BENEDICTUS.BENEDICTUS
BY THE
AUTHOR OF “ESTELLE,”
ETC.
“ For Rabbi Ben Ezra the night he died Call’d sons, and son’s sons to his side,
And spoke 4 this world has been harsh and strange. Something is wrong : there needeth a change.
But what ? or where ?9 ”---
Bobert Browning.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
GEORGE Bell AND SONS, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN.
1887.CHISWICK PRESS:—C. WHITTINGHAM AND CO., TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE.8Z3
H 3*2.410
V.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER X.
PAGE
Side Scenes........................... 1
CHAPTER XI.
“Das Glück und die Weisheit”..........49
CHAPTER XII.
The Krakoviak........................ 78
CHAPTER XIII.
The Secret of Madame Freund..........119
CHAPTER XIV.
Phantasmagoria.......................148
CHAPTER XV.
At Burlington House..................183
r CHAPTER XVI.
Snow, and the Promise of Spring ....	230BENEDICTUS.
CHAPTER X.
SIDE SCENES.
Summer held its own royally after the rain, in woods and fields, and in the London parks and gardens. What of the courts and alleys ? Yans and brakes heavily weighted galloped buoyantly out of them, but for those to whom from several causes of poverty, age, or sickness, vans and brakes were of slight use in helping; the heat had to be endured.
Thyra Freund, and those as fortunately placed, saw but the summer beauty; and Gulielma Ashby, in her pretty, old-fashioned home at Tottenham, could watch the river opposite the tall windows, and catch the scent of suburban hay-making, and while even the moral deformity of crime was brought beneath her placidly cheerful notice, failed II.	B2
BENEDICTUS.
to vex her heart at the discrepancies so im-possible of solving. Thyra, ill-content with a circle of home love, assisted by a variety of balls and concerts, longed to live among' the poor, to teach them to lead better lives, to humanise them; while Gulielma, four years her senior, without troubling her serene heart about the reason or unreason of worldly dispensations, did her utmost to relieve the misery she beheld. To some inquiries as to why all were not rich or all poor, generally addressed to her by hulking, indolent men, who directed positive hatred against rulers, clergy, and those who invented or perfected beautiful works indiscriminately, and who, though eminently unsocial, dignified this state of mind by naming it “ Socialism,” Gulielma gave soft attention, without committing herself to the enthusiastic flow of sympathetic argument Thyra would use when similar circumstances came under debate. Both girls, types of different training, and separated by race and attributes, were sincerely attached friends, united by the same instincts of sympathy with all suffering, and universal charity.SIDE SCENES.
3
And to Estelle in the secluded cottage summer was also a gracious season of work and inspiration, such as did not exclude the practical visits which Thyra might not pay, but which the artist, older and more independent, need .not stint.
In green and golden hues the heath was decked when Estelle set forth with Gabriel for M. Hirsch’s lowly dwelling. A short railway journey landed them in the midst of a busy neighbourhood in the very centre of the city, and from this spot through wide, noisy, ugly roadways, and a network of small streets and alleys, to a crowded thoroughfare, where a row of hay-carts and waggons were drawn up dangerously, and promiscuously, as it appeared, among omnibuses and trams.
In the full glare of the sun the purlieus of Whitechapel sparkled crudely. Unshaded, meagre, sordid, dull, and yet destructive, life told its tale, and if a refined temperament turned away disgusted from sights and sounds not due to poverty alone, but springing rather from unconquerable baseness of instinct, then, by the unalterable verdict of this age, such repugnance should4
BENEDICTUS.
be crushed at once. Estelle and her brother resembled each other in the ardour of their natural tastes, in an invincible shrinks-ing from vulgarity and dirt; but Estelle conquered much of this when it hindered her from helping and cheering.
Here were the homes of the poor whereon the summer smiled impartially. At yonder corner comes a shout and a rush. A girl falls suddenly on the pavement. The cause is easily guessed from the building, fine with a hideous smartness, whence she has just gone forth. Near the large public-house, by which a few sullen, ruffianly looking men meditate on the delights of an existence levelled to the flatness of a Wiltshire plain, unbroken by the noble emulations and ambitions that interfere with their own lazy selfrindulgence, one of the head quarters of the Salvation Army is established. Noise, defiance of law, a too familiar use of sacred language, cannot deprive the institution of some praiseworthy effort. The poor girl who fell forward is a young girl. As she fell, her hair fell too, in waves how thick and luxuriant, from the torn hat, a shabby imitation of some elegant head-dress,SIDE SCENES.
5
and adorned -with dirty artificial roses. One of the feminine “officers” of the Army swiftly appears on the scene, willing and eager to serve. Her thoughtful, good face, encircled by its enormous brim, glanced out from the lustre of its modern aureole much as a middle-aged saint may regard the common-place of lawless, reckless, greed. She had witnessed it all before \
The wretched young creature was raised and removed by the “officer’s ” strong arms as the two reached the spot, and a troop of deeply excited spectators followed her.
Gabriel became quite pale.
“ I am glad that we are of those who await redemption,” he said, bitterly. “Imagine dwelling daily among such sights.”
“ I can imagine it,” Estelle said, quietly. “ But intoxication is not one of the temptations my friends among the poor battle against. I think our people feel the dominion of wine less because in the most moderate manner they are encouraged to take it. Because of the temperate, but natural, use of wine it may be that our people have no need of pledges or fetters of the sort to keep them sober. After all,6
BENEDICTUS.
that wretched creature may be the victim of inherited sin. There are many wise and strenuous efforts to baffle its growth here, and her error is far more rare—at least, it will by degrees wear away. She may be the daughter and the grand-daughter of inebriates. If this century keeps firmly to its strong and definite movement towards rigid abstinence, the succeeding years may be entirely free from the effects of this transmitted tendency, without driving the self-indulgent to the gratification of the impulse, or the shame of a sworn self-denial. I have often heard this matter argued, and I am in favour even of visible signs, of the withholding intoxicants of all descriptions, because one is strongly of opinion that the clean-living child, who knows the taste of neither wine or beer, may in far distant years found a family free from the terror of, and the proneness to stimulant under whose tyranny the weak will crouch.” Every day does something to lessen the load of suffering caused by the burden of sin. Even in the intricate courts signs of eager attempts to bring about a better state met these two. A grim mission hall (with aSIDE SCENES.
7
promise of tea meetings in large-lettered advertisements) broke upon their view. Many board schools and model lodging-houses assisted the details of the'great picture of strife against ignorance. A soup-kitchen supplied hopeful hints of a prosperity sufficiently vigorous to contend with the baits of the tawdry theatres and the alluring public-houses of these precincts. In London, where certainly charity is the most fashionable of the cardinal virtues, it runs principally into the channels of soup, and brick buildings. To Gabriel, the beauty-loving, to Estelle, the reflective, the bricky buildings, the steamy kitchen, the shouting board schools, were entirely without charm. Estelle ventured now and then on exceedingly meritorious opinions, to which Gabriel, scarcely hearing, assented. How vaguely he gazed around him! How dull, how inexpressibly dull, and realistic it was! Gabriel could not even find a humorous touch in the walk, although there were many, had he cared to seek them. Now and then a sedate, serious “ Lieutenant ” of the Salvation Army passed them; an older Evangeline in Puritan poke. Now and8
BENEDICTUS.
then some perfectly happy, insouciant child, too young to be gathered by Government into any school, swung in a sunlit doorway, guarded by some bent, aged figure, a grandmother shelling peas, or drowsily watching the baby.
Whitechapel and its environs are full of pictures, strong and vivid enough for a Legros to paint. Its atmosphere boldly glares, but smiles not in the sun, and when the soft-footed snow descends, winter withholds her charm in a like manner ; all is hard, roughly outlined still. Hoarse-voiced, idle men kick hard lumps into a dirty semblance of snow-balls. How intensely witty to fling these at some defenceless, unoffending animal! The snow will never stay long, even on the high roofs of the great warehouses. It is defiled as it descends. The smoky air checks its delicate work of decoration, spoils its chilly bracelets round the lamp posts, blots the beauty of its icy fringes under the eaves. The rain makes mud, and causes odorous vapour to rise, but it does leave a little freshness behind it.
When the children troop out in the summer to join a multitude of other childrenSIDE SCENES.
9
mustering together at the public schools, then cometh joy.
Shout after them frantic good wishes, mothers and grandmothers of the clans assembled to see the long procession pass. What if the adventurers sit quite composedly and phlegmatically in their vans, altogether unmoved by the shrill pibrochs sent after them? the clans at their gathering are not troubled by the coolness of the response. “ There they go, bless them! ” “That’s your child!” “No, it ain’t, it’s, Polly’s sister!” “Well, what a likeness'first cousins do show! ” “There’s the boy, ain’t he a king?” “That’s brother, Poppets.” “ See the pink paper flags then ? Up you go; wave yer ’and to Granny, then; there’s my beauty,” etc.
If the sight-seers and well-wishers, exhausted by their feelings, walk into a public-house, if a fight or fights ensue, if the fight is warded off, and vociferous quarrels commence, these clouds pass away. The sense of loss, even for a day, of the enormous band of children; the consequent calm and peace settling in the deserted neighbourhood, exercise an undefined in-10
BENEDICTIXS.
fluence. Everybody is sensible of a longing to see her own as well as her neighbour’s child “enjoying of itself.”
At Mr. Hirsch’s high attic a window-box is set, and a few hardy blossoms testify by leaf and flower to some vital principle of the air, if not to native strength. Embryo forcing-houses have been reared in this box, in the shape of a cracked tumbler and a broken wine-glass. To the sanguine temperament of Ludwig Hirsch a possibility of cherry-trees lies waiting under the odd glass roof. How pretty to see a white kernel separate suddenly from its shell; extend a slender root, firmly grasping the earth for safety and support; then as the white shoot changes to green, learn to lean as it were on its elbow, while an exquisite miniature wax-like leaf unfolded! Up to the height of the tumbler or wine-glass it would fairly expand, and then he would give the tiny fruit-trees to Estelle; having complete faith that at the heath cottage his grateful heart might graft a conservatory. The hope of seeing his treasures there also kept him hopeful, only the day seemed far off, for his infirmities prevented a journey, easilySIDE SCENES.
11
as Estelle would have arranged it. Sometimes the little plants nipped and withered in the frost, and his window-box supplied him with topics to muse, and to speculate, and to talk over, after the manner of the aged.
This day he already had a visitor. To Estelle’s surprise and Gabriel’s annoyance, M. Benedictus sat beside the old man. The two were intent on the study of an ancient book, written in dialectical Hebrew, the language formerly familiar to them, and that which Moses Mendelssohn and other learned men constantly used in conversation, partly because in childhood ancestral habit sanctioned its adoption, partly because the fear of amalgamating the customs of a nation which at that time despised and persecuted them, was a bar against learning the speech of a cruel country.
Mr. Hirsch’s wrinkled face betrayed his pleasure in the task. A pretty flush lighted up his features.
The grand head of the other student, propped on his fine ivory-tinted hand—a hand such as is noticeable in the picture known as the Marriage at Cana, also caught12
BENEDICTUS.
the brilliant sunlight pouring in through the window, while the loud echoes of machinery, as ceaseless as the wheels, reached the high attic without harshness, like the pleasant murmur of toil.
Benedictus rose; but Estelle hesitated at the threshold. The visit appeared ill-timed.
As the Roumanian stood up, the distinction of his appearance was evident. Estelle thought he resembled one of Titian’s full-length portraits of a “ Gentleman,” or a “Doge,” or a “Senator.” Such a diamond ring as he wore is to be observed in Titian’s portraits.
Certainly an enormous difference is discernible between the subjects, and the handling of Titian and Raffaelle; and Adrian, who has already been compared to several ideals, cannot belong to the Italian, the Spanish, and classic schools of art, it may be urged. But the traits, the loftier characteristics of several countries, attested to the truth of the comparisons.
The only unoccupied chair was pushed forward for Estelle. The other was already filled with a huge black cat, utterly repugnant to the Roumanian. Had the roomSIDE SCENES.
13
boasted a long descent of marble stairs, brighter colour, and some velvet draperies, this meagre place could easily have been converted into an interior after Titian, wherein a black cat is often observable as an adjunct. It struck Estelle. She smiled, and returned the hearty greeting of the old man, while Benedictus bowed gravely.
Gabriel, who loved animals only in less degree than his sister, made room beside the selfish, comfortable, imperturbable creature, an action that gratified its master.
“You are very kind, sir,” he said. “ He is spoilt, and dislikes to be interrupted in his afternoon nap.”
In Whitechapel, afternoon has a wide application. It usually signifies after dinner. When the dinner hour is strictly twelve, afternoon is apt to be prolonged to those ignorant of that pleasant boundary line in a long day formed by afternoon tea.
“ Oh,” said Gabriel, stroking the companion of his seat, who had in no way disturbed himself, “ we have thousands of pets at home.”
Benedictus laughed.
“ So many! But Miss Ruth adores them.14
BENEDICTUS,
How is she? She is not with you on your errands of mercy ? ”
Estelle made no reply. In the tone of the Roumanian there was something antagonistic, sarcastic, almost contemptuous. She had heard it before. It was one of the traces still left of the arrogance and despotism of the oriental training shown to women who have helped to shape their destinies; or so Estelle thought.
“ This is my brother,” she said; “ he hopes to become a minister, and he offered to accompany me to-day.”
Gabriel averted his face, and gently stroked the great Tom, whose shut eyes appeared to smile beneath this friction, and his black back rose.
“ You need never grudge tenderness to dumb things,” said the old teacher, “though I have heard cats and canaries are the signs of sorrow and a single life. They may be, though animals and birds do fill up many an empty place in the heart* My canary is an early riser if you like, rising at six to sing from under the handkerchief I wrap round him. He wears himself out, poor dear, and then he gasps in a heartrendingSIDE SCENES.
15
way at night. Ah, when my old eyes would rest, if my sad thoughts would let me, he’s a pretty thing to watch. And if I must keep waking with him, ‘ sing on, my dearie,’ I say. ‘ Is it of your sweet morning dreams you twitter?’ And he answers back, with a long, sweet note, stretching like a sunbeam across the dawn. And Tom, he is too much of a gentleman to lay a finger on him. I hope that I may live to hear you preach, Mr. Hofer.”
Benedictus narrowly watched Gabriel. Gabriel Hofer preaching I what a fantastic idea. There exists usually an analogy, a fitness between a profession and its pupil. Between Gabriel and an original sermon, or even lecture, where was the congruity?
Most unreasonably and unjustly Benedictus immediately assumed that his stepsister had persuaded him to choose this career. Gabriel, however, had warmly acquiesced in the advice of Mr. Laurence, who, incapable of discrimination, only knew that he should like a minister to dignify his family, already composed of tradespeople, and that his favourite Estelle would rejoice at this destiny. Gabriel,, who in spite of16
BENEDICTUS.
his extreme youth at that time, had the characteristics and qualities likely to adorn the situation; a great intensity of enthusiasm for holiness, ready compassion, natural eloquence, and an especial attribute of rallying, humorous perception, a tender satire, such as the Proverbs and Ecclesiastes show, and which seems often hereditary among the Hebrews, far from opposing the suggestion, was eager to carry it out.
Yet these amiable instincts, scarcely strong enough to be called virtues, would with equal facility grace the life of a poet,, a musician, an easy-going, refined dilettante. He turned away disgusted from squalor, dirt, crime, and poverty, nor were his gay verses by any chance concerned with these subjects.
Benedictus was pleased by the twins. He thought Gabriel original and amusing, and resolving not to be attracted by Thyra, he was annoyed with Estelle and her charitable visits. He did not want to know more of Thyra, yet when he met her friend he recognised the dangerous pleasure of hearing of her, and adopted an alternate coolness, irony, and indifference towards Estelle, puzzling and even painful.SIDE SCENES.
17
Now Gabriel, who in Berlin had developed the poetic side of his disposition, and who, by degrees, had glided away insensibly from theological aims, had no answer for Mr. Hirsch.
“A lofty choice,” repeated the old teacher; “ an excellent and important post.”
These words smote Gabriel’s ear with a sense of reiteration. He rose, and walking to the window looked down from a somewhat imposing elevation;
“A fine view,” he said. He spoke satirically. Back yards, unemployed cats, flapping linen, a fragmentary child, lonely and unheeded, raising up its voice in tears, supplied the details.
But Mr. Hirsch, in his simplicity, accepted the remark as sincere praise.
“Yes, Mr. Hofer, a nice airy place; the front of the house is too noisy, but here nothing troublesome reaches me.”
Advancing deafness excluded the woe of the desolate infant, the indignant wails and ceaseless warfare of the cats. Gabriel felt slightly ashamed; jesting, even a heavy jest to cover a pained sense of anxiety, is not always good as a weapon to defy the
II.	c18
BENEDICTUS.
investigation of an avoided topic. Benedicts smiled; but Estelle, unsuspicious of his thoughts, felfy troubled by Gabriel’s behaviour.
This was a moment propitious for the delivery of Thyra’s message, a message of good tidings truly to the old man, whose face flushed with the pretty flush of a gentle age, as Estelle told him in an undertone that Thyra would give him a certain monthly pension, a sum representing food and rent; and the first instalment of which she now gave him.
Estelle, ignorant of any reason to be silent about Thyra, and unaware that she should meet the Roumanian, had brought Thyra’s photograph to show the old man, who had begged to see some miniature or portrait of her, as she might not come in person. Estelle opened a locket that she always wore, on which the teacher, cheered and excited by the opportune gift, gazed admiringly.
“ How young, how sweet! ” he murmured; and with the usually excessive imagery descriptive of oriental opinion, he added, “ a fair angel from the garden of God.”SIDE SCENES.
19
“ May I see ? ” asked Benedictus, with a courtesy so soft, that Estelle wondered. “ If it does not trouble you, may I take the locket, Miss Hofer? ”
Estelle detached it from its chain, and Benedictus walked away with it to the window. The broad sunlight scarcely furnished a cause for this close scrutiny, on which he engaged with his back to the others. Gabriel moved away. The photograph was familiar to him, and perhaps the Roumanian was near-sighted, and required all the window. But he chanced to observe the expression which Benedictus brought to the picture’s study, how strange, how sorrowful it was.
“ Thank you; it is a beautiful face, free from la monotonie du type, significant of an ancient people. But you, Miss Hofer, understand how to criticise a picture, I do not.”
“ There is little to criticise in this,” Estelle said, re-stringing the locket, and determined to put aside equally discussions and panegyrics, in both of which she had a vaguely disagreeable sense that Gabriel would join, she bade farewell to the old man.20
BENEDICTUS.
“Are you bound on any other excursion? ” Benedictus asked, as he opened the door. ( “ Ausflug,” whispered Gabriel, “ see, Ollendorf. Say no, Estelle.”)
“ Let me accompany you. I am rough, I am all wrong; yet still let me.”
“I wish to show Gabriel a Board-school feast,” she said, hesitatingly.
“ And show me too, a banquet and children! ”
“ It is not a City dinner,” Gabriel said; “from Estelle’s programme, her menu, I should say, it is unlike the parties to which you are accustomed. You will not care for it, M. Benedictus.”
“But why not ? If the superb Mademoiselle Freund has given it, it will be a festivity of Lucullus for the poor.”
“Well, then, Miss Freund does not give it,” Gabriel said, provoked; “a lot of wealthy people let a lot of poor people have too large a lot of cake and tea.”
“ I understand,” said Benedictus; “ still, allow me to join the lot. How graphic is your description! ”
“ Come on, then,” Gabriel said, ungraciously. “ But why did not you finish yourSIDE SCENES.
21
reading with that poor old fellow? Give yourself a holiday, hey? We seem to desert him en masse.”
“ Your feast is a stronger attraction,” said Benedictus. “ Mr. Hirsch had also just declared his weariness. With his selfish cat, his boisterous bird, his valuable, if worm-eaten, library, he will not be moped in the least.”
“ Item of occupation: the hot-house in drinking-glasses,” said Gabriel, with a heedlessness only apparent to his sister since his return home, and dawning on her with a strange novelty.
“May I ask the nature of the study?” Estelle said.
