WE left Lady Hester, in our last chapter, employed in the exercise of
those fascinations which, however unlike in other respects, have this
resemblance to virtue, that they are assuredly their own reward. The
charm of courtesy never conferred one half the pleasure on those for
whom it was exercised as to him who wielded it. It matters little
whether the magician be prince or “charlatan,” the art of pleasing is
one of the most agreeable faculties human nature can be endowed with.
Whether Lady Hester was aware of the theory or not, she felt the fact,
as she saw the undisguised admiration in the faces of the two sisters;
for while she had won over Nelly by the elevation of her sentiments and
the kindness of her expressions, Kate was fascinated by her beauty, her
grace, her easy gayety, and a certain voluble lightness that simulates
frankness.
Without anything that approached the prying of curiosity, for she was
both too well bred and too little interested to have so felt such a
motive, she inquired by what accident the Daltons remained at Baden so
late in the season, affected to see some similarity between their cases
and her own, asked in the most feeling terms for their father, whose
ill-health she deplored, and then took such an interest in “dear Frank,”
that Kate could not resist showing a portrait of him, which, however
humble its claims to art, still conveyed a not unfaithful resemblance of
the handsome youth.
While thus hearing about them, she was equally communicative about
herself, and enlisted all the sympathies of the girls as she recounted
their escape from the torrent in the Black Forest, and their subsequent
refuge in Baden.
Thence she diverged to Sir Stafford's illness, her own life of seclusion
and sadness, and, by an easy transition, came round to poor Hans
Roeckle and the accident of that morning.
“Do tell me everything about the poor dear thing,” said she, poutingly.
“They say it is mad.”
“No, madam,” said Nelly, gravely; “Hans, with many eccentricities of
manner, is very far from deficient in good sense or judgment, and is
more than ordinarily endowed with right feeling and kindness of heart.”
“He is a dwarf, surely?”
“Yes, but in intelligence--”
“Oh, that, of course,” interrupted she; “they are rarely deficient in
acuteness, but so spiteful, so full of malice. My dear child, there 's
no trusting them. They never forget an injury, nor even an imaginary
slight. There was that creature what was his name? that Polish thing,
Benywowski, I think you remember, they baked him in a pie, to amuse
Charles II. well, he never forgave it after wards, and to the day of his
death could never bear the sight of pastry.”
“I must except poor Hans from this category,” said Nelly, mildly, and
with difficulty restraining a smile. “He is amiability itself.”
Lady Hester shook her head doubtfully, and went on.
“Their very caprices, my dear, lead them into all kinds of
extravagances. For instance, this poor thing, it would seem, is so
enamored of these wooden toys that he makes himself, that he cannot bear
to part with them. Now, there 's no saying to what excesses he might
be carried by this absurd passion. I have read of the most atrocious
murders committed under a similar fanaticism.”
“I assure you, madam, there need be no fear of such in the present
instance. In the first case, Hans is too good; in the second, the
objects are too valueless.”
“Very true, so they are; but he doesn't think them so, you know.”
“Nay, my Lady; nor would you either, were you to regard them with
attention,” broke in Kate, whose cheek was now one glow of scarlet.
“Even this, half finished as it is, may lay claim to merit.” And as she
spoke, she removed a napkin from a little statue, before which she held
the candle.
“For shame, Kate, dearest Kate!” cried Nelly, standing up in bashful
discomfiture.
“It is a statuette of poor Frank, madam,” continued Kate, who, totally
regardless of her sister's interruption now exhibited the figure nearer.
“You see him just as he left us, his knapsack on his shoulder, his sword
fastened across it, his little cap on one side of his head, and
that happy smile upon his lips. Poor dear fellow! how sad a heart it
covered!”
“And was this his work?” asked Lady Hester, in astonishment.
“No, madam; my sister Nelly was the artist of this, as of all the
others. Unaided and untaught, her own ingenuity alone suggesting the
means, as her imagination supplied the conception.”
“Kate! dear, dear Kate!” said Ellen, with a voice of almost rebuke.
“You forget how unworthy these poor efforts are of such high-sounding
epithets.” Then, turning to Lady Hester, she continued: “Were it to ears
less charitable than yours, madam, these foolish words were spoken, I
should fear the criticism our presumption would seem to call forth. But
you will not think harshly of us for ignorance.”
“But this figure is admirable; the attitude is graceful; the character
of the head, the features, are in good keeping. I know, of course,
nothing of the resemblance to your brother, but, as a work of art, I am
competent to say it has high merit. Do tell me how the thought of doing
these things first occurred to you.”
