Chapter XXI: Section EIGHT (1)

The Serapion Brethren had assembled for another meeting.

"I must be greatly mistaken," said Lothair, "and be anything but the possessor of a native genius (supplemented by assiduous practice) for physiognomy--such as I believe that I do possess, if I do not read very distinctly in the face of every one of us (not excepting my own, which I see magically gleaming at me in yonder mirror), that our minds are all fully charged with matter of importance, and only waiting for the word of command to fire it off. I am rather afraid that more than one of us may have got shut up in one or other of his productions one of those eccentric little firework devils which may come fizzling out, dart backwards and forwards about the room, banging and jumping, and not manage to pop out of the window until it has managed to give us all a good singeing. I even dread a continuation of our last conversation, and may Saint Serapion avert that from us! But lest we should fall immediately into those wild, seething waters, and that we may commence our meeting in a duly calm and rational frame of mind, I move that Sylvester begins by reading to us that story which we could not hear on the last occasion because there was no time left."

This proposal was unanimously agreed to.

"The woof which I have spun," said Sylvester, producing a manuscript, "is composed of many threads, of the most various shades, and the question in my mind is whether--on the whole--you will think it has proper colour and keeping. It was my idea that I should, perhaps, put some flesh and blood into what I must admit, is a rather feeble body, by contributing to it something out of a great, mysterious period--to which it really does but serve as a sort of framework."

Sylvester read:--

THE MUTUAL INTERDEPENDENCE OF THINGS.

A tumble over a root as a portion of the system of the universe--Mignon
and the gypsy from Lorca, in connection with General Palafox--A
Paradise opened at Countess Walther Puck's.

"No!" said Ludwig to his friend Euchar, "no! There is no such lubberly, uncouth attendant on the goddess of Fortune as Herr Tieck has been pleased to introduce in the prologue to his second part of 'Fortunat,' who, in the course of his gyrations, upsets tables, smashes ink-bottles, and goes blundering into the President's carriage, hurting his head and his arm. No! For there is no such thing as chance. I hold to the opinion that the entire universe, and all that it contains, and all that comes to pass in it--the complete macrocosm--is like some large, very ingeniously constructed piece of clockwork-mechanism, which would necessarily come to a stop in a moment if any hostile principle, operating wholly involuntarily, were permitted to come in contact--in an opposing sense--with the very smallest of its wheels."

"I don't know, friend Ludwig," said Euchar, laughing, "how it is that you have come, all of a sudden, to adopt this wretched, mechanical theory--which is as old as the hills, and out of date long ago--disfiguring and distorting Goethe's beautiful notion of the red thread which runs all through our lives--in which, when we think about it in our more lucid moments, we recognize that higher Power which works above, and in us."

"I have the greatest objection to that simile," said Ludwig. "It is taken from the British navy. All through the smallest rope in their ships (I know this, of course, from the Wahlverwandschaften), runs a small red thread, which shows that the rope is Government property. No, my dear friend! Whatever happens is pre-ordained, from the beginning, as an essential necessity, just because it does happen. And this is the Mutual Interdependence of Things, upon which rests the principle of all being, of all existence. Because, as soon as you----"

However, it is necessary, at this point, to explain to the courteous reader that as Ludwig and Euchar were thus talking together, they were walking in an alley of the beautiful park at W----. It was a Sunday. Twilight was beginning to fall, the evening breeze was whispering in the branches which, reviving after the heat of the day, were exhaling gentle sighs. Among the woods were sounding the happy voices of townsfolk in their Sunday clothes, out for the afternoon, some of them lying in the sweet grass enjoying their simple supper, and others refreshing themselves in the various restaurants, in accordance with the winnings of their week.

Just as Ludwig was going on to explain more fully the profound theory of the mutual interdependence of things, he stumbled over the thick root of a tree, which (as he always wore spectacles) he had not seen; and he measured his length on the ground.

"_That_ was comprehended in the mutual interdependence of things," said Euchar gravely and quietly, lifting up his friend's hat and stick, and giving him his hand to help him on to his legs again. "If you had not pitched over in that absurd manner the world would have come to a stop at once."

But Ludwig felt his right knee so stiff that he was obliged to limp, and his nose was bleeding freely. This induced him to take his friend's advice and go into the nearest restaurant, though he generally avoided these places, particularly on Sundays. For the jubilations of the Sunday townsfolk were exceptionally displeasing to him, giving him a sensation of being in places which were not by any means _convenable_--at all events for people of his position.

In the front of this restaurant the people had formed a deep, many-tinted ring, from the interior of which there Bounded the tones of a guitar and a tambourine. Ludwig, assisted by his friend, went limping into the house, holding his handkerchief to his face. And he begged so pitifully for water, and a little drop of wine-vinegar, that the landlady, much alarmed, thought he must be at the point of death. Whilst he was being served with what he required, Euchar (on whom the sounds of the guitar and tambourine exercised an irresistible fascination) crept forth, and endeavoured to penetrate into the closed circle. He belonged to that restricted class of Nature's favourites whose exterior and whole being ensure a kindly reception everywhere, and in all circumstances. So that on this occasion some journeymen mechanics (people who are not usually much given to politeness of a Sunday) at once made room for him when he asked what was going forward, so that he as well as themselves might have a look at the strange little creature who was dancing and playing so prettily and cleverly. And a curious and delightful scene displayed itself to Euchar, which fettered all his mind and attention.

