A NIGHT IN STRASBOURG.
With the dawn of day my miseries recommenced; for after letting down the
sash, and venting some very fervent imprecations upon the postillion for
not going faster than his horses were able, the courier once more
recurred to his last night's blunder, and proceeded very leisurely to
catechise me as to my probable stay at Strasbourg, when I should go from
there, &c. As I was still in doubt what or whom he took me for, I
answered with the greatest circumspection--watching, the while, for any
clue that might lead me to a discovery of myself. Thus, occasionally
evading all pushing and home queries, and sometimes, when hard pressed,
feigning drowsiness, I passed the long and anxious day--the fear of being
overtaken ever mingling with the thoughts that some unlucky admission of
mine might discover my real character to the courier, who, at any post
station, might hand me over to the authorities. Could I only guess at
the part I am performing, thought I, and I might manage to keep up the
illusion; but my attention was so entirely engrossed by fencing off all
his threats, that I could find out nothing. At last, as night drew near,
the thought that we were approaching Strasbourg rallied my spirits,
suggesting an escape from all pursuit, as well as the welcome prospect of
getting rid of my present torturer, who, whenever I awoke from a doze,
reverted to our singular meeting with a pertinacity that absolutely
seemed like malice.
"As I am aware that this is your first visit to Strasbourg," said the
courier, "perhaps I can be of service to you in recommending a hotel.
Put up, I advise you, at the 'Bear'--a capital hotel, and not ten
minutes' distance from the theatre."
I thanked him for the counsel; and, rejoicing in the fact that my
prototype, whoever he might be, was unknown in the city, began to feel
some little hope of getting through this scrape, as I had done so many
others.
"They have been keeping the 'Huguenots' for your arrival, and all
Strasbourg is impatient for your coming."
"Indeed!" said I, mumbling something meant to be modest. "Who the devil
am I, then, to cause all this fracas? Heaven grant, not the new
'prefect,' or the commander of the forces."
"I am told the 'Zauberflotte' is your favourite opera?"
"I can't say that I ever heard it--that is, I mean that I could say--well
got up."
Here I floundered on having so far forgot myself as to endanger every
thing.
"How very unfortunate! Well, I hope you will not long have as much to
say. Meanwhile, here we are--this is the 'Bear.'"
We rattled into the ample porte cochere of a vast hotel--the postillion
cracking his enormous whip, and bells ringing on every side, as if the
crown prince of Russia had been the arrival, and not a poor sub. in the
__th.
The courier jumped out, and running up to the landlord, whispered a few
words in his ear, to which the other answered by a deep "ah, vraiment!"
and then saluted me with an obsequiousness that made my flesh quake.
"I shall make 'mes hommages' in the morning," said the courier, as he
drove off at full speed to deliver his despatches, and left me to my own
devices to perform a character, without even being able to guess what it
might be. My passport, too, the only thing that could throw any light
upon the affair, he had taken along with him, promising to have it vised,
and save me any trouble.
Of all my difficulties and puzzling situations in life, this was
certainly the worst; for however often my lot had been to personate
another, yet hitherto I had had the good fortune to be aware of what and
whom I was performing. Now I might be any body from Marshal Soult to
Monsieur Scribe; one thing only was certain, I must be a "celebrity."
The confounded pains and trouble they were taking to receive me, attested
that fact, and left me to the pleasing reflection that my detection,
should it take place, would be sure of attracting a very general
publicity. Having ordered my supper from the landlord, with a certain
air of reserve, sufficient to prevent even an Alsace host from obtruding
any questions upon me, I took my opportunity to stroll from the inn down
to the river side. There lay the broad, rapid Rhine, separating me, by
how narrow a gulph, from that land, where, if I once arrived, my safety
was certain. Never did that great boundary of nations strike me so
forcibly, as now when my own petty interests and fortunes were at stake.
Night was fast settling upon the low flat banks of the stream, and
nothing stirred, save the ceaseless ripple of the river. One fishing
barque alone was on the water. I hailed the solitary tenant of it, and
after some little parley, induced him to ferry me over. This, however,
could only be done when the night was farther advanced--it being against
the law to cross the river except at certain hours, and between two
established points, where officers of the revenue were stationed. The
fisherman was easily bribed, however, to evade the regulation, and only
bargained that I should meet him on the bank before daybreak. Having
settled this point to my satisfaction, I returned to my hotel in better
spirits; and with a Strasbourg pate, and a flask of Nierensteiner, drank
to my speedy deliverance.
How to consume the long, dreary hours between this time and that of my
departure, I knew not; for though greatly fatigued, I felt that sleep was
impossible; the usual resource of a gossip with the host was equally out
of the question; and all that remained was the theatre, which I happily
remembered was not far from the hotel.
It was an opera night, and the house was crowded to excess; but with some
little management, I obtained a place in a box near the stage. The piece
was "Les Franc Macons," which was certainly admirably supported, and drew
down from the audience--no mean one as judges of music--the loudest
thunders of applause. As for me, the house was a great a curiosity as
the opera. The novel spectacle of some hundred (thousand?) people
relishing and appreciating the highest order of musical genius, was
something totally new and surprising to me. The curtain at length fell
upon the fifth act.
