CHAPTER XXIII.
VASHTI.
To wonder sadly, did I say? No: a new influence began to act upon mylife, and sadness, for a certain space, was held at bay. Conceive adell, deep-hollowed in forest secresy; it lies in dimness and mist: itsturf is dank, its herbage pale and humid. A storm or an axe makes awide gap amongst the oak-trees; the breeze sweeps in; the sun looksdown; the sad, cold dell becomes a deep cup of lustre; high summerpours her blue glory and her golden light out of that beauteous sky,which till now the starved hollow never saw.
A new creed became mine--a belief in happiness.
It was three weeks since the adventure of the garret, and I possessedin that case, box, drawer up-stairs, casketed with that first letter,four companions like to it, traced by the same firm pen, sealed withthe same clear seal, full of the same vital comfort. Vital comfort itseemed to me then: I read them in after years; they were kind lettersenough--pleasing letters, because composed by one well pleased; in thetwo last there were three or four closing lines half-gay, half-tender,"by _feeling_ touched, but not subdued." Time, dear reader, mellowedthem to a beverage of this mild quality; but when I first tasted theirelixir, fresh from the fount so honoured, it seemed juice of a divinevintage: a draught which Hebe might fill, and the very gods approve.
Does the reader, remembering what was said some pages back, care to askhow I answered these letters: whether under the dry, stinting check ofReason, or according to the full, liberal impulse of Feeling?
To speak truth, I compromised matters; I served two masters: I boweddown in the houses of Rimmon, and lifted the heart at another shrine. Iwrote to these letters two answers--one for my own relief, the otherfor Graham's perusal.
To begin with: Feeling and I turned Reason out of doors, drew againsther bar and bolt, then we sat down, spread our paper, dipped in the inkan eager pen, and, with deep enjoyment, poured out our sincere heart.When we had done--when two sheets were covered with the language of astrongly-adherent affection, a rooted and active gratitude--(once, forall, in this parenthesis, I disclaim, with the utmost scorn, everysneaking suspicion of what are called "warmer feelings:" women do notentertain these "warmer feelings" where, from the commencement, throughthe whole progress of an acquaintance, they have never once beencheated of the conviction that, to do so would be to commit a mortalabsurdity: nobody ever launches into Love unless he has seen or dreamedthe rising of Hope's star over Love's troubled waters)--when, then, Ihad given expression to a closely-clinging and deeply-honouringattachment--an attachment that wanted to attract to itself and take toits own lot all that was painful in the destiny of its object; thatwould, if it could, have absorbed and conducted away all storms andlightnings from an existence viewed with a passion of solicitude--then,just at that moment, the doors of my heart would shake, bolt and barwould yield, Reason would leap in vigorous and revengeful, snatch thefull sheets, read, sneer, erase, tear up, re-write, fold, seal, direct,and send a terse, curt missive of a page. She did right.
I did not live on letters only: I was visited, I was looked after; oncea week I was taken out to La Terrasse; always I was made much of. Dr.Bretton failed not to tell me _why_ he was so kind: "To keep away thenun," he said; "he was determined to dispute with her her prey. He hadtaken," he declared, "a thorough dislike to her, chiefly on account ofthat white face-cloth, and those cold grey eyes: the moment he heard ofthose odious particulars," he affirmed, "consummate disgust had incitedhim to oppose her; he was determined to try whether he or she was thecleverest, and he only wished she would once more look in upon me whenhe was present:" but _that_ she never did. In short, he regarded mescientifically in the light of a patient, and at once exercised hisprofessional skill, and gratified his natural benevolence, by a courseof cordial and attentive treatment.
One evening, the first in December, I was walking by myself in thecarre; it was six o'clock; the classe-doors were closed; but within,the pupils, rampant in the licence of evening recreation, werecounterfeiting a miniature chaos. The carre was quite dark, except ared light shining under and about the stove; the wide glass-doors andthe long windows were frosted over; a crystal sparkle of starlight,here and there spangling this blanched winter veil, and breaking withscattered brilliance the paleness of its embroidery, proved it a clearnight, though moonless. That I should dare to remain thus alone indarkness, showed that my nerves were regaining a healthy tone: Ithought of the nun, but hardly feared her; though the staircase wasbehind me, leading up, through blind, black night, from landing tolanding, to the haunted grenier. Yet I own my heart quaked, my pulseleaped, when I suddenly heard breathing and rustling, and turning, sawin the deep shadow of the steps a deeper shadow still--a shape thatmoved and descended. It paused a while at the classe-door, and then itglided before me. Simultaneously came a clangor of the distantdoor-bell. Life-like sounds bring life-like feelings: this shape wastoo round and low for my gaunt nun: it was only Madame Beck on duty.
