THE MYSTERIOUS DOOR;--A DISCOURSE ON NYMPHS.
On the 6th day after our landing, Ian and his sergeant, Phadrig Mhor,
with sixty of our pikemen, were on guard in the great tower at the
harbour mouth. After spending the forenoon in lounging with them on
the ramparts of their post, from whence we had an extensive view of
the flat and fertile country, with its houses of bright red brick
roofed with yellow straw, and sheltered by rows of tall elms and
taper poplars; after explaining to them in Gaëlic, some chapters of a
treatise on fortification by Errard of Bois le Duc--for we had all
resolved to become perfect soldiers; after a few glasses of wine with
them an a tavern close by the guardhouse, and having some lively
good-for-nothing chatter with the pretty jungfers, or waitresses,
whose plump round figures, in their short petticoats and spotless
white vests, made them as charming and piquant as the soubrettes or
grisettes of Paris, I returned slowly to our billet, passing through
the evening crowds in the Platz, with my bonnet cocked smartly on one
side, my plaid waving behind me, and my claymore under my arm,
feeling very much satisfied with my own appearance, and proud that I
belonged to a regiment whose fifteen hundred pair of sturdy bare legs
were the admiration of all the women in Glückstadt.
I entered the vast and silent house of Otto Roskilde, and was
ascending the stair, with my head full of ravelins and breastworks,
pretty ankles and counterscarps, waitresses and fortifications,
flying sap and salient angles, when a sound struck my ear; I suddenly
paused--drew breath, and listened.
The notes of a guitar and of a clear female voice, sweetly modulated,
made my heart beat like lightning; for a guitar was in the apartment
of that sleeping beauty, whom I had nearly forgotten.
I approached softly; the door of the same apartment I had formerly
seen was standing partly open, and I again saw the same fair young
girl, who had been asleep on the sofa, running her fingers over a
beautiful guitar, to which she was softly singing a lively Spanish
song. Her back was towards me, and her neck and shoulders (where
visible between her thick lace veil and high Spanish ruff) were
dazzlingly white. I could distinctly see her face, which was
reflected in an opposite mirror. Her hair was dressed loftily over a
high pearl-studded comb, after the fashion of her countrywomen; she
had bright lively eyes, the most wicked smile, and the finest teeth,
in the world. The little coquette seemed to be studying smiles and
positions in the mirror, and, as she did so, a little dimple appeared
in each of her cheeks, which were pale, or exhibited the faintest
tinge of red--altogther unlike the full blushing cheeks of the German
maids of Holstein. Then, as she sang, her voice rang clearly and
beautifully as a little silver bell. It was a Tonadilla, from a play
of the old dramatist, Lopez de Vega; but from which of them Heaven
only knows; for old Lopez wrote such an incredible number, that I do
not believe he would have recognised it himself.
"Gentil Donna, gentil donna--
Gentil donna, goddess bright!
Fairer than the morning light!
How long shall I be doom'd to feel,
The wound thy hand alone can heal?
Gentil donna, gentil donna--
Gentil donna, to me give
The hope from this dear wound to live.
Gentil donna--see, the dart
Of love has pierced my bleeding heart."
------
"Caballero, caballero,
Caballero, hence away,
Lest I laugh at what you say:
Caballero----"
Suddenly, in the mirror's polished depth, her eye caught a glimpse of
my reflected figure, with its shining cuirass and dark green tartans.
The guitar dropped from her hand, and she turned towards me with a
pale and startled expression. It was now my turn to be confused, for
I had no business there.
"Pardon me, señora," said I, in my most dulcet Spanish, for I had
perceived at once that she was a Spaniard; "I have mistaken the way
to my own apartment, and--and----"
She appeared to rally her spirits, and bowed.
"This old house," I continued, advancing one pace, "with its long
wooden stairs, its dark passages, so full of doors to the right and
to the left--you understand me, señora?"
"Oh yes! señor--I think I do."
"Its wainscoted galleries and ambulatories," I continued, advancing
another pace, "are quite perplexing, and I feel that I am an awkward
intruder."
"You look, señor, just like one dropped from the moon," said she with
a smile, as she resumed her guitar with its broad blue ribbon; "but I
have the honour to wish you a good day----"
"And you pardon my intrusion?"
"Pardon--oh yes! but, in ascending the stair, keep always to the
right, remember. I cannot be angry with so gallant a cavalier,"
(_galante caballero_.)
There was a wicked smile on her lips; but my heart beat quick, and I
remained gazing upon her, fascinated by the expression of her eyes.
Those beautiful orbs attracted me more than the curved brows, the
straight nose, the fine nostril and short upper lip, their
accessories. They were somewhat of a blue black, or violet colour,
and sparkled under long fringes of silk, which chastened and subdued
the fire of their expression. They were full of obscure language, of
inspiration, and undefined thoughts, those beautiful eyes! They were
full of sweetness too, and of power: I could imagine that their
expression would have been magnificent in love, and terrible in rage;
but at that moment they expressed only the most charming archness and
timidity.