In the middle of the ring a girl with her eyes blindfolded was dancing the fandango amongst nine eggs, arranged three by three behind each other on the ground, and playing a tambourine as she danced. At one side stood a little deformed man, with an ill-looking gypsy face, playing the guitar. The girl who was dancing seemed to be about fifteen. She was oddly dressed in a red bodice, gold-embroidered, and a short white skirt trimmed with ribbons of various colours. Her figure and all her motions were the very ideal of elegance and grace. She brought the most marvellous variety of sounds out of her tambourine. Sometimes she would raise it above her head, and then hold it out in front of her or behind her, with her arms stretched out, in the most picturesque attitudes. Now it would sound like a far-off drum; now like the melancholy cooing of the turtle-dove, and presently like the distant roar of the approaching storm. All this was accompanied in the most delightful manner by the tinkling of the clear, harmonious bells. And the little guitar-player by no means fell short of her in virtuosity; for he, too, had quite a style of his own of treating his instrument--making the dance melody (which was a most characteristic one, wholly out of the common run of such things) predominate at times, loud and clear, and hushing it down at other times into a mysterious piano, striking the strings with the palms of his hand (as the Spaniards do in producing that peculiar effect), and presently dashing out bright-sounding, full harmonies. The tambourine went on _crescendo_, as the guitar-strings clanged louder and louder, and the girl's boundings increased in their scope in a similar ratio. She would set down her foot within a hair's-breadth of the eggs with the most complete certainty and confidence, so that the spectators could not help crying out, thinking that one of those fragile things must infallibly be broken. Her black hair had fallen down, and it flew about her head, giving her much the effect of a Mænad. The little fellow cried out to her in Spanish, "Stop!" And on this, while still going on with her dance, she lightly touched each of the eggs, so that they rolled together into a heap; upon which, with a loud beat on her tambourine and a forcible chord on the guitar, she came to a sudden standstill, as if banned there by some spell. The dance was done.

The little fellow went up to her and undid the cloth which bound her eyes. She rolled up her hair, took the tambourine, and went round amongst the spectators, with downcast looks, to collect their contributions. Not one had slunk off out of the way. Every one, with a face of pleasure, put a piece of money into that tambourine. When she came to Euchar, and as he was going to put something into it, she made a sign of refusal.

"May not I give you anything?" he said.

She looked up at him, and the glowing fire of her loveliest of eyes flashed through the night of her black silken lashes.

"The old man," she said gravely--almost solemnly--in her deep voice, and with her foreign accent, "told me that you, sir, did not come till the best part of my dance was done; and so I ought not to take anything from you." Thus speaking she made Euchar a pretty courtesy, and went to the little man, taking the guitar from his hands, and going with him to a table at some distance.

When Euchar looked round him, he perceived Ludwig sitting not far off, between two respectable townsfolk, with a great glass of beer before him, making the most earnest signs. Euchar went to him, saying, with a laugh, "Why, Ludwig, when did you take to drinking beer?" Ludwig, however, made signals to him, and said, in meaning accents, "What do you say? Beer is one of the most delicious of drinks, and I delight in it above all things--when it is so magnificent as it is here."

The citizens rose, and Ludwig shook hands with them most politely, putting on a look which was half-pleased, half-annoyed, when they expressed at parting their regret for his mishap.

"You are always getting me into hot water with your want of tact," he said. "If I hadn't allowed myself to be treated to a glass of beer, if I hadn't managed to gulp the abominable trash down--those sturdy counter-jumpers would probably have been offended, and would have looked upon me as one of the profane. Then you must needs come and bring me into discredit, when I had been playing my part so very nicely."

"Well," said Euchar, "if you had been bowed out of their company, or even come in for a little touch of cudgelling, wouldn't it all have been a part of the mutual interdependence of things? But just listen as I tell you what a charming little drama your trip over the tree-root (predestined, according to the conditions of the Macrocosmus, to occur) gave me an opportunity of seeing."

And he told him about the charming egg dance by the Spanish girl. "Mignon!" cried Ludwig enthusiastically. "Heavenly, divine Mignon!"

The guitarist was sitting not far off, at a table, counting the receipts, and the girl was standing beside him, squeezing an orange into a glass of water. Presently the old man put the money together, and nodded to the girl with eyes sparkling with gladness, whilst she handed him the orange-water, and stroked his wrinkled cheeks. He gave a disagreeable, cackling laugh, and gulped down the liquid with every indication of thirst. The girl sat down and began tinkling on the guitar. "Oh Mignon!" cried Ludwig again. "Heavenly, divine Mignon! Ah, I shall rescue her, like another Wilhelm Meister, from the thraldom of this accursed miscreant who holds her in bondage!" "How do you know," asked Euchar, "that this little hunchback is an accursed miscreant?" "Cold creature!" answered Ludwig. "Cold, passionless creature, you understand nothing, you have no sympathy with anything, no sense of the genial, the imaginative. Don't you see--don't you comprehend how every description of the most insulting contempt, envious feeling, wickedness, ill-temper, and avarice of the vilest kind gleam out of the green, cat's-eyes of that little gypsy abortion--are legible in every wrinkle of his diabolical-looking face? Yes! I am going to rescue that beautiful child out of the clutches--the Satanic clutches--of that brown monster! If I could only have a talk with her, the little charmer!" "Nothing is easier than that," said Euchar, and he signed to her to come near.