"Mademoiselle Lucy!" cried Rosine, bursting in, lamp in hand, from thecorridor, "on est la pour vous au salon."
Madame saw me, I saw Madame, Rosine saw us both: there was no mutualrecognition. I made straight for the salon. There I found what I own Ianticipated I should find--Dr. Bretton; but he was in evening-dress.
"The carriage is at the door," said he; "my mother has sent it to takeyou to the theatre; she was going herself, but an arrival has preventedher: she immediately said, 'Take Lucy in my place.' Will you go?"
"Just now? I am not dressed," cried I, glancing despairingly at my darkmerino.
"You have half an hour to dress. I should have given you notice, but Ionly determined on going since five o'clock, when I heard there was tobe a genuine regale in the presence of a great actress."
And he mentioned a name that thrilled me--a name that, in those days,could thrill Europe. It is hushed now: its once restless echoes are allstill; she who bore it went years ago to her rest: night and oblivionlong since closed above her; but _then_ her day--a day of Sirius--stoodat its full height, light and fervour.
"I'll go; I will be ready in ten minutes," I vowed. And away I flew,never once checked, reader, by the thought which perhaps at this momentchecks you: namely, that to go anywhere with Graham and without Mrs.Bretton could be objectionable. I could not have conceived, much lesshave expressed to Graham, such thought--such scruple--without risk ofexciting a tyrannous self-contempt: of kindling an inward fire of shameso quenchless, and so devouring, that I think it would soon have lickedup the very life in my veins. Besides, my godmother, knowing her son,and knowing me, would as soon have thought of chaperoning a sister witha brother, as of keeping anxious guard over our incomings and outgoings.
The present was no occasion for showy array; my dun mist crape wouldsuffice, and I sought the same in the great oak-wardrobe in thedormitory, where hung no less than forty dresses. But there had beenchanges and reforms, and some innovating hand had pruned this samecrowded wardrobe, and carried divers garments to the grenier--my crapeamongst the rest. I must fetch it. I got the key, and went aloftfearless, almost thoughtless. I unlocked the door, I plunged in. Thereader may believe it or not, but when I thus suddenly entered, thatgarret was not wholly dark as it should have been: from one point thereshone a solemn light, like a star, but broader. So plainly it shone,that it revealed the deep alcove with a portion of the tarnishedscarlet curtain drawn over it. Instantly, silently, before my eyes, itvanished; so did the curtain and alcove: all that end of the garretbecame black as night. I ventured no research; I had not time nor will;snatching my dress, which hung on the wall, happily near the door, Irushed out, relocked the door with convulsed haste, and darteddownwards to the dormitory.
But I trembled too much to dress myself: impossible to arrange hair orfasten hooks-and-eyes with such fingers, so I called Rosine and bribedher to help me. Rosine liked a bribe, so she did her best, smoothed andplaited my hair as well as a coiffeur would have done, placed the lacecollar mathematically straight, tied the neck-ribbon accurately--inshort, d
id her work like the neat-handed Phillis she could be when shechose. Having given me my handkerchief and gloves, she took the candleand lighted me down-stairs. After all, I had forgotten my shawl; sheran back to fetch it; and I stood with Dr. John in the vestibule,waiting.
"What is this, Lucy?" said he, looking down at me narrowly. "Here isthe old excitement. Ha! the nun again?"
But I utterly denied the charge: I was vexed to be suspected of asecond illusion. He was sceptical.
"She has been, as sure as I live," said he; "her figure crossing youreyes leaves on them a peculiar gleam and expression not to be mistaken."
"She has _not_ been," I persisted: for, indeed, I could deny herapparition with truth.
"The old symptoms are there," he affirmed: "a particular pale, and whatthe Scotch call a 'raised' look."
