THE COMING OF ALIDA
It was the evening of the 27th of January, and we were back in Autun.
The Milanese were later than most in getting inside the gates. We had
pushed far forward after the retreating Pomeranians, and now our lot was
to bivouac in the square. The houses were full, and the churches with
their damp floors did not tempt us. Besides, we were full of the glow of
victory, and for that night a camp-fire in the middle of the square
satisfied us. The evening had fallen mild and still--clear too, though
rapidly growing misty under the red loom of camp-fire smoke. There was
not much open rejoicing. The French would not believe that the end had
come, and the Italians, still flushed with victory, felt that they had
come a long way to do but little. Still, as we lay close to our
camp-fires or threshed our arms about to keep warm, we could not keep
out of our minds the hope of better days. I know not of what Hugh
Deventer thought, but for me I was talking to Rhoda Polly, or lazily
steering the ferry-boat across the river while before me Jeanne Felix
bent lissomly to the oars. It was clear that I had not yet reached the
age of the grand expulsive passion which ignores partage. Indeed, given
a temperament like mine, no youth is worth his salt who at twenty-one
cannot drive several teams abreast.
Hugh and I put in the night wandering up and down, rendered restless by
the thoughts of peace, and unable to sleep about the camp-fires before
which we had spread our blankets. Upon the advice of a stranger in a
doorway we penetrated into a school, and from the first class-room
brought out benches and desks enough to feed our camp-fires all night in
the square of Autun. With a stroke or two of the axe Hugh smashed these
across the middle, and we soon built up such a range of blaze that the
heat drove back the sleepers, some of whom, caught betwixt two, were in
peril of being roasted. Those who did not waken we dragged off by the
shoulders, usually to be soundly cursed for our officiousness. Then we
went back to find the man who had told us of the school-house treasure.
He was standing at his door grimly regarding our bonfires. We thanked
him courteously in the name of the regiment.
"At least the Jesuits will teach no more lies to poor children on those
benches," he said. "You are true Garibaldians, though you do speak
French like Linn and myself!"
He was a tall man with a grey beard that came half-way to his waistbelt,
and when he invited us in we were wondering who Linn might be.
We found ourselves in a comfortable little kitchen, floored with red
brick. On the walls, trophies of matchlocks and Dervish swords on a
ground of palm leaves and alfa grass told us that we were in the
dwelling of one who in his day had made the campaign of the Atlas.
Over the mantelshelf, and framed in oak in a rough but artistic manner,
was a document which attracted me. One side was written in Arabic of the
dashing and ornamental sort. I had seen many such in my father's
library. The other side was ruled with a pencil, and there the writing
was that of a schoolboy just beyond the stage of pot-hooks.
"Is it permitted to read?" I asked, for my curiosity was great.
The man with the long beard was talking to Hugh, but he turned to me
with a courteous wave of the hand, and said with a ceremony that was
never learned in Autun:
"Sir, this house and all that it contains are at your service."
I followed the ill-traced letters of the translation. It was dated "From
my prison-house, in the fortress-city called Amboise," and was signed
"Sheik Abd-el-Kader." It contained, after the usual compliments,
greetings and affection to the brave fellow soldier and commander of his
forces, Keller Bey--with a congratulation on his release from
imprisonment.
So it became immediately evident to me that our host had indeed made the
campaign of the Atlas, but that he had fought against and not for the
tricolour.
He seemed to watch out of the corner of his eye the effect of the framed
certificate.
"You are English," he said, "and though you have stolen much yourselves,
you can still feel for a great man defending his country, and not
condemn the little man who helped him."
"You are Keller Bey?" I asked, pointing to the name on the much crumpled
sheet.
"I am Keller," he said, "Keller grown old and staid. Linn keeps me at
home. She had the devil's own job ere she got me buckled down, but she
did it, and now there is only Linn and our daughter Alida for me to
think about."
And in the silence of the house he lifted his voice and called aloud for
"Linn."
Presently we heard footsteps coming swiftly along the passage which led
from the inner rooms. A woman entered--tall, gaunt, and angular. Her
aspect was severe to the borders of being forbidding, and she frowned
upon us as Keller, ex-officer of Abd-el-Kader, made some brief
introduction.
But the smile with which she held out her hand was transfiguring. The
face which had been almost ugly suddenly became attractive and even
fascinating. One saw that her eyes were of forget-me-not blue, and when
she said "You are welcome" to one and the other of us, it was clear that
Linn Keller possessed gifts of attraction which do not depend upon age
or external beauty.
She was taller than her husband, but awkward and angular in her
movement. She walked with a curious shuffle as if the slipper on one
foot was always on the point of coming off, yet--in a moment we found
ourselves at home with her, and in five minutes we were calling her
"Linn" just as her husband had done. The assurance of youth can surely
no farther go.
The lamp on the mantelpiece was of an Oriental design. Curtains and rugs
were abundantly scattered about, and in one corner a looped-up hanging
showed an oblong bath sunk in the tiled floor.
