A SURPRISE.
It was late upon the following day ere I awoke from the long deep sleep
that closed my labours in Strasbourg. In the confusion of my waking
thoughts, I imagined myself still before a crowded and enthusiastic
audience--the glare of the foot-lights--the crash of the orchestra--the
shouts of "l'Auteur," "l'Auteur," were all before me, and so completely
possessed me, that, as the waiter entered with hot water, I could not
resist the impulse to pull off my night-cap with one hand, and press the
other to my heart in the usual theatrical style of acknowledgments for a
most flattering reception. The startled look of the poor fellow as he
neared the door to escape, roused me from my hallucination, and awakened
me to the conviction that the suspicion of lunacy might be a still
heavier infliction than the personation of Monsieur Meerberger.
With thoughts of this nature, I assumed my steadiest demeanour--ordered
my breakfast in the most orthodox fashion--eat it like a man in his
senses; and when I threw myself back in the wicker conveniency they call
a caleche, and bid adieu to Kehl, the whole fraternity of the inn would
have given me a certificate of sanity before any court in Europe.
"Now for Munich," said I, as we rattled along down the steep street of
the little town. "Now for Munich, with all the speed that first of
postmasters and slowest of men, the Prince of Tour and Taxis, will afford
us."
The future engrossed all my thoughts; and puzzling as my late adventures
had been to account for, I never for a moment reverted to the past. "Is
she to be mine?" was the ever-rising question in my mind. The thousand
difficulties that had crossed my path might long since have terminated a
pursuit where there was so little of promise, did I not cherish the idea
in my heart, that I was fated to succeed. Sheridan answered the ribald
sneers of his first auditory, by saying, "Laugh on; but I have it in me,
and by ____ it shall come out." So I whispered to myself:--Go on Harry.
Luck has been hitherto against you, it is true; but you have yet one
throw of the dice, and something seems to say, a fortunate one in store;
and, if so----, but I cannot trust myself with such anticipations. I am
well aware how little the world sympathises with the man whose fortunes
are the sport of his temperament--that April-day frame of mind is ever
the jest and scoff of those hardier and sterner natures, who, if never
overjoyed by success, are never much depressed by failure. That I have
been cast in the former mould, these Confessions have, alas! plainly
proved; but that I regret it, I fear also, for my character for sound
judgment, I must answer "No."
Better far to be
In utter darkness lying,
Than be blest with light, and see
That light for ever flying
is, doubtless, very pretty poetry, but very poor philosophy. For myself
--and some glimpses of sunshine this fair world has afforded me, fleeting
and passing enough, in all conscience--and yet I am not so ungrateful as
to repine at my happiness, because it was not permanent, as I am thankful
for those bright hours of "Love's young dream," which, if nothing more,
are at least delightful souvenirs. They form the golden thread in the
tangled web of our existence, ever appearing amid the darker surface
around, and throwing a fair halo of brilliancy on what, without it, were
cold, bleak, and barren. No, no--
The light that lies
In woman's eyes,
were it twice as fleeting--as it is ten times more brilliant--than the
forked lightning, irradiates the dark gloom within us for many a long day
after it has ceased to shine upon us. As in boyhood it is the humanizing
influence that tempers the fierce and unruly passions of our nature, so
in manhood it forms the goal to which all our better and higher
aspirations tend, telling us there is something more worthy than gold,
and a more lofty pinnacle of ambition than the praise and envy of our
fellow-men; and we may rest assured, that when this feeling dies within
us, that all the ideal of life dies with it, and nothing remains save the
dull reality of our daily cares and occupations. "I have lived and have
loved," saith Schiller; and if it were not that there seems some
tautology in the phrase, I should say, such is my own motto. If Lady
Jane but prove true--if I have really succeeded--if, in a word--but why
speculate upon such chances?--what pretensions have I?--what reasons to
look for such a prize? Alas! and alas! were I to catechise myself too
closely, I fear that my horses' heads would face towards Calais, and that
I should turn my back upon the only prospect of happiness I can picture
to myself in this world. In reflections such as these, the hours rolled
over, and it was already late at night when we reached the little village
of Merchem. While fresh horses were being got ready, I seized the
occasion to partake of the table d'hote supper of the inn, at the door
of which the diligence was drawn up. Around the long, and not
over-scrupulously clean table, sat the usual assemblage of a German
"Eilwagen"--smoking, dressing salad, knitting, and occasionally picking
their teeth with their forks, until the soup should make its appearance.