He was so obstinate, I thought it better to tell him what I really_had_ seen. Of course with him it was held to be another effect of thesame cause: it was all optical illusion--nervous malady, and so on. Notone bit did I believe him; but I dared not contradict: doctors are soself-opinionated, so immovable in their dry, materialist views.
Rosine brought the shawl, and I was bundled into the carriage.
* * * * *
The theatre was full--crammed to its roof: royal and noble were there:palace and hotel had emptied their inmates into those tiers so throngedand so hushed. Deeply did I feel myself privileged in having a placebefore that stage; I longed to see a being of whose powers I had heardreports which made me conceive peculiar anticipations. I wondered ifshe would justify her renown: with strange curiosity, with feelingssevere and austere, yet of riveted interest, I waited. She was a studyof such nature as had not encountered my eyes yet: a great and newplanet she was: but in what shape? I waited her rising.
She rose at nine that December night: above the horizon I saw her come.She could shine yet with pale grandeur and steady might; but that starverged already on its judgment-day. Seen near, it was a chaos--hollow,half-consumed: an orb perished or perishing--half lava, half glow.
I had heard this woman termed "plain," and I expected bony harshnessand grimness--something large, angular, sallow. What I saw was theshadow of a royal Vashti: a queen, fair as the day once, turned palenow like twilight, and wasted like wax in flame.
For awhile--a long while--I thought it was only a woman, though anunique woman, who moved in might and grace before this multitude.By-and-by I recognised my mistake. Behold! I found upon her somethingneither of woman nor of man: in each of her eyes sat a devil. Theseevil forces bore her through the tragedy, kept up her feeblestrength--for she was but a frail creature; and as the action rose andthe stir deepened, how wildly they shook her with their passions of thepit! They wrote HELL on her straight, haughty brow. They tuned hervoice to the note of torment. They writhed her regal face to a demoniacmask. Hate and Murder and Madness incarnate she stood.
It was a marvellous sight: a mighty revelation.
It was a spectacle low, horrible, immoral.
Swordsmen thrust through, and dying in their blood on the arena sand;bulls goring horses disembowelled, made a meeker vision for thepublic--a milder condiment for a people's palate--than Vashti torn byseven devils: devils which cried sore and rent the tenement theyhaunted, but still refused to be exorcised.
Suffering had struck that stage empress; and she stood before heraudience neither yielding to, nor enduring, nor, in finite measure,resenting it: she stood locked in struggle, rigid in resistance. Shestood, not dressed, but draped in pale antique folds, long and regularlike sculpture. A background and entourage and flooring of deepestcrimson threw her out, white like alabaster--like silver: rather, be itsaid, like Death.
Where was the artist of the Cleopatra? Let him come and sit down andstudy this different vision. Let him seek here the mighty brawn, themuscle, the abounding blood, the full-fed flesh he worshipped: let allmaterialists draw nigh and look on.
I have said that she does not _resent_ her grief. No; the weakness ofthat word would make it a lie. To her, what hurts becomes immediatelyembodied: she looks on it as a thing that can be attacked, worrieddown, torn in shreds. Scarcely a substance herself, she grapples toconflict with abstractions. Before calamity she is a tigress; she rendsher woes, shivers them in convulsed abhorrence. Pain, for her, has noresult in good: tears water no harvest of wisdom: on sickness, on deathitself, she looks with the eye of a rebel. Wicked, perhaps, she is, butalso she is strong; and her strength has conquered Beauty, has overcomeGrace, and bound both at her side, captives peerlessly fair, and docileas fair. Even in the uttermost frenzy of energy is each maenad movementroyally, imperially, incedingly upborne. Her hair, flying loose inrevel or war, is still an angel's hair, and glorious under a halo.Fallen, insurgent, banished, she remembers the heaven where sherebelled. Heaven's light, following her exile, pierces its confines,and discloses their forlorn remoteness.
Place now the Cleopatra, or any other slug, before her as an obstacle,and see her cut through the pulpy mass as the scimitar of Saladin clovethe down cushion. Let Paul Peter Rubens wake from the dead, let himrise out of his cerements, and bring into this presence all the army ofhis fat women; the magian power or prophet-virtue gifting that slightrod of Moses, could, at one waft, release and re-mingle a seaspell-parted, whelming the heavy host with the down-rush of overthrownsea-ramparts.