“Yes,” said Benedictus, with a condescending amiability, as if he addressed an inferior mind, “ it is of colloquial Hebrew, a tongue seldom used, never now in England, I should say, or only in the poor little rabbinical schools still to be met with about this neighbourhood; but a powerful passport to the accurate knowledge of Jews, and the tyranny towards Jews in Russia, Poland, Roumania------”
“ Are you contemplating another effort22
BENEDICTOS.
for their freedom ? ” Estelle asked. It was a difficult subject to touch upon. “It is very perplexing to know what to do with the victims of despotism, except by the force of emigration.”
“ Which resembles the edict of expulsion, and is defeated by love of fatherland and patriotism,”- Benedictus said. “ Remember the unfortunates from Russia sent to America, to whom America refused shelter, and could give no work. They were promptly shipped back. There was no better space for them abroad—that large ‘ abroad,’ signifying opportunities vast and immeasurable— than in their native countries. Their taste for the vodki has grown. They belong to abstemious tribes: it is born of example. Their low scale of morality is the result, as their acquired craftiness is, of crushing cruelties. What are they now ?—timid, servile, wretched refugees. Where will it end ? They are too ground down to assert their rights, or even to care about striving for them. Religion is to them a slavish and habitual respect for empty forms and superstitions. And these are of that multitude designed to prove to the rest of the nationsSIDE SCENES.
23
the worth of honesty, domestic holiness— not quite lost—and public uprightness. Did you notice a dingy house, with large advertisements of coloured steamers in full sail, and enormously-lettered handbills concerning the benefits of emigration ? You did, Miss Hofer, yes ? To that house, a sort of humble hotel, I frequently go. In its large, empty ground-floor room, absolutely unfurnished, I see many of the unhappy offspring of the long oppression, longer hatred, of the race that rules. They stand about, these Russian emigrants, or sit ou their deal boxes, few and rough, containing scant apparel. I declare there were two or three all but bare, with perhaps only one garment, long and loose, falling straight from the shoulders, wrapt more impenetrably in their miserable, apathetic silence. All these were about to enter on a strange life, full of hardship, for they left the docks, at two o’clock, unfortified by food. They were starving.” “ Poor wretches! ” said Gabriel, lightly. “A shipwreck must have been comparatively a stimulating idea to them. Did you leave them to get their breakfast at two o’clock, M. Benedictus ? ”24
BENEDICTUS.
“ No, I did not. They had a very good breakfast before I parted from them. You have referred, Miss Hofer, to those wild plans of mine in Jassy. Religion has been the trumpet call to much bloodshed. Remember your gloomy fanatic Mary, who most assuredly deserved the shelter of an asylum. What wars, what deeds in the name of religion! But years will work their appointed mission, and religion, as it is called, will cease. Morality alone will survive.”
“ The years have no such mission,” said Estelle, indignantly, while Gabriel whistled melodiously two beautiful little couplets from an exquisite poem:—
“ ‘ Morning, evening, noon, and night Praise God! sang Theocrite.
So sing old worlds, and so,
New worlds thUt from my footstool go' " 1
“ That sounds like Buddhism, M. Bene-dictus; what you said, I mean, not the words of the dear little, monastic angel boy.”
“ 1 Something may help you heep unstained Your honest zeal to stop the voice Of unbelief with stone-throw, ”2
1 Filippo Baldinncci, 1676.	2 R. Browning.SIDE SCENES.
25
said Benedictus. “What! I know your great poet’s fervent songs, and love them well. Russian priests, the Tangiers tyrants —all, you think, will gradually become divine ? ”
“ They may attain to the divine,” said Estelle, colouring.
“ And help the efforts of religion, such as it is?”
“ Such as it will be ; yes, even that. But my experience brings forward other influences nearer home. The tyrant of Tangiers must wait.”
“But it is far away from home—your home, your little, comfortable, green England, I want to alter,” the Roumanian replied, with kindling eyes. “ I have long ceased to ppnder on the importance of our race as a section of the populace. If it is better to regard them as gradually fusing their earlier and nobler predilections—for with many is a higher term sincere?—with general objects of emulation, or to judge them with the traces of their suffering, in Poland, in Russia, in Roumania, clinging to ancient ceremonial, as a chosen people, the remnant of a favoured nation, I do not26
BENEDICTUS.
know. The latter is the grander conclusion, you say, with a luminous tinge of brightness. Better, Miss Hofer—or is it better ? -—to transplant them, leaving them hostages unredeemed, as it were, in the New World, than to resent, and rebel against the despotic laws by which they are made to suifer; to dream, and to wreck much of life’s keenest joy by the dream, of elevating, saving, or permanently benefiting them.” The thought that he was now too poor to renew his first ideal by marrying Thyra, if she could care for him, gave point to his words. Estelle, who had but recently read of the arbitrary tribunals yet flourishing, reflected on these alone.
“It is easier, without doubt. But that light policy of shrugging one’s shoulders, of letting the wrong thing continue, is not safe for ever, is not brave at all. The age is too earnest for any recreant knight, and cannot knights effect wonders ? ”
“ Not more than ladies,” he said, smiling, which was a very chivalrous and quite unexpected remark from the imperious Bene-dictus. But at least it closed the argument peacefully. Estelle was too serious to thinkSIDE SCENES.
27
much for a mere phrase, nor did she reply to his low-voiced addition.
“ See what Mademoiselle Freund can compass with your assistance ! ”
Some sarcasm lurked in this, she was afraid.
The three had now arrived at the Board school, and that this was the particular Board school selected for the treat was proved by the crowd of children hurrying through the street, many in clean pinafores, all carrying a mug, or a cup, or even a basin, or milk-jug, when their homes failed to produce the regulation drinking-vessel, a tax for the welcome tea, levied as a contribution or loan by the individual child towards the treat. The fear of being too late seemed to beset impartially the ragged little figures flying to the open doors. F or this day the street of Chicksand was wholly enfranchised, given over to wild delight. If the children were to be entertained, then would their elders witness that entertainment, not too dignified to stand in the entrance, not resentful of endeavours to remove them, again and again patiently taking up their stand and far too much of the limited space, care-28
BENEDICTUS,
less of persuasion, rebuff, and a marked absence of invitation, and in some instances winning, from persistence, or its pity, a little of the children’s provisions. One or two of the mugs fell down and broke, as were the knees bruised of their hurrying owners. To one acquainted with the care and solicitude which govern housekeeping in these regions, the saving and sparing for the most necessary expenditure, the needless outlay on a single cup, can be comprehended. After that feast would follow wrath and retribution. The mugless child would rise and face this, heedless of its knees, only engrossed by the broken china, while his companions cheered his sinking spirits. After the feast the Deluge. Thus do the gods make scourges of our pleasures. Nevertheless, in the midst of these, and of such like disasters, the poor children seemed bent on joy. Wan and meagre were they, and here and there a cripple slowly and laboriously toiled along. No extraneous sympathy was elicited by this. It was a perfectly matter-of-fact and customary occurrence. And some were handsome, healthy creatures, on whose smooth outlines the atmosphere ofSIDE SCENES.
29
squalor had set no sign. And again there were others, prematurely old, cunning of aspect. Upon the expression of these, and Such as these, inherited wickedness had worked its will.
As the hastening feet trot past, as the assemblage fills the narrow street, other visitors besides Benedictus and his companions join the crowd. The clamour hushes, and finally subsides at sight of the master and mistress in fair array. They are all at last settled on low forms, or benches.
The business before them is that of cake and bread and butter cutting, of filling urns with hot tea, of preparations for pouring out the tea, when cheerful preliminaries of gifts of toys and garments were disposed of.
The school held scant accommodation for any plan of this sort. Here no grace of flowers helped the dull interior to borrow, if it could not retain, brightness for the poor children. It was a very poverty-stricken place, with plaster walls, as ugly as possible, and showing up their fractures in the full sunshine. Rows and rows of30
BENEDICTOS.
thin, haggard faces peered out of the background, all childish, all ill fed. Before them were arranged the toys, casting grotesque shadows in the play of the light. Not an atom of self-consciousness interfered with their enjoyment. All were poor, hundreds were ragged. A clean, whole child was a pleasant surprise, for to their rags were often added grim details of scarlet flannel, or huddled shawl, hinting of ailments.
Patched or unpatched, it was a moving spectacle.
Benedictus, urging a rattle on one, and a thick slice of cake on another, looked very magnificent, and lost not one whit of his dignified demeanour in these small deeds. He was quite equal to the occasion, although his occasional thoughtful gaze and folded arms daunted the ravenous children. There was a whispered doubt, ending in tears. It was a question in one juvenile mind, at least, whether she was to eat the cake, or the Roumanian was to eat her.
Benedictus, who ivas fond of children, soon consoled the sobbing Sally. A watch to play with, and a half-crown to take home in this case, exercised a more trustworthySIDE SCENES.
31
influence than a religious controversy, or an argument with the apathetic inhabitants of Jassy, once had.
He did not betray by a sign the strangeness he felt in participating in such a scene. This, then, was how the English pleased, and feasted their little ones! The heat was great. An hour in such a steamy air, redolent of cake, charged with layers of bread and butter and milk, was quite enough for him, however. There were several volunteers more capable, and, without doubt, as willing as assistants.
“ The Chicksanduli at their sports are fatiguing,” said Gabriel. He had not even tried to enter into the spirit of their play. To him it was a tedious, wearisome spectacle, missing every element of taste, except, perhaps, for cake, and this is more decidedly an instinct than a taste, after all.
Not indifferent to Estelle’s white face, Benedictus asked whether she were tired.
“ But you regard it all from an artist’s point of view,” he said; “as a picture certainly not missing realism, and plain truth, you judge such an attempt at cheating32
BENEDICTOS.
those children into the belief that they áre happy.”
“ The belief is happiness, M. Benedictus. Who would grudge them that hour, even if, as you assume, they are deceived into a semblance of content ? ”
“Not you—not I,” exclaimed Benedictus, throwing off his disguise of cynicism. “ Even if the fact of their need outlasts that hour, a brief taste of the joy that will triumph, not of the sorrow that survives.”
“ In short,” interrupted Gabriel, “ what on earth is the sense of digging up things by their roots just to find out the sort of worm, joy or sorrow, who is feasting there in the dark ? Let him or her, sorrow or joy, finish their food. No root will flourish in that way by pulling it up to see what makes it grow. Dear Estelle, this is the true secret of digestion and growth. Let the child and the worm feast on undisturbed by the gloomy fear of no more eating next day.”
“ I wonder,” said Benedictus, “how Siich infants contend with the obligation of not stealing. Hunger versus theft. And how do their parents manage their natural affec-SIDE SCENES.
33
tions, restraining these children so successfully that they must not even ask ? Is not accepting a • bright shilling, or so, called pauperising, Miss Hofer ? ”
“ Not by everyone,” she answered, with a steadiness which set aside the satire ; “ a practical part in the strife between want and weakness can be undertaken without such’ a harsh word. One can preserve one’s impulse of compassion, follow it out, and still without levelling a struggling soul to the state of a pauper.”
“ Ah! reveries, and romances !—Schwärmerei! Glamours, and enthusiasms ! ” said Benedictus, but he looked benign.
Gabriel broke into a fit of laughter.
“ Oh, M. Benedictus, how excellently you know English, and Sheridan’s English, the ‘oath absolute’ of Bob Acres ! Oh, how funny ! Can you do another ? Try. Only practice is required, and that addition which is like the cream to the strawberry, the flavour of borage to the claret cup, the oath. Odd’s patrons, and paupers ! ”
“ Pray do not, Gabriel! ” Estelle said, with a side glance at the Roumanian, who had a fiery temper; but he joined in Gabriel’s
II.	D34
BENEDICTUS.
laugh, and showed no more offence than did Estelle when her words were called comprehensively “ Schwärmerei.”
And the Roumanian did not intend to be rude. Extravagant, overdrawn, fanciful, he might and did consider Estelle to be, while she remembered some such discussion with Cecil Haye, when she was young, when the world was young, too, and all aims and faiths were tinged with a golden glow. How attentive to her opinions, how deferential, and gentle, and tender he had been to those thoughts of hers.
“ Schwärmerei! ” and she coloured, although the word had many meanings. As Benedictus used it, there was little doubt that its meaning was not kind.
“ I am not a flatterer,” he said, with that smile that won belief, in spite of his occasional bluntness. Nor was he. In those exceedingly rare moments when he allowed himself to praise, the praise, if expressed in few words, was felt to be sincere.
And here it may be remarked that such an order of encomium, from a person whose deeds bear the stamp of unselfishness, whose own life flows on without being influencedSIDE SCENES.
35
by laudation, or censure, and who remains quite indifferent to any but his individual, and high standard of rectitude, not dilated on, not trumpeted forth to the world—except by those deeds—is the greatest and sweetest reward that one human being can give to another.
Estelle felt this ; and so felt the contemptuous epithet less deeply, and again a swift remembrance of Cecil Haye shot across her mind. Not zealous and benignant, alternately fiery and sceptical, but kind, good, with refined and cultured grace, never offending, never wounding------
Oh, yes ; but the wound was not mortal. It should not be.
She clasped her fingers tightly. Physical pain may stun a mental hurt.
In silence, and feeling the presence of the Roumanian as a restraint, Estelle, the pioneer of the party through these obscure byeways, led them through a district gradually losing the separate signs of the modern, struggling life of her people, to a long, narrow, badly-paved street. The latticed panes, catching the rays of the sun, showed that some of the tenements were of36
BENEDICTTTS.
an older date. In these topmost rooms the French weavers worked, at the beginning of the century. A few of their descendants carried on their father’s trade still, but the remaining portion of the houses was at the disposal of a class of society—to use the very mildest term—of a mixed nature.
To he mixed here is synonymous with the throwing of a superfluity of peculiar errors (to be mild once more), into another large quantity of variations of that original sin shared by all. Those who have even an elementary acquaintance with the schools of cookery, will understand that a superfluity of any sort will not blend well with any other ingredient. So the violent, intemperate, entirely lazy part of the populace now and then overpowered the others, and ran over the sides of the caldron which held this human mixture. Abruptly to finish a simile awkward to continue, the inhabitants of Weaver Street came to words— and what words !—with the tenants of Watney Passage.
And this large court, with a tunnel-like entry, is Watney Passage, and the Watneys, as this tribe of citizens may be denominated,SIDE SCENES.
37
seem anything but peacefully disposed. As some of their number lounge at the open doors it is evident that a few of the Wat-neys have been enjoying a passage at arms.
The men in general appear to have nothing to do, and the ladies of their domestic circle like to look on while they do nothing. Thus it may be inferred, and justly, that activity, except in war, is obnoxious to a Watney.
But one may note exceptions to this rule, always on the feminine side, for one poor woman had carried her heavy burden of tailor’s work and a broken chair to the pavement outside of the dreadful court, cruelly designed as living rooms for any, but rendered far worse by the sloth and strength of lazy lodgers.
But among the sudden beautiful bursts of sunshine, the trembling shadows cast by a latticed pane (and such lovely shadows can be thrown across even a common street from common objects!) the woman works on, and the reflection of her broken chair repeats itself in a wavering of fantastic shadow-dances on the broad stone, such as hints of the very soul of summer. This38
BENEDICTUS.
solitary example of the industry of Watney Passage occasionally throws scraps of conversation at the top of her voice, while she stitches at her sailor’s coat, to an opposite neighbour sitting on the doorsteps and pursuing her employment of impartial spectator, with that fine air of having neither duty or responsibility habitual in the passage. This it is, they say, that grieves and hurts the Socialist in the Aristocrat; this mien of languid leisure and ease. It is with the latter the result of a too indulgent education, and as such it would naturally irritate the heart of a Watney, who has scant sympathy, education, or indulgence, except that afforded by the public-house. And then the Aristocrat (with the sneering capital letter of a bitter envy) likes athletic sports; on this ground the Watney meets him cordially. The athletic sports of his choice, however, are carried out by the favourite diversion of kicking Mrs. Watney in those intervals when the manly heart recoils from lounging longer and braces itself for the fight.
The unemployed matron on the steps looks slightly curious concerning the task of the busy woman, but this curiosity con-SIDE SCENES.
39
fines itself to sleepy glances, which probably light on the coat because the range of view is so strictly limited.
The working woman is no mentor; she has not the least idea of encouraging her neighbour to work likewise. Did she know of Kingsley, she might agree with him in his lines, with but a trifling alteration of a line to suit her experience of the passage—
“For men must fight, while women may work”
leaving it an open question, as it ever has been here.
The lazy neighbour, for her part, is quite unimpressed by example. Each pursues her own way of getting through the day, without arguing about their possibly antagonistic notions (the Watneys, it must be insisted on, are nothing if not antagonistic) of the best manner of filling up the hours.
The monotony of this placid, lotus-eating afternoon was quite unruffled by the appearance of three respectably-dressed strangers. A puzzled stare, a prolonged laugh, were the particular tributes to the foreign exterior of M. Benedictus. Now and then40
BENEDICTUS.
an enterprising jester hazarded a guess at his position, his country, his business there. This was a stimulus to other personal remarks, productive of hoarse laughter. The Court jester did but provoke a flickering interest. The coarse joke soon ceased. The raillery was powerless to persuade the “ fur-riner ” to blows.
But, oh, miserable creatures, dwelling in ignorance, content with ignorance, it is for you surely, and such as you, that the recoil of this age from the selfish carelessness of preceding years must be made! A little fuss, a little weariness, what do they matter ? If charity or its exercise assumes a sort of dissipation, a mistake for a moderate sense of duty; if effort and energy in these matters deaden pity; these for whom the work is so tardily begun are by nature effortless, by habit intoxicated, by custom cruel. And among them briskly roam the compassionate girl, the unordained priest, frequently some gentleman who takes his Sunday for the holy act, the wise and sensible mother, to whom all are types of her own children, as they might be, as they would be, if left to grow up apart fromSIDE SCENES.
41
gentle teaching. She shudders at the thought.
Lastly, the old maid brings up the rear; how undaunted, how free from care for self! These separate threads weave a garment thrown by heaven itself over earth’s most wretched spots, wherewith the vengeance of uncontrolled passions may be hidden. Or to speak plainly, music is added to the soup and the sewing. Soft sounds will help to charm the worst Watney from his wickedness. A succession of Evenings have been organised to amuse and refresh them, and in the course of time, ere the world be levelled to the wish of the Watney, and “ man cease to labour,” even here progress, not the progress of a fashion, but the progress of pity and patience, may have done wonders.
Estelle’s visit with Thyra’s gift was to the active tailoress. She was delighted that one of her correspondents showed a brave front to misfortune. The sight of this operated like magic on the heart of the dweller on door-steps. Up she rose, and began to relate her biography, with marginal notes descriptive of the hindrances42
BENEDICTUS.
her “ enemies ” were. It was very funny to hear her call herself industrious and hard-working; not like some people, with a disparaging reference to the coat-worker, who was always out. Still more queer was it to find that she was absolutely a victim to ceaseless labour; that she was even now but pausing to re-commence, after a heavy “wash.” The wash had not included her face, nor the breakfast tray, yet visible on the table in the dirty room into which Estelle followed her. The cat had made itself at home on the tray, and the milk had disappeared by consequence. This was a good point for the unemployed. There was no bread and no milk! But Estelle knew the ways of cats.
Some white articles of wearing apparel hung about near the ashes were evidences that washing was commenced, but the idea was obviously in its crudest stage. It needed to be developed. The proximity of the “ wash ” to the ashes was suggestive of the need of renewed washing, but this was after all unimportant in the judgment of a person who considered it a waste of leisure —not time—to make her own face clean.SIDE SCENES.
43
Some abuse succeeded Estelle’s firm resolve not to give any of Thyra’s bounty to this “ case,” as the individually afflicted and much tried are spoken of among each other, and to the district visitor.
“ Please to take my case into consideration.” This is the well-worn formula of appeal. It sounds well. Custom has endeared it to the begging-letter writer. It bears the stamp of civility, and the delicately selected phrase of consideration frees the case from the stigma of greed.