The girl put the instrument down, came near, and made a reverence, casting her eyes modestly on the ground. "Mignon!" cried Ludwig. "Mignon! Sweet, beautiful creature!"

"I am called Emanuela," she said.

"And that horrible ruffian there," Ludwig went on, "where did he steal you from? How did you get into his clutches, poor thing?"

The girl lifted her eyes, and sending a beaming, serious glance through and through Ludwig, replied. "I don't understand you, sir. I don't know what you mean--why you ask me this?"

"You are a Spaniard, my child," Euchar began.

"I am," she answered, her voice trembling. "I am, indeed. You see me--you hear me. Why should I deny it?"

"Then, of course, you can play the guitar and sing a song?"

She covered her eyes with her hand, and said, in a scarce audible whisper, "Ah! I should like to play and sing _you_ one. But my songs are burning hot; and here it is so cold--so cold!

"Do you know," said Euchar, speaking in Spanish, and in a heightened tone, "the song _Laurel immortal_?"

She clapped her hands, raised her glance to Heaven, tears filled her eyes; she flew to the table, seized the guitar, sprang, rather than walked back to the two friends, placed herself before Euchar, and began

"Laurel immortal al gran Palafox,
Gloria da España, de Francia terror!"

The expression which she put into this song was indescribable. From the deepest pain of death there flamed forth the most fiery enthusiasm--each note seemed to be a lightning flash which must shiver every ice-covering of the chilled breast. As for Ludwig he was--to use a familiar expression--ready to jump out of his skin with sheer rapture. He interrupted her singing with boisterous "Bravas!" "Bravissimas!" and a hundred other such expressions of approbation.

"Do be so kind, my dear fellow, as to make a little less noise!" Euchar said. "Oh, of course," he answered, "you unimpressionable people are never in the least affected by music!" However he did what Euchar had asked him to do.

When she had finished, she went and leant on a tree, as if wearied. And as she let the chords go on sounding more and more softly till they died away in a _pianissimo_, great tears were falling upon the instrument.

"You are in some need, my poor, pretty child," said Euchar, in the tone which comes only from a deeply moved heart. "Although I did not see the beginning of your dance, you have more than made up for that by your song, and you must not refuse to accept something from me."

He had taken out a little purse in which bright ducats were shining, and was handing it to her as she came closer to him. She fixed her gaze upon his hand, seized it in both her own, and falling on her knees with a loud cry of "_Oh, Dios!_" covered it with the warmest kisses. "Ah!" cried Ludwig, "nothing but gold is worthy to touch that beautiful little hand." And he asked Euchar if he could give him change for a thaler, as he had no smaller money about him.

Meanwhile the hunchback had come limping up, and he lifted the guitar, which Emanuela had dropped on the ground, making many smiling reverences to Euchar, supposing that he had been exceedingly generous to the girl, from the motion with which she had thanked him.

"Scoundrel--miscreant!" growled Ludwig.

The man started in alarm, and said, in a lamentable tone, "Ah, sir, why are you so angry? Don't condemn poor Biagio Cubas--a good, respectable, honest man. Don't judge me by the colour of my skin, or by the ugliness of my face. I know I _have_ an ugly face. I was born in Lorca, and am every bit as good a Christian as you are yourself."

The girl jumped up hastily, crying out to the old man in Spanish, "Come away, little father, as quickly as you can." And they both hurried off, Cubas continuing to make various odd reverences, and Emanuela fixing upon Euchar the most soul-full gaze of which her beautiful eyes were capable.

When the strange couple were lost among the trees, Euchar said, "You must see, do you not, that you were in much too great a hurry to condemn that little cobold in your own mind? He _has_ a touch or so of the gypsy about him. As he says himself, he comes from Lorca. And Lorca is an old Moorish town, and the Lorcanese (good enough folks, all the same) bear undeniable traces of their ancestry. So there is nothing which they take in worse part than to have this imputed to them, which is why they keep perpetually declaring that they are Christians of ever so old standing. This was the case with this little fellow, in whose face his Moorish origin is certainly reflected to the extent of positive caricature."

"No matter!" cried Ludwig. "I stick to my opinion; the man is a tremendous scoundrel, and I will leave no stone unturned till I deliver my charming, beautiful Mignon from his clutches."

"If you insist on thinking the little fellow a scoundrel," said Euchar, "I can't say that I have very much confidence, for my part, in the charming beautiful Mignon."

"What!" cried Ludwig. "Not have confidence in that divine little creature, whose eyes beam with the purest, most innocent truth and tenderness? However, there we see the icy, prosaic nature wholly devoid of feeling for all such matters, distrustful of everything which doesn't fit all in a moment into the compartments, the grooves of his everyday business."

"Well, don't get so excited about it, my dear, enthusiastic friend," said Euchar quietly. "You will probably say that I have no tangible reason for distrusting the beautiful Mignon. But my reason is that I have this instant discovered that as she was kissing my hand she took away that little ring with the curious stone (which you know I always wear) from my finger. And I am greatly distressed to lose it, because it is a souvenir of a period of my life which was full of intense interest and importance."

