it enlarged for Michail.'
Now, during the natural well-bred inquiries concerning his injury,
and so forth, Cecil had opportunity for observing his hostess and her
daughter Margarita.
The countess, though verging on fifty, was still very handsome, for
the Servian women, by their mode of life, can prolong their beauty
beyond the average climacteric. She wore a long flowing dress of
black cashmere, with a train behind, and confined at the waist by a
silver girdle; a frill of softest muslin was round her throat, and a
square of fine white lace arranged like a widow's cap was pinned over
her head, with the ends falling on her shoulders. She had clearly
cut features, soft dark hair lined with silver, fine eyes, and a
shapely figure still.
Margarita was a womanly-looking girl of more than middle height,
having a full and rounded figure of remarkable grace and elegance of
bearing, set off by quantities of delicate lace and flowing drapery.
Stately in walk and in every movement, she was a brilliant, flashing,
and imperial-like beauty, with large and liquid eyes, a clear-cut
aquiline profile, masses of rich, dark hair, and a small mobile
mouth, with pouting, red and rather sensuous lips; and she was
self-possessed, refined, and highly-bred.
Educated at Vienna--for Servia was long a province of Austria (after
being shuffled backward and forward between the Emperor and the
Porte)--she was highly accomplished, according to the European
standard, and it was but too evident that she welcomed the advent of
Cecil's visit--especially as a young Briton--for the women in Servia
are reckoned as being quite inferior to the men, fit only to be the
plaything of youth and the nurse of old age; a peculiarity of manners
that has not arisen from four centuries of tyrant Turkish rule, but
seems to be inherent in old Slavic custom, such as still appertains
in Russia. But European ideas and fashions are now the rule at
Belgrade, thus the country must change fast; and Margarita had been
the reigning beauty when there as a maid of honour to the Princess
Natalie, the wife of Milano, and daughter of a wealthy banker in
Odessa.
The conversation soon drifted back to the great Servian victory, and
the narrow escape of Count Palenka and the general.
'How courageous it was of you to risk your life to save theirs; how
self-devoted to give Tchernaieff your horse!' said the countess.
'It is not often a soldier has two such strokes of good luck at
once,' replied Cecil.
'Had you no fear for your own life--no dread of dying?' asked the
countess.
'No, madam.'
'Why?' asked Margarita, who had scarcely spoken yet.
'Because it is as natural to die as to live--to die as to be born;
and life has now not many charms for me,' he added, with involuntary
sadness or bitterness.
'Now--had it more once?' asked Margarita.
'Yes--many--nearly all that I could desire, contrasted with it now.'
'I grieve to hear you say so--you, with life before you still,' said
she, eyeing him with growing interest, while slowly fanning herself
with a great round feather fan, though the atmosphere was cool enough.
'You cannot leave this place for days yet,' said the countess, after
a pause. 'Margarita shall write to the count and request him to tell
General Tchernaieff of your accident. Meantime she and I will nurse
you,' she added, with a kind motherly smile, 'and make you well and
strong.'
Cecil sighed as he thanked her, and feared that his sword-arm would
be useless for many a day; and indeed he was incapable of mounting a
horse as yet.