Their departure from Weaver Street and Watney Passage was, therefore, enlivened by forcible and loud observations from the disappointed one. The most telling reproach being shouted in a crescendo movement after Estelle.
It echoed after her through the sunlit street.
“ Call yourself a lady, do yer ? ” Not a pleasant manner of address, by any means, and, foolish as Estelle called herself, her colour rose, and her head drooped.
“ Silly old thing! ” whispered Gabriel, placing his hand on her arm, and the brotherly feeling comforted her.44
BENEDICTUS.
“ Who presides over that retreat ? ” Benedictus inquired.
“ Bacchus, I should imagine,” said Gabriel.
“ Miss Ashby,” said Estelle, looking up. “ This is really her district, only some of the inhabitants write to Miss Freund. This and some others are Gulielma’s courts.”
“ Her court of love,” interposed Gabriel, “ of love of her neighbour.”
“ Miss Ashby brings much cheerful constancy to her task,” Estelle said to Benedictus. “ F riends are so patient, and their reticence, and control of all emotional displays, contrast favourably with the excited energy of some denominations. Sullen and suspicious as they are, these men will talk to Gulielmawhen they refuse to listen, in fact, to another.”
“And the women?” said Benedictus, who, if he were not sullen, was sufficiently sceptical.
Estelle perfectly understood the sneer. She answered that “ women are not always so deeply impressed by this union of gravity and gentleness.”
“ One was not, just now,” said Benedictus, desiring, apparently, to propitiate her.SIDE SCENES.
45
But Estelle, as if she had not heard, continued: “All the excellent, and kind disciples of George F ox have this sweet reserve about them. It reminds one of the fragrance of lavender. These, M. Benedictus, are the houses of the French weavers, refugees driven to England at the time of Napoleon’s defeat. In Spitalfields some scions of the same stock have settled. Traces, too, of earlier endeavours on the part of Friends during this century to improve the condition of working men are perceptible in that neighbourhood, and earlier good plans are carried out by Miss Ashby. Such plans are hers by inheritance ; but her .ready feeling makes them her own. And with the assistance of her acquaintances, for she does not sing and play herself, in the heart of Whitechapel she entertains them.
“ And the beautiful Mademoiselle Freund sends you, but'does not bring in her gifts for bestowal herself ? ”
“ I like to be sent,” Estelle said, roused for Thyra’s sake. “ I am not rich ; on the contrary, the luxury of generosity is very much restricted. But then, with her unstinted bounty, the visits about these places46
BENEDICTUS.
are ameliorated. If everybody were to do tbeir best, as, by different methods, Gulielma and Thyra do, it would be well with the world.”
“ It is almost a pity that the state of society is not • yet sufficiently advanced to allow you to compete with your brother in his profession, Miss Hofer,” Benedictus said’. “ How admirably you would assist him in his pulpit ! ”
They had reached the great underground railway station which would divide their ways.
“ I do not like your Roumanian,” Gabriel indignantly said. Their railway journey was over grassy spaces, and soon the squalor they had just witnessed gave place to pretty stretches of landscape, and peeps of suburban villas. “ How rude he is, how faithless in everyone but himself. I forgot—in Ruth he seems to have a strange sort of belief. I know, of course, that she is a nice, dear little Ruth, but M. Benedictus really listens to her silly remarks on Shakespeare and the musical glasses.”
“ That certainly is a contrast to your behaviour, Gabriel. As for being rude, youSIDE SCENES.
47
cannot quite judge M. Benedictus from that standpoint of English manners, and he has been disappointed, you know.”
“Yes, I do know; one gets tired of him, and his attempts and failures.”
“ Dear Gabriel, what can it matter about a mere acquaintance ? ”
“ He does not like Thyra, or even admire her, I think,” Gabriel said, wistfully.
“ Yes, Gabriel, I think he does both like and admire her.”
“ I wish that he had stayed in Bucharest or Jassy, or wherever it was that he lived,” Gabriel exclaimed. “ Ruth is only flattered by his notice as one would be flattered by a bear’s appreciation. He does not like you, that I can see. But, Thyra ! who on earth introduced him to her, Estelle ? ”
“ Lady Eleanor Tyne, Gabriel. Are you looking forward to the time when you will be ordained, Gabriel ? ”
“ Not in the least,” he said, shortly. “ These people in whom you take such a strange interest, sicken me to preach to them. No, Estelle; rude as M. Benedictus’ remark was, you, dear, are more fitted for the giving of sermons, and, as48
BENEDICTUS.
for their tales, their trials, I cannot hear them.”
Estelle was thunderstruck; was he so vacillating, so callous, or could it be but a youthful freak, and would he not perceive on deliberation that the preparation he had received for the ministry ought, in great measure, to fit him for that vocation, and to raise him above the disgust and impatience such themes caused? They arrived at the heath cottage silent, and one of them, at least, sad.DAS GLÜCK UND DIE WEISHEIT. 49
CHAPTER XI.
“DAS GLUCK UND DIE WEISHEIT.”
It was the twentieth birthday of the twins. Adrian Benedictus had remembered it, and a basket of roses addressed to Ruth made her heart beat quickly with dismay. She was afraid of him, of his superior knowledge, of his steady, truthful eyes, and, after the manner of those who fear, she was fascinated too. But a gift from a comparative stranger was unpleasant.
To Mrs. Hofer’s simplicity the basket of roses bore no particular meaning. He was poor now, he ought not to spend his money on Ruth, but it was a nice, old-fashioned way of acknowledging the family’s hospitality, and he seized this anniversary. It was a pity Gabriel had referred to their birthday, because it might be construed into a hint. But yet---
II.	E50
BENEDICTUS.
“ But yet Ruth must keep them,” decided Gabriel. Thyra had sent an elegant work-basket, Gulielma some more canaries, poor Miss Nugent, with great pains, despatched through a friend at Exmouth a baby blackbird, all gaping beak and feathers, in a wicker-work cage, with his dietary scale scrawled on his railway label by his former master, and a card from Miss Nugent in the cage; on this was written: “ He is named after my friend Penberthy.” [“ He is too be Feed with barley-meel on a stick when he pipe.”]
“ More birds,” sighed Mrs. Hofer! “ what does Miss Nugent write, Ruth?”
“ Only the darling’s name, Penberthy.”
A collar for Guest from Gabriel followed. Estelle gave her sister a little bracelet, and to both twins flowers from Thyra.
“ I have but scant part in this joint celebration,” Gabriel said; “ where are my presents ? ”
“ Thyra makes no distinction, Gabriel,” said Mrs. Hofer, whose facility for trying to arrange all things comfortably was in great force on this occasion. “ She sends you both flowers, dear; and what fine flowers, Gabriel!”DAS GLÜCK UXD DIE WEISHEIT. 51
“I detest hothouse flowers in a room,” he exclaimed, petulantly. The sight of Thyra’s card, with a short message including both twins, vexed and offended him. “ Oh, Thyra,” was the eager cry of his heart, “a knot of violets all for myself, one leaf, one lily, wrould have been idolized, kept for ever ; hut I want no share of that huge bundle of syringa and stephanotis, fern and camellias. Ruth may have them all.”
It is very curious and touching to observe how frequently people who would not vex, or pain each other, and whose sympathies extend in an eager impulse towards the wretched and poverty-stricken, contrive to hurt and mistake.
Here was Thyra, to whom the unvarnished aspect of all misery was unspeakably distressing, heedless that Gabriel longed for just one token of her individual remembrance of him.
But, perhaps, she was not so heedless or blind to his love. She might desire to discourage it. He rather regretted the writing of his ode to Ruth ; where was the use of grieving her, if she, like her brother, took52
BENEDICTUS.
that ode as a grief—as he, for instance, took Thyra’s neglect.
He bit his lip, he looked round the room, as dumb animals search for escape when they are in pain, and are eager to bear such pain in silence. He threw away the card angrily, and walked away from the table.
“ Dear Gabriel,” Mrs. Hofer asked, with that want of tact so often displayed by relatives towards each other, with a most excellent intention, “ what has vexed you ? I can see directly, dear boy, when you are put out. What is it ? ”
“ Envy, mother,” he replied, so calmly, that his mother’s pity was baffled.
“ Oh, Gabriel, those presents are equally between you, except the work-basket, and the bouquet from M. Benedictus.”
“ Those are the afflicting exceptions,’’ he said, assuming his usual spirits.
“ But, dear Gabriel,” Mrs. Hofer continued, not displeased that Ruth had received some separate notice, “ he may not altogether understand how things are managed with us, and Miss Freund’s gift was a basket, child ; surely, Gabriel, you cannotDAS GLUCK UND DIB WEISHEIT. 53
want a basket, and a bouquet such as a young lady has ? ”
u Surely not ; or a birthday book, or a pretty bracelet. The scent of those white flowers is suffocating! ” and he closed the door on his hasty retreat.
“ Why did Gabriel run off so quickly ? ” Ruth inquired; but she was not eager for an answer, and Estelle had quietly followed him.
She found him at the organ, but he was not playing. His dark head was buried in his hands, and the eyes that he raised to hers, usually bright with raillery and happiness, were troubled.
“ Estelle,” he said, slowly and sadly, “ is not Thyra changed ? Do you forget what good friends we used to be, how she would be amused, and how ready she was to talk to me ? And now, on my birthday,” poor Gabriel added, tragically, “ she entirely overlooks me. You see her frequently; oh, can you not tell her that to win her is the aim of my life ? ”
“ Consider, Gabriel, how dishonourable it would be, and think of the difference in her position and yours, and how young you are! ”54
BENEDICTUS.
“It is only youth that feels,” Gabriel said, scornfully. From his point of view, Estelle was beyond that feeling.
“ I love Thyra,” he said, after a pause, in deep, earnest tones. “ I shall always love her. Estelle, do you believe in the constancy and steadfastness of first love?”
“ Yes, Gabriel.”
“ Mine will last,” he said, “ and it will overcome every distinction. Tell me, Estelle,” impatiently, “what is your own opinion ? ”
“ Honestly, Gabriel ? ”
“ Why, of course.”
“ On first love, on your first love, or what ? ”
“ On everything,” impetuously. “ I can withhold confidence no longer. Why, Estelle, the first hour of my return I wandered about on the heath, before I even saw one of you. A few wild-flowers I put together. ‘ A handful of English bluebells, from a stranger,’ I wrote, and sent them to Thyra. She never told me what she thought of it.”
“ But, Gabriel, she really might have believed they were sent by a stranger. You know how literal Thyra is.”DAS GLUCK UND DIE WEISHEIT. 55
“ Ah, she might have known the writing. Tell me, Estelle.”
“ Dear Gabriel,” and she sat down beside him at the organ, and smoothed his hair. “ I think you will be many times in love.” “ Estelle! ”
“ And,” heedless of his indignation, “from my knowledge of Thyra’s character, she will care for one more solid of disposition, more grave and earnest than you are.”
“ M. Adrian Benedictus! ” scornfully. “You have no right to hint at such a probability, Gabriel. Are there only you two to choose between ? Her world is bright, with every aid to enjoyment. She need not marry anyone at present.”
“ And you imagine that if I compete with her host of suitors—for I know that they exist,” he continued, hotly—“ that it will be as an ill-paid, hard-working, poor mini-ster, with a small salary, struggling with the poor and the wretched. Ah! ” changing his tone, “ but I forgot! that is the class that win her sympathies. Oh, Estelle! advise me, help me.”
“My advice is, remain a boy, Gabriel, at least until next year, and if you regret your56
BENEDICTUS.
choice of a sacred profession, do not allow it to be irrevocable, or to embitter you. Give up the idea altogether, if it annoys you.”
“ It has its fine points,” he said, with pensive deliberation. “ If the musical pomp of psaltery, cymbal, and viol were revived in the synagogue, or their adequate representatives of organ and trained voices, a mixed choir—in all synagogues, not one especial sect—I could imagine it a most excellent office to lead a congregation.”
“That time will arrive, Gabriel. You, at least, may live to see the gorgeous accompaniments of our form of worship restored. But are there no other parts of a minister’s duties that attract you ? ”
“ To be sincere, not many. All our beautiful decorations and music have been appropriated by the Catholics. How beautiful is the setting of their religious worship, how plain is ours! ”
“ Yes, Gabriel. How grand are the renunciations they impose on themselves, how earnest their works! And ours, Gabriel ? Have you ignored them so utterly, that music is the most elevating detail for youDAS GLÜCK UND DIE WEISHEIT. 57
to seize as an inducement to follow out your career ; its absence sufficient to turn you from it ? A sick, romantic feeling leads you to dwell on a symbol.”
“ A very powerful and important symbol. Yes, I acknowledge it. To me the very keynote to those emotions Which give rise to religious feeling, more, oh! far more convincing than those grim, squalid sights that I saw with you. Yet,” softening again, “ there is Thyra’s gathering to which I am to play. The poor tailor girls might help me to see more clearly the advantage of trying to go among their homes. I hate to think girls have to work at such laborious tasks.”
He was but a variation of her one sister Alexina, Estelle thought. And oh, what a mistake it had been to imagine he would ever carry out—he, with such a bright, careless nature, that shrank from responsibility and the sight of sorrow or pain—a calling dedicated to the alleviation of both.
“ Look here, Estelle,” picking up a manuscript piece of music from a collection in his own writing, in an untidy heap on the floor; “ I found this in one of the old edi-58
BENBDICTUS,
tions of the prayer-book; one of the ‘piyu-tim' A ‘piyut,’ you know, is a kind of chant, or praise. All the Hebrew words are most rhythmical. In fact, the chant is in perfect metre in the original, and I tried to put it into English. I wish that I could obtain the original air; but I will have a good hunt at the British Museum. I have made a little air of my own. ” He paused, and then, pulling out a few of the organ stops, he threw back his head, and sang with deep feeling, and in one of the most beautiful of cultivated tenor voices
I.
“ Flee to thy tranquil refuge, for lo,
We have wearied Thee with our headstrong ways, We have been smitten with every woe,
But Thou, oh Lord, art the light of our days,
Our strength, and hope, and my soul said so,
And 1 said to my soul, from the weary earth flee; Full long have I learnt, and now I know,
As a garden well watered Thy chosen shall be,
ii.
“ Flee, my beloved, to the Temple, where
The Lord will hear us, and cherish the sound Of our cries for freedom; we poured our prayer, In chains of iron, in anguish bound.DAS GLÜCK UND DIE WEISHEIT. 59
Our sanctuary, our redeemer is there,
To grant our redemption; for this we have fled,
To His habitation, His holy care,
Though our sins have risen above our head,
in.
Flee, my beloved, ¿0 the righteous city,
Though we hearkened not to the voice that would lead Us into the path of mercy and pity,
Crushed under foot, we anguish and bleed.
On Him the weight of our burden we cast,
To strengthen, redeem us, bind us fast.
IV,
“ Flee, my beloved, to the signed habitation;
Though we would not bear, and wilfully broke, Destroyed, and scattered, a sorrowful nation,
Oh Lord, and lawgiver, Thy mighty yoke !
Rejoice us, redeem us, be compensation,
Raise Thyself from our border, loosen our chains, Revive our hopes, and grant us salvation,
Quicken our joys, and heal our pains.
v.
“ Flee on, my beloved, far on to the mountain,
High over the hills, for evil overtakes,
We who have broken thy law; be a fountain Of mercy now, for Thy people's sakes.
Yea, grant us favour, grace, and salvation,
Redeem us, adorn us, who pour out our prayer In song and abundant supplication.
Flee, my beloved, to thine own habitation,
Win me the helmet of mercy there,"60
BENEDICTUS.
Gabriel looked up at his step-sister.
“ Must you go now, Estelle ? ”
“ Yes; I have to go to Kensington.”
“ That was easy to guess. Do you think Madame Freund will forget me too ? ”
“I am sure not, Gabriel. You know Madame Freund always liked you. Do wait a day or two.”
“ Then, Estelle, tell Thyra how delightful the excellent judgment of her gift was to me. How greatly I appreciated the sensible fashion in which she greets us—Ruth and me—not as individual friends of hers, merely as twins, slowly emerging from childhood, with a present between them. Oh, for one flower, Thyra! ”
It was always difficult to guess the reality of Gabriel’s feelings from their melodramatic expression.
He buried his face again in his hands. This time Estelle should not see that his eyes were dimmed by genuine tears, half of boyish petulance, half of sincere disappointment.
In doubt Estelle bent, and kissed his handsome head.
“ Forget Thyra.”DAS GLÜCK UND DIE WEISHEIT. 61
“ You are so sure of my inability to win her ? ”
“ Dear Gabriel, are not you in your heart as sure ? ”
“ Oh, wait then ! Tell her ”—with angry pathos—“ and this is a more conventional message to send, that those who dwell so lingeringly on the sufferings of the poor, have little care to bestow, little patience to lavish on the immaterial, minor sufferings of------”
“ Of a minor,” Estelle said, smiling, tenderly enough. “ Poor boy! do not be so vexed and downcast.” And she thought of the admiration, years ago, of the boy for the girl. Then it had been a pretty jest to all, indulgently perceived, kindly received by elder people; Madame Freund, for instance, who, while she liked and admired Gabriel, would have been anything but pleased or amused at the old preference continuing. Madame Freund had outlived her sweet illusions. All that was over, quite forgotten, and finished. The girl had become a lovely, distinguished creature, an object of attraction, such as she in her simplicity never dreamt of outside her imme-62
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diate circle. The boy was still a boy, ardent, undisciplined, pettish when denied, with his fortune and position to make ; but, nevertheless, a brilliant, gifted being, full of genius, rebelling at the very idea of refusal on any point on which he set his hopes. Of a poor family, raised above a mediocrity which was an inheritance on the side of the stepmother, and of Dr. Hofer’s first wife, by his own higher lineage, and by the talents of the bright children, notably that of painting, which helped in its results to develop Gabriel’s tastes, no one could have beheld in the ambitious, twenty years’ old youth a lover suitable to Thyra.
“Do not neglect Ruth,” Estelle said, as she set off, nor did he. He had written a somewhat dubious ode to her birthday; he had derided that wonderful attempt at a novel; but now he joined her, having forgotten her vaguely stated intention of “ writing,” absorbed in an occupation that was far more congenial to her. She was washing her green parroquets, who bent their graceful, emerald-hued throats beneath the gently flowing stream of Ruth’s watering-pot, sparkling in the morning sunshine,DAS GLÜCK UND DIB WEISHEIT. 68
now hoarsely, anon clearly exultant, casting from throat to shoulder an unfurled wing like a delicate green pennon, turning a rose-ringed neck towards the refreshing drops, being humoured, coaxed, sweetly scolded to the performance of their toilette by their creature-loving mistress.
“You are too funny, Ruthie, with that private menagerie. Depend upon it you will be an old maid, like Miss Nugent.”
“ Perhaps,” said Ruth. It was not altogether a pleasing prospect. Life holds happier ideals.
“ But it is more natural to see you spoil your family of birds and beasts, than to picture you at book-making.”
“ Other people can write, Gabriel.” “That is a fact, dear; but it has little reference to you, except to widen your range of pleasures by reading their books.” “ If I like to read, why may I not write? ” “ Well, then, write if you can ; only that sort of thing is generally led up to, beginning to show itself at about the age of nine; then by going at it, and writing tales and verses on every scraps—on the margins of newspapers, on the walls, if one is hard up, finish-64
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ing when funds are very low by old account-books. Then, under those circumstances, a novel is not such a surprise. Now, if you have no fears on such a fine day of cramp or rheumatism for your parroquets, have a walk.”
And soon the brother and sister were dipping into the ferns and bluebells of the heath, without a thought of lifelong disappointment, love unrequited, aims, and counter aims. Here, only grassy glades clad in a green glow of summer gladness.
How beautiful a few nocturnal showers had left the heath ! The wild thyme was suddenly blown; clover and trefoil, pretty, common little plants, dotted the grass. The magic of lonely herbage, the spectacle of a quiet dreamland in sunlight, sank into Gabriel’s impressionable heart. By and by the white glare would come; the heat and the glow, hand in hand, would fill the cool, calm nooks with warmth, and an intense radiance reign above the golden reflections.