Taking my place amid this motley assemblage of mustachioed shopkeepers
and voluminously-petticoated frows, I sat calculating how long human
patience could endure such companionship, when my attention was aroused
by hearing a person near me narrate to his friend the circumstances of my
debut at Strasbourg, with certain marginal notes of his own that not a
little surprised me.
"And so it turned out not to be Meerberger, after all,": said the
listener.
"Of course not," replied the other. "Meerberger's passport was stolen
from him in the diligence by this English escroc, and the consequence
was, that our poor countryman was arrested, the other passport being
found upon him; while the Englishman, proceeding to Strasbourg, took his
benefit at the opera, and walked away with above twelve thousand florins.
"Sappermint" said the other, tossing off his beer. "He must have been a
clever fellow, though, to lead the orchestra in the Franc Macons."
"That is the most astonishing part of all; for they say in Strasbourg
that his performance upon the violin was far finer than Paganini's; but
there seems some secret in it, after all: for Madame Baptiste swears that
he is Meerberger; and in fact the matter is far from being cleared up
--nor can it be till he is apprehended."
"Which shall not be for some time to come," said I to myself, as,
slipping noiselessly from the room, I regained my "caleche," and in ten
minutes more was proceeding on my journey. So much for correct
information, thought I. One thing, however, is certain--to the chance
interchange of passports I owe my safety, with the additional
satisfaction that my little German acquaintance is reaping a pleasant
retribution for all his worry and annoyance of me in the coupe.
Only he who has toiled over the weary miles of a long journey
--exclusively occupied with one thought--one overpowering feeling--can
adequately commiserate my impatient anxiety as the days rolled slowly
over on the long tiresome road that leads from the Rhine to the south of
Germany.
The morning was breaking on the fourth day of my journey as the tall
spires of Munich rose to my view, amid the dull and arid desert of sand
that city is placed in. At last! was my exclamation as the postilion
tapped at the window with his whip, and then pointed towards the city.
At last! Oh! what would be the extacy of my feelings now could I
exchange the torturing anxieties of suspense for the glorious certainty
my heart throbs for; now my journey is nearing its end to see me claim as
my own what I now barely aspire to in the sanguine hope of a heart that
will not despair. But cheer up, Harry. It is a noble stake you play
for; and it is ever the bold gambler that wins. Scarcely was this
reflection made half aloud, when a sudden shock threw me from my seat.
I fell towards the door, which, bursting open, launched me out upon the
road, at the same moment that the broken axletree of the caleche had
upset it on the opposite side, carrying one horse along with it, and
leaving the other with the postillion on his back, kicking and plunging
with all his might. After assisting the frightened fellow to dismount,
and having cut the traces of the restive animal, I then perceived that in
the melee I had not escaped scatheless. I could barely stand; and, on
passing my hand upon my instep, perceived I had sprained my ancle in the
fall. The day was only breaking, no one was in sight, so that after a
few minutes' consideration, the best thing to do, appeared to get the
other horse upon his legs, and despatching the postillion to Munich,
then about three leagues distant, for a carriage, wait patiently on the
road-side for his return. No sooner was the resolve made than carried
into execution; and in less than a quarter of an hour from the moment of
the accident, I was seated upon the bank, watching the retiring figure of
the postillion, as he disappeared down a hill, on his way to Munich.
When the momentary burst of impatience was over, I could not help
congratulating myself, that I was so far fortunate in reaching the end of
my journey ere the mischance befell me. Had it occurred at Stuttgard I
really think that it would have half driven me distracted.