"This house is our own," said Linn; "we have arranged some things to
suit ourselves, having been so long abroad that it seems impossible to
do without them. But at any rate you must stay and see Alida. You must
rise early, for she has to go out to give her lessons. Alida is a
teacher of music. We have put everything except this house and a
provision for our old age into Alida's education."
I explained to the pair that we would indeed be most grateful for the
warmth and refuge of the kitchen, but that if that were inconvenient we
could return at any hour of the morning, always provided the regiment
did not march.
"They are fine lads, eh, Linn?" said Keller, turning to his wife. "Can
we not do something better for them than the kitchen floor?"
I assured them that we asked no more than permission to stretch
ourselves on a couple of rugs with knapsacks beneath our heads. But
Linn's housewifery instinct was roused. She took us to a room on the
entresol, with two beds, and even insisted on helping us off with our
boots. There we should sleep, and she would keep an eye on the regiment,
and have us on parade in good time. As for her she was a barrack's child
and understood such things. Besides, Keller and she were back and
forward all night like the Arabs among whom they had lived.
Never had the touch of sheets felt more caressing. Never did sleep fall
upon us so deep and dreamless as when our heads touched the pillow. It
was still dark when we were awakened by a light touch on the shoulder,
and sitting up each on an elbow we beheld Linn stalking about the room
and putting back our uniforms all carefully brushed and folded. A candle
stood on a stand, and farther back a gigantic Linn was grotesquely
shadowed upon the walls.
"Breakfast is ready," she said, when we had somewhat got over our first
blankness. "You have a good hour before you, and if you dress now you
will have time to breakfast, and besides you shall see Alida."
I do not know whether it was the breakfast or the prospect of Alida seen
in the flesh which aroused us, but no sooner was the door closed behind
Linn's back than we flung ourselves into our uniforms with that ordered
rapidity which only a soldier understands.
Everything we touched had been warmed and cared for with that
affectionate motherliness which looked out of Linn's eyes. We had never
experienced any kindness like this before, and it seemed the more
marvellous that by merely putting aside the blinds of our sleeping-room
we could see our comrades still lying about the fires, and the cooks for
the week beginning with their bayonet butts to crush and grind the
berries for the morning coffee.
Yonder were Victor Dor and Marius Girr looking down at our sleeping
places, and presently beginning to roll up our blankets. It seemed a
shame that we should have passed the night between sheets, thus basely
abandoning our comrades among the trampled snow of the market square of
Autun.
But there interposed between them and us two necessities: a "made"
breakfast which we must eat--eat till we could eat no more, and--we must
see Alida Keller, daughter of the Atlas "goums."
I don't know what Hugh expected. But for myself I mingled Linn and the
ideal music mistress. Tall, forceful, and striding she must be, with
energy to bring into such evident subjection Keller Bey and his wife.
Something younger and less weather-beaten than Linn, of course--perhaps
with a certain passing glow of good looks which would fade out like the
mist bloom upon the peach trees in the frost of April.
But when at last she came in, and stood a moment to give a hand to each
of us, before nestling into her familiar corner of a low old Oriental
couch--I think both our hearts cried out at the same moment: "Oh, the
perfect creature!"
She was not like Linn in the least. Her father still less resembled her.
It is almost impossible to describe this girl of the South, nevertheless
I can but try, Alida Keller was little, but shaped with such delicate
perfection that she gave the impression of a greater height. Her skin
was of a creamy duskiness through which went and came colour now as
faint as that of a rose leaf, which anon flamed out into a vivid red,
the colour of the pomegranate flower.
Her father and Linn served her like a princess, and to this she seemed
accustomed, for except that she patted Linn's hand, or with a smile said
"Petit Pere" to her father, she seemed unconscious of their attentions.
As for Hugh and myself, I declare that we were completely cheated out of
that admirable breakfast. We had meant to square our elbows, grasp our
knives and forks, and fall on. We had rank appetites, sharpened with
fighting and hard fare, but the mere presence of Alida cut at the roots
of hunger as a scythe cuts down reeds.
We simply sat and gazed at her. She was not in the least put out, ate
well and daintily, and looked at us impartially from under her dark
lashes. For the instant--I will not admit more--I forgot Rhoda Polly and
Jeanne Felix.
But I am not much to be blamed. For the burden of the conversation fell
on me. Hugh Deventer could only sit and gape, lifting the same morsel
half a dozen times to his mouth without once getting it safely in. He
uttered not a word, save sometimes in answer to a direct question he
would produce a "yes" or "no," so jerky and mechanical that I was
obliged to kick his shins under the table to keep him aware of himself.
Of this Keller and Linn saw nothing. They were all eyes and ears for
Alida, and had not a glance for us. The table was covered--we were
soldiers and could help ourselves. Meantime I was kept busy answering
the questions of Alida. She spoke in a low and thrilling contralto, a
voice that had a _ron-ron_ in it, something like the pulsing whisper of
a bell after it has been rung in a church tower.