That grey mist indicates the distant city. In the peaceful hush now enwrapping the remote parts of the heath, the outward-bound clerk and the artisan do not pene-DAS GLÜCK UND DIE WEISHEIT. 65
trate. But, later on, an influx of toilers will take their pleasure, too, and the now unbroken solitude of the heath lose its atmosphere of seclusion.
And to-day, this brilliant day, what of Adrian Benedictus, who has cast the fetters of his faith away, and who, now untrammelled by any especial form, seeks by the exercise of charity to fill an unsatisfied heart ? This has won for him many acquaintances, dear, original, touching, determined to find in him a stronghold against misfortune’s inroads. But he was lonely enough, not happy, not sanguine any longer.
He mused on his recent introductions to Thyra, to Ruth, and Estelle.
They severally interested him, Ruth’s pettish pertness, partly shy, partly daring, amused him. Estelle’s intellectual life, her exceptional attainments, summoned an errant thought now and then to settle on her; some butterfly, roaming speculation, would alight by chance as memory reproduced her fine mien, her earnestness, her meek endeavours.
But between him and his page Thyra’s lovely face intruded. About her his fancies
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assembled as be leant bis bead on bis elbow, and took a few minutes’ grace from bis studies.
For, notwithstanding wbat was said of him (and what he never took the trouble to deny), the learned studies of his race interested him in a higher measure than many more modern.
And these pages over which Thyra’s serious eyes hovered, as he thought, smiling at the thought, were a touching and pathetic little volume.
The Hebrew version of “ Paradise Lost,” for which, as its translator stated, no more fitting title could be placed, than the solemn sentence in the book of Genesis, “ So he drove out the man.”
In a curious preface, evidently first written in German, and then anxiously rendered into English, which bore the traces of German, the author spoke of the joy and difficulty he had found in reconstructing from the broken Hebrew lute an air which should pour all its pathos and grandeur truthfully into listening ears. The language so familiar to Benedictus fell as rhythmically, as regularly across his meditations, now fullDAS GLÜCK UND DIE WEISHEIT. 67
of Thyra, again following the track of his early life in Roumania, as the cool plash of an oar sending up a refreshing light shower of spray at every stroke. The echo of the oar, the wavering of the spray, resembled the easy dropping of the majestic phrases.
The national lyre, on which of old times the Hebrew poets strung their grand melodies, once again sounded its music in the memories of the self-exiled Roumanian.
“ So he drove out the man.”
Who has not dwelt in Eden once ?
All his dreams and ambitions were done with. His fortune was gone.
But if, as M. Becquer suggested, they had but commenced ; if it were possible that in Thyra F reund he should see every dream vitalised, and live, and dream again for her sake ? Every man has his Eden once ; but when the gates are remorselessly closed, guarded sternly against his return, is it granted to him, as to the poor, obscure, learned German poet, to reconstruct its semblance ? And he was poor, while she was wealthy, and, if he eventually chose a bride, it should, with more propriety, be Ruth Hofer.68
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It was characteristic of his training that he never took Ruth’s refusal into question. This was a strange trait, due to his associations rather than his habit of mind. And, having resolved to ask for Ruth at some time—M. Becquer, a confirmed bachelor, was always begging him to marry—he would call at Kensington and see the new friend to whom he had so lately been made known. And, if he were asked, he would attend Thyra’s evening to the poor east-end work-girls. Perhaps Ruth might be present. Certainly Thyra would be there.
So he closed the touching little volume, and put it, with his restless self-communing, away for that time.
Happiness and wisdom: “■ das Glück, und die Weisheit,” of Schiller, can they not be woven with each other ? So hard to reconcile, although so marvellously easy, according to philosophers. The world is still growing. The silent flowing of that silent river of romance keeps pace with its progress still. But happiness—but wisdom— which is better to try to attain ?
With Thyra Freund, Miss Ashby is staying. Gulielma, happy, and very wise, hasDAS GLÜCK UND DIE WEISHEIT. 69
been talking about the schemes generally favoured now.
“ I did not see you at the opening of the People’s Recreation Ground at Shadwell,” she said.
“ I dislike the conversion of a grave-yard into a play-ground,” Thyra said. “ Death has its rights. Spaces thus obtained cannot be healthy, or fresh. It is sacrilegious, really, Gulie, in my opinion. Why, we never walk over a grave. Is it not so, Miss Hofer? Those are the sort of steps, in utilizing every available spot and scattering its sanctity, that I should not care to advance, rather to retard.”
“ Ah! ” said the calm Gulielma, who now and then relapsed into the sweet Biblical phraseology of early Priends, “ I cannot quite see the matter from thy point of view, though the feeling is worthy of consideration. The poor crowded children, Thyra, think of them! And how can they find room to run about after school hours if not thus ? And it is said that no injury to health can accrue.”
Thyra was silent. Here she was not altogether practical, perhaps, but very70
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natural; and the air of antiquity and solemn peace pervading the hurial-grounds of the Hebrews is certainly in every respect opposed to the idea of heavy-footed races.
“I should not like anyone to rush about over me,” said Estelle, shuddering; “fond as I am of children.”
“ I am going to the Evening,” Miss Ashby said. “ I am so glad that you are allowed to be there, Thyra. It is less easy, is it not, to gather your poor girls than ours? Is it that they less willingly lend themselves to progress, or are they content as they are ? ”
“ Oh, I do not know,” Thyra said. “You see your community, I mean all the rest of the world, is so much larger than ours, and so they respond with a more accurate comprehension of what is to be done, and what they must do. Both ‘ theys,’ Gulielma; the rich and the poor. And Miss Hofer says their ignorance of English keeps some of our poorer class hack, so many are foreign, or partly foreign. And then their ways and habits are ancestral; unchanged they continue from one generation to another. Oriental natures are slow at adapt-DAS GLÜCK UND DIE WEISHEIT.
71
ing themselves to the constraint aild the chill demeanour of the north.”
“ I can hear Miss Hofer in that sentence,” said Gulielma, smiling. “ Thee is an interesting people! I will certainly come. What is the programme ? ”
“ The girls may work a little first, they bring their things to mend. But, poor girls! they must have had sufficient work by eight o’clock. Then Miss Hofer’s brother will play to us on his violin; then somebody else will recite, somebody else will read, and so forth.”
“ How very interesting! ” Miss Ashby murmured, with the sort of mechanical emphasis long habit will bring. Much practice in discussing and applauding similar schemes likewise confers an aptitude, a facility for listening and yet pursuing one’s own thoughts at the same time, such as constitutes, in its way, an accomplishment.
“ Was that handsome youth at the Shakespeare scenes your brother, Miss Hofer ? Oh, yes, of course. I shall so like to hear his violin.* How clever he looks! ”
M. Benedictus was announced. As he gravely shook hands, his glance took in the72
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magnificent hair, the superb pallor, the youthful elegance of Thyra, the flashing lights of the bird beside her, then the beautiful objects by which she was surrounded.
He sighed, and relinquished her hand. Then Gulielma, so subdued and modest,
with her soft-hued dress, but------but she
took her leave almost as he entered.
Benedictus, with an effort, began to talk to Estelle, and presently Herr Freund came in.
“ I should like you to see Miss Hofer’s miniature of my daughter,” he said. He always went halves as it were in Estelle’s success, sharing, if not her inspiration, at least the praise it brought. From the first date of their acquaintance he had taken a most active delight in her work. How else, then, could he display it than by asking her to paint Thyra over and over again?
The house certainly showed in what esteem Herr F reund held her art. His collection of pictures was splendid; he gazed more frequently at those of which Thyra was the model than at his more valuable examples.
Now the Roumanian, well accustomed to see beautiful paintings as he was, studiedDAS GLÜCK UND DIE WEISHEIT. 73
the little miniature, so fresh and brightly tinted, and as he looked, he repeated, with his careful, measured pronunciation, in a low voice, which yet was perfectly audible, from his favourite “ Timón of Athens ”—
“ 4 How this grace
Speaks his own standing! luhat a mental power This eye shoots forth ! how big imagination Moves in this lip ! to the dumbness of the gesture One might interpret. It is a pretty mocking of the life.
.......Til say of it
It tutors nature'"
To whom did the quotation apply? To Thyra’s beauty, to Estelle’s talent ? Bene-dictus spoke with a simple dignity in which there was something almost childlike.. lío one could laugh, although each of the three felt an inclination.
“ You are a good Shakespearean scholar,” said Thyra, blushing. “ Do all your countrymen know him as well?”
“I have no acquaintance-with my countrymen,” Benedictus answered, ironically. “ They are all bad, unworthy of a word; they have no literature, no ambition, nor the energy to try for either.”
“ How bad they must be, indeed! ” said74
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Herr Freund, for Thyra was too much astonished to answer. Not a doubt existed in her father’s mind that the lines were due to Estelle’s genius. Perhaps he had been unwise in drawing attention to the little velvet-framed miniature. Well, it was an error, but his breach of good taste must be excused on the very reasonable ground of fatherly partiality.
“ Do not the Roumanians sing and play well ? ” said Thyra, timidly. His pride, his heterodoxy, his hot temper, increased her curiosity concerning him.
“ There is the ‘ doina,’ ” she said; she had at least read something about his birthplace. since their first meeting. “ The songs of the people, how pretty they must be! ”
“ They are as pretty as the people themselves, Mademoiselle,” with an expressive shrug and a meaning glance at Heir Freund. “ They are not for you to sing.”
Thyra blushed again, and painfully.
“ But Roumania must be so beautiful, with its associations, its mountains, and roses.”
“ Its associations! Of despots, of cruelty to the defenceless and weak! ” Then his voice rose, he continued rapidly—DAS GLÜCK UND DIE WEISHEIT. 75
“ Heap mountains above long years of craft and bigotry on one side, the result of domineering and oppression on the other— then I will praise them. Find the associations of truth and integrity—then their romance will be visible. As for your roses, Mademoiselle! Their red hearts may symbolize the ‘ bleeding cause of my native land.’ Read the ‘ Romanul,’ the ‘ Revista Israelita;' read M. Isidore Loeb’s ‘Situation des Juifs en Serbie et en Roumanie,’ and tell me no more of my beautiful country.”
He broke off abruptly, rose, and moved to the chimneypiece, as if to address a larger audience than the cheerful Herr Freund, the unmoved Estelle, and Thyra, who was quite abashed. Benedictus raised and let fall his hand, and the gesture conveyed a depth of disgust as sincere as it was dramatic.
“ Enthusiasm is lost on the Roumanian government, who love nothing better than repose. ‘ Let us sleep,’ they say, ‘ let us sleep. Startle us not by outcries against time-honoured habits of savagery. Old and continued oppression, leave her with us, so76
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that the hem of the robe of Justice cannot even he seen by our children.. She has vanished, she has vanished! ’
“ * Even that Greece who took your wages Calls the oholus outworn;
And the hoarse, deep-throated ages Laugh your godship into scorn.
And the poets do disclaim you,
Or grow colder if they name you' ”
He ceased. His auditors, far too much surprised to venture a remark, were still silent.
u I must apologise,” Benedictus concluded. “I should ask your pardon, Herr Freund, but I forget, I am carried away. I should make pretty speech of your flowers, of that stephanotis, for instance, that has the bad fortune to grow in Bucharest, or of your bird, Mademoiselle, who is resplendent, the object of Mademoiselle’s tender favouritism. He has seen the mysteries of the spreading green forest; far distant forest, with that wise eye, and when he speaks he is like an enchanted bird who has learnt the secret of the woods. I must talk of birds and flowers to young ladies.”
“ Well,” said Herr Freund, “it is betterDAS GLUCK UND DIB WEISHEIT. 77
than of your gloomy politics. Now you must stay to lunch with us, and then, pray, M. Benedictus, accompany us to Thyra’s evening reception of the work-girls. Well ? ” “ Yes, well,” said Benedictus, slowly, and Thyra was radiant. The Roumanian was becoming more and more interesting to her. His faults, his mannerisms, all were to her attractive. That Madame Freund disliked both his enthusiasm and his faults, was a pain, and that he seemed to care for Estelle and Ruth more than for herself, gave the pain a keener edge.78
BENEDICTUS.
CHAPTER XII.
THE KRAKOVIAK.
Multiplied, truly, are the public meetings of this century for the entertainment of the poor. The comic, the pathetic, the martial song or. recital is one of their chief elements, and a chapter of Dickens, alternating with a practical lesson on the cure of convulsions, or a lecture on cooking—not extravagantly illustrated, perhaps, but still accompanied by pleasantly odorous results—gives to a certain number of dull women and flippant girls an hour or two’s amusement, while something elevated and tender is stirred in their souls, as they listen entranced. For music, cooking, and recitation are the favourite themes. The cooking simply throws their minds off their balance. They beg for the bran tea (also for what is left of theTHE KRAKOVIAK.
79
bran), all have, or will have, weak throats, demanding the triumphs of the two successful corn-flour blancmanges. The fresh, refined-looking amateur cooks are unable wholly to conceal their dread of disputes, and so the dainties they anxiously teach the people how to prepare often fall in the. end to those who least need them. Clamour and persistence assert their claims here, as elsewhere. Lemonade can be handed round, and its merit tested (with one spoon) by probably forty or fifty eager judges. This is simple, only becoming complicated when one woman, coughing loudly, proclaims her right to all the lemonade, and, disdaining the spoon, refuses to relinquish the jug, and coolly empties it. Arrowroot is charming too, if somewhat clammy in division, and the beef tea—every hand in the assembly is raised to prove the most abject need of beef tea. Then (so poor are the pupils of this cooking assembly) who comes in for the shreds of the beef?
Again the show of hands witnesses that even these are high in favour.
The predominance of complete selfishness in these matters is doubtless no less abso-80
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lute than that which prevails at other gatherings or distributions, but it is more brutal and visible, quite unsoftened by sense of self-respect, or sensitiveness to a check. The squalid, care-lined creatures are wholly indifferent to the wants of age more advanced, of suffering more definite than their individual burdens. Herein the degrading influence of such sordid misery is apparent, blunting natural pity, blinding the dulled eyes to the perception of other sorrows than those they had experienced.
In the course of an evening such as this, hot tea and cake were given to the assembly; these unlocked the heart, made conversation more genial, and were received with a pleasure that at least had some affinity with politeness. Some such plain refreshment should always accompany this sort of gathering. Tea is the incense offered to those gods who must be propitiated before any real benefit can be conferred on these guests. The hungry, always unsatisfied appetite must be appeased, or else intellectual feasts have no very eager reception. What architectural structure can be erected without a foundation ? How can aTHE KRAKOVIAK.
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poor, half-fed person be pauperised by a cup of tea, any more than when wealthier friends hospitably provide for friends some small repast ? Does afternoon tea pauperise the rich, from the rich ? And if the benefit is too crushing, and must be acknowledged in fitting sort, how can this be done by the needy creature entirely without adequate means ? It is quite a novel idea, that of pauperising a starving woman who has left her one wretched room for a little change, by such a small portion, and if a cup of tea and its welcome accessory of bread and butter, or cake, be a bribe to better things, to higher attainments, without which this poor class refuse to be lured even from the dirty solitude they call home, then the misery of their lives is only enhanced by this fact, revealed in all its truth to those who would help, but who will not rob them of their independence.
These sentences sound without meaning in the ears of those who judge directly from their own inability in age, or middle age, to work without food. The young may do it for a time, but to an ignorant student of about fifty, sincerely weary of her pinched
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days, and desirous to listen, if she can no longer learn about other subjects than those connected with bare, hard economy and toil, a cup of tea will revive and expand (it is hardly ever strong enough to enervate) her grateful heart.
Thyra had hired a large, barn-like loft, far away in the east-end, at the top of a china warehouse, more available, and less hedged in with stipulations and difficulties than a vacant Board school-room would have been for the purpose. The walls were whitewashed; on the floor were plain deal tables. Although it was full summer, a small, clear fire burnt in the grate. There were stereoscopes, illustrated magazines, spelling games, some books which might be borrowed, and half-a-dozen arm-chairs, in which the aged might rest, and a collection of clean wooden benches for the younger members. There were pictures, a little piano, and some desks for those who wished, as they phrased it, to “get on with their writing.” A homely, cleanly simplicity pervaded the place. Flowers, liberally contributed by Thyra, lent a grace not otherwise attainable, and this amateur class-THE KKAKOVIAK.
83
room, lecture-hall, concert-room, and study steadily held its own, under the alternate supervision of Miss Ashby, Estelle, their friends, and rarely, but still on those occasions when Herr Freund forgot his nervous apprehensions for her health, a visit from Thyra.
It was a meeting free from a committee. The three principals, Thyra, Estelle, and Gulielma, made it their special thought. The three strove to beautify and to widen the aims of the poor work-girls’ lives. The poor mothers and grandmothers were very willing to sit silent in a warm, cheerful room, to listen attentively to every scheme proposed for their recreation. Estelle and Gulielma performed the real work. Gulielma taught them to save a little, and very proud- were the poor members of their heavy boxes of pence. When changed to silver, the contents of that box lost its important weight. Miss Nugent helped them to mend their worn garments ; there were sewing evenings, evenings for instruction, and evenings for entertainment.
And oh, at what a comparatively small cost can such an undertaking be carried84
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out! Even granted the tea and the cake, how inexpensive it can be made, and what pleasure introduced into monotonous days of toil, by the prospect of such a close. Many a low-voiced “Friend” took turn at entertaining, talking with a sweet, dignified sedateness to the audience, and unaffectedly interested in a meeting convened chiefly for the purpose of drawing what they referred to as the “ chosen people ” from the temptations of pleasures not so temperately wholesome.
For the peculiarity of the meetings was that they were designed mainly for that section whose very laws and habits entail a separatism and isolation opposed to the more numerous cheerful changes arranged for their neighbours, in which they may not join without incurring suspicion of heavier bribes than tea.
Concerts and lectures can summon any denomination, but those who cannot pay; and within this especial district mission halls abounded, and no doubt offered many a conflict between irreconcilable customs.
But no bigotry or formalism marred the amateur enterprise. Everyone tacitly ac-THE KRAKOVIAK.
85
cepted things as they were, and if the meeting, mainly formed of one particular creed, received occasionally those of another, it was taken as a matter of course by its presidents, who belonged to that race whose principle is not proselytism.
On this particular night, one of the visitors read “ Rizpah.”
It is a grand poem ; its force appeals to all présent. F urtively-lifted ends of shawls or aprons applied to tearful eyes respond to the training and natural music of the reader, who himself is touched by the eloquence of the grand poem.
A cheerful old woman volunteers a reminiscence of her youth when the robbing of the mail was a familiar item of daily news. Also the punishment for the same, the spectacle of which offered an incentive for a walk. This realistic anecdote is pointed by the remark of a younger matron, who weeps as she exclaims,
“How wonderful to hear him explain a mother’s feelings ! ”
Another remarks with decision, “His words flows.”
Then another favourite, greeted with86
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rapturous applause, recites something funny, and as the last echoes of laughter die away, Thyra enters, accompanied by her father, and Adrian Benedictus, who dined at Kensington.
With one accord the meeting rise. They worship Thyra, her loveliness, her sweet sympathy, her exquisite dress, her air of distinction, the little Blenheim spaniel she has brought with her; all these admirable qualities and possessions are claims on their adoration and respect. To them she represents a different world; a world entirely composed of those wonderful lords and ladies of whose romantic and pampered lives their penny journals inform them. She is absolute queen of these meetings. Her rare appearance ; the whisper that she took a dangerous illness from her former visits; the solicitous care that her father takes of her, to this poor multitude constitute glimpses of an undreamt of experience of all gentleness ; all unselfish tender deference and politeness.
Miss Hofer is good and kind, the work-girls argue ; clever too, but still—but still a delegate ; quite without that atmosphereTHE KRAKOVIAK.
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that surrounds Thyra, who is a visible emblem of all the mixed fashion and beauty they yearn for wistfully.
Poor work-girls, how many of them are just eighteen, pretty and very susceptible of polish, if not culture! and quite without envy they watch her easy movements, they observe how the light and shade alternate in her superb hair.
As Thyra came in, it was Gabriel’s turn to entertain, and his song had just commenced.
