DEATH AND LOVE TOGETHER MATED
When the day drags, when a man is solitary, and in a fever of impatience
and suspense; when the minute hand of his watch travels as slowly as the
hour hand used to do, and the hour hand has lost all appreciable motion;
when he yawns, and beats the devil's tattoo, and flattens his handsome
nose against the window, and whistles tunes he hates, and, in short,
does not know what to do with himself, it is deeply to be regretted that
he cannot make a solemn dinner of three courses more than once in a day.
The laws of matter, to which we are slaves, deny us that resource.
But in the times I speak of, supper was still a substantial meal, and
its hour was approaching. This was consolatory. Three-quarters of an
hour, however, still interposed. How was I to dispose of that interval?
I had two or three idle books, it is true, as companions-companions; but
there are many moods in which one cannot read. My novel lay with my rug
and walking-stick on the sofa, and I did not care if the heroine and the
hero were both drowned together in the water barrel that I saw in the
inn-yard under my window. I took a turn or two up and down my room, and
sighed, looking at myself in the glass, adjusted my great white
"choker," folded and tied after Brummel, the immortal "Beau," put on a
buff waist-coat and my blue swallow-tailed coat with gilt buttons; I
deluged my pocket-handkerchief with Eau-de-Cologne (we had not then the
variety of bouquets with which the genius of perfumery has since blessed
us) I arranged my hair, on which I piqued myself, and which I loved to
groom in those days. That dark-brown _chevelure_, with a natural
curl, is now represented by a few dozen perfectly white hairs, and its
place--a smooth, bald, pink head--knows it no more. But let us forget
these mortifications. It was then rich, thick, and dark-brown. I was
making a very careful toilet. I took my unexceptionable hat from its
case, and placed it lightly on my wise head, as nearly as memory and
practice enabled me to do so, at that very slight inclination which the
immortal person I have mentioned was wont to give to his. A pair of
light French gloves and a rather club-like knotted walking-stick, such
as just then came into vogue for a year or two again in England, in the
phraseology of Sir Walter Scott's romances "completed my equipment."
All this attention to effect, preparatory to a mere lounge in the yard,
or on the steps of the Belle Étoile, was a simple act of devotion to the
wonderful eyes which I had that evening beheld for the first time, and
never, never could forget! In plain terms, it was all done in the vague,
very vague hope that those eyes might behold the unexceptionable get-up
of a melancholy slave, and retain the image, not altogether without
secret approbation.
As I completed my preparations the light failed me; the last level
streak of sunlight disappeared, and a fading twilight only remained. I
sighed in unison with the pensive hour, and threw open the window,
intending to look out for a moment before going downstairs. I perceived
instantly that the window underneath mine was also open, for I heard two
voices in conversation, although I could not distinguish what they were
saying.
The male voice was peculiar; it was, as I told you, reedy and nasal. I
knew it, of course, instantly. The answering voice spoke in those sweet
tones which I recognized only too easily. The dialogue was only for a
minute; the repulsive male voice laughed, I fancied, with a kind of
devilish satire, and retired from the window, so that I almost ceased to
hear it.
The other voice remained nearer the window, but not so near as at first.
It was not an altercation; there was evidently nothing the least
exciting in the colloquy. What would I not have given that it had been a
quarrel--a violent one--and I the redresser of wrongs, and the defender
of insulted beauty! Alas! so far as I could pronounce upon the character
of the tones I heard, they might be as tranquil a pair as any in
existence. In a moment more the lady began to sing an odd little
chanson. I need not remind you how much farther the voice is heard
singing than speaking. I could distinguish the words. The voice was of
that exquisitely sweet kind which is called, I believe, a
semi-contralto; it had something pathetic, and something, I fancied, a
little mocking in its tones. I venture a clumsy, but adequate
translation of the words:
"Death and Love, together mated,
Watch and wait in ambuscade;
At early morn, or else belated,
They meet and mark the man or maid.
Burning sigh, or breath that freezes,
Numbs or maddens man or maid;
Death or Love the victim seizes,
Breathing from their ambuscade."
"Enough, Madame!" said the old voice, with sudden severity. "We do not
desire, I believe, to amuse the grooms and hostlers in the yard with our
music."
The lady's voice laughed gaily.
"You desire to quarrel, Madame!" And the old man, I presume, shut down
the window. Down it went, at all events, with a rattle that might easily
have broken the glass.
Of all thin partitions, glass is the most effectual excluder of sound. I
heard no more, not even the subdued hum of the colloquy.
What a charming voice this Countess had! How it melted, swelled, and
trembled! How it moved, and even agitated me! What a pity that a hoarse
old jackdaw should have power to crow down such a Philomel! "Alas! what
a life it is!" I moralized, wisely. "That beautiful Countess, with the
patience of an angel and the beauty of a Venus and the accomplishments
of all the Muses, a slave! She knows perfectly who occupies the
apartments over hers; she heard me raise my window. One may conjecture
pretty well for whom that music was intended--aye, old gentleman, and
for whom you suspected it to be intended."
In a very agreeable flutter I left my room and, descending the stairs,
passed the Count's door very much at my leisure. There was just a chance
that the beautiful songstress might emerge. I dropped my stick on the
lobby, near their door, and you may be sure it took me some little time
to pick it up! Fortune, nevertheless, did not favor me. I could not stay
on the lobby all night picking up my stick, so I went down to the hall.
I consulted the clock, and found that there remained but a quarter of an
hour to the moment of supper.
Everyone was roughing it now, every inn in confusion; people might do at
such a juncture what they never did before. Was it just possible that,
for once, the Count and Countess would take their chairs at the
table-d'hôte?