"In heaven's name," said Ludwig, in an awestruck whisper, "it is not possible, surely! No, no!" he cried, loudly and excitedly, "it cannot be possible! That lovely face could not deceive: that eye--that glance--You must have dropped the ring--let it fall."

"Well--" said Euchar, "we shall see. But it is getting dark: let us get back to the town."

All the way home, Ludwig did not cease talking of Emanuela, calling her by the sweetest names, and declaring that he was quite certain--from a peculiar glance which she had cast on him at parting--that he had made a deep impression on her--a sort of event which generally happened to him in similar cases--_i.e._ when the romantic element entered amongst the circumstances of everyday life. Euchar did not interrupt him by so much as a syllable; but he worked himself up more and more--till, just at the town gate (where the drummer of the guard was beginning to beat the tattoo), he screamed into his friend's ear (a process necessitated by the row made by the military virtuoso on his instrument), as he cast himself upon his bosom, that he was most deeply in love with the sweet Mignon, and that the sole object of his life from thenceforth was to find her again, and free her from the bondage of the atrocious old monster.

There was a servant in a handsome livery standing at Ludwig's door, who handed him a card of invitation. As soon as he had read it, and sent the servant away, he embraced his friend as frantically as he had done at the town gate, and cried, "Oh, Euchar! call me the most fortunate--the most enviable--of mortals. Open your heart! Form some slight idea of my happiness! Mingle your tears of joy with mine!"

"What can there be of such a marvellously fortunate description announced to you on a card?" inquired Euchar.

"Don't be startled," murmured Ludwig, "when I open to you the gates of the magically brilliant Paradise of a thousand delights, which will unfold itself to me by the virtue of this card here."

"Well," said Euchar, "I am sure I shall be very glad indeed, to hear what the piece of good fortune is which is coming to you."

"Hear it," cried Ludwig; "learn it--understand it! Be amazed at it--doubt of it--cry out--shriek--shout! I have got an invitation to the supper and ball to-morrow evening at Countess Walther Puck's! Victorine! Victorine! Sweet, lovely Victorine!"

"And how about sweet, lovely Mignon?" asked Euchar. But Ludwig groaned forth, in the most pathetic tones, "Victorine! My life!" and bolted into his quarters.

THE FRIENDS, LUDWIG AND EUCHAR. EVIL DREAM OF THE LOSS, AT PIQUET, OF
A PAIR OF HANDSOME LEGS. WOES OF AN ENTHUSIASTIC DANCER. COMFORT,
HOPE, AND MONSIEUR COCHENILLE.

It may be expedient to tell the courteous reader a little more concerning this pair of friends, so that he may form, at all events, to some extent, a well-grounded opinion as to each of them.

Both had the title of Baron. Educated together, and having grown up in the most intimate friendship, they could not part even when the lapse of years brought to light most striking dissimilarities in their mental characteristics, which became more and more developed as time went on. In his childhood, Euchar belonged to the class of "good, well-behaved children," so-called, because in "society" they will sit for hours in the same spot, ask no questions, never want anything, and so forth, and then in due course, develop into wooden blockheads. With Euchar the case was different. If when, in his capacity of a "good, well-behaved" boy he chanced to be sitting with bent head and downcast eyes, some one spoke to him, he would start in alarm, stammer, and falter in his speech, often even shed tears, and seem to have been awakened from a deep dream. When alone, he appeared to be a totally different being. If watched without his being aware of it, he would be talking loudly and eagerly, as if with several people about him, and he would "act" whole stories--which he had heard or read--as if they were dramas, so that tables, cupboards, chairs, whatever happened to be in the room with him, had to represent towns, forests, villages, and dramatis personæ. But when he had an opportunity of being alone in the open air, a special ecstasy seemed to inspire him. Then he would jump, dance, and shout through the woods, putting his arms about the trees, throwing himself down into the grass--and so forth. In any sort of game played by boys of his own standing, he was most unwilling to take part, and was consequently looked upon as being "funky," and a creature who had no "pluck," for he would never take his share in anything where there was any chance of risk--such as a big jump, or a difficult piece of climbing. But here, also, it was curious that, when at the end nobody had had the pluck to do the thing, Euchar would wait till they were all gone, and then, when he was by himself, would do with the utmost ease, what they had all only _wanted_ to do. For instance, if the idea was to get up a high, slender tree, and nobody had managed to do it, as soon as all their backs were turned, and Euchar was alone, he would be at the top of it in a few seconds. Seeming outwardly to be cold and apathetic, he really threw himself into everything with all his soul, and a persevering steadfastness such as only belongs to strong characters. And when--as was often the case--that which he felt keenly came to the surface, it did so with such irresistible force, that everyone who had any knowledge of such matters was amazed at the depth of feeling which lay hidden in the boy's nature. Many schoolmasters, and tutors, who had to do with him, could make neither head nor tail of him as a pupil, and there was only one of them--the last--who said the boy was a poet: at which his papa was very much distressed, thinking that the boy had inherited his mother's temperament, and she had always had the most terrible headaches whenever she went to a party or any social function. However, the papa's most intimate friend, a smooth-spoken young chamberlain, assured him that the schoolmaster in question was an ass to say what he did, and utterly mistaken, seeing that the blood in the veins of young Euchar was noble, so that, being by birth an aristocrat, he never could be in any danger of being capable of poetry. And this was very consoling to the old gentleman. How the lad developed with those dispositions may be readily inferred. Nature had imprinted on his face the unmistakable signet with which she stamps her prime favourites. But Mother Nature's favourites are those who have the power of completely realising the illimitable love of their kind mother, and of understanding the depths of her being: and they are only understood by those who are favourites themselves. Consequently Euchar was not understood by the general crowd--was considered unimpressionable, cold, incapable of the due degree of ecstasy on the subject of the newest tragedy at the theatre--and was stigmatized as a prosaic creature. Above all, a whole coterie of ladies of the most refined intellectual development and culture, who might well be credited with the power of insight on this particular subject, could by no means understand how it was possible that that Apollo's brow, those sharply curving, masterful eyebrows, those eyes which darted such a darksome fire, those softly pouting lips, should belong to a mere lifeless image. And yet all this seemed to be the case. For Euchar did not know in the least degree how to say nothing, about nothing, in words which meant nothing, to pretty ladies, and look, whilst so-doing, like a Rinaldo in bonds.

