I determined not to let a day pass without calling on Miss Lawrence,
for I had obtained her address before I left the cottage, 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 notion. When I reached the door, I knocked, and
it being opened, gave in my card to the footman, who showed me into a
dining-room void of inhabitants, and there left me.
It seemed strange enough to my perception, after I could sit down to
breathe, that a lady should live all by herself in such an immense
place; but I corrected myself by remembering she might possibly not
live by herself, but have brothers, sisters, nay, any number of
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 messed for change. There were heavy curtains,
striped blue and crimson, and a noble sideboard 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 feeling 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 arrive there for at least an hour, and
was amazed on my entrance to find a note, directed 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 answer. 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 desired to
decline, but that I had no excuse of any kind on hand; and therefore
compelled myself to frame a polite assent, which I despatched, and
then sat down to practise.
I made out to myself that she would certainly be alone, as she was the
very person to have fashionable habits on her own account, or at least
that she would be surrounded merely by the people belonging to her in
her home. But I was still unconfessedly 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 still, with its broad roads and
tranquil centre-piece of green, I was appalled to observe a carriage
or two, and flattered myself they were at another door; but they had
drawn up at the very front, alas! that I had visited in the morning. I
was compelled to advance, after having stood aside to permit a lady in
purple satin, and two younger ladies in white, to illustrate the
doorway in making their procession first. Then I came on, and was
rather surprised to find myself so well treated; for a gentleman out
of livery, in neater black clothes than a clergyman, deprived me of my
hat and showed me upstairs directly. It struck me very forcibly that
it was a very good thing my hair had the habit of staying upon my
forehead as it should do, and that I was not anxious to tie my
neck-handkerchief 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; stone, with a
narrow crimson centre-strip soft as thick-piled velvet. On the
landing-place was a brilliant globe of humming-birds, interspersed
with gem-like spars and many a moss-wreath. The 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 instantly met me
with a frank familiarity that differs from all other, and supersedes
the rarest courtesy.
I had a vague idea that Miss Lawrence must have been married since I
saw her, so completely was she mistress of herself, and 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 vivid green; but unstudied as
very few costumes are, even of married women. She was still Miss
Lawrence, though, for some one addressed 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, upon the tips of my gloves, while she held her
own gloves in her other hand--to a gentleman 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 embroidered
ottoman.
"You see how it is, my dear Mr. Auchester," she began in her genial
voice,--"a dinner, which I should not have dreamed to annoy you with,
but for one party we expect. You have seen Seraphael, of course, and
the little Burney? Or perhaps not; they have been in town only two
days."
I was about to express something rather beyond surprise, when a fresh
appearance at the door carried her away, and I could only watch the
green plume in despair as it waved away from me. To stifle my
sensations, I just glanced round the room; it was very large, but so
high and so apportioned that one felt no space to spare.
The draperies, withdrawn for the sunset smile to enter, were of palest
sky-color, the walls of the palest blush, the tables in corners, the
chairs in clusters, the cabinets in niches, gilt and carven, were of
the deepest blue and crimson, upon a carpet of all imaginable hues,
like dashed flower-petals. Luxurious as was the furniture, in nothing
it offended even the calmest taste, and the choicest must have
lavished upon it a prodigal leisure.
The pianoforte was a grand one, of dark and lustrous polish; its
stools were velvet; a large lamp, unlighted, with gold tracery over
its moon-like globe, issued from a branch in the wall immediately over
it, and harmonized with a circle of those same lamps above the centre
ottoman, and with the same upon the mantelshelf guarding a beautiful
French clock, and reflected in a sheet of perfect glass sweeping to
the ceiling.
There were about five and twenty persons present, who seemed
multiplied, by their manner and their dresses, into thrice as many,
and who would have presented a formidable aspect but for the hopes
roused within me to a tremendous anticipation. Still I had time,
during the hum and peculiar rustle, to scrutinize the faces present.
There were none worth carrying away, except that shaded by the emerald
plume, and I followed it from chair to chair, fondly hoping it would
return to mine. It did not; and it was evident we were waiting for
some one.
There was a general lull; two minutes by my watch (as I ascertained,
very improperly) it lasted, and two minutes seems very long before a
set dinner. Suddenly, while I was yet gazing after our hostess, the
door flew open, and I heard a voice repeat,--
"The Chevalier Seraphael and Mr. Burney!"
They entered calmly, as I could hear,--not see, for my eyes seemed to
turn in my head, and I involuntarily looked away. The former
approached the hostess, who had advanced almost to the door to meet
him, and apologized, but very slightly, for his late appearance,
adding a few words in a lower tone which I could not catch. He was
still holding his companion by the hand, and, before they had time to
part, the dinner was announced with state.
I lost sight of him long before I obeyed the summons, leading a lady
assigned to me, a head taller than myself, who held a handkerchief in
her hand that looked like a lace veil, and shook it in my face as we
walked down the stairs. I can never sympathize with the abuse heaped
upon these dinner-parties, as I have heard, since I recall that
especial occasion, not only grateful, but with a sense of its Arabian
Night-like charm,--the long table, glistering with damask too white
for the eye to endure, the shining silver, the flashing crystal, the
blaze and mitigated brightness, the pyramid of flowers, 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.
Starwood was on my own side, but far above me. 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
constrained to look upon her, nor did I, nor 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 me, clove to my heart
within. Seraphael had entirely lost the flitting healthful bloom of
his very early youth: a perfect paleness toned his face, as if with
purity out-shadowed,--such pearly clearness flinging into relief the
starry distance of his full, deep-colored eyes; the forehead more
bare, more arched, was distinctly 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 peer into those orbs so evening-blue, their
starlight 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 extinguished; it assuredly was the time of
"all her wealth," and had her mood possessed no other charm, it would
have excited my furious taste by its interesting contrast with his
pale aspect and indrawn expression.