“I learned drawing as a child, madam, and was always fond of it,” said
Ellen, with a degree of constraint that seemed as if the question were
painful to answer.
“Yes, and so have I spent months ay, I believe I might say years at the
easel, copying every Giorgione at Venice and every Vandyk at Genoa, and
yet such a thought never suggested itself to me.”
“I am happy to think so, madam,” was the low response.
“Why so? how do you mean?” asked Lady Hester, eagerly.
“That the motive in my case never could have been yours, madam.”
“And what was the motive?”
“Poverty, madam. The word is not a pleasant word to syllable, but it is
even better than any attempt at disguise. These trifles, while beguiling
many a dreary hour, have helped us through a season of more than usual
difficulty.”
“Yes, madam,” broke in Kate. “You are aware that papa's property is in
Ireland, and for some years back it has been totally unproductive.”
“How very sad how dreadful!” exclaimed Lady Hester. But whether the
expressions referred to the condition of the Daltons or of Ireland, it
is not quite clear.
“I doubt, madam, if I should have ventured on the confession,” said
Ellen, with a voice of calm firmness, “were it not for the opportunity
it offers of bearing testimony to the kindness of our poor friend
yonder, Hans Roeckle. These efforts of mine have met such favor in
his eyes that he accepts them all, taking them as rapidly as they are
finished, and, I need not say, treating me with a generosity that would
become a more exalted patron and a better artist.”
“It is quite a romance, I declare!” cried Lady Hester. “The Wood Demon
and the Maiden. Only he is not in love with you, I hope?”
“I'm not quite sure of that,” said Kate, laughing; “at least, when some
rivalry of her own wooden images does not intervene.”
“Hush! Hans is awaking,” said Ellen, as on tiptoe she crossed the room
noiselessly, and opened the door of the chamber where the dwarf lay.
Lady Hester and Kate now drew near and peeped in. On a low settle over
which an old scarlet saddle-cloth, fringed with tarnished lace, was
spread as a quilt lay Hans Roeckle, his wounded arm supported by a
pillow at his side; his dark eyes glistened with the bright glare
of fever, and his cheeks were flushed and burning, as his lips moved
unceasingly, with a low muttering, which he continued, regardless of the
presence of those who now approached his bedside.
“What is it he is saying? Does he complain of pain?” asked Lady Hester.
[Illustration: 110]
“I cannot understand him,” said Nelly; “for ever since his accident he
has spoken in his native dialect the patois of the Bregentzer Wald of
which I am utterly ignorant; still he will reply to me in good German
when questioned.” Then, stooping down, she asked, “Are you better,
Hans?”
Hans looked up steadfastly in her face without speaking; it seemed as if
her voice had arrested his wandering faculties, but yet not awakened any
intelligence.
“You are thirsty, Hans,” said she, gently, as she lifted a cup of water
to his lips. He drank greedily, and then passed his hand across his
brow, as if trying to dispel some tormenting fancies. After a second or
two, he said: “It was in Nuremberg, in the Oden Gasse, it happened. The
Ritter von Ottocar stabbed her as she knelt at the cross; and the dwarf,
Der Mohrchen, as they called him, tore off his turban to bind up the
wound; and what was his reward, maiden? tell me that! Are ye all so
shamed that ye dare not speak it?”
“We know it not, Hans; we never heard of the Ritter nor the Mohrchen
before.”
“I 'll tell you, then. They burned him as a warlock in the Hohen Platz
next morning.” With a wild burst of savage laughter he closed this
speech, which he spoke in good German; but immediately after his
thoughts seemed to turn to his old Tyrol haunts and the familiar
language of his native land, as he sang, in a low voice, the following
words:
“A Buchsel zu schiessen,
A Stossring zu schlagn,
A Dienal zu Liebn,
Muss a Rue hahn.”
“What does he mean? Do tell me,” said Lady Hester, whose interest in the
scene was more that of curiosity than compassion.
“It is a peasant dialect; but means, that a rifle to shoot with, a
weapon to wield, and a maiden to love, are all that a good Tyroler
needs in life,” said Kate, while Nelly busied herself in arranging the
position of the wounded limb, little offices for which the poor dwarf
looked his gratitude silently.