The simultaneous rising of the guests made no interruption; they were accustomed to the quiet arrival of Thyra a little later than the rest of the assembly.
Gabriel’s delightful tenor in una furtiva lagrima rang out so clearly and tenderly, that it seemed to set her coming to music, or so some of the girls thought—those who were most sentimental, and, as a consequence, true-hearted. The delicate notes fell on their rapt attention with a sort of sweet challenge to higher aims. The song stirred feelings within them new and strange, but fair enough to bring an earnest light to their tired eyes; they pondered as they lis-88
BENEDICTUS.
tened on the superiority of Thyra’s fate to theirs. That gentleman was singing to her! to her alone out of all the company; ah—to be sung to in such a manner. It could be a secret to no one, how he esteemed their queen. And then, in what elegance she had made the drive!
Miss Hofer leaves on foot, so does Miss Nugent, unless some friend takes her on her way. Everyone contemptuously understands how Miss Hofer goes home—the train takes her, of course—just as you or I, Elizabeth, or Sarah, get back, in a different class, perhaps, but there ain’t so much difference after all!
Miss Ashby’s sober-hued brougham is nothing particularly grand. A “ pill box,” the humorously inclined part of the audience call it. But what glory, muse the work-girls, encircles Thyra’s fine carriage, with its satin-like cushions, its bright liveries, the quick trot of its proud, high-stepping horses, its silver-plated harness!
They have hung about the door, missing a song, or recital, to see that carriage. “ Was the cushions satin? you says moroc-cer, Sarah, as if she would not have velvetTHE KKAKOVIAK.
89
sooner than leather! As if Miss Freund would choose the same for her cushions as we make cigar-cases of! ”
The old women and matrons, more apathetic than the absorbed young feminine tailors and umbrella-makers, care less about the grand carriage. It is so, it will be so, they suppose; a barrow for you and me ; a brougham for her; a choice of fine horses for her; a choice even of dwelling-places in diiferent lands. For you and for me, Mrs. Jones, a “ two-pair back,” and a resolute hunt after a convalescent-home ticket. There’s no call to trouble about it, girls, and to stare at the carriage as if it were Lord Mayor’s day: a carriage is out of our spear, and be content therewith, or therewithout, as the case might be. That was the sort of gruff advice given by the elder portion of the assembly, at times, for it was not composed of restless democrats, but of those who admired, or at least obeyed the old order of things, and who refrained from seeking to solve life’s enigma of why I am poor, and you are rich, by rough destruction, and threatening outbursts of fury.
It is amusing to observe the varying as-90
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pect of the guests, and their entertainers. Hei'r Freund has an anxious air, a preoccupied expression, which is expressive of silent reckoning. He is, in fact, counting the hours, rejoicing that the first is well over. Courteous, and kind-hearted as ever; sorry with the regret of a chivalrous gentleman, that girls, no older than his own daughters, should be compelled to fight the hard battle of life; he still, in accordance with the habits of his own training, acknowledges in the recesses of his conscience to a sense of trouble and uneasiness, as his thoughtful eye roams over the mixed party of girls and women, that Thyra should so crave to visit them. What fringes, what strange adornments! Here is a girl who could not get on in service, now she is a cigar-maker. The joyful signs of her emancipation from neat rules of white collar and tidy hair, are easily read in the shawl of crimson wool, not new or clean, tied bunchily round her throat, drooping over one shoulder, with an air which she believes, till she sees Estelle and Gulielma, to be the air of a lady. Her hair is combed forward till it hides her sullen brow in front, and atTHE KEAKOVIAK.
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the back allowed to remain in a tangled mass. She wears an ornament like a very small doll’s brass fender on her head, and one, similar, to fasten her shawl. She is the representative of a class which abhors domestic service, as a bondage allied to the former experience of her ancestry in Egypt.
Is it not better to give them some money and send them off ? thinks Herr Freund. But he knows that his benevolence, at war with his anxiety for Thyra, would protest against such a selfish measure. He would like even to speak to them, but the travelled, affluent man of the world is at fault, as he furtively fingers his watch, and can find no fitting sentence with which to offer his sympathy or pity.
The admiring matrons are in no need of sympathy now, the very sight of such a rich man is sufficiently cheering; they well know that Miss Thyra’s papa is a papa quite different from father who is at home, but who in most instances ungrudgingly permits wife and child this enchanted evening. Father, who earns so little, who looks so ragged, but who, being, as he is, a father descended from the patriarchal, well-living92
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Fathers of the old Testament, refrains from drinking himself into a state of mind whose sole relief lies in kicking or killing his family.
Then there is Miss Nugent, shabby, eager, interested in everything and everyone, to whom such a meeting is almost as much of a festivity as it is to the persons for whom it is arranged.
How welcome the light, gaiety, company, are to the solitary maiden lady, who remembers, with a shiver, her two rooms, whose complete silence sometimes deafens her. Of the bold sort of girls she is really afraid. She knows they deride her; and tvith what excellent reason! She, who never married, who never will marry, whose faded finery is sadder than sackcloth. What are her chances in the world but the chances of neglect, ridicule, contempt ? The girls openly mock her, and she pretends not to see it; but the mothers and grandmothers, with greater civility and better temper, bear with her, try her numerous and well-intentioned remedies for all their pains; her hints how to manage a difficult husband, her fondness and unstinted indulgence equally, of their good and their naughty children; her inde-THE KRAKOVIAK.
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fatigable writing, begging, and collecting for their assistance, have won their faith in her at least, and a trust that is the best evidence of gratitude. If they do not exactly pity her in return, they pity vaguely something that may have gone wrong with her own fortunes, leaving her the chatty, lonely, charitable, infinitely touching paradox that she appears.
She sits on a chair, but that is, she considers, a too prominent position for her. It seems an intrusion among the real providers of the entertainment. Not for the world would Miss Nugent intrude, she believes; but, in spite of this belief in herself, there do occur situations less simple than this, where, unwittingly, she does intrude. The sharp-eyed day-workers note her shabby attire—whisper together about her old gloves.
So she changes her chair for a lowlier seat beside a huge person whose appearance denotes utter indifference to the last lecture on sanitary principles.
She may agree with, she did vociferously applaud, all that the kind lady lecturer had to say concerning the worth of cleanliness.94
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But the huge person is probably a theorist. She does not care to carry that sanitary lecture home, nor to apply its teaching to the rules of her own life.
Consequently, poor Miss Nugent regrets her hasty move. Her accustomed and rapid investigation convinces her that she has not exchanged the chair to great advantage. Her elevation to the bench makes her less hopeful of the sincerity of the efforts she thought the assembly were making in the right direction.
Suddenly the tall figure of Benedictus, not unobservant of the timid fluttering and irresolution of the poor lady, of her start of repulsion, and brave attempt to be blind to that dirty shawl and its dirty wearer’s proximity, comes between the wooden form and the crowd, and Miss Nugent, with faded colour, a little trembling, and rather sick, finds herself landed beside some cousins of Gulielma’s.
And, in all this knight errantry of civilisation, no truer knightly action than this can be, Thyra thinks, who, not quite understanding why it is that the Roumanian has moved Miss Nugent, sees her grateful ex-THE KRAKOVIAK.
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pression, her pale countenance, and knows that, for some excellent reason of his own, he has been very kind and prompt in his attention. It is just like him, she thinks, with a sigh. Such fine instincts spring up, occasionally, in his character, convincing her that his rudeness of manner is but superficial.
Madame Freund knows nothing about his spontaneous goodness of heart, nor does she care for it. His manner annoys her from its sudden lapses into originality. She dislikes that trick of his of taking the chimney-piece into his confidence, as it were, when he is much moved; of his declaiming, as she severely names his passionate remarks when the injustice shown towards his fellow-countrymen is their theme. To-night Madame Freund is not present. The whole scheme inexpressibly irritates and offends her.
And Gabriel ?
As Thyra entered, his tender, melancholy song seemed to derive new meaning. The sharp-witted work-girls felt it. When it was over, his ardent looks revealed too plainly his love, for he was wholly un-96
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disciplined, nor had he the slightest notion of concealing the old affection that he believed well known to her.
But Thyra was resolutely cold. She thanked him formally; she went among the girls. He followed her.
Oh, tactless Gabriel ! Could he not perceive when Adrian watched the two ? What right had he to appear, even, to engross her ? But perhaps Gabriel did perceive it. He, who never hesitated as to the right and wrong of minor affairs, so long as his will or his pleasure did not suffer, certainly would not pause now, Avhen he rather hoped Benedictus would draw the conclusion which he clung to desperately as that which should inevitably become correct, even if it were not yet assuredly true.
“ Please go and see what ailed Miss Nugent just now.”
Thyra also would not be thwarted. She spoke with such determination that it was impossible to stand beside her any longer.
And next Miss Ashby’s cousin read a short account of good work effected among savage tribes. She read evenly and smoothly, for elocution is a study essentially dear toTHE KRAKOVIAK.
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that earnest sect whose forte appears to lie in reading addresses, and lectures, or in the narration of individual spiritual experiences. The peculiarity of style, the unaffected truth of endeavour in this reading of the triumph of persevering prayer over the cruel heathen, was not so well appreciated by the audience.
This “Friend” is, in every respect, of puritanical attire, Biblical language, and dignified bearing, one of the band who were first formed by George Fox. She is calm, gentle, but of another type to Gulielma, being a “ Friend” pur et simple, wholly unmodified in education, or altered by advanced doctrines from the early establishment.
The selected story, excellent in meaning as it was, had an irresistibly humorous side to it. It was of an American lady who accompanied her daughter to a remote and dreadful part of Africa, where idol sacrifice took an unfair share of daily occupation, and where, to the hideous sound of gongs, parties of wretched cannibals swarmed on European prey. The unfortunate daughter was sacrificed to a public dinner, held by
II.	H98
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the chief of the atrocious tribe, but, by some means, the mother escaped being eaten, and was retained as housekeeper—that is, if such chiefs require housekeepers.
In her anomalous position she saw a good deal of the interior of the country, for the cannibal travelled, and she, as his most unlucky captive, travelled with him.
From her biography she would seem to have been a person of iron nerves, gifted also with a happy power of accommodating herself to circumstances extremely useful in her present situation. She began to make attempts to lead the chief into the straight road of duty, with the hope of heaven as a reward.
Yet to have been so brave, so resigned to the fate of her murdered child, so that she could actually be interested in the fate of the man who had killed—and eaten ber ! these facts provoked first the ridicule, then the scorn of the plain-spoken audience. Could religion effect an incongruity so awful ?
Benedictus shrugged his shoulders.
Miss Nugent was nervous, and hoped inwardly there was some printer’s mistake.THE KRAKOVIAK.
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Dear Miss Ashby’s friends could not surely be mistaken!
A young insurgent, who had waited for a promising opportunity, broke into a loud giggle, finely sustained by her contemporaries. Gulielma was mildly conscious of a wish that a less gloomy and terrible narrative had been selected.
Estelle caught herself echoing the general question. Could religion work a result so mighty as the conversion of a cannibal by such a sufferer from his wickedness ? She shuddered. It was too painful to dwell on.
And Herr Freund, puzzled and unamused, ticked off another twenty minutes.
The absolute quietude and unruffled demeanour of the earnest Friend compelled the laughter to cease. Entire silence, it may here be added, is a far more powerful rebuke to bad manners than the most gently framed reproach.
Eyes streaming with tears of inopportune mirth were dried. The elders offered their aid, by many a spirited poke and push, bestowed indifferently on their own and their neighbours’ young relatives, to the proper maintenance of order. Whether the100
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rude laughter had really troubled the tranquil spirit of the reader, none could tell by her placid demeanour. Whether, too, some stem sense of the victory of faith had penetrated the careless mockery due, not to the ideal of the story, but provoked by its unnaturally strained incident, also remained in doubt.
The giggling ceased, and the noisiest girls felt slightly abashed at the briskly cheerful query which, after a minute’s pause, sealed their silence, “ Are thee settling down, dears ? That is well, for one of thine own companions will now, perhaps, give us a melody of her own land.”
It was an excellent idea. Native talent might then compete with the educated readers, the musicians, whose avowed purpose it was to charm the meeting.
The difficulty lay in the fact that everyone wished to sing, if they could not play, to talk, to assert her cleverness, at once. There was no shyness to combat.
At length Estelle, who, like Gulielma, knew the audience separately—no mean advantage where conceit is dormant, or when incipient insubordination has to be lightlyTHE KEAKOVIAK.
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dealt with—persuaded a Russo-Polish woman, rather handsome, and extremely well behaved, who owned to having once possessed a good voice, to do her best.
A thin, poorly-clad person of fifty-two— the age acknowledged as frankly as the voice—with a fine dignified bearing, which was in harmony with her characteristic features; eyes keen, dark, stern; hair as dark, parted on one side, and a firm, well-built figure.
She sang the Varsoviana, and then the Krakoviak, helped out by Gabriel with a slight accompaniment on the piano, a sort of background on which the thin, but still sweet notes were woven. And then a homely, pretty “ volkslied” a national air, familiar to many of her countrywomen present; and as she sang in a true, powerful voice, albeit one injured by years and sorrow, it did, indeed, recall the ancient songs of the captivity repeated by her nation thousands of years before. She, too, lifted up a plaintive cry from the pressure of hardship, and as the foreign, soft-sounding words echoed through the room, how strange, how significant it all was!102
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Some shadow of Polish pride suited her and her song well. She was quite free from self-consciousness. Her hard-lined, but not altogether ungracious countenance bore, as did her voice, a message—the same is repeated to this day, in how many and how various ways, as it has been sounded through bygone centuries—a message, a protest against tyranny, cruelty, persecution, and oppression.
A message of life, traced on such a tragic face as this, or speaking more tenderly, and just as appealingly, through birds, or flowers, or streams; of dreams of peace somewhere, as at first planned by the Lord of a peaceful earth.
A strange spectator might have noticed here several elements of picturesque force. Here, in this row of dark heads, is one exactly resembling a bowman’s head in an Assyrian frieze. By its side is a nobler type, lighted up by sweet, magnificent eyes, full of latent enthusiasm and thought; and here a face of pathos and integrity contrasting with another, coarse-featured, mean, and witnessing to a low nature.
Now comes the tea. The first half of theTHE KRAKOVIAK.
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evening is over. Herr Freund ceases to consult his watch. He hurries forward, not quite to help, but to see that Thyra does not help too much, and thus over-exert her strength. Everybody seems resolved to save the beautiful giver of the feast from fatigue. B enedictus and another gentleman replenish urns, lift them, and attend generously to each guest, impervious to some pretty, bold girl’s request for unfair portions.
The same justice in the matter of distribution is exercised by the reader of the cannibal story. No snatching is endured by her. Gabriel is of no use at all now, and has to be turned off from active exertions. Those who clamour most to him, receive most; the pretty girls get served first. He has no principle in such an assembly, Thyra thinks, with her severely youthful judgment. Of very little more use is Miss Nugent, she has favourites, and her rewards and punishments; less and more cake express her system of antagonism and preference now and then.
“ But this will not do, Miss Nugent.” Gulielma’s whisper was quite decisive. “ There is more than suflicient provision104
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for the tea. Please see that all have amply enough. Yes, truly, that is a very tiresome, unsatisfactory person; but she must have her proper portion.”
A mutter of “ Miss Nugent spites me, she do, because of my girl’s necklace,” and a counter whisper of “ Miss Preund loves my girl as if she was her sister,” closed the contest.
“ Do the Roumanians hold such assemblies ? ” Miss Nugent, not at all discomfited, asked softly. The question was sillier even than her wont. Her reading was not extensive, and why should not a scheme of tea and charity take place in Bucharest or in Jassy? In England these little crowds are the order of the day, for men and women. Man brought his fellow-man everywhere where there was a hall or a large room, hired harmoniums for him, played to him; learnt tragic and comic selections, and recited to him; epitomised and arranged for him ; then took a blackboard, and chalked for him skeletons, and the separate sections of skeletons; then gave him multiplied information respecting every subject of illness least probable to come under hisTHE KRAKOVIAK.
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notice, while the fellow-man stared, applauded, and heavilj7 clumped away, if not greatly edified, at least brightened up by these efforts for his good.
Then, as Miss Nugent loved these meetings, she felt sure that she had chosen a congenial topic.
“The ladies of Roumania and their habits are unknown to me.”
“ You delightfully odd person! But you shall not daunt me. I cannot be snubbed ” (and this was true). “ The ladies of Roumania require an impetus from seeing us at our Work.”
“ Probably not,” said Benedictus, coolly.
“ Surely you bow before the great ideal of the age, Charity ? And,” as an odd afterthought, “ you admire singing.”
“ The singing of that elderly Polish refugee ? ”
“ How naughty you are! ” with girlish, with old-girlish vivacity. “ But now for a treat.”
Gabriel Hofer took his violin. No power on earth, no persuasion would induce Herr Freund to allow his petted daughter to sing, or in any way to assist in the enter-106
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tainment of this mass of poor people. Gabriel was furious, disappointed. It was worse than useless to seek to alter this decree.
It was Braga’s serenata that he played, and the words were sung by a young lady with a pretty, commonplace voice. His brilliant face clouded. He tried to dissever his mind from the gentle, incompetent singer, whose low tones went tangling in and out of his operatic handling.
He tried to forget Thyra, and yet he sought for her image. There she stood, beside Benedictus, whose splendid head formed such a beautiful companion type to hers. He drew his bow across the strings with a precision and energy that impelled the timid singer to throw some attempt at strength and passion into her part.
Surely Thyra likes music ?
But Thyra likes many another thing better.
Tumultuous applause, however, follows ; so tumultuous that Gabriel responds to the encore.
This time he sang; and if he is not very clever at arranging portions of cake, orTHE KKAKOVIAK.
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very magnanimous in enduring any thwarting to his boyish ambitions, there is no doubt at all as to his musical talent; he is but a boy, and perhaps the secret of Thyra’s severity is that she is but a girl. And this was Gabriel’s encore—
“ If there he space among the busy schemes Of active life for some soft hints to stray,
Then cast a kindly thought to one who dreams Of early friendship on this summer day;
Spare but a little while, dear, to enfold If but the memory of my love for thee,
And as the dreamer Joseph prayed of old,
When it is well with thee, then think on me,
Riccordo !
“ Remember in a blest and happy lot
How with exotics lowlier buds may twine;
Fling down the flower I love—forget-me-not,
From that fair, fragrant coronal of thine.
If but a minute thought approaches thought,
Then through the splendour of this summer day Let my fond thought meet thine, a sunbeam caught O'er the dark web of fate to shine, and play, Riccordo ! ”
This suited the sentimental girls, or, as Gabriel said, “ fetched them.” They clapped so fervently that it was with difficulty Gabriel escaped another encore.
Herr Freund was gratified by the youth’s108
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success, never imagining to whom Gabriel’s verses were addressed, never suspecting that Thyra, and Thyra’s hoped-for praise, inspired the violin and the poet’s heart. And Benedictus, who likewise was without any idea of his thoughts and aspirations, and who was entirely free, therefore, from the jealousy by which the other was impelled, admired him sincerely, and was touched and interested by this genius in one whose energies had been vowed to a contrary path.
“ I am Gabriel, that stand in the presence of God,” thought Benedictus, remembering the solemn line, but in no manner able to adapt it to the brilliant youth who was only serious when he was neglected, and only desirous of following the impulse of the moment when it went with his own wishes. He could not reconcile the idea of Gabriel Hofer. melancholy, and yet excited with enthusiasm, which sometimes wore the aspect of whimsical mirth, sometimes, as now, took the semblance of fantastic reflection ; always a poet at heart, always guided by emotion and enthusiastic devotion, momentary and speedily fading, rather than aTHE KBAKOVIAK.
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steady instinct of devotion, with that of a hard-working, self-sacrificing clergyman.