Vashti was not good, I was told; and I have said she did not look good:though a spirit, she was a spirit out of Tophet. Well, if so much ofunholy force can arise from below, may not an equal efflux of sacredessence descend one day from above?
What thought Dr. Graham of this being?
For long intervals I forgot to look how he demeaned himself, or toquestion what he thought. The strong magnetism of genius drew my heartout of its wonted orbit; the sunflower turned from the south to afierce light, not solar--a rushing, red, cometary light--hot on visionand to sensation. I had seen acting before, but never anything likethis: never anything which astonished Hope and hushed Desire; whichoutstripped Impulse and paled Conception; which, instead of merelyirritating imagination with the thought of what _might_ be done, at thesame time fevering the nerves because it was _not_ done, disclosedpower like a deep, swollen winter river, thundering in cataract, andbearing the soul, like a leaf, on the steep and steelly sweep of itsdescent.
Miss Fanshawe, with her usual ripeness of judgment, pronounced Dr.Bretton a serious, impassioned man, too grave and too impressible. Notin such light did I ever see him: no such faults could I lay to hischarge. His natural attitude was not the meditative, nor his naturalmood the sentimental; _impressionable_ he was as dimpling water, but,almost as water, _unimpressible:_ the breeze, the sun, moved him--metalcould not grave, nor fire brand.
Dr. John _could_ think and think well, but he was rather a man ofaction than of thought; he _could_ feel, and feel vividly in his way,but his heart had no chord for enthusiasm: to bright, soft, sweetinfluences his eyes and lips gave bright, soft, sweet welcome,beautiful to see as dyes of rose and silver, pearl and purple, imbuingsummer clouds; for what belonged to storm, what was wild and intense,dangerous, sudden, and flaming, he had no sympathy, and held with it nocommunion. When I took time and regained inclination to glance at him,it amused and enlightened me to discover that he was watching thatsinister and sovereign Vashti, not with wonder, nor worship, nor yetdismay, but simply with intense curiosity. Her agony did not pain him,her wild moan--worse than a shriek--did not much move him; her furyrevolted him somewhat, but not to the point of horror. Cool youngBriton! The pale cliffs of his own England do not look down on thetides of the Channel more calmly than he watched the Pythianinspiration of that night.
Looking at his face, I longed to know his exact opinions, and at last Iput a question tending to elicit them. At the sound of my voice heawoke as if out of a dream; for he had been thinking, and very intentlythinking, his own thoughts, after his own manner. "How did he likeVashti?" I wished to know.
"Hm-m-m," wa
s the first scarce articulate but expressive answer; andthen such a strange smile went wandering round his lips, a smile socritical, so almost callous! I suppose that for natures of that orderhis sympathies _were_ callous. In a few terse phrases he told me hisopinion of, and feeling towards, the actress: he judged her as a woman,not an artist: it was a branding judgment.
That night was already marked in my book of life, not with white, butwith a deep-red cross. But I had not done with it yet; and othermemoranda were destined to be set down in characters of tint indelible.
Towards midnight, when the deepening tragedy blackened to thedeath-scene, and all held their breath, and even Graham bit hisunder-lip, and knit his brow, and sat still and struck--when the wholetheatre was hushed, when the vision of all eyes centred in one point,when all ears listened towards one quarter--nothing being seen but thewhite form sunk on a seat, quivering in conflict with her last, herworst-hated, her visibly-conquering foe--nothing heard but her throes,her gaspings, breathing yet of mutiny, panting still defiance; when, asit seemed, an inordinate will, convulsing a perishing mortal frame,bent it to battle with doom and death, fought every inch of ground,sold every drop of blood, resisted to the latest the rape of everyfaculty, _would_ see, _would_ hear, _would_ breathe, _would_ live, upto, within, well-nigh _beyond_ the moment when death says to all senseand all being--"Thus far and no farther!"--
Just then a stir, pregnant with omen, rustled behind the scenes--feetran, voices spoke. What was it? demanded the whole house. A flame, asmell of smoke replied.
"Fire!" rang through the gallery. "Fire!" was repeated, re-echoed,yelled forth: and then, and faster than pen can set it down, camepanic, rushing, crushing--a blind, selfish, cruel chaos.
And Dr. John? Reader, I see him yet, with his look of comely courageand cordial calm.