I was not long in my present situation till a number of peasants, with
broad-brimmed hats, and many-buttoned coats, passed on their way to work;
they all saluted me respectfully; but although they saw the broken
carriage, and might well guess at the nature of my accident, yet not
one ever thought of proffering his services, or even indulging curiosity,
by way of inquiry. "How thoroughly German," thought I; "these people are
the Turks of Europe, stupified with tobacco and 'starkes bier.' They
have no thought for any thing but themselves, and their own immediate
occupations." Perceiving at length one whose better dress and more
intelligent look bespoke a rank above the common, I made the effort with
such "platt deutsch," as I could muster, to ask if there were any house
near, where I could remain till the postillion's return? and learned
greatly to my gratification, that by taking the path which led through a
grove of pine trees near me, I should find a chateau; but who was the
proprietor he knew not; indeed the people were only newly come, and he
believed were foreigners. English he thought. Oh, how my heart jumped
as I said, "can they be the Callonbys; are they many in family; are there
ladies--young ladies, among them?"--he knew not. Having hastily arranged
with my new friend to watch the carriage till my return, I took the path
he showed me, and smarting with pain at every step, hurried along as best
I could towards the chateau. I had not walked many minutes, when a break
in the wood gave me a view of the old mansion, and at once dispelled the
illusion that was momentarily gaining upon me. "They could not be the
Callonbys." The house was old; and though it had once been a fine and
handsome structure, exhibited now abundant traces of decay; the rich
cornices which supported the roof had fallen in many places, and lay in
fragments upon the terrace beneath; the portico of the door was half
tumbling; and the architraves of the windows were broken and dismantled;
the tall and once richly ornamented chimnies, were bereft of all their
tracery, and stood bolt upright in all their nakedness above the high
pitched roof. A straggling "jet d'eau" was vigorously fighting its way
amid a mass of creeping shrubs and luxuriant lichens that had grown
around and above a richly carved fountain, and fell in a shower of
sparkling dew upon the rank grass and tall weeds around. The gentle
murmur was the only sound that broke the stillness of the morning.
A few deities in lead and stone, mutilated and broken, stood like the
Genii loci, guarding the desolation about them, where an old,
superannuated peacock, with dropping, ragged tail was the only living
thing to be seen. All bespoke the wreck of what once was great and
noble, and all plainly told me that such could not be the abode of the
Callonbys.
Half doubting that the house were inhabited, and half scrupling if so to
disturb its inmates from their rest, I sat down upon the terrace steps
and fell into a fit of musing on the objects about. That strange
propensity of my countrymen to settle down in remote and unfrequented
spots upon the continent, had never struck me so forcibly; for although
unquestionably there were evident traces of the former grandeur of the
place, yet it was a long past greatness; and in the dilapidated walls,
broken statues, weed grown walls, and dark and tangled pine grove, there
were more hints for sadness than I should willingly surround myself by in
a residence. The harsh grating of a heavy door behind roused me; I
turned and beheld an old man in a species of tarnished and worm-eaten
livery, who, holding the door, again gazed at me with a mingled
expression of fear and curiosity. Having briefly explained the
circumstances which had befallen me, and appealed to the broken caleche
upon the road to corroborate a testimony that I perceived needed such
aid, the old man invited me to enter, saying that his master and mistress
were not risen, but that he would himself give me some breakfast, of
which by this time I stood much in want. The room into which I was
ushered, corresponded well with the exterior of the house. It was large,
bleak, and ill furnished; the ample, uncurtained windows; the cold, white
pannelled walls; the uncarpeted floor; all giving it an air of
uninhabitable misery. A few chairs of the Louis-quatorze taste, with
blue velvet linings, faded and worn, a cracked marble table upon legs
that once had been gilt; two scarcely detectable portraits of a mail-clad
hero and a scarcely less formidable fair, with a dove upon her wrist,
formed the principal articles of furniture in the dismal abode, where so
"triste" and depressing did every thing appear, that I half regretted the
curiosity that had tempted me from the balmy air, and cheerful morning
without, to the gloom and solitude around me.
The old man soon re-appeared with a not despicable cup of "Cafe noir,"
and a piece of bread as large as a teaspoon, and used by the Germans
pretty much in the same way. As the adage of the "gift horse" is of
tolerably general acceptation, I eat and was thankful, mingling my
acknowledgments from time to time with some questions about the owners of
the mansion, concerning whom I could not help feeling curious. The
ancient servitor, however, knew little or nothing of those he served; his
master was the honourable baron; but of his name he was ignorant; his
mistress was young; they had not been many months there; they knew no
one--had no visitors--he had heard they were English, but did not know it
himself; they were "Gute leute," "good people," and that was enough for
him. How strange did all this seem, that two people, young, too, should
separate themselves from all the attractions and pleasures of the world,
and settle down in the dark and dreary solitude, where every association
was of melancholy, every object a text for sad reflections. Lost in
these thoughts I sat down beside the window, and heeded not the old man
as he noiselessly left the room. My thoughts ran on over the strange
phases in which life presents itself, and how little after all external
influences have to do with that peace of mind whose origin is within.