The assembly is over. A futile attempt to sing the first verse of the National Anthem by all the meeting is remarkable for sudden halts, shrill giggling, shamed laughter, so that the Polish woman who sang the Krakoviak is left stranded, going right through the lines alone, and far from badly, while a tinge of red at her conspicuous position rises to her cheek. Then old and young move away. No thanks are proffered, as each files out. No word of greeting interchanged, except by Estelle and Gulielma, who are accustomed to them. For in some cases the right hand of good fellowship is far from clean, and on the whole, behaviour demands a wary and wise endurance, rather than supervision. Like Agag, one must “go softly” in these endeavours.
M. Freund bows in a friendly fashion to the departing crowd. His brow clears. It is a pleasure to speed the parting guest. Thyra must now refrain from her soft persuasion, at least for six weeks, and then, lest he yield and again bear hours of un-110
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easiness—why, then they will be going to Vienna.
If Herr Freund could but have known the prevailing apathy in the elder members concerning the rarity or the frequency of his daughter’s visits, as long as fitting delegates were substituted to feed and to amuse them, he might have been even more vehement in his opposition to the personal investigation of a scheme in which her health and beauty were risked. The poor matrons were shrewd observers. Their opinions were less hastily swayed than those of their eager, admiring girls. Their girls, too, had youth, if not beauty. Thus, with an accurate guess, they saw Thyra came on sufferance. Her father evidently considered this visit in the light of a condescension. A living picture, they all agreed; next year, doubtless, she would be married, and why should they worry about her coming ? Miss Nugent’s good looks, if she ever had them, belonged to a remote past. Miss Hofer was not of the marrying sort. Miss Ashby was very well; and all these would come and go for many a year. If Miss Ashby married, her house at TottenhamTHE KRAKOVIAK.
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was her own. There would be no question of her departure. As for Miss Freund, she must do as her station bids her, bless hef for a pretty creature, as you would meet in a summer’s day!
Plain spoken, and sincere, the elders arrange fate in this fashion.
Thyra’s gentle farewell elicits a hoarse murmur of recognition. Several of the girls lay a hand on her dress as she passes down the staircase, less in admiration than to test its quality by touch, and determine its material.
Gabriel held her mantle, and as she stooped to receive it, she was conscious that she would have preferred the attention from Adrian.
“ Thank you. Please be quick. Papa is so anxious to be off.”
“ And are not you ? ” he retorted impetuously. “ Thyra ! we meet, and part, and meet again, like the pieces in a kaleide-scope. We scarcely ever combine in our original colours, warranted /as#, as the advertisements put it. Oh, Thyra, why is it ? ”
“ How tiresome you have grown, Gabriel,112
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how foolish! Really, I must say it. What do I know of kaleidescopes and colours ? What silly ideas, just as we are hurrying away! ”
“ Are you not always hurrying away ? Will you not understand how horrid it is for me to see you so seldom, and then in some such crowd as this ! Ah, darling ! ” lowering his dark head to whisper, “ my ‘ Riccordo ’ was for you.”
“ Yery absurd and annoying, then,” she said, coldly. “ F ancy serenading one in public! Fortunately, I did not see the reference.”
He drew up his head as if he had been suddenly struck.
“ You are quite a woman of the world,” he said, with such sincere, passionate upbraiding, that she was moved against her will. For he spoke the truth. Her training had led to this result. When she cared, she knew instinctively and well what weapons to use.
“ I come from such a crowd as this, or as that other at Malden Wood, to stand about, to wait on the hope, on the chance of a word, or a look from you, Thyra!”THE KRAKOVIAK.
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His youthful, indignant voice was full of pain. His words, petulant as they sounded, had all the force and impassioned utterance that he so well understood how to use.
“ Estelle comes continually to you,” dropping his voice to entreaty; “ may not I now, and then ? ”
A hot blush covered his sensitive face. An intense pride had unsuccessfully striven with an intense love. But Thyra, like many another gentle, lovable woman, was quite equal to the occasion. Fully understanding her former playmate’s repugnance to the appearance of asking for an invitation, she said, just as coldly, for Benedictus was approaching—
“ That matter is for mamma to settle. It is her house. Yes, M. Benedictus, I am quite ready;” and without another word to Gabriel, she took the Roumanian’s arm.
What fierce, intolerable anguish some excellent people bestow on others! Gabriel drew back. All the force, all the fire of his imagination invested Thyra’s careless slight with a meaning and cruelty of which she was guiltless. That he was poor, with his way to make in the world; that she was n.	i114
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highly horn, fenced in from trial of any description by enormous wealth, this was intelligible, if not convincing. That she should wilfully punish his presumption— he, her playfellow preferred to Ruth, her champion in all her early, eager plans, nearly as much confided in as Alberta—Ayas incredible.
The young man stood a minute, as if to collect his senses after an unexpected blow, and then straightening himself, but unable to keep a humid mist from his troubled eyes, he re-entered the now darkened room. Had he descended after Thyra, she, regretting her chilly words, would have atoned by a kinder Avord, in her content that M. Benedictus was her escort. Nor did she positively wish to hurt, or to quarrel with him. Only to that fondly read page of his concerning confidence, early championship, and so on, Thyra had long ago inscribed “ finis.”
Unobserved, a storm of thunder and lightning was now being quenched in torrents of rain. The carriage had not yet driven up, but, owing to some stoppage or block, remained in an adjoining side street.THE KRAKOVIAK.
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M. Freund said nothing. It was all in order with Thyra’s wilfulness that a storm should overtake them, and endanger her safety. It really seemed too provoking to Thyra, as if little details were barriers to the most innocent scheme. Gabriel’s rapid conversation on the stairs was to blame. That had kept her, while Gulielma, her cousins, and the remainder of the company had taken their departure. A few of the poor women, who had no umbrellas, stood silently looking on to the streaming street, huddled in their shawls under cover of some desolate doorway, bearing their drenching meekly enough, while Herr Freund revolved the probability of his daughter’s taking more or less cold by hurrying in the downpour to the next street, or standing waiting.
The poor storm-bound matrons could think of his uneasiness, and pity it. To their views Thyra was but a child, a fairylike, idolised child, from whom all cold and damp should be kept. Benedictus shielded her quietly, yet the building was but a warehouse. There was no shelter to be had in that spot.
“ After all, had we not better walk on to116
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the carriage ? ” asked Herr Freund, ready to take advice, as a flash of lightning caused the poor group to start and exclaim.
“Your conweyance is only round the corner, sir,” one of them said, civilly. “ If your young man” (this referred to the footman, who stood behind Thyra with another umbrella) “will wrap the young lady’s cloak round her, it will be safer than to chance a severe cold. Take care, my pretty” (to Thyra), “you try for a run with Pa.”
The sense and courtesy of this suggestion were not lost on Herr Freund, who opened his purse, and through the anxiety he knew he should feel, and the compassion that was ready enough, he presented the patient, brave party with a gift that was received with rapture. Then Thyra, who refused with a crimson face to be lifted, raced over, and into the puddles with Benedictus, every splash raising an answering exclamation of worry from her father, as he watched the too lightly shod feet spring in and spring out of the water.
“ It might have happened just the same at a ball, papa,” she said, looking up in hisTHE KRAKOVIAK.
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face deprecatingly, as at last they drove off. “ How patiently those patient, uncomplaining women bore ther wetting. What is the difference ?”
“ Millions of space,” Herr Freund replied, with unusual irritability. “ Pray do not let us be involved in social and philanthropical discrepancies till you are dry, at least.”
Thyra was silent, then she started.
“ Hid you see him, papa ? ” she asked, eagerly.
“ Why, Gabriel—Gabriel Hofer, papa— he rushed off in this terrible weather. How wet he will be ! ”
“ Silly boy ! Why did not you ask him to come with us ? ”
“ Oh, I don’t know, papa. I am not to blame for everything, the storm and his rashness too,” exclaimed Thyra, in her way as spoilt as he was.
“ Shall I stop the carriage and follow him, Mademoiselle?” asked Benedictus, who might be excused for mistaking Thyra’s distress for a feeling warmer than pity.
“ Certainly not,” decided Herr Freund ; “how was it that he did not accompany Miss Hofer?”118
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Thyra had nothing to say. She knew he had lingered, hoping to be q,sked to join her and her father. Estelle was with Gulielma, assuredly, or so she hoped.
“ An aristocratic, pettish boy,” said Benedicts, as a summary, “ trying, poor young fellow, to tell some life story with that violin of his. Why, his life has hardly commenced ! ”
And Thyra’s heart echoed silently, “ Poor fellow, poor Gabriel! ”119
CHAPTER XIII.
THE SECRET OF MADAME FREUND.
The following day Thyra was to be presented, and Estelle set out on her long walk to Kensington to see her dressed. Long roads commenced as she left the wide-spreading heath and took her way through them, with glimpses of green vistas in grassy side paths. Branches of lilac and laburnum flung their violet and golden blossoming boughs over the stone walls of detached houses, above the highway, and the laburnum’s lovely tresses dropped gold among the shadows, and the lilac raised its delicate clusters so that, as the breeze swayed, the wavering constellation of its stars made mimic dances on the path. It was like the dream town of Camelot. A tremulous river of sunshine ran beside it. The fearless little120
BENEDICTUS.
birds, whose twitter sets suburban London to rustic melody, flitted to and fro over the gravel, across the grassy places, close to Estelle’s foot. It was summer in high revelry, for, as she walked, processions and bands of children or leagues walked too, enjoying the pure atmosphere.
Nearing town, grey, smoky tints obscure much of the light and loveliness, but Estelle’s perceptions, quick to discern natural beauty, have sufficient to feed them in pleasant sights.
Only she is ill at ease about Gabriel. He is dilatory, theoretic, apparently steeped in an unreal love of Thyra; for, although he talks of what he will do to prove his devotion, all that he really does is to write little poems and songs. As for the career first chosen for and by him, it is a subject from which the two sensitively shrink. So, rather sadly, still, not sorrowfully, she continues her lonely walk.
Life may flow on for many a year, undisturbed by a revival of early associations. Links once separated are but rarely refastened. Events sometimes seem to run on rapidly, but that is in youth, when ex-THE SECRET OF MADAME FREUND. 121
istence represents constant change of scene, or pursuit. But, as in Estelle’s case, when first youth has fled, when home is the chief centre of work and affection, time has a habit of travelling on without leaving important landmarks to show its footsteps.
The end of the hour brings Estelle without any presentiment of seeing or hearing anything of greater consequence than Thyra in her court dress, to the clearness and gaiety of Kensington. Her walk was full of leisurely interest. She could leave her troubles at the foot of the Rock. She chose a circuitous way because of the charm of the weather.
Poor Gabriel! poor boy! How strangely similar he was in disposition and temperament to Alexina. But it was not yet too late. No one had driven, or would urge him to the fulfilment of a task for which he was manifestly unfitted. His radiant youth could retrieve its mistake.
There were still the gardens to cross, when suddenly, with her mind engrossed by her step-brother’s difficulties, and full of all good and tender ideas for their solution, she stood face to face with one of122
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whom to think was to tear up regret by its actual root.
Her heart beat with the dangerous rapidity against which she had been warned. The glancing foliage, the fair gardens, the dazzling sky, the soft sward seemed to rise, to blind, and then to recede from her.
More of a vision to meet him thus than ever her own visionary thoughts of him had been. A chance meeting with Cecil Haye. What then ? Why should it disturb her ? The story of their friendship belonged to the past. It was done with, and Cecil was married. Yet, to meet him in a sort of grassy solitude, was different to seeing him at intervals in society. He seemed to feel it, too.
“ Are you quite well, Miss Hofer ? ” he asked.
She could have laughed at the tumult those simple, conventional words stirred, and, for a minute, he stood in the full sunshine with the echoes of rejoicing, happy existence all around him, trying to persuade himself that ten years had not actually passed, and that they two—the entire world in those days—met in the freedom of HayeTHE SECRET OF MADAME FREUND. 123
Place. He succeeded in cheating himself thus for a space, during which he thought how well she looked, how composed, and serene, quite unaware of that heart beating which made it a matter of some enterprise to speak at all. It did not take very long, and yet what a stretch of the past lay suddenly revealed before the two. One or two questions calmly put, calmly answered, then he holds her hand—he is gone.
And she, less serenely, continues her walk, for Cecil Haye is married.
“ So you have come to see the show, Miss Hofer! to offer suggestions, criticisms, or what ? How late! but how pale you are! We had almost given you up.”
“ I am glad that you remembered us, Miss Hofer. It is far too warm for you to take that immense walk. Does Thyra do us credit ? Imagine if she should not be a success! ”
“ She is sure to be a success,” said Estelle. The sight of Thyra’s self-possessed beauty gave her a pang for Gabriel’s sake. How could he think it possible to win that lovely, high-bred girl ? Yet, all is possible to youth and hope.124
BENEDICTTJS.
“As I do not accompany Thyra, I may say, as a spectator, perhaps, that I am satisfied with her appearance,” Madame Freund remarked.
Thyra sprang up. Her self-possession was gone, for she dearly valued her mother’s praise.
“ Who takes you, then, dear Thyra ? ”
“ Lady Heriot presents her, and Gulie Ashby as well. You used to know Lady Heriot years ago, Miss Hofer, a great friend of Herr F reund’s ; we saw much of her in those old days at Constantinople. She remained there long after we left, and now they are quite settled in England ; that is, she and her husband and sons. How things change ! She will present two very pretty girls to-day, however ; and dear Gulielraa takes it in the most matter-of-fact way that a ‘ Friend ’ and an Austrian Jewish maiden should appear in such a scene under Lady Heriot’s care.”
“ It is a sufficiently striking contrast,” Estelle said. “ One that might herald a long train of recollection and thought.”
“ Pray do not dream over us, Miss Hofer,” Thyra interrupted, impatiently.THE SECEET OF MADAME FKEUND. 125
“ Well, then,” Estelle rejoined, quietly, “ may I admire your dress ? And the lovely white robe was exhibited, while Thyra unfurled her long train, and Hermance, the maid, explained the details, while Madame Freund spoke of the fashionable etiquette to be observed; of how Thyra’s feathers should be disposed, how her train caught up, a dozen various rules by which her attire and her behaviour must be guided. In the midst of these grave essays Lady Heriot was announced. Gulielma had already arrived, and, bidding Thyra not to waste any more time, Madame Freund left her.
Directly Thyra and Estelle were together Thyra’s manner underwent a change.
“ Miss Hofer,” she said, hurriedly, “ I have not a minute, but I behaved badly to Gabriel last night. Say that I did not really hurt him! I would have said good-night, but he rushed away in the rain. Oh, what weather to encounter! Were you all safe in that awful storm ? But Gabriel must not think about me at all. Do you understand? I am very much worried myself,” added the girl of eighteen, clasping her hands, looking126
BENEDICTUS.
so graceful and lovely in her grand apparel, that Estelle could have smiled or wept at the admission. “ Ah, Miss Hofer ! ”— blushing—“even if I cared for Gabriel, can he measure himself and his worth beside ----”
An imperative tap at the door, and Thyra jumped up, gathered her delicate draperies on her arm, resumed the smile she had laid aside, and went down stairs, where a few friends of exalted and lowly station made a sort of cordon of admiration round her. Some of Thyra’s former teachers were present, the fascinated servants, too; and, notwithstanding that checked confidence of hers, she was very winning, very likely to be won.
“ But not by Gabriel,” thought Estelle. The events of last night were unknown to his sister ; but how haggard, how unhappy, and late he had been that morning !
The white-robed Thyra, the peach-clad Gulielma, move away amidst warm wishes, and Estelle turned from the window as the horses trotted off and the spectators left.
Now that the little excitement had passed, Estelle, whose thoughtful gaze observedTHE SECRET OF MADAME FREUND. 127
by habit, with an unconscious closeness and scrutiny, noticed how the colour flitted in Madame F reund’s fine and haughty face. At lunch she scarcely ate. Once she put her hand to her side, and, as Estelle’s grave, kind glance met hers, she drew herself up, as if she resented her mute solicitude, bearing that meek, wistful, searching gaze with impenetrable reserve.
There were other guests beside herself. She heard, with some surprise, that Adrian Benedictus had attended the levée. He certainly was oddly reticent. But Estelle had acquired the idea that he was one to be pitied—Estelle liked to pity—not at home in such gay scenes. And her way of making individuals and their lives into mental pictures—fitting frames to them, as Gabriel said—rejected the idea (or, was it not, after all, more in accordance with that solitary, proud figure alienated from his best aims) of Adrian Benedictus in court costume. The wind-blown heath, the narrow streets through which he had walked with her and her step-brother, even the gaunt apartment where the old teacher of languages dwelt, suited him better as a background.128
BENEDICTUS.
The subject of Benedictus always annoyed Madame Freund. She said now, in reply to some words of her neighbour,
“ No ; fortunately for the absence of any dispute M. Becquer is in the country. He is so queer in his notions of what is suitable to Thyra, and such an old friend of the family that to be deaf to his suggestions is to be wise in one’s generation. He would probably have entreated Thyra to wear a rope ; and as a martyr, or as a symbol of the Babylonish captivity I detest to hear him talk of her. Clever men are apt to be trying.”
Estelle, who was tired, and whose exertions since a very early hour, with that unexpected addition of seeing a face still dear to her, preferred to be silent, but she found herself reflecting that Madame Freund had of late developed a great capacity for finding small matters trying. She was drawn from her dreamy musing by the mention of a name which had not ceased to exercise a painful influence on her.
“ She cannot live,” a cautious voice was saying. “She refuses to believe that she must die. She will not know it. Mr. Haye,THE SECRET OF MADAME FREUND. 129
however, quite understands poor Juliet’s danger.”
Estelle cast a rapid glance at the speaker ; her hands trembled, the room seemed very unsteady, she caught hold of the table firmly. Poor Juliet ! Poor Cecil !
She furtively scanned the countenances around her to see if her shock had been understood. This was her great fear. Her eye fell on Madame F reund.
Good Heavens, what a change !
The finely moulded, tired face was absolutely ghastly. Her hand seemed too weak to grasp the tumbler of water she had imperiously signed for. She was haggard, hopelessly aged in a minute.
Greatly alarmed, Estelle thought less of the probable cause of the sudden alteration, than of what might be done to remove this woe of sickly horror, but before her doubt could be helped by question or answer, Madame Freund made a strenuous effort to banish her pallor, drive back her regret, and strive, but how vainly, to be careless and pleased.
“ She will not believe it,” she repeated, “ and, after all, why should she ? A hun-
II.	K130
BENEDICTUS.
dred things may intervene, and delay— death! Why should she trust in the desperate decree? Her husband does acquiesce in the doctor’s opinion, you say? Well, of course. He is not the condemned. We have a certain faith in the calamities which threaten others. We see them struck, and fall. We watch them fade and vanish. But as for Juliet Haye—Miss Hofer,” addressing, even imploring Estelle, whose cheeks were perfectly white, whose heart was beating in bewilderment “ would you, would I believe that fiat—that our days were numbered ? Juliet knows, but will not know. Would you accept a like sentence?”
Her fingers closed with nervous force round the cold glass.
It is impossible to reproduce the agony, the entreaty, the scorn, and defiance with which she uttered these words, then, drawing as it were the natural mantle of her natural languid grace about her, she rose to leave the table, where some vision of terror, some awful presence, seemed to have settled down on the pleasant party. Neither of the visitors wished to penetrate the mystery.THE SECRET OE MADAME FREUND. 131
Only Estelle followed the mistress of the beautiful house to ascertain the cause of that wild speech, as the visitors separated. Only Estelle, and she diffident and shrinking, trembled when she found herself alone with Madame Freund.
“You look worn out, you are over-working yourself, Miss Hofer. I see the traces of a day too prolonged on your forehead, in your eyes. Do not leave me to-day, or better still, drive with me a little till we may expect Thyra.”
Estelle hesitated. She longed to stay, but there was her work, Gabriel to console, Ruth to appease.
“See,” exclaimed Madame Freund,pulling back one of the sky-blue silk curtains, so that the full sunshine found its way in, and bathed every object in living gold, irradiating Madame Freund as she stood in an almost prophetic attitude, and surrounding Thyra’s bird with a flood of warmth and joy, so that he bowed his graceful green head and broke out into one of his rare and perfectly pronounced French enthusiasms, “ Is not earth beautiful ? Can heaven surpass it ? I know not who can say.132
BENEDICTUS.