"Lucy will sit still, I know," said he, glancing down at me with thesame serene goodness, the same repose of firmness that I have seen inhim when sitting at his side amid the secure peace of his mother'shearth. Yes, thus adjured, I think I would have sat still under arocking crag: but, indeed, to sit still in actual circumstances was myinstinct; and at the price of my very life, I would not have moved togive him trouble, thwart his will, or make demands on his attention. Wewere in the stalls, and for a few minutes there was a most terrible,ruthless pressure about us.
"How terrified are the women!" said he; "but if the men were not almostequally so, order might be maintained. This is a sorry scene: I seefifty selfish brutes at this moment, each of whom, if I were near, Icould conscientiously knock down. I see some women braver than somemen. There is one yonder--Good God!"
While Graham was speaking, a young girl who had been very quietly andsteadily clinging to a gentleman before us, was suddenly struck fromher protector's arms by a big, butcherly intruder, and hurled under thefeet of the crowd. Scarce two seconds lasted her disappearance. Grahamrushed forwards; he and the gentleman, a powerful man thoughgrey-haired, united their strength to thrust back the throng; her headand long hair fell back over his shoulder: she seemed unconscious.
"Trust her with me; I am a medical man," said Dr. John.
"If you have no lady with you, be it so," was the answer. "Hold her,and I will force a passage: we must get her to the air."
"I have a lady," said Graham; "but she will be neither hindrance norincumbrance."
He summoned me with his eye: we were separated. Resolute, however, torejoin him, I penetrated the living barrier, creeping under where Icould not get between or over.
"Fasten on me, and don't leave go," he said; and I obeyed him.
Our pioneer proved strong and adroit; he opened the dense mass like awedge; with patience and toil he at last bored through theflesh-and-blood rock--so solid, hot, and suffocating--and brought us tothe fresh, freezing night.
"You are an Englishman!" said he, turning shortly on Dr. Bretton, whenwe got into the street.
"An Englishman. And I speak to a countryman?" was the reply.
"Right. Be good enough to stand here two minutes, whilst I find mycarriage."
"Papa, I am not hurt," said a girlish voice; "am I with papa?"
"You are with a friend, and your father is close at hand."
"Tell him I am not hurt, except just in my shoulder. Oh, my shoulder!They trod just here."
"Dislocation, perhaps!" muttered the Doctor: "let us hope there is noworse injury done. Lucy, lend a hand one instant."
And I assisted while he made some arrangement of drapery and positionfor the ease of his suffering burden. She suppressed a moan, and lay inhis arms quietly and patiently.
"She is very light," said Graham, "like a child!" and he asked in myear, "Is she a child, Lucy? Did you notice her age?"
"I am not a child--I am a person of seventeen," responded the patient,demurely and with dignity. Then, directly after: "Tell papa to come; Iget anxious."
The carriage drove up; her father relieved Graham; but in the exchangefrom one bearer to another she was hurt, and moaned again.
"My darling!" said the father, tenderly; then turning to Graham, "Yousaid, sir, you are a medical man?"
"I am: Dr. Bretton, of La Terrasse."
"Good. Will you step into my carriage?"
"My own carriage is here: I will seek it, and accompany you."
"Be pleased, then, to follow us." And he named his address: "The HotelCrecy, in the Rue Crecy."
We followed; the carriage drove fast; myself and Graham were silent.This seemed like an adventure.
Some little time being lost in seeking our own equipage, we reached thehotel perhaps about ten minutes after these strangers. It was an hotelin the foreign sense: a collection of dwelling-houses, not an inn--avast, lofty pile, with a huge arch to its street-door, leading througha vaulted covered way, into a square all built round.
We alighted, passed up a wide, handsome public staircase, and stoppedat Numero 2 on the second landing; the first floor comprising the abodeof I know not what "prince Russe," as Graham informed me. On ringingthe bell at a second great door, we were admitted to a suite of veryhandsome apartments. Announced by a servant in livery, we entered adrawing-room whose hearth glowed with an English fire, and whose wallsgleamed with foreign mirrors. Near the hearth appeared a little group:a slight form sunk in a deep arm-chair, one or two women busy about it,the iron-grey gentleman anxiously looking on.
"Where is Harriet? I wish Harriet would come to me," said the girlishvoice, faintly.
"Where is Mrs. Hurst?" demanded the gentleman impatiently and somewhatsternly of the man-servant who had admitted us.