"Come, señor--are you going?" said she.
"Certainly, señora," said I, with confusion; "but permit me to kiss
your hand, in token that you really forgive me."
"There, señor--and now begone; for, on my honour, you tire me."
I kissed her pretty hand with all the confusion of a boy, and hurried
away. Such was my flutter, and such my tumult, that I omitted to
mark well the features of the passage, that I might find my way back
again.
I saw only those timid, dark, and seducing eyes!
I sprang up-stairs to our apartment, in search of any of my friends.
"Rollo, Angus M'Alpine!" cried I.
"Dia! what is the matter?" cried the tall lieutenant of our company,
as he sprang from a table where he was playing at chess with the
Hausmeister, and in doing so overset the board and their wine-pot
together; "is the house on fire?"
"No! but I have found her."
"Her--who?" he asked, while the Hausmeister changed colour very
perceptibly.
"I have seen her again."
"What, thy countess?" said Red Angus, laughing.
"Yes--and spoken with her."
"I wish you had tarried with her; for you have spilled our wine, and
spoiled our game."
"It is all an illusion--an impossibility," said Herr Roskilde; "for I
swear to you, gentlemen, there is no such person----"
"Hold, Rollo," said M'Alpine, gravely, on perceiving that I was
getting wroth; "perhaps there is something supernatural in all this."
"Nothing supernatural at all, Angus. I spoke with her--saw her, and
kissed her hand."
"Oho! Mahoud! thou art getting on apace," said the lieutenant,
laughing.
"Beware!" growled Otto in his deep German bass, "for these Trolds are
mere unsubstantial forms; hollow behind----"
"Trolds be hanged!" said I; "hollow behind, indeed! Do you laugh at
me, friend Otto?"
"No--but I say, that I think you have been deceived."
"Nay, may I die if I ever touched a hand more fair, more round, more
beautiful! And then her eyes! Ah, Master Otto! 'tis for yourself
you keep this fair prize so slily locked up--but you cannot deceive
me. Come with me, gentlemen, and I will show you whether or not I
have been deceived by the Herr or my own eyes, and whether I have
deserved the jests of Ian for the last week."
Angus took his sword in case of accidents; we all descended the
stair, and I confidently led the way to the lower landing-place,
turned to the right, and advanced along the passage. Passing several
doors, I paused: for lo! that one which led to the chamber of my
Spaniard had vanished again. I was perplexed--thunderstruck; while
both M'Alpine and the German laughed immoderately. I felt conscious
that I looked exceedingly foolish; but knew not what to say. Gaping
about me, I felt all the walls, and sounded them with the pommel of
my poniard; I listened for the tinkle of the guitar, and bell-like
notes of that soft warbling voice, but all was still as the grave.
"'Tis the work of the devil!" said I.
"Then you agree with me at last, Herr Ensign?" said Otto.
"You have been at the wine-house, Philip," added M'Alpine, "and the
memory of some red and rosy jungfer has been haunting you."
"Beware, young man!" continued the Hausmeister, with a dark and most
inexplicable look; "it may be a wile of the evil one, or perhaps of
Holger Danske, to bear you away. She may be one of the Elle people,
whose touch is bewitching, and whose breath produces pestilence and
sickness. They dwell among the sedges of the canals, and the moors
of Juteland; but there are times when they venture to enter cities."
"Have the Elle women beautiful eyes?"
"They are fair and winning in aspect, but are a mere appearance,
being hollow like a dough trough. They excel in playing upon
stringed instruments, the notes of which are enchanting; and young
men like you, Herr Ensign, find the utmost difficulty in resisting
their fascinations. They are most frequently to be met with in the
moonlight nights, dancing among the long soft grass, or in summer
evenings under the shadow of trees, to the music made by grotesque
gnomes, who play on enormous fiddles; and no young man whom they
meet, ever experiences a cold reception or denial of any thing. You
hear me, Herr?"
"By the soul of king Alpine!" said Angus, "they are just like our
Daoine-shie at home! For God's sake and your own, Philip Rollo,
beware, or we may find a bunch of reeds, or a bundle of rotten
sticks, in your place some morning when the drum beats! Then how
would it sound for the sergeant-major to report to Sir Donald, that
Ensign Rollo had been carried off by the fairies!"
"I have heard old Dominie Daidle expatiate on the Lamiæ of the early
Greeks--evil demons, who assumed the forms of beautiful nymphs, and
enticed young men----"
"Especially ensigns," suggested Angus.
"Into lonely places, where they devoured them."
"Bones and all--oh Lord!" said Angus.
"Well, Herr," continued Otto Roskilde, "such are our Elle women in
Denmark and Holstein, and such may be the fair spirit you have seen;
so I would beseech you to be wary."
Honest M'Alpine half believed him; but I observed there was a ray of
secret mirth twinkling under the glassy surface of this man's grey,
deceitful eyes; I felt certain that he was jewing me, but resolved to
"byde my time."
Book the Second.