And now the deafening roar of acclamation was tremendous; and amid a
perfect shout of enthusiasm, the manager announced the opera for the
ensuing evening. Scarcely had this subsided, when a buzz ran through the
house; at first subdued, but gradually getting louder--extending from the
boxes to the balcone--from the balcone to the parterre--and finally even
to the galleries. Groups of people stood upon the benches, and looked
fixedly in one part of the house; then changed and regarded as eagerly
the other.
What can this mean? thought I. Is the theatre on fire? Something surely
has gone wrong!
In this conviction, with the contagious spirit of curiosity, I mounted
upon a seat, and looked about me on every side; but unable still to catch
the object which seemed to attract the rest, as I was about to resume my
place, my eyes fell upon a well-known face, which in an instant I
remembered was that of my late fellow-traveller the courier. Anxious to
avoid his recognition, I attempted to get down at once; but before I
could accomplish it, the wretch had perceived and recognised me; and I
saw him, even with a gesture of delight, point me out to some friends
beside him.
"Confound the fellow," muttered I; "I must leave this at once, or I shall
be involved in some trouble."
Scarcely was my my resolve taken, when a new burst of voices arose from
the pit--the words "l'Auteur," "l'Auteur," mingling with loud cries for
"Meerberger," "Meerberger," to appear. So, thought I, it seems the great
composer is here. Oh, by Jove! I must have a peep at him before I go.
So, leaning over the front rail of the box, I looked anxiously about to
catch one hasty glimpse of one of the great men of his day and country.
What was my surprise, however, to perceive that about two thousand eyes
were firmly rivetted upon the box I was seated in; while about half the
number of tongues called out unceasingly, "Mr. Meerberger--vive
Meerberger--vive l'Auteur des Franc Macons--vive Franc Macons," &c.
Before I could turn to look for the hero of the scene, my legs were taken
from under me, and I felt myself lifted by several strong men and held
out in front of the box, while the whole audience, rising en masse,
saluted me--yes, me, Harry Lorrequer--with a cheer that shook the
building. Fearful of precipitating myself into the pit beneath, if I
made the least effort, and half wild with terror and amazement, I stared
about like a maniac, while a beautiful young woman tripped along the edge
of the box, supported by her companion's hand, and placed lightly upon my
brow a chaplet of roses and laurel. Here the applause was like an
earthquake.
"May the devil fly away with half of ye," was my grateful response, to as
full a cheer of applause as ever the walls of the house re-echoed to.
"On the stage--on the stage!" shouted that portion of the audience who,
occupying the same side of the house as myself, preferred having a better
view of me; and to the stage I was accordingly hurried, down a narrow
stair, through a side scene, and over half the corps de ballet who were
waiting for their entree. Kicking, plunging, buffetting like a madman,
they carried me to the "flats," when the manager led me forward to the
foot lights, my wreath of flowers contrasting rather ruefully with my
bruised cheeks and torn habiliments. Human beings, God be praised, are
only capable of certain efforts--so that one-half the audience were
coughing their sides out, while the other were hoarse as bull-frogs from
their enthusiasm in less than five minutes.
"You'll have what my friend Rooney calls a chronic bronchitis for this,
these three weeks," said I, "that's one comfort," as I bowed my way back
to the "practicable" door, through which I made my exit, with the
thousand faces of the parterre shouting my name, or, as fancy dictated,
that of one of "my" operas. I retreated behind the scenes, to encounter
very nearly as much, and at closer quarters, too, as that lately
sustained before the audience. After an embrace of two minutes duration
from the manager, I ran the gauntlet from the prima donna to the last
triangle of the orchestra, who cut away a back button of my coat as a
"souvenir." During all this, I must confess, very little acting was
needed on my part. They were so perfectly contented with their
self-deception, that if I had made an affidavit before the mayor--if
there be such a functionary in such an insane town--they would not have
believed me. Wearied and exhausted at length, by all I had gone through,
I sat down upon a bench, and, affecting to be overcome by my feelings,
concealed my face in my handkerchief. This was the first moment of
relief I experienced since my arrival; but it was not to last long, for
the manager, putting down his head close to my ear, whispered--
"Monsieur Meerberger, I have a surprise for you--such as you have not had
for some time, I venture to say"--
"I defy you on this head," thought I. "If they make me out king Solomon
now, it will not amaze me"--
"And when I tell you my secret," continued he, "you will acknowledge I
cannot be of a very jealous disposition. Madame Baptiste has just told
me she knew you formerly, and that--she--that is, you--were--in fact, you
understand--there had been--so to say--a little 'amourette' between you."
I groaned in spirit as I thought, now am I lost without a chance of
escape--the devil take her reminiscences.
"I see," continued le bon mari, "you cannot guess of whom I speak; but
when I tell you of Amelie Grandet, your memory will, perhaps, be better."
"Amelie Grandet!" said I, with a stage start. I need not say that I had
never heard the name before. "Amelie Grandet here!"