Matters were quite different with Ludwig. He belonged to the race of those wild, uncontrollable boys of whom people are in the habit of predicting that the world will not be wide enough for them. It was he who always invented the maddest and most adventurous features of all games. It was naturally to be expected that he would be the one of all others to "come to grief" on those occasions: but he was always the one who came out of them safe and sound, because he had the knack of keeping himself in a safe spot during the carrying out of the adventure--if he did not manage to slip out of it altogether. He took up every subject rapidly, with the utmost enthusiasm--and dropped it again as quickly. So that he learned a great many things, but did not learn much. When he came to young man's estate, he wrote very pretty verses, played passably on several instruments, drew very nice pictures, spoke with a certain degree of correctness and fluency several languages, and was, consequently, a paragon of up-bringing. He could get into the most surprising ecstasies about everything, and give utterance to the same in the most magniloquent words. But it was with him as with the drum--which gives forth a sound which is loud in proportion to its emptiness. The impression made upon him by everything grand, beautiful, sublime, resembled the outside tickling which excites the skin without affecting the inner fibres. Ludwig belonged to that class of people who say, "I want to do" so-and-so; but who never get beyond this principle of "wanting to do" into action. But, as in this world, those who announce, with the proper amount of loudness and emphasis, what they "intend," or are "going" to do, are held in far greater consideration than those who quietly go and "do" the things in question, it of course happened that Ludwig was considered "capable" of performing the grandest deeds, and was admired accordingly, people not troubling themselves to ascertain whether he had "done" the deeds which he had talked about so loudly. There were, it must be said, people who "saw through" Ludwig, and, starting from what he said, took some pains to find out what he had done, or if he had done anything at all. And this grieved him all the more that, in solitary hours, he was sometimes obliged to admit to himself that this everlasting "meaning" and "intending" to do things, without ever doing them, was, in reality, a miserable sort of business. Then he came upon a book--forgotten and out of date--in which was set forth that mechanical theory of the mutual interdependence of things. He eagerly adopted this theory, which justified and accounted for his doings, or rather his "intentions" of doing, in his own eyes, and in those of others. According with this theory, if he did not carry out anything which he had intended to do--what he had said he was going to do--it was not he who was to blame: its not happening was simply a part of the mutual interdependence of things.

The courteous reader will, at all events, see the great convenience of this theory.

Moreover, as Ludwig was a very good-looking young fellow, with blooming red cheeks, he would, by virtue of his qualities, have been the idol of all elegant circles, had not his short-sight led to his committing numerous "quid-pro-quos," which had often most annoying consequences. However, he consoled himself with the thought of the "impression," which was indescribable, which he believed himself to make upon all female hearts: and, besides, there was a good deal in the habit he had, just because he was so short-sighted, of placing himself in a closer proximity to ladies with whom he was conversing, than might have been considered altogether _convenable_, a species of innocent pushingness, belonging to the "genial" character, so as to be sure not to make any mistakes with reference to the person he was addressing; a matter which had more than once been productive of annoyance.

The morning after the ball at Count Walther Puck's, Euchar received a note from Ludwig, running as follows:

"Dearest and most beloved friend,--I am utterly miserable. I am stricken by destiny. It is all over with me! I am dashed down from the flowery summit of the fairest hope into the blackest and most fathomless abyss of the deepest despair. That which was to have been the source of my indescribable bliss constitutes my misery. Come to me as speedily as you can, and give me some comfort, if such a thing be possible."

Euchar found him stretched on his sofa, with his head bound up, pale and worn from sleeplessness.

"Is it you?" he cried, in a feeble voice, stretching an arm towards him: "is it you, my noble friend? Ah! _you_ have some sympathy for my sufferings. At all events, let me tell you what I have gone through, and then say whether you think all is over with me, or not."

"Things did not turn out quite as you expected at the ball, I suppose," said Euchar.

Ludwig heaved a deep sigh.

"Was the lovely Victorine a little unkind?" inquired Euchar. "Didn't she behave to you quite as you expected?"

"I offended her," answered Ludwig, in the most funereal tones, "to an extent, and in a manner, which she can never forgive."

"Good heavens!" cried Euchar; "this is very distressing. How did it happen? Please to let me hear."

