Chapter III
DEATH AND LOVE TOGETHER MATED
When the day drags, when a man is solitary, and in a fever of impatienceand suspense; when the minute hand of his watch travels as slowly as thehour hand used to do, and the hour hand has lost all appreciable motion;when he yawns, and beats the devil's tattoo, and flattens his handsomenose against the window, and whistles tunes he hates, and, in short,does not know what to do with himself, it is deeply to be regretted thathe cannot make a solemn dinner of three courses more than once in a day.The laws of matter, to which we are slaves, deny us that resource.
But in the times I speak of, supper was still a substantial meal, andits hour was approaching. This was consolatory. Three-quarters of anhour, however, still interposed. How was I to dispose of that interval?
I had two or three idle books, it is true, as companions-companions; butthere are many moods in which one cannot read. My novel lay with my rugand walking-stick on the sofa, and I did not care if the heroine and thehero were both drowned together in the water barrel that I saw in theinn-yard under my window. I took a turn or two up and down my room, andsighed, looking at myself in the glass, adjusted my great white"choker," folded and tied after Brummel, the immortal "Beau," put on abuff waist-coat and my blue swallow-tailed coat with gilt buttons; Ideluged my pocket-handkerchief with Eau-de-Cologne (we had not then thevariety of bouquets with which the genius of perfumery has since blessedus) I arranged my hair, on which I piqued myself, and which I loved togroom in those days. That dark-brown _chevelure_, with a naturalcurl, is now represented by a few dozen perfectly white hairs, and itsplace--a smooth, bald, pink head--knows it no more. But let us forgetthese mortifications. It was then rich, thick, and dark-brown. I wasmaking a very careful toilet. I took my unexceptionable hat from itscase, and placed it lightly on my wise head, as nearly as memory andpractice enabled me to do so, at that very slight inclination which theimmortal person I have mentioned was wont to give to his. A pair oflight French gloves and a rather club-like knotted walking-stick, suchas just then came into vogue for a year or two again in England, in thephraseology of Sir Walter Scott's romances "completed my equipment."
All this attention to effect, preparatory to a mere lounge in the yard,or on the steps of the Belle Etoile, was a simple act of devotion to thewonderful eyes which I had that evening beheld for the first time, andnever, never could forget! In plain terms, it was all done in the vague,very vague hope that those eyes might behold the unexceptionable get-upof a melancholy slave, and retain the image, not altogether withoutsecret approbation.
As I completed my preparations the light failed me; the last levelstreak of sunlight disappeared, and a fading twilight only remained. Isighed in unison with the pensive hour, and threw open the window,intending to look out for a moment before going downstairs. I perceivedinstantly that the window underneath mine was also open, for I heard twovoices in conversation, although I could not distinguish what they weresaying.
The male voice was peculiar; it was, as I told you, reedy and nasal. Iknew it, of course, instantly. The answering voice spoke in those sweettones which I recognized only too easily. The dialogue was only for aminute; the repulsive male voice laughed, I fancied, with a kind ofdevilish satire, and retired from the window, so that I almost ceased tohear it.
The other voice remained nearer the window, but not so near as at first.
It was not an altercation; there was evidently nothing the leastexciting in the colloquy. What would I not have given that it had been aquarrel--a violent one--and I the redresser of wrongs, and the defenderof insulted beauty! Alas! so far as I could pronounce upon the characterof the tones I heard, they might be as tranquil a pair as any inexistence. In a moment more the lady began to sing an odd littlechanson. I need not remind you how much farther the voice is heardsinging than speaking. I could distinguish the words. The voice was ofthat exquisitely sweet kind which is called, I believe, asemi-contralto; it had something pathetic, and something, I fancied, alittle mocking in its tones. I venture a clumsy, but adequatetranslation of the words:
"Death and Love, together mated, Watch and wait in ambuscade; At early morn, or else belated, They meet and mark the man or maid.
Burning sigh, or breath that freezes, Numbs or maddens man or maid; Death or Love the victim seizes, Breathing from their ambuscade."
"Enough, Madame!" said the old voice, with sudden severity. "We do notdesire, I believe, to amuse the grooms and hostlers in the yard with ourmusic."
The lady's voice laughed gaily.
"You desire to quarrel, Madame!" And the old man, I presume, shut downthe window. Down it went, at all events, with a rattle that might easilyhave broken the glass.
Of all thin partitions, glass is the most effectual excluder of sound. Iheard no more, not even the subdued hum of the colloquy.
What a charming voice this Countess had! How it melted, swelled, andtrembled! How it moved, and even agitated me! What a pity that a hoarseold jackdaw should have power to crow down such a Philomel! "Alas! whata life it is!" I moralized, wisely. "That beautiful Countess, with thepatience of an angel and the beauty of a Venus and the accomplishmentsof all the Muses, a slave! She knows perfectly who occupies theapartments over hers; she heard me raise my window. One may conjecturepretty well for whom that music was intended--aye, old gentleman, andfor whom you suspected it to be intended."
In a very agreeable flutter I left my room and, descending the stairs,passed the Count's door very much at my leisure. There was just a chancethat the beautiful songstress might emerge. I dropped my stick on thelobby, near their door, and you may be sure it took me some little timeto pick it up! Fortune, nevertheless, did not favor me. I could not stayon the lobby all night picking up my stick, so I went down to the hall.
I consulted the clock, and found that there remained but a quarter of anhour to the moment of supper.
Everyone was roughing it now, every inn in confusion; people might do atsuch a juncture what they never did before. Was it just possible that,for once, the Count and Countess would take their chairs at thetable-d'hote?