It was during dessert, when the converse had sprung up like a sudden
air in a calm, when politeness quickened and elegance unconsciously
thawed, that--as I watched the little hands I so loved gleaming in the
purple of the grapes which the light fingers separated one by one--I
passed insensibly to the countenance. It was smiling, and for me: a
sudden light broke through the lips, which folded themselves again
instantly, as if never to smile again; but not until I had known the
dawn of the old living expression, that, though it had slept, I felt
now was able to awaken, and with more thankfulness 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 me, with a skill I could not appreciate too delicately, to the
merest trivialities, and making a sign to Starwood to take the chair
now empty next me.
This was exactly what I wanted, for I had not seen him in the
least,--not that I was afraid he had altered, but that I was anxious
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 shrinking
lip,--but a great power seemed called out of both. He was exceedingly
well formed, muscular, though delicate; his voice was that which I
remembered, but he had caught 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 me 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 evening, and he was engaged for every one but this. She
was very sorry, she said, that her father had a party to-day. The
Chevalier, however, did not mind, he told her, and should be very
happy to come anyhow."
"But how does it happen that he is so constantly engaged? It cannot be
to concerts 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 know they would."
"What, my dear boy?"
"That for every evening he spends in company, he sits up half the
night. I know it, for I have watched that light under his door, and
can hear him make the least little stir when all is so quiet,--at
least, I could at Stralenfeld, 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 request his friends to do so."
"He might have no friends, so far as any influence they have goes.
Just try yourself, Carl; and when you see his face, you will not be
inclined to do so any more."
"You spoke of rehearsals, Star,--what may these be? I have not heard
anything."
"I only know that he has brought with him two symphonies, three or
four quartets, and a great roll of organ fugues, besides the score of
his oratorio."
"I had no idea of such a thing. An oratorio?"
"It is what he wrote in Italy some time ago, and only lately went over
and prepared. 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 you, and that is the first."
"But, sir, Miss Lawrence is going to the piano: will not you play
first?"
"Not at all to-night; we agreed. There 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 my shoulder, when Miss Lawrence approached,--
"Sir, you know what you said, nor can I ask you to retract it. But may
I say how sorry 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 I now
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 or 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 be 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! you quite mistake my motive, Miss Lawrence; it had not to do with
music. It was because I have had no sleep that I 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 is another thirsty soul here who will be all
the better for a taste of heavenly things."
She turned to me elated. I looked into his face; he moved to the
piano, made no gesture either of impatience or satisfaction, but drew
the stool to him, and when seated, glanced to Miss Lawrence, who stood
beside him and whispered something. I drew, with Starwood, behind,
where I could watch his hands.
He played for perhaps twenty minutes,--an _andante_ from Beethoven, an
_allegro_ from Mozart, an _aria_ from Weber, cathedral-echoes from
Purcell, fugue-points from Bach; and mixing them like gathered
flowers, bound them together with a wild, delicious _scherzo finale_,
his own. But though that playing was indeed unto me as heaven in
forecast, and though it filled the heart up to the brim, it was
extremely cold, and I do not remember ever feeling that he was
separable from his playing before. When he arose so quietly, lifting
his awful forehead from the curls that had fallen over it as he bent
his face, he was unflushed as calm, and he instantly shook hands with
Miss Lawrence, only leaving her to leave the room. I followed him
naturally, remembering his request; but she detained me a moment to
say,--
"You must come and see me on Thursday, and must also come to
breakfast. I shall be alone, and have something to show you. You are
going along with him, I find,--so much the better; take care of him,
and good night."
Starwood had followed Seraphael implicitly; they were both below. We
got into a carriage at the door, and were driven I knew 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 departed; and whether it was from the novelty of the
circumstances, or my own transcending 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 examined the register of the grate; I looked into the
tall glass at my own double: but all would not exhaust me, and towards
the very morning I left my bed and made a sally upon the
landing-place. I knew the number of Seraphael's door, for Starwood had
pointed it out to me as we passed along, and I felt drawn, as by
odyllic force, to that very metal lock.
There was no crack, but a key-hole, and 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
entrance into untried regions, upon inexperienced moods. Without any
hesitation, I knocked; but recalling to myself his temperament, 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 strew,--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!"
"Carl, very Carl, little Carl, great Carl!" he answered, with the
utmost gentleness, but still unsmiling, "why should I go to bed? and
why shouldest thou come out of thine?"
"Sir, if it is anything, I cannot sleep while 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 are 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, Carl, I cannot sleep in London. I think that
something in the air distresses my brain; it will _not_ shut itself
up. I was about to ask thee whether there is no country, 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 you experimentally, fresh green, pure country air of Heaven's
own distilling within that distance; and there is also much
more,--there is something you would like even better."
"What is that, Carlomein?"
"I will not tell you, sir, unless you sleep to-night."
"To be sly becomes thee, precisely because thou art not a fox. I will
lie down; but sleep is God's best gift, next to love, and he has
deprived me of both."
"If I be sly, sir, you are bitter. But there is not too much sleight,
nor bitterness either, where they can be expressed from words. So,
sir, come to bed."
"Well spoken, Carlomein; I am coming,--sleep thou!"
But I would not, and I did not leave him until I had seen his head
laid low in all the bareness of its beauty, had seen his large eyelids
fall, and had drawn his curtains in their softest gloom around the
burdened pillow. Then I, too, went back to bed, and I slept delectably
and dreamless.