Whose dear friend, lost, gone, has travelled back to tell us? Estelle, my doom is as Juliet Haye’s, but not a word must you say to my husband,” she paused, “nay, nor to Thyra or any one. Dear Estelle, I have watched you. You also stand in the shadow. Do not look so frightened; I did not mean to alarm you, but I have watched you, and read your face. Oh, Miss Hofer, I lay no plots; but before I die assist me in trying to make Thyra think less of that Roumanian.”
“I, Madame Freund!” cried Estelle with that keen sense of the unalterable dominion exercised over favourite purposes which had so largely assisted in settling her own life. “ Oh, no,” with a swift retrospect of her early attachment to Cecil Haye, “and you will not die. You must be cured. Such affairs gradually fit in without human mapping out ; and if for love of you, Madame Freund, I might say anything of the sort, how could I then for love of Thyra?”
“You are mistaken, Estelle. I have made my knowledge very sure. And you, dear?” she paused, while Estelle found urgent opportunity of setting a thoughtTHE SECRET, OF MADAME FREUND. 133
evoked by Madame Freund’s words to the ticking of the clock.
“You are Dr. Hofer’s child. You can« not escape destiny. You must die.”
“ I want Thyra to marry Baron Oscar, her cousin,” Madame Freund continued, in her softest accents; “ will not you help me? You will see, Estelle, that I have not forgotten you.”
“Do you mean, do you mean by money? Madame Freund.”
“ Yes, dear, I did mean that. Why not, Estelle ? Where is the harm of a legacy ?” and she smiled.
“ Stop, pray stop, Madame Freund. F or all my life I have been compelled to follow the decrees and opinions of other people, now I must live out my own life. I detest the idea of such a gift. Why, all my life until I knew you, dear, kindest Madame Freund, I was starved for pretty things. Oh, how generously, how readily you procured for me all that I craved for.”
She stooped, and kissed Madame Freund’s hand, and resolutely sent back her tears.
“I did mean money,” said Madame Freund, wearily, “why should you so vehemently134
BENEDICTUS.
repudiate the idea? "Well, I understand. If not for you, for Gabriel, then. I liked him, but since his return I have not seen him; and, Estelle, I have heard that M. Benedictus admires your younger sister. Do not look at me with such a pitiful expression. Why, I pity you. Only try to please me in this.”
And when Estelle retraced her steps through the nearly deserted gardens, the last two hours seemed as a dream. To drive would be worse, she considered, as she dried her swift tears, with scarce a glance at the trees, and only when the sharp, sweet sudden chirp of a bird broke the stillness, did she stop to listen to that beautiful, melancholy commentary on the evening that comes to all; and, as she thought of sunny hours spent with Madame Freund, an uncontrolled sob echoed sadly enough.
She raised her tear-dimmed eyes. The intolerable sensation at her heart that succeeded all strong emotion passed with those tears. To her surprise she saw that M. Benedictus was coming towards her, with concern legibly written on his features.THE SECRET OF MADAME FREUND. 135
“You are very bad?” he inquired, so gently, in his anxious English. “ Miss Hofer, can I be of use? You walk too hard.”
Thus he pronounced the arbitrary word “ work.”
“You have bad news, but I have something of good news to relate. Not all-----”
here he paused dejectedly.
“ Mine is not good, but of that I am not to speak. But yours, M. Benedictus ? Is that a secret ? ”
“ I am again rich,” drawing himself up proudly. “ I may do as I choose once more.”
“ Ah, give it all to Galatz! ” thought Estelle, and aloud, “ I am very sincerely glad, M. Benedictus.”
“ I am inheritor. I have no need to mourn. It is money from an old, and not close relative. I called on Herr Freund; he was out. I saw Madame Freund, who does not like me. I asked of her somewhat, but I did not speak of riches.” He narrowly observed Estelle. Would she have the quickness to understand ? She had.
“Oh, M. Benedictus,” she exclaimed, involuntarily exclaimed, “ what a pity! Oh,136
BENEDICTOS.
how pleased Madame Freund would have been! Forgive me, it was a mistake.”
“No,” said Benedictus, proudly and excitedly. “ I shall, I suppose, marry me, one day; and soon. Now let me see you to a carriage.”
He repelled further confidence, and decidedly and gently showed her by his manner, partly imperious, partly whimsical, that what he chose to say he would, but that he would brook neither comment or inquiry. Nor was Estelle desirous of pursuing the subject, as, worn out with agitation, she threw herself back in the hansom.
During that week she had planned a little excursion for the assembly dear to Thyra’s sympathies. Now, how slow were her energies, how pale her face, at what low ebb were the cheerful spirits, never very buoyant, but responsive to every call on them. Gabriel noticed the alteration, but agreed, as Mrs. Hofer placidly said, that it was the heat that was always an enemy to Estelle’s strength. She read of the death of Cecil Haye’s wife on the day that the happy assembly tore over the heath into the field assigned for their use at the back of theTHE SECRET OP MADAME FREUND. 137
cottage. It was, in short, a back-garden-party, if such a festival may be. Ignorant of natural sights and sounds, the girls shuddered from an earthworm, which they called a “ snake,” and fondled a delicate caterpillar, which they called a “ green beadle.” The swaying bluebell, the emperor of the heath, they named a “ potato flower,” why, no one exactly knew, only it seemed probable. Their highest praise for a brown and blue butterfly was that it was like ribbon. What frogs were brought in by these delighted explorers! what gaudy handkerchiefs filled with fragments of moss, of mud, of lace leaves! To Ruth’s disgust, a feeble bird, half dead with fright, whose sweet, pathetic eyes were fast losing their intelligence, was brought in triumphantly by its stupid captor. With a passionate exclamation, Ruth took it from the angry girl. M. Benedictus had called to bid farewell ; he was going to Bucharest for a month. And now a grave spectator he looked on, as he had looked on at the Board-school treat, in a stately, reflective fashion. “ Perhaps he had hoped to meet Thyra,” Estelle thought. She did not understand138	BENEDICTOS.
that in his odd, reserved method of concealing disappointment he was quietly attentive to Ruth.
“ It is my sparrer,” insisted the young lady from the east-end. Her eyes were as bead-like, but less piteous, than the chaffinch, and the boasted human intelligence said to elevate the race of man above the birds, was by its complete absence conspicuous.
“It is very cruel to kill little things, Miss,” Benedictas said, severely. “ It is even wicked. That heart was fluttering under its feathers with joy, awhile since. Now, see it! It is a monstrous deed.”
“ I ain’t no monster,” retorted the girl, “ don’t call me names. And it ain’t hem neither,” indicating Ruth. “ It was me catched it first. I would have kept it in my bonnet box, and given it sweets and a drop of coffee.”
, Benedictus smiled with lofty disdain, not quite understanding her phrases. Ruth had run off with the bird; she breathed softly into the failing beak, she fed it tenderly with warm, soaked bread.
“ Dear darling, do live! ” she entreated,THE SECRET OF MADAME FREUND. 139
pitifully, and Benedictus thought, “ She is better than the proud Freunds; if not as high-souled as the spiritual-faced Thyra, very tender, very kind. She is for me! ” “Will it live?” he inquired.
“ I think so. See, M. Benedictus, it eats! Oh, don’t you detest that class of people? Are they not entirely without feeling? Yet my sister and Miss Freund endow them with the best qualities. That horrid girl entraps a sweet creature like this, as if it were a handful of grass, and never cares about whether she hurts it or not.”
In unabated gravity, Benedictus took the exhausted chaffinch in his hand. He made for it a dexterous nest in his fine, white handkerchief. He placed it on the windowsill in the sun. Some low murmur of the Italian-sounding Roumanian he murmured, and then, graciously turning to Ruth, he said, “ He will not catch sunstroke here ? ” “ He will get on, I do think. But I must stay here, lest Sambo George comes in.”
“ I have heard you speak that name before. Who is he, then ? A man, a black man?”140
BENEDICTUS.
“ Yes, very black; my dear old friend! Gabriel’s godchild, though many of my best friends are his godchildren.”
“ I see,” pondered Benedictus, “ he is a an-i-mal (thus he pronounced it). But you, do you forgive a beast to prey on a beast, yet not extend your forgiveness to a young person who would rear a bird in some kind of box, but who is rough ? You are perhaps misanthrope,” he went on, as Ruth wondered whether the magnificent Benedictus took on himself to lecture her. She was afraid, and she did not like him well enough to talk about it. u You are young to be that; to move apart from the human race with all its aspirations and achievements. You are not poet? No. Your brother is more that. How is it, then ? Are your disappointments so bitter you seek in a bird, in a beast, to forget them? For you life has just commenced, and yet ‘ die Ideale sind zerronnen.1 An idealism of bird and beast remains. Of a little wounded bird, of a Mr. Sambo Charles.”
The satire was lost upon Ruth. Whether M. Benedictus agreed with her, or laughedTHE SECRET OF MADAME EREUND. 141
at her, she was angry. Her easily ruffled vanity was touched. She reddened; and Benedictus questioned himself whether she was, after all, so much superior to Thyra. He had restored the chaffinch, but—
“It is you who are cynical,” she ventured at length to say, as she hovered near the bird. Benedictus bowed with as much impassive grace as if she had remarked, “You are angelic.”
Then the dissimilar pair, mutually different on every point but pity for dumb creatures, joined the back-garden-party.
To Estelle, the hours lagged wearily, but at last they were gone. Miss Ashby complacently observed, “ If poor Thyra might have been allowed to come ! ”
Miss Nugent, daintily tripping among the débris of the trodden field, murmured, “ Like Ascot, I declare. Three cheers for Miss Hofer ! ” But the silence threw back no response but the sighing of the trees. Gabriel, however, whose quick ears readily caught the absurd, broke into a fit of laughter.
“ Poor Estelle ! Our vines are downtrodden, our orchards plundered, our hot-142
BENEDICTUS,
houses robbed (but we have not any, fortunately for us to-day). The foe has been let loose with a vengeance. The world and his wife. Creature and fellow screecher! Our back-garden will remain open to a limitless number until farther notice. No cards. Now, Miss Ashby, we know that you are accustomed to public speaking. What practice has fallen to your lot in the east! It is your turn. If we cannot cheer Estelle, let us praise her with the good taste of the day before her face.”
Miss Ashby liked Gabriel, and allowed him to indulge his taste for jests ¡at her expense. She felt, though she was not, years older than the young man.
“And so the dog-days end,” he resumed to Miss Nugent, who had concluded her investigation of the damages. “Are not you tired? A walking tour of a hundred yards-—from the heath to the heathen.”
“ What a fund of mirth! ” she mused aloud, in admiration.
They proceeded through the pretty, old-world shrubbery, where grew the honey-scented muscovy, the evening primrose, the tall, tree-like southernwood, whereTHE SECRET OF MADAME FREUND. 143
late roses trespassed and tangled together, with their arms or their sprays round each other’s waists like flower school-girls; their fragrant tresses drooping in company; their light laughter of bell-shaped blossoms; their slim, swaying shapes, forming a magical meeting endowed with fantastic resemblance to humanity.
Gabriel did not care about a walk with Miss Nugent ; he would have preferred Gulielma’s society, as Thyra was not present, but he was amused with his companion nevertheless.
“We look like the poor Lambs,” he said, discontentedly. “ You know, Miss Nugent. He, poor fellow! carrying the strait waistcoat for his sister—don’t be offended, Miss Nugent, you are not my sister,” with a mocking sentimental sigh. “And to be candid, I am glad that you are not. I prefer friendship. What a pathetic pity surrounds both the Lambs!”
“ Both the Lambs! ” repeated Miss Nugent, completely at fault; “what can you mean? How funny you are, Mr. Hofer! Are there lambs here ? ” looking round in the darkness.144.	BENEDICTOS.
“ And so the Bank-holiday is next week?” said Gabriel, not heeding her. “ How quickly summer passes! ”
Miss Nugent sighed unaffectedly. To her the Bank-holiday was a sad, interminable day, when her friends were out of town, when her landlady set off early in the morning with her son’s wife, and a collection of other family ties, in a jolting cart bound for Epping Forest; when the broad August sunshine found and left Miss Nugent all alone, after assuming a well-feigned appearance of content, watching the departure, receiving the house-key, thinking sadly, sadly in the empty, bright house, where the hours might be heard, as the hours might be read, in their slow sunny tread towards the night. She stooped and replaced an intruding stem of the “ Love-lies-bleeding,” that had strayed over the border.
“ I am very dull on that day,” she said quietly, without her usual laugh.
“Come to us; yes, I mean it,” said the young man, really moved by her loneliness, “ I will take you out, Miss Nugent; yes, truly; here is the approved recipe for aTHE SECRET OE MADAME EREUND. 145
Bank-holiday. Take the hottest twenty-four hours from August, steep them in sunshine, throw in a dozen pianettes, and street organs, clear the streets of their inhabitants, send them forth rejoicing in every available vehicle, then stroll through the sunny, empty city with me, Miss Nugent; where the leisurely omnibus rolls as if a twopenny fare more or less was of no consequence. There will we ramble within the sculptured courtyard still remaining of some bygone company, there where the pigeons stray, and bridle, on the leaf-chequered, shadowed pavement. Then, Miss Nugent, stick a flower in your hat; buy a halfpenny orange, or, if finances extend so far, give yourself the simple pleasure of a penny ice, and be off with me to Hyde Park. If my finances allow, I will bestow the ice, but count not on it. Then throw yourself on the grass (I at your feet), listen to the band, and echo Schiller, ‘ auch ich war in Arcadien geboren.’ ”
“ How good you are, Mr. Hofer! ” was the grateful answer; “ what an example to young men ! Oh, I could spare a penny, but to eat ice in the open air?”
II.	L146
BENEDICTUS.
“ Miss Nugent, many a bear is compelled to do the same when times are bad, and explorers are scarce in the Arctic seas.”
Here it may be added that the fantastic Gabriel actually did accompany Miss Nugent on that day to Hendon; when no ancient knight or cavalier could have devoted himself more absolutely to her pleasure, with a respect and good feeling such as won the poor lady’s heart for ever. Gabriel asserted, and with truth, that less is done to alleviate the trials of the upright and forlorn, than to smooth the way of the sinner. Since Thyra’s plainly marked disdain of him in the character of a lover, he never referred to her, but his strong disappointment assisted him to hide his pain, and Miss Nugent never forgot that which Gabriel spoke of as her “ outing ” on the people’s day, with her odd young companion.
Benedictus went to Bucharest, Estelle was about to leave for Piedmont, when at the close of September she walked once more to Kensington. A month had wrought a wondrous change in the aspect of the gardens. Here and there a crimson leaf shotTHE SECRET OF MADAME FREUND. 147
up a sudden flame; a single lamp illuminating the leaves that had withered, while now a skeleton leaf was flung down by the breeze, and its lace-like framework was a challenge to its companions to see what windy days, what storms of rain would do for them, and yet how merry they would be, how they would race before the blast, and rush beneath the long, brown, slender branches, whose sprays, no longer gemmed by buds, extended their bare fingers as if in the entreaty of autumn rather than summer good fellowship.
Oh sad, and solitary winter, resolutely overtaking her dear friend! Oh, insufferable secret that she had pledged herself not to share with husband, child, or acquaintance, of Madame Freund.148
BENEDICTUS.
CHAPTER XIY.
PHANTASMAGORIA.
But before she left England, Estelle went with Mrs. Hofer and Ruth to establish them for a few weeks in a lovely country place, near, or comparatively near the sea. Fine sea-breezes fanned the landscape, and if the rush of waves, the unrest of the shore, the stirring sound of wind-driven storms were wanting, enormous rocks were here; rocks of a majestic height, whose rough, gigantic forms were clad in lichen ; whose feet seemed shod in velvet slippers of moss, and fern. And some of these surrounding caverns resembled a Druids’ hall, while others bore in their mystery witness to a time so remote as to be awful, when the sea, which now had long receded from them, leaving them high and bare, butPHANTASMAGORIA.
149
rooted in verdure, must have rushed above, and around them.
These rocks were dear to Estelle: she thought of Madame Freund, who might want her, and lingered on. She thought of Cecil Haye in his solitude, and as she sat within the hollow, reverberating walls also, made by the high rocks, she liked to muse about that far-off period, a pre-historic time, when those walls might have echoed back strange words of some lost tongue.
Here one morning she stayed without foreboding, her sketch-book in hand, when a servant who knew her customary walk came up to her. She guessed the message before she had torn open the telegram, which was from Herr Freund,—“ Come at once, if possible,” it ran; “we are in great trouble; Madame Freund died last night.”
Not a minute for sorrow: she almost ran to the house, which was not a great way from the spot. Here Ruth helped her with the sense and readiness natural to her, but which that young person held in contempt as a poor amends for talent.
Both Ruth and her mother were deeply150
BENEDICTUS.
shocked at the suddenness of the blow, and openly pitied Herr Freund and Thyra.
“ You had no suspicion, had you, Estelle, that she- was ill ? ”
“ I cannot talk, Ruth, dear,” she pleaded, not daring to utter a falsehood; “ you know that to he silent is my only refuge against tears.”
Ruth understood, and by her good offices Estelle was in excellent time for the morning express, speeding away through the multiplied tunnels and the beautiful weald of Kent, whose shield of flowers, long since shorn, had given place to autumnal tints.
But from autumn hues and sunshine she turned away for once.
The darkened house, the solemn silence brooding and overshadowing the lofty hall and library, set their seal on the news she had received. In the gloom, in the grave faces of the servants, she read the truth of that which she had vainly tried to disbelieve, as people like Estelle do flatter, and baffle their own convictions, by heart-wrung hope, by wild conjectures and fabrication of fancy.
After a minute’s pause, during which she fought hard for composure, she found ,PHANTASMAGOKIA.
151
herself following the servant to the room where Madame Freund lay.
As in some dreadful dream, she knew that for the first time she was to be brought face to face with death, and her furtive glance towards the couch where the recumbent form was placed, was but avoidance. For Estelle had an inborn horror of gazing on the dead. Not even on her father had she looked, although she had sat beside his coffin for hours; and now the very certainty that no one here knew of this peculiar and characteristic shrinking, stood her in good stead, and gave her resolution to hide it, so that it should not surprise or distress any but herself.
There sat Herr Freund, his hand straying through Thyra’s bright hair, as she leant against his shoulder, her tired eyes refusing to shed more tears. Her father’s pleasant, amiable face was full of doubt and trouble. Like Thyra, he could scarcely realise the stroke that had fallen.
Thyra sprang up with a cry, and Herr Freund, striving to recall his composure, also rose, and came towards Estelle.
“ I knew you would come,” he said;152
BENEDICTUS.
“my—Madame--------” But he could not
finish the familiar phrase, nor call his wife that calm, quiet, outstretched figure, outlined as if in marble, so suddenly severed from loving, living customs. He merely indicated the covered couch with a pathetic gesture more expressive than words. “ Thyra has been here all the night, Miss Hofer. She insists on remaining here again. But I beg of you to persuade her to go to her own room till Berta and Tory arrive; they may come quite early in the morning, and then Thyra will be ill.”
“ Yes, dear Thyra, I will stay here. Will you let me do so ? ”
“ Oh, not without me, Miss Hofer. No stranger shall watch mamma! ”
“ Am I a stranger, Thyra ? ” kissing the damp plaits, and taking the exhausted girl in her arms. “ Trust me, Thyra.”
Herr Freund listened anxiously. Not by a phrase would he weaken the artist’s persuasion, by urging on his own part, and at last Thyra promised to permit Hermance and Estelle to divide that night’s vigil. M. Freund would rest a little in the library, to be ready for the travellers; and thenPHANTASMAGORIA-
153
came the sad explanations, which end iir being repetitions.
“ She was quite well, you know,” said the unconscious Herr Freund, with all the quiet belief in this being the case that was so much more touching than dread now. “ When did she ail in any way ? She had superb health! Lately a little fatigued at times,” and how in that mute presence could Estelle betray her contrary knowledge ?	“ But now the doctors say she
might have gone at any time, in a moment, and I never knew! ” His head drooped in his hands.