Ludwig, after heaving a profound sigh, and quoting some verses of appropriate poetry, went on, in a voice of profound melancholy:

"Yes, Euchar. As the mysterious whirring of the wheels of a clock tells me that it is going to strike the hour, warnings go before coming misfortunes. On the very night before the ball I had an awful, a horrible dream. I thought I was at the ball, and when I was going to begin dancing, I suddenly found that I could not move my feet from the floor. And I saw in the mirror, to my horror, that instead of the well-looking nether extremities which nature has provided me with, I was dragging about under my body, the gouty old legs of the Consistorial President, with all their wrappings and bandages. And while I had to stick to the floor in this terrible manner, lo and behold! the Consistorial President, with Victorine in his arms, whirling along in a Laendler, lightly and gracefully as any bird. But the point of the thing was, that he sniggered at me, with the most insulting style of sneering laughter, and said he had won my legs from me at picquet.

"I awoke, as you may imagine, bathed in a perspiration of anguish. Still sunk in thought over this horrible vision of the night, I must needs set the cup of almost boiling chocolate to my lips, and burn them to that extent, that you may see the mark still, although I have rubbed on as much pomade as I could. Now I know that you don't take much interest in other people's troubles, so I shall say nothing about the numerous fateful events which destiny dogged my steps with all day yesterday, and merely tell you that when it came to be time to dress in the evening, two stitches burst out of one of my silk stockings--two of my waistcoat buttons came off--as I was getting into the carriage to go to the ball, I let my Wellington get into the mud, and at last, in the carriage itself, when I wanted to tighten the patent buckles of my pumps, I found, to my intense annoyance, that my idiot of a servant had put on two which we're not a pair! I was obliged to go home again, and lost a good half hour. However, Victorine came to me in all the glory of her beauty and delightsomeness. I asked her for the next dance. It was a Laendler, we started off together. I was in heaven. But in a moment I felt the spite of adverse fortune."

"The mutual interdependence of things," said Euchar, interrupting.

"Call it whatever you please," said Ludwig, "it doesn't matter to me to-day. All I know is, that it was fate which made me fall over that tree-stump yesterday. As I was dancing I felt the pain come on again in my knee, and it grew more and more unendurable. Just at that moment Victorine said, loud enough to be heard by the other people who were dancing, "We seem all to be going to sleep." Signs were made to the band, people clapped their hands to them, and the pace grew faster and faster. With all my might I struggled with the diabolical pain, and conquered it. I danced along daintily, and put on a delighted expression of countenance; but for all I could do, Victorine kept saying: 'What is the matter, Herr Baron? You are not one bit the partner that you generally are.' Burning dagger thrusts into my heart!"

"Poor, dear friend," said Euchar, laughing; "I see the full extent of your sufferings!"

"And yet," continued Ludwig, "all this was only the prelude to the most terrible of all events. You know that I have been for a long time applying my mind to arranging the figures of a '_seize_:' and you know of your own experience, how little I have made of the very considerable amount of china, glass, and stoneware that I have knocked off the tables in my lodgings here, in my practice of the intricacies of those 'tours, or figures,' that I might attain to the perfection of performance which was my dream. One of them is the most utterly glorious that the mind of man has ever hit upon, of its kind. Four couples stand, picturesquely grouped, the gentleman, balancing on his right tip-toe, places his right-arm about his partner, raising, at the same time, his left-arm in a graceful curve above his head--whilst the other couples make the 'ronde.' Such an idea never entered the heads of Vestris or Gardel. Very well. I had based my hopes of highest happiness upon this particular '_seize_.' I had been destining it for Count Walther Puck's birthday: I intended to whisper into Victorine's ear during this more than earthly 'tour'--'Most divine countess, I love you unutterably--I adore you! Be mine, angel of light!' that was the reason, dear Euchar, why I was so overwhelmed with joy when I got the invitation to the ball there, for I had had great doubts about it. Count Walther Puck had appeared to be a good deal annoyed with me a little while ago, one day when I was explaining to him the theory of the mutual interdependence of things--the mechanism of the macrocosm--when he took it into his head that I was making out that he was a pendulum. He said it was a piece of chaff in very bad taste; but that he would take no notice of it in consideration of my youth, and he turned his back. Very well! The unfortunate Laendler came to an end. I did not dance any more, I went into the ante-room, and who should follow me but the good Cochenille, who at once opened a bottle of champagne for me. The wine sent fresh life into my veins. I didn't feel the pain any longer. The '_seize_' was just going to begin--I flew back to the dancing-room, darted up to Victorine, kissed her hand fiercely, and took my position in the 'ronde.' The 'tour,' which I have told you of, came on; I outdid myself! I hovered--I balanced--the God of the dance in person; I threw my arm round my partner. I whispered, 'Divine, heavenly Countess,' just as I had arranged with myself that I should do. My declaration of love went forth from my lips, I gazed ardently into my partner's eyes. Ruler of heaven! It was not Victorine I had been dancing with! It was somebody else altogether, some lady whom I didn't know in the least, though she was the same sort of person as Victorine in style and feature, and dressed exactly as she was. You may imagine that I felt as if smitten by a flash of lightning. Everything about me was swimming in a chaos. I didn't hear the music any longer; I dashed wildly through amongst the rows of people, hearing cries of pain here and there, till I found myself arrested and held tight by a pair of powerful arms, whilst a voice of fury droned into my ear, 'Death and damnation, Herr Baron, are you out of your senses? Have you nine devils in you, or what?' 'Twas the very Consistorial President whom I had seen in my dream. He was holding me tight in a remote corner of the room, and he went on as follows: 'I was just getting up from the card-table, when you came bursting like a hurricane out of the middle of the dancing room, and jumped about like a creature possessed upon my unfortunate feet, till I could have roared like a bull with the pain of it, if I hadn't been a person of proper conduct. Don't you see what a disturbance you've been making here?' And, in fact, the whole of the '_seize_' was in confusion, the music had stopped, and I saw that some of the dancers were going about limping, ladies were being led to their seats, and people were holding smelling-bottles to their noses. I had been dancing the 'tour' of despair upon the poor people's feet, till the President, strong as a tree, had put a period to my fell career. Victorine approached me with eyes sparkling with scorn: 'Verily, Herr Baron, a charming performance!' she said. 'You ask me to dance with you--you dance with another lady, and throw the whole room into confusion.' You may picture to yourself my apologies and excuses. 'These practical jokes are a speciality of yours, Herr Baron,' Victorine went on, scarcely containing her anger. 'I know you--but I beg that you will not select _me_ as the object of that cutting irony of yours in the future.' With that she left me standing. The lady I had been dancing with then came up amiability--nay, I may say, even affectionateness--personified. The poor child had taken fire. I cannot wonder at it; but is it any fault of mine? Oh, Victorine! Victorine! Oh, ill-starred '_seize_'--dance of the furies, which has consigned me to the depths of Orcus!"