"I am sorry to say she is gone out of town, sir; my young lady gave herleave till to-morrow."
"Yes--I did--I did. She is gone to see her sister; I said she might go:I remember now," interposed the young lady; "but I am so sorry, forManon and Louison cannot understand a word I say, and they hurt mewithout meaning to do so."
Dr. John and the gentleman now interchanged greetings; and while theypassed a few minutes in consultation, I approached the easy-chair, andseeing what the faint and sinking girl wished to have done, I did itfor her.
I was still occupied in the arrangement, when Graham drew near; he wasno less skilled in surgery than medicine, and, on examination, foundthat no further advice than his own was necessary to the treatment ofthe present case. He ordered her to be carried to her chamber, andwhispered to me:--"Go with the women, Lucy; they seem but dull; you canat least direct their movements, and thus spare her some pain. She mustbe touched very tenderly."
The chamber was a room shadowy with pale-blue hangings, vaporous withcurtainings and veilings of muslin; the bed seemed to me likesnow-drift and mist--spotless, soft, and gauzy. Making the women standapart, I undressed their mistress, without their well-meaning butclumsy aid. I was not in a sufficiently collected mood to note withseparate distinctness every detail of the attire I removed, but Ireceived a general impression of refinement, delicacy, and perfectpersonal cultivation; which, in a period of after-thought, offer
ed inmy reflections a singular contrast to notes retained of Miss GinevraFanshawe's appointments.
The girl was herself a small, delicate creature, but made like a model.As I folded back her plentiful yet fine hair, so shining and soft, andso exquisitely tended, I had under my observation a young, pale, weary,but high-bred face. The brow was smooth and clear; the eyebrows weredistinct, but soft, and melting to a mere trace at the temples; theeyes were a rich gift of nature--fine and full, large, deep, seeming tohold dominion over the slighter subordinate features--capable,probably, of much significance at another hour and under othercircumstances than the present, but now languid and suffering. Her skinwas perfectly fair, the neck and hands veined finely like the petals ofa flower; a thin glazing of the ice of pride polished this delicateexterior, and her lip wore a curl--I doubt not inherent andunconscious, but which, if I had seen it first with the accompanimentsof health and state, would have struck me as unwarranted, and provingin the little lady a quite mistaken view of life and her ownconsequence.
Her demeanour under the Doctor's hands at first excited a smile; it wasnot puerile--rather, on the whole, patient and firm--but yet, once ortwice she addressed him with suddenness and sharpness, saying that hehurt her, and must contrive to give her less pain; I saw her largeeyes, too, settle on his face like the solemn eyes of some pretty,wondering child. I know not whether Graham felt this examination: if hedid, he was cautious not to check or discomfort it by any retaliatorylook. I think he performed his work with extreme care and gentleness,sparing her what pain he could; and she acknowledged as much, when hehad done, by the words:--"Thank you, Doctor, and good-night," verygratefully pronounced as she uttered them, however, it was with arepetition of the serious, direct gaze, I thought, peculiar in itsgravity and intentness.
The injuries, it seems, were not dangerous: an assurance which herfather received with a smile that almost made one his friend--it was soglad and gratified. He now expressed his obligations to Graham with asmuch earnestness as was befitting an Englishman addressing one who hasserved him, but is yet a stranger; he also begged him to call the nextday.
"Papa," said a voice from the veiled couch, "thank the lady, too; isshe there?"
I opened the curtain with a smile, and looked in at her. She lay now atcomparative ease; she looked pretty, though pale; her face wasdelicately designed, and if at first sight it appeared proud, I believecustom might prove it to be soft.
"I thank the lady very sincerely," said her father: "I fancy she hasbeen very good to my child. I think we scarcely dare tell Mrs. Hurstwho has been her substitute and done her work; she will feel at onceashamed and jealous."
And thus, in the most friendly spirit, parting greetings wereinterchanged; and refreshment having been hospitably offered, but byus, as it was late, refused, we withdrew from the Hotel Crecy.
On our way back we repassed the theatre. All was silence and darkness:the roaring, rushing crowd all vanished and gone--the damps, as well asthe incipient fire, extinct and forgotten. Next morning's papersexplained that it was but some loose drapery on which a spark hadfallen, and which had blazed up and been quenched in a moment.
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