The Indian, whose wigwam is beside the cataract, heeds not its thunders,
nor feels its sprays as they fall in everlasting dews upon him; the Arab
of the desert sees no bleakness in those never ending plains, upon whose
horizon his eye has rested from childhood to age. Who knows but he who
inhabits this lonely dwelling may have once shone in the gay world,
mixing in its follies, tasting of its fascination; and to think that now
--the low murmurs of the pine tops, the gentle rustle of the water
through the rank grass, and my own thoughts combining, overcame me at
length, and I slept--how long I know not; but when I awoke, certain
changes about showed me that some length of time had elapsed; a gay wood
fire was burning on the hearth; an ample breakfast covered the table; and
the broadsheet of the "Times" newspaper was negligently reposing in the
deep hollow of an arm chair. Before I had well thought how to apologize
for the cool insouciance of my intrusion, the door opened, and a tall,
well built man entered; his shooting jacket and gaiters were evidence of
his English origin, while a bushy moustache and most ample "Henri quatre"
nearly concealed features, that still were not quite unknown to me; he
stopped, looked steadily at me, placed a hand on either shoulder, and
calling out, "Harry--Harry Lorrequer, by all that's glorious!" rushed
from the room in a transport of laughter.
If my escape from the gallows depended upon my guessing my friend, I
should have submitted to the last penalty of the law; never was I so
completely nonplussed. Confound him what does he mean by running away
in that fashion. It would serve him right were I to decamp by one of
the windows before he comes back; but hark! some one is approaching.
"I tell you I cannot be mistaken," said the man's voice from without.
"Oh, impossible!" said a lady-like accent that seemed not heard by me for
the first time.
"Judge for yourself; though certainly the last time you saw him may
confuse your memory a little."
"What the devil does he mean by that?" said I, as the door opened, and a
very beautiful young woman came forward, who, after a moment's
hesitation, called out--
"True, indeed, it is Mr. Lorrequer, but he seems to have forgotten me."
The eyes, the lips, the tone of the voice, were all familiar. What! can
it be possible? Her companion who had now entered, stood behind her,
holding his sides with ill-suppressed mirth; and at length called out--
"Harry, my boy, you scarcely were more discomposed the last morning we
parted, when the yellow plush--"
"By Jove it is," said I, as I sprang forward, and seizing my fair friend
in my arms, saluted upon both cheeks my quondam flame, Miss Kamworth, now
the wife of my old friend Jack Waller, of whom I have made due mention in
an early chapter of these Confessions.
Were I given a muster roll of my acquaintance to say which of them might
inhabit this deserted mansion, Jack Waller would certainly have been the
last I should have selected--the gay, lively, dashing, high-spirited
Jack, fond of society, dress, equipage, living greatly in the world,
known to and liked by every body, of universal reputation. Did you want
a cavalier to see your wife through a crush at the opera, a friend in a
duel, a rider for your kicking horse in a stiff steeple chase, a bow oar
for your boat at a rowing match, Jack was your man. Such then was my
surprise at finding him here, that although there were many things I
longed to inquire about, my first question was--
"And how came you here?"
"Life has its vicissitudes," replied Jack, laughing; "many stranger
things have come to pass than my reformation. But first of all let us
think of breakfast; you shall have ample satisfaction for all your
curiosity afterwards."
"Not now, I fear; I am hurrying on to Munich."
"Oh, I perceive; but you are aware that--your friends are not there."
"The Callonbys not at Munich!" said I, with a start.
"No; they have been at Saltzburgh, in the Tyrol, for some weeks; but
don't fret yourself, they are expected to-morrow in time for the court
masquerade; so that until then at least you are my guest."
Overjoyed at this information, I turned my attention towards madame,
whom I found much improved; the embonpoint of womanhood had still farther
increased the charms of one who had always been handsome; and I could not
help acknowledging that my friend Jack was warrantable in any scheme for
securing such a prize.