Ludwig closed his eyes, groaned and sighed. His friend had the grace not to break out into irrepressible laughter.

When Ludwig had taken a cup or two of chocolate--without this time burning his lips--he seemed to recover himself to some extent, and bear his terrible fate with somewhat greater equanimity. Presently he said to Euchar, who had been interesting himself in a book which he had taken up. "You had an invitation to that accursed ball yourself, had you not?"

"I had," said Euchar, scarcely looking up from the page.

"And you never came--and you never told me that you had one, at all."

"I had another engagement," said Euchar, "as it happened, which prevented me from going to the ball--an engagement of far greater importance to me than any ball in the world, even had the Emperor of Japan himself been the giver of it."

"Countess Victorine," Ludwig continued, "made the most particular inquiries as to why you didn't come. She was all anxiety, and kept looking towards the door. I should have been really very jealous. I should quite have thought that, for the first time in your career, you had touched a lady's heart, if the matter had not been explained. The fact is, I scarcely dare to tell you in what an unsparing manner the lovely Victorine spoke of you. She even went the length of saying that you were a cold-hearted piece of eccentricity, whose presence often marred all enjoyment: so that she had been dreading that you would act as her kill-joy on that evening as you so often had done before, and was quite delighted when she found that you were not coming. To speak candidly, my dear Euchar, I can't make out how it is that you, gifted by the heavens with so many bodily and mental excellences, should always be so unlucky with the other sex--why I should always cut the ground from under your feet. Cold creature! I feel certain that you have no conception of the heavenly bliss of love, and that is why you are not beloved. Whereas I, on the other hand----Believe me when I tell you that Victorine's fiery indignation itself was engendered by the flames of love which blazed in her heart for me--the fortunate, the blessed one."

The door opened, and there came into the room a quaint little fellow, in a red coat with big steel buttons, black silk breeches, heavily powdered _frisure_, and a little round pigtail.

"Good Cochenille!" Ludwig called out to him. "Dearest Monsieur Cochenille, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

Euchar, declaring that important engagements called him away, left his friend alone with the confidential servant of Count Walther Puck.

Cochenille, sweetly smiling, with downcast eyes, stated that their Countly Excellencies were quite convinced that the most honoured Herr Baron had been attacked, during the '_seize_,' by a malady which bore a Latin name something like Raptus, and that he, Monsieur Cochenille, was come to make inquiries as to his present state of welfare.

"Raptus! Raptus! Nothing of the kind." And he related, and detailed at length, how the whole matter had come about, ending by begging the talented Kammerdiener to put affairs in order as far as he possibly could.

Ludwig learned that his partner was a cousin of Countess Victorine, just arrived from the country for the occasion of the Count's birthday--that she and the Countess Victorine were one heart and one soul, and--inasmuch as the sympathies of young ladies often display themselves in the form of silks and crapes--were often in the habit of dressing exactly alike. Cochenille was further of opinion that the vexation of Countess Victorine was not very genuine. He had handed her an ice at the end of the ball, when she was standing talking to her cousin, and had noticed that they were laughing tremendously, and had heard them several times mention the honoured Baron's name. The truth was, according to what he had been able to observe, that this cousin was of a temperament exceedingly disposed to the tender passion, and would only be too delighted if the Baron would carry further what he had begun, namely, at once set to work to pay assiduous attentions to her, and in due course put on _glacé_ gloves, and lead her to the altar: but that he, for his part, would do everything he could to prevent such a course of events. The first thing in the morning, as he would be having the honour to _friser_ his Countly Highness, he would take an opportunity of laying the whole matter before him, and would also take the liberty of begging him, as an uncle regardful of his niece's best interests, to represent to her that the Herr Baron's declaration of love was merely a species of "flourish" belonging to the "tour" which he happened to be executing at the time--just as declarations of the kind generally were. That, he thought, would be of some service. Cochenille finally advised the Baron to go and see Countess Victorine as soon as possible, and told him there would be an opportunity of doing so that very day. Madame Bechs, the Consistorial President's lady, was giving an aesthetic tea that afternoon, with tea which (he had been told by the Russian Ambassador's valet) had come direct overland from China through the Russian Embassy, and had an extraordinarily delicious flavour and scent. There he would find Victorine, and be enabled to put everything straight again.