"Yes, that she is," said the manager, rubbing his hands; "and my wife,
too"--
"Married!--Amelie Grandet married! No, no; it is impossible--I cannot
believe it. But were it true--true, mark me--for worlds would I not meet
her."
"Comment il est drole," said the manager, soliloquising aloud; "for my
wife takes it much easier, seeing they never met each other since they
were fifteen."
"Ho, ho!" thought I, "the affair is not so bad either--time makes great
changes in that space." "And does she still remember me?" said I, in a
very Romeo-in-the-garden voice.
"Why, so far as remembering the little boy that used to play with her in
the orchard at her mother's cottage near Pirna, and with whom she used to
go boating upon the Elbe, I believe the recollection is perfect. But
come along--she insists upon seeing you, and is this very moment waiting
supper in our room for you."
"A thorough German she must be," thought I, "with her sympathies and her
supper--her reminiscences and her Rhine wine hunting in couples through
her brain."
Summoning courage from the fact of our long absence from each other, I
followed the manager through a wilderness of pavilions, forests, clouds
and cataracts, and at length arrived at a little door, at which he
knocked gently.
"Come in," said a soft voice inside. We opened, and beheld a very
beautiful young woman, in Tyrolese costume. She was to perform in the
afterpiece--her low boddice and short scarlet petticoat displaying the
most perfect symmetry of form and roundness of proportion. She was
dressing her hair before a low glass as we came in, and scarcely turned
at our approach; but in an instant, as if some sudden thought had struck
her, she sprung fully round, and looking at me fixedly for above a
minute--a very trying one for me--she glanced at her husband, whose
countenance plainly indicated that she was right, and calling out,
"C'est lui--c'est bien lui," threw herself into my arms, and sobbed
convulsively.
"If this were to be the only fruits of my impersonation," thought I, "it
is not so bad--but I am greatly afraid these good people will find out a
wife and seven babies for me before morning."
Whether the manager thought that enough had been done for stage effect,
I know not; but he gently disengaged the lovely Amelie, and deposited her
upon a sofa, to a place upon which she speedily motioned me by a look
from a pair of very seducing blue eyes.
"Francois, mon cher, you must put off La Chaumiere. I can't play
to-night."
"Put it off! But only think of the audience, ma mie--they will pull down
the house."
"C'est possible," said she, carelessly. "If that give them any pleasure,
I suppose they must be indulged; but I, too, must have a little of my own
way. I shall not play."
The tone this was said in--the look--the easy gesture of command--no less
than the afflicted helplessness of the luckless husband, showed me that
Amelie, however docile as a sweetheart, had certainly her own way as
wife.
While Le cher Francois then retired, to make his proposition to the
audience, of substituting something for the Chaumiere--the "sudden
illness of Madame Baptiste having prevented her appearance,"--we began to
renew our old acquaintance, by a thousand inquiries from that long-past
time, when we were sweethearts and lovers.
"You remember me then so well?" said I.
"As of yesterday. You are much taller, and your eyes darker; but
still--there is something. You know, however, I have been expecting to
see you these two days; and tell me frankly how do you find me looking?"
"More beautiful, a thousand times more beautiful than ever--all save in
one thing, Amelie."
"And that is--"
"You are married."
"How you jest. But let us look back. Do you ever think on any of our
old compacts?" Here she pulled a leaf from a rose bud in her bouquet,
and kissed it. "I wager you have forgotten that."
How I should have replied to this masonic sign, God knows; but the
manager fortunately entered, to assure us that the audience had kindly
consented not to pull down the house, but to listen to a five act tragedy
instead, in which he had to perform the principal character. "So, then,
don't wait supper, Amelie; but take care of Monsieur Meerberger till my
return."
Thus, once more were we left to our souvenirs, in which, whenever hard
pushed myself, I regularly carried the war into the enemy's camp, by
allusions to incidents, which I need not observe had never occurred.
After a thousand stories of our early loves, mingled with an occasional
sigh over their fleeting character--now indulging a soft retrospect of
the once happy past--now moralising on the future--Amelie and I chatted
away the hours till the conclusion of the tragedy.
By this time, the hour was approaching for my departure; so, after a very
tender leave-taking with my new friend and my old love, I left the
theatre, and walked slowly along to the river.
"So much for early associations," thought I; "and how much better pleased
are we ever to paint the past according to our own fancy, than to
remember it as it really was. Hence all the insufferable cant about
happy infancy, and 'the glorious schoolboy days,' which have generally no
more foundation in fact than have the 'Chateaux en Espagne' we build up
for the future. I wager that the real Amant d'enfance, when he arrives,
is not half so great a friend with the fair Amelie as his unworthy
shadow. At the same time, I had just as soon that Lady Jane should have
no 'premiers amours' to look back upon, except such as I have performed a
character in."
The plash of oars near me broke up my reflections, and the next moment
found me skimming the rapid Rhine, as I thought for the last time. What
will they say in Strasbourg to-morrow? How will they account for the
mysterious disappearance of Monsieur Meerberger? Poor Amelie Grandet!
For so completely had the late incidents engrossed my attention, that I
had for the moment lost sight of the most singular event of all--how I
came to be mistaken for the illustrious composer.