“How wild his looks are!” said Lady Hester. “See how his eyes glance
along the walls, as if some objects were moving before them!” And so
in reality was it. Hanserl's looks were riveted upon the strange and
incongruous assemblage of toys which, either suspended from nails or
ranged on shelves, decorated the sides of the chamber. “Ay,” said he
at last, with a melancholy smile, “thou 'lt have to put off all this
bravery soon, my pretty damsels, and don the black veil and the hood,
for thy master Hans is dying!”
“He is talking to the wax figures,” whispered Kate.
“And ye too, my brave hussars, and ye Uhlaners with your floating
banners, must lower your lances as ye march in the funeral procession,
when Hanserl is dead! Take down the wine-bush from the door, hostess,
and kneel reverently, for the bell is ringing; and here comes the priest
in his alb, and with the pix before him. Hush! they are chanting his
requiem. Ah! yes. Hanserl is away to the far-off land,
Wo sind die Tage lang genug,
Wo sind die Nachte mild.”
“Come away, we do but excite his mind to wanderings,” said Ellen: “so
long as there is light to see these toys, his fancy endows them all with
life and feeling, and his poor brain is never at rest.” The sound of
voices in the outer room at the same moment caught their attention, and
they heard the courier of Lady Hester in deep converse with Mademoiselle
Celestine. He, deploring the two hours he had passed in hunting after
his mistress through the dark streets of the village; and she, not less
eloquently, bewailing the misery of a night spent in that comfortless
cabin. “To visit a wretched dwarf, too! Parbleu! had it been a
rendezvous with some one worth while, but an excursion without an
object, sans emotion meme, it is too bad!”
“Que voulez-vous!” said Monsieur Gregoire, with a shrug of the
shoulders; “she is English!”
“Ah! that is no reason for a vulgar caprice, and I, for one, will not
endure it longer. I cannot do so. Such things compromise one's self.
I 'll give warning to-morrow. What would my poor dear mistress, la
Marquise, say, if she only knew how mes petits talents were employed?”
“Do not be rash, mademoiselle,” interposed the courier; “they are rich,
very rich, and we are going to Italy too, the real pays de Cocagne of
our profession.”
How far his persuasions might have gone in inducing her to reconsider
her determination there is no saying, when they were suddenly
interrupted by Lady Hester's appearance.
Her first care was to ascertain that her absence from the hotel had not
been remarked, her secret, as she loved to fancy it, remained sacred.
Having learned thus much, she listened with a kind of childish pleasure
to the courier's version of all his unhappy wanderings in search of
her, until he at last descried a light, the only one that shone from any
window in the whole village.
As Gregoire had provided himself with a sufficient number of shawls,
cloaks, and clogs, and as the storm had now passed over, Lady Hester
prepared to take her leave, delighted with her whole night's adventure.
There had been excitement enough to make it all she could desire; nor
did she well know whether most to admire her heroism during the storm,
or the success with which she captivated the two sisters; the courage
which planned the expedition, or the grace with which it was executed.
“You'll come and see me, Miss Dalton; mind, I'm always at home.
Remember, Miss Kate Dalton, that they must not deny me to you” said
she, in her most winning of manners. The two girls gave their promise in
bashful diffidence, while she continued,
“You'll say to your papa, too, that Sir Stafford will wait on him
whenever he is able to leave the house. Mr. Onslow, indeed, ought to
call at once; but he is so odd. Never mind, we shall be great friends;
and you 'll bring all your little carving tools and your models with
you, and work in my room. Your sister her embroidery, or her lace, or
her crochet, or whatever it is, or you 'll read German for me, like a
dear child, that will be so delightful. I can't understand a word of it,
but it sounds so soft, and you 'll tell me all it 's about won't you?
And then this poor thing must want for nothing.”
“Nay, madam, he is in no need of anything but kindness. In a land where
such simple habits prevail, Hans Roeckle passes for rich.”
“How strange! how very odd! but I remember that poor Prince of
Stolzenheimer. Papa used to say that he had six cordons, but only one
coat! I believe it was true.”
“Hanserl is better off, madam,” replied Nelly, smiling; “at least as
regards the coats.”
“Tell him, then, that I've been to see him, and am so grieved at his
accident, but that it was all Colonel Haggerstone's fault, a bit of
silly vanity to show how well he could shoot, and I 'm certain it just
comes of being used to the pistols. I never missed when I fired with
Norwood's!”
The utterance of that name seemed to recall her from the discursive
babble. She paused, and for a moment or two she was silent. At last,
turning to the sisters, she reiterated her hopes of a speedy meeting,
and with a cordial pressure of the hand to each, wished her last
good-night, and departed.