Ludwig saw that it was nothing but unworthy doubt which had had the power of disturbing his love-happiness: and he resolved to make himself so marvellously charming at the "thé" of Madame Bech, the Consistorial President's lady, that Victorine should never so much as dream of being at all "grumpy."

THE ÆSTHETIC TEA. CHOKING COUGH OF A TRAGIC POET. THE STORY TAKES A
SERIOUS TURN, AND TELLS OF BLOODY BATTLE, SUICIDE, AND SIMILAR
MATTERS.

The courteous reader must be good enough to accompany Ludwig and Euchar to this æsthetic tea, which is now going forward at Madame Bech's, the Consistorial President's lady. About a dozen of the fair sex, appropriately attired, are seated in a semi-circle. One is thoughtlessly laughing; another is immersed in a contemplation of the tips of her shoes, with which she is managing to practise the "pas" of a "Française," silently and unobserved; a third appears to be sweetly sleeping (and dreaming more sweetly still); a fourth darts the fiery beams from her eyes athwart the room in all directions, with the intention that they shall impinge upon not one but all the men who are present. A fifth lisps forth "Heavenly! Glorious! Sublime!" and those utterances are for the behoof of a young poet, who is reading out with all possible pathos a new tragedy of destiny, tedious and silly enough even to be read aloud on such an occasion. A delightful feature of the affair was, that one heard a species of _obbligato_ accompaniment going on in the next room, a species of growling, like the rumble of distant thunder. This was the voice of the Consistorial President, who was playing piquet with Count Walther Puck, and making himself audible in this manner.

The poet read out, in the most dulcet accents at his command--

"Ah! but once more! once more only
Let me hear thee, voice of beauty,
Voice of rapture, voice of sweetness,
Voice from out the deep abysses,
Voice from out the heights of Heaven!
Hark! oh, listen----"

Here the thunder which had been rumbling so long broke out into a peal: "Hell and damnation!" roared the Consistorial President's voice, re-echoing through the room, so that the people jumped up from their chairs, alarmed. But it was pretty that the poet, not suffering himself to be disturbed in the slightest, went on reading--

"Yea! it is the breath beloved,
Music of those lips of nectar."

But a destiny higher than that which ruled in the poet's tragedy did not permit him to finish his reading. Just as he was going to raise his voice to the highest pitch of tragic power, to enunciate a terrible execration which his hero was going to utter, something, heaven knows what, got into his throat, so that he broke out into a frightful fit of coughing, by no means to be assuaged, and had to be assisted out of the room, more dead than alive.

This sudden interruption appeared to be the reverse of disagreeable to the lady of the house, who had for some time been giving indications of weariness and annoyance. As soon as the tranquillity of the company was restored, she pointed out that it was time that a vivid narrative of something should take the place of reading, and thought Euchar ought really to make it his duty to undertake this, seeing that, in general, he was so obstinately silent, as to contribute little to the entertainment of the company.

Euchar said, modestly, that he was anything but a good story-teller, and that the tale which he thought of telling was of a very serious, perhaps even terrible description, and might be anything but enjoyable by the company. But four very young ladies immediately cried out, with one voice "Oh! something terrible, please! I do so love to be terrified!"

Euchar took his place in the chair of the narrator, and began as follows:--

"We have been passing through a period in which events have swept athwart the stage of the world like a series of raging hurricanes. Humanity, shaken to its depths, has given birth to things portentous, even as the storm-tossed ocean casts up to the surface of its seething surges the terrible marvels of its abysses. Whatever could be accomplished by lion-like courage, unconquerable valour, hatred, revenge, fury, and despair, was achieved during the Spanish war of independence. I should like to tell you of the adventures of a friend of mine, whom I shall call Edgar, who served in that war, under the banners of Wellington. He had left his native place in deep, bitter irritation, at the shame of his Fatherland, and gone to Hamburg, where he lived in a little room which he had taken, in a retired quarter. He had a neighbour, who lived in the next room to him, with only a wall between them, but he knew nothing more of him than that he was an old man, in infirm health, who never went out. He often heard him groan, and break out into gentle pathetic lamentations; but he did not understand the words he spoke. After a time, this neighbour begun to walk assiduously up and down in his room, and it appeared to indicate returning health when he tuned a guitar one day, and began to sing in a soft voice, songs which Edgar recognized to be Spanish romances.

On being closely questioned, the landlady confided to Edgar, that his neighbour was a French officer who had been invalided from the Romana corps, that he was under secret espionage, and very seldom ventured to go out.

In the middle of the night Edgar heard this Spaniard play on his guitar more loudly than before, and begin, in powerful strangely changing melody, the 'Profecia del Pirineo of Don Juan Baptista de Arriaja.' There came the stanzas commencing--

"Y oye que el gran rugido,
En ya trueno en los campos de Castilla," &c.