How had we left school? We must tell her. Tell her I did, describing as
vividly as possible the laundry and the secret way out upon the road,
then the good-bye call at my father's house, and our escape from the
sentinel at the bridge end. It was lovely to see the cheeks of Alida now
going pale now flaming scarlet, and I admit that I made the most of my
opportunity. I passed rapidly over the troubles in Aramon-les-Ateliers,
both because I knew such things could not interest Alida Keller--also
(and chiefly) because I gathered that Keller and Linn would be
altogether on the side of the workmen, and I did not feel called upon to
defend the difficult position of Dennis Deventer as Manager of the Small
Arms Factory--at least not just then.
Our later adventures with the transport train, our march by night, our
incorporation in the Garibaldi army, and the many skirmishes culminating
in the big fight when we had defeated the Prussians, were all easy to
tell--and I had scarcely finished when Linn came in with the news that
the regiments were forming up for roll-call.
We had hardly time to promise to come back before we were equipped and
pushed out by Linn with well-plenished haversacks. We scurried across
the square and appeared in our places out of nowhere in particular, to
the great astonishment of Victor and Marius, who hastily arranged our
blankets across our shoulders so that we might pass inspection.
"You English fear nothing, I know," said Victor Dor, "but you almost ran
things a trifle fine this morning. See yonder!"
He pointed with a finger towards a narrow street which debouched into
the upper end of the Market Square. At first we could see nothing--and
then--lo, the ramshackle barouche, and the two fatigued white horses of
the General himself!
"_Garibaldi! Garibaldi!_"
The "Children" of the Milanese regiment could hardly keep their lines.
We front-rank men felt an impulse as if someone were pushing us from
behind. It was the concentred yearning of a thousand men.
Our officers kept whispering to us, "Stand firm. Not just now. He will
return. See how the Tanara regiment is standing--would you have them put
us to shame before our father?" So the Milanese men stood quivering each
like a tuning-fork while their General passed by. Bordone was with him,
and Ricciotti rode on the side farthest from the lines. I saw him
clearly, and noted the waxen pallor of his face. But his eye was still
bright, and the smile kindly on his lips as he passed down the lines. It
was the face of a philosopher, a thinker, or a prophet, rather than that
of the greatest leader of irregular troops the world had ever seen. But
when the carriage turned at the end of the square, the men could no
longer be held. They surrounded the old barouche, hanging round it in
clusters, like grapes, or more exactly like bees about their queen in
her summer flight. Hugh Deventer and I stood a little back, for we felt
that this was, as one might say, a family matter, and no concern of
ours. But Ricciotti spied us out, and putting his horse into the press,
brought us forward to introduce us personally to his father.
The old man extended his hand which, instead of kissing, we shook in the
English fashion. The difference pleased him.
"It is like Sicily to see you here. I had once over eight hundred of
you, and not a white feather or a faint heart among them all. I trusted
them as I trusted my children. They were as my children. Well may I love
England. They fought for me seeking no reward, and afterwards when there
was talk of expelling me, they bought my island and gave it to me, so
that none could take it away for ever."
He moved on, nodding his head and smiling, while Bordone glooming on the
seat opposite seemed vastly relieved. Ricciotti was in high spirits.
"The Chief is better to-day than I have seen him for years," he confided
to us. "He said we had done well against Manteuffel--yes, even I, his
son whom he never praises."
Victor Dor and Marius Girr came and shook hands with us repeatedly. It
was an honour to the company that the General had so distinguished us,
and would we tell them what he had said--yes, every word.
From their archway Keller and Linn had beheld, one standing on either
side of the door, and a slight vibration of the window curtains
suggested that perhaps Alida herself was not wholly without curiosity.
Then the troops were dismissed. The town was placarded with the white
oblongs reserved for Government proclamations. The Armistice (they said)
had been concluded with the Emperor of Germany, but in the meantime its
army of the Vosges was to remain under arms for the reason that poor
Bourbaki's army of the East was excepted from the cessation of
hostilities. At first no one could imagine why, because it was now
little more than a broken troop, hardly able to fight a rearguard
action, and ready to be driven through the perishing cold of the
mountain passes to surrender to a Swiss colonel beyond the frontier.
Later the truth appeared. By their own politicians the army of the East
had been wholly overlooked and forgotten! And Bismarck, irritated by the
stubborn resistance of Denfert at Belfort, was willing to take advantage
of this fact to overrun two additional French departments.
Thus it came to pass that we remained full three weeks more kicking our
heels in Autun. We were allowed to make our own arrangements for
_billets de logement_, which carried us naturally to the house in the
square inhabited by Keller Bey, his wife Linn, and--Alida.
The officers all knew that the war was over and chafed at the delay. So
I think did most of the soldiers excepting ourselves. Hugh and I alone
were content, of all the army of the Vosges encamped in and about Autun.