It was a trying scene, wherein Herr Freund’s habitual gentleness and real religion could be his only solace. Nor could Estelle rule her voice to make many inquiries, nor question whether her dear friend had suffered, for who could gauge the silent anguish of that proud spirit, endured patiently without relief of complaining, or demand of sympathy? To Estelle alone had she spoken, and why ?
The artist shuddered. She put away from her the thought of a similar fate. Poor Madame Freund had spoken wildly. And154
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then she led Thyra to her pretty, light room, darkened also, from which the bird had been removed. He could be heard with his sweet, abrupt, double note from Hermance’s room.
Soon, and with the utmost dexterity, she had bathed Thyra’s face, and placed her in the large, chintz-covered chair before the hearth, where a bright fire burnt. The musical, melancholy, dropping ashes supplied a sort of charm to soothe the aching hearts of the two, to lead them to an acquiescence imperceptibly becoming resignation. The morning mist of London had given way to brilliant and occasional gleams of sunshine, so piercing, so bright that each gleam came and went as a friend might come and go, who could not stay, who dared not intrude, but by whom the exact and delicate duration of a visit was well ascertained, and who left a gentle message behind him. Thyra stretched her languid feet on the stool Estelle brought for her, half hearing, half heedless of her attempts to heal her sorrow, her few replies now and then strangled by sobs of surprise and amazement, at this, her first meeting withPHANTASMAGORIA.
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affliction, yet helped insensibly by Estelle’s tireless efforts. The red sun of October soon bid itself under the grey canopy of clouds. The sunbeams, having sent in their last messages, retired altogether. Then came Hermance with tea, and at last Thyra slept.
Meanwhile, Estelle mused over the fire. After hearing when and how Madame Freund died, she could but refer now and then to that dreadful hint concerning herself, for she had no wish to leave that life so well filled by work and affection. Yet, that spasm of the heart when she saw Cecil Haye in the gardens. To what did it point ? But no one else thought of her as being ill, or likely to die. Then her thoughts travelled back to the old Ivy House, when she sat with Alexina, fair enough to compare with Thyra, but not a born beauty as she was, and she knew that Dr. Hofer was dead. Well, to die had not been bitter to him, and if to her, his eldest child, it was to happen in the same way, oh, murmurous bright fire, whom I speak to in default of any trusted confidant, then let me be prepared, as from my poor point of view I read preparation!156
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“ I think,” said Thyra, when she awoke, “that mamma was prejudiced against M. Benedictus. How strange of him not to write, or to call, before he left England, to acquaint us with his inheritance! Papa was rather surprised; and it is such a large fortune. All his family are so wealthy.” “But he did call,” said Estelle. Thus much honour demanded of her. “ I met him in Kensington Gardens the day you
were presented, and he saw------”
“ He saw mamma, of course,” said Thyra, who did not hesitate to speak of her mother. “ How strange too that she did not tell us! I suppose she must have forgotten.”
Estelle, not thinking Madame Freund’s silence so strange, hoped she had forgotten, unlikely as it appeared.
“Now he will marry Ruth, perhaps,” Thyra said, wistfully.
“ Perhaps not, Thyra dear.”
“ Oh,” exclaimed the girl with excited misery, “what can he see in Ruth, good and nice as she is, to attract him! and what could mamma not see in him to repel her ? Some blunder of conventional manners— English manners—and so she was neverPHANTASMAGOBIA.
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really desirous of his coming often; and now, Miss Hofer, something tells me that he hid the fact of his new possessions to test us, perhaps. But not me, surely! Would I be so base as to care, or to be influenced by his wealth, or its want ? Yet, Miss Hofer, during the last few days mamma softened to him. She said something about writing to ask him herself, when he returned. Now she will never write.”
Thyra sobbed again, while again Estelle soothed her.
“ Miss Hofer, you do not know—poor, mistaken Gabriel might—how terrible an unrequited love can be.”
Estelle allowed that remark to remain unanswered.
“ And papa told me that he knew a month since that mamma has left a thousand pounds to Gabriel; to you, Estelle, only her favourite bracelet. How extraordinary! He need not be a clergyman now, and he will not, I feel sure.”
Estelle had little doubt on that point either.
“ See! ” said Thyra, holding up her Bible,158
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from which a slim red book-mark fluttered, instead of retaining any especial leaf, “ People say they derive comfort from these words in trouble. They are sustained and consoled by them. Oh, I have tried to be consoled, not alone for this dreadful trial of
mamma’s loss, but for-----”
“ Do not try any more, Thyra,” Estelle said, who forbore to name, but accurately guessed the nature of the second trial, and when she had succeeded in helping her into her pretty bed, the acute consciousness of trouble and regret rolled off to some remote dreamland where sorrow was left at the threshold, and Thyra slept uninterruptedly. All the rest of the day the busy sadness of such a time gave Estelle plenty to do. There were letters to write, people to see. Now arid then Herr Freund, bearing his sorrow with dignity and self-control, would speak a word to her, to ask how Thyra was. Now and then, too, came pauses of complete idleness, when she would not read, and dared not think, and sat passively watching peeps of the interlaced boughs visible beneath the drawn blinds. A bird-shadow darted suddenly across them. Had MadamePHANTASMAGORIA.
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Freund’s spirit soared above the trees, a bird-messenger darting heavenwards ? Did those motionless branches without, ¿now all about it ?
On many a journey of fanciful speculation did Estelle despatch her wistful wonder as to the destiny of her so suddenly snatched away, and at about eleven she finally left Thyra, and seated herself beside the wide screen which had now been placed round Madame Freund’s couch. Herr Freund sent in furs and wraps, but Estelle felt no chill, and was far enough from any thought of sleep in that solemn apartment. She had her Bible. She knew that some favourite passages would convey the comfort which eluded poor Thyra, but at first Mademoiselle Herman ce was voluble in an undertone concerning the virtues of her mistress, then came a renewal of attempts to make Estelle lie down on the other couch, quietly and firmly frustrated by her. Then she arranged herself on it in a distant corner of the large room, and insisting that nothing could compel her to forget what had happened, closed her eyes, fell asleep, and all was hushed.
Virtually alone then, with the dead160
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Madame Freund, Estelle shivered slightly, and found encouragement in the far-off rush and whistle of a night train. Then the trains ceased too; a distant chime struck twelve, her vigil had begun.
Even apart, from commonplace superstition, there is something terrible, beyond reasoning away, in sitting up with one from whom the spirit of life has fled. First, Estelle felt excited. Her imagination was roused, her mind on the alert. The grand rocks, seen such a short time ago, seemed as if they belonged to a century of earlier experience, from which her present life was completely cut off. She had always been in that room, voluntarily pledged to this charge of the dead.
A hundred images of bravery and devotion whispered their counsel to her meek response, mingling with other feelings of love, pity, hope for the quiet form near which she sat. Then, as a silence such as could be almost heard, settled around her, she caught herself casting furtive glances towards the tall wax candles in their high silver sconces.
Did that curtain move ? What caused itPHANTASMAGORIA.
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to waver ever so slightly, when no wind stirred the shut door ? Withdrawing her timid doubts with a violent effort from conjectures concerning the candles, she looked up at the picture of Madame Freund, taken when she was a girl.
It was a pathetic coincidence that this portrait should be on that part of the wall above the screen within which, she was now lying. That gay and imperious impersonation of youth, joy, and careless haughtiness, beheld with pity as if it were a stranger, one with whom the original of the picture could have no affinity, that sombre figure beneath the frame. The contrast was too vivid to court again. She would take refuge in her Bible. Its leaves fluttered open at the mysterious, even supernatural psalm, or song for the sons of Korah, appointed to be read by the Hebrews in the house of mourning:
“ I will incline mine ear to a parable. I will disclose my dark saying with a harp.”
The endless parable of death lay before her. What comment could change it ? The “ dark saying ” was uttered. What melody of harp would sweeten its decree ?
II.	M162	BENEDICTCS.
The mystic words, the strange and touching lines had no power to comfort her now. Estelle was too excited, too fearful to find a word to check her nervous apprehension. And she turned once more to the wall, where two beautiful examples of Gainsborough’s high-bred, lovely models were hung, to study during her long leisure. Two delicate maidens sat within their heavy frames, so naturally, with such grace, and ease, and simplicity of attitude, that they might have been but a pair of smiling, gentle girls, captured in jest, encircled in a scroll-work of gilt twists and curves for a few minutes. But so encircled, they had sat and smiled for a century, at least; the one, with her hands lying easily in her lap, filled with blossoms, the other, standing with hands clasped, and straw hat and blue ribbons falling off, listening a little; waiting expectant, unlike the other pretty girl in a pale pink robe, who, content and tranquil, seemed as if pulling her flowers about with her slender fingers, as if there were nothing else in the world to set straight. On how many human faces had these companion pictures fixed their azure eyes, always surrounded byPHANTASMAGORIA.
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their flowery landscapes, always poising their sandalled shoes daintily in soft grass ? What roughness, what pain were they fit for ? and now, raised above the level of the screen, they, too, saw death. And then Estelle’s quickened pulses helped a longing prayer, that perhaps, after all, Madame Freund was not positively dead. She might revive, as she had read or heard in some cases of the kind. If such a boon might be granted, should poor cowardice hinder the chance ?
With brilliant eyes and trembling hands she moved the end of the screen noiselessly, and looked, long and wistfully, at the sculptured tenant of the couch. She strained each faculty in the agonising effort to behold that which never she should behold again, of movement, of soft inspiration of breath, for some low sigh, or welcome touch.
Not for Estelle was it to witness this wondrous boon of resuscitation: her dear friend was gone from her.
Then, as she leant back in her chair, discarding the luxurious wraps from her feverish hands, she tried to beckon thoughts which should elevate, or meditations that might164
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fill the long hours, overwrought nature took its revenge. She had travelled some distance that day; she had been greatly shocked, and all that she had taken on herself was repugnant and dreadful to her highly-strung temperament.
The decorations and incidents depicted on the gilded Indian screen assumed new and fantastic shapes. They moved : they flitted in and out of the screen ; they changed into strange illusions, that seemed endowed with grotesque animation. And then, through some trick of over-excited weariness, Estelle found that she had no real command of vision. Her sight was not true. The odd little figures baffled her endeavours to view them steadily. She thought that, when the morning broke, she would have it out with the fantastic screen; go boldly up to it, and judge whether that confusion of large and small illuminated dissolving views belonged to it absolutely, or to her alarm.
When she had first observed the screen it was dark, inlaid with figures, slightly raised in relief. When the morning broke she would examine it, but would it everPHANTASMAGORIA.
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break ? Then came a phase when she recognised herself bound to this room by duty, when she thrilled at the comprehension of being restricted to its limits, and denied that she could ever have experienced the joy of freedom, the permission of conscience to move in and out at her own will. Was it really true that only that morning she had been whirled through the open country among the living ? and then she was dimly sure of the exaggeration of these moods, abased at this aspect of a mental feebleness unknown to her until this watch summoned it, with its craven shuddering from the trial developed by the novelty and awe of the situation. But, unfortunately, some occasions arise, when all that one may have read, or sincerely said, believed in, or relied upon, fail .to fortify the faltering assurances of sense and faith. In all this confusion of thought Estelle was perfectly able to distinguish that, in a certain way, it wronged poor Madame Freund to be so horror-stricken at her, and in that grand house that she should have as her last attendants only the profoundly sleeping Hermanee, and Estelle herself, with quickly-166
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beating heart, and burning cbeeks, and hurried fancies, composed of terror in all its tortures.
Oh, cowardly, unstable soul ! was this all she dared do ? After a determined struggle with fear, she passed once more within the screen, and fell on her knees beside the dear friend she loved so well. She was unable to pray, or rather, she could not utter a formal prayer, but she poured out some inarticulate supplication, wrung from the depths of her heart.
And if Estelle were morbid, creating a keener edge thereby to her suffering, she had an inexpressible shrinking from the sight of death, only once seen in a fine photograph of Beethoven taken after he had died; brief as that glimpse had been, there still remained in her memory the curling smile, the glimmer of the half-shut eyes, as if the great Secret was known at last ; the secret of man’s existence; as if the dead musician had now learnt it. So she believed all dead persons must look, and so no power could before, compel her to gaze on the features of Madame Freund. Long ago had she seen that face of Beethoven, yet she would never forget it.PHANTASMAGORIA.
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But the night was wearing on. An additional chill in the atmosphere proved the time to he about three o’clock. She rested her head against the chair, and tried to bring before her Tory and Berta, the elegant, fashionable little pupils of former days, but could she ever have heard their voices speaking, had she not sat here in strained silence from the beginning beside their dead mother ? She sought to recall the country-side, the beautiful weald of Kent ; the wide shield enamelled with autumn tints that country-side appeared to resemble; she built up a fanciful story of a giant who had dwelt in the rocks, leaving his shield behind him, now hidden in verdure.
She wished that she had her watch, but this she had forgotten. She had no guide to the hours as they dragged their lagging length. The night was windy; sometimes a furious gust whistled and shrieked close to the windows, making her start and tremble, and thus no neighbouring clock could be heard; no chime offered its gentle encouragement to her senses; no flame flickered its cheery advice. All was solemn, unrelieved, drear.168
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Then suddenly as her burning, strained gaze, falling first on one familiar, yet fearful object, then on another, touched the screen, Estelle saw doubting, yet hoping that she saw aright, that day was approaching. The edges of the screen seemed to spring distinctly from the surrounding gloom, and a faint, clear light fought steadily with the monotonous lustre of the tall candles. How delicate, how delicious did that slowly increasing light appear to Estelle’s anxious vision! It was the advancing light of the dawn; the signal of deliverance from her endless agitated anguish of terror.
Yes, it was the dawn at last, for the light strengthened, contending with that other candle-light. It was dawn that gave its soft and lambent finish to' the sharp details of frames and ledges, and darted into the interior, and leaped up from the corners, and then, with nothing more than this slight prologue, the curtain of the new day was lifted swiftly. A vociferous chirping without, a pure, pale-blue glow within, and this was the dawn; this transparent union of clear brightness and indescribable upspringing colour, which enthralled yetPHANTASMAGORIA.
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half-tired her sick senses, filling the void which half-an-hour since had appeared doomed to silence and impenetrable darkness. A marvellous rejoicing of many birds spoke of renewed life, hinting that though the dead did not revive, all was not death, and that assuredly all would be well with her for whom she mourned.
Again the sun would shine out of the cloudland. She listened to the tremulous, shrill piping of the nestlings who knew where the berries lay hidden in the hedges near to the well-kept grounds. The half shadows and lights, in their exquisite light play, pleased and invigorated her exhausted powers, while a tuneful swaying of outside branches in the lavish and lovely fret-work of shade and fairy-like illumination thrown across the screen, made it more and more definite.
The room was penetrated by a chill such as struck through her completely. She had now dismissed the dread even of her own stealthy movements. She drew her shawl round her, for the heavy, costly furs oppressed her, and as she lay back her fingers designed invisible sketches in its folds.170
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And as the flash of the on-coming day displayed, in all its solemn truth, the silent chamber, she felt that she had been weak. But her love of art had first been fostered by some old engravings belonging to Dr. Hofer by Peters, Fuseli, and Boydell, from Shakespeare’s plays, and one in particular, representing Wolsey in the agony of his last hours, had impressed her, like the Beethoven cast, with horror. She had still no clue to the hour, when the near sound of horses’ feet, a carefully opened and closed door, and the hushed murmur of voices, convinced her that Tory and Berta had arrived, and that their father was even then speaking to them in the hall. At the same time a fuller glow of sunshine irradiated the chamber.
The light awoke Hermance. She calmly folded her cloak round her, and then asking if Estelle would mind waiting alone yet a few minutes, went off to dress.
In the morning radiance Estelle’s midnight horrors had entirely vanished. She assented readily. But the “ one moment ” of Hermance was like Hermance’s capacity for sitting up through the night, not to be depended upon. Estelle remained untilPHANTASMA GOBIA.
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the quiet entrance of the three young daughters with Herr Freund gave her an opportunity of surrendering her post.
How beautiful, how youthful the three idolised and petted creatures were, now for the first time during their happy lives introduced to sorrow; how cared for and shielded from their fairy-like childhood till now they had reached this princess sort of period. They were composed and calm; Thyra, the most striking of the trio, had a certain air more than' excelling the fashion and distinction of the world which marked the other two. Estelle felt that they would be better alone; and, indeed, it was well for her reputation for self-control that the opportune entrance of the family left her free. Her feet failed her as she stumbled rather than walked down the corridor into the hall, where the bright, fresh young morning was scattering some of the brooding gloom of the house. The subdued sound of the servants’ voices led her to find her way towards the back entrance. That entrance would take her into the garden, to the pure, clear air she so passionately craved. Oh, dear life! oh, welcome air!172
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A housemaid crossed her path, and started as she saw her ghastly face, her faltering steps.
“You must not faint, Miss Hofer,” and Estelle tried to smile, while the fresh breeze brought back vigour to her pale, quivering lips, her sick, uncertain hands.
Oh, miracle never hitherto fully understood, to breathe adorable gusts of soft wind once more! Oh, wonderful boon of freedom to linger in those breezes, to note the eloquence of the birds, the perfection of the late autumn flowers!
Estelle’s temperament probably magnified the horror and the beauty of certain aspects. But who was there to criticise her childish or sentimental behaviour except the sparrows and mignonette? She, who was so readily moved to sympathy, had shed no tears till now. She wondered if she were really cold and hard-hearted. But the grief that made no sign in yonder dark chamber melted here.'. Tears flowed at sight of the pretty birds, at scent of the sweet flowers, such as no ceremony appertaining to painful associations with death had provoked.PHANTASMAGOKIA.
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And then Hermance came for her, took her off into a dressing-room, and an abundant pouring out of delicious cold water on her aching head restored her to the calm, sober state of every day.
There were many trials yet to be tided over for the mourning family, and for herself in some degree, but none so sharp as that of her vigil. And although on a cursory view of the situation, the watch of one night may not appear a very alarming undertaking, not too heavy a task shared with a slumbering maid, to Estelle it was a landmark in her short life.
At last came the day when an endless procession of friends accompanied the simple funeral, in accordance with the ancient Hebrew rites, to the grave of Madame Freund; the Hebrew minister in his robes of office at the head of the coffin, like a Biblical priest of old.
In the course of the following week Gabriel and Ruth went to Kensington. Gabriel, who amused Herr Freund by his clever, careless ways, was asked to repeat his visit. Tory and Berta had always liked him; they now welcomed him with a174
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warm friendliness, such as partly made amends for his still bitter remembrance of Thyra’s behaviour towards him. Of this, of his admiration, the sisters were ignorant.
They looked on interested at Thyra and Benedictus, at Thyra and Oscar, who had come to England on a visit of sympathy to his cousins and uncle; but when Thyra and Gabriel met there was no indication in either of possible love. And Benedictus, though he might hold her hand, and gaze with a melancholy thoughtfulness at her bright, downcast head, on her lovely face now sad and dejected, and as he stood thus, seemed as if weighing and reflecting on some subject known to himself alone, said nothing.
Thyra would sigh and colour, raise her proud head as if in defiance, and shake off resolutely some silent hope. Baron Oscar, with his bright, blue eyes, and tall upright figure and stern military bearing, took a sort of solicitous care of her. He had the same deference towards women, the same gentle protection for them, that was such a charming trait in Herr Freund. And coldly Thyra met every advance. It was plain enough to Estelle, who held thePHANTASMAGORIA.
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key to certain schemes and ideas formed for her future, that neither Gabriel or the Austrian cousin would play any part in it.
What a handsome group of people they were, who fulfilled this period of retirement. All were silent, perhaps occupied with a vague unexpressed wonder, as to where, and when they might again be drawn together, or if ever.
“ Ruth has not quite forgotten us, I suppose,” Thyra said to Gabriel.
“ She must remain with my mother,” answered Gabriel, who would no longer call Thyra by her name, and who skilfully avoided using any prefix.
“ And her birds, her dogs, and cats—her happy family, who preserve an armed neutrality.”
“ There is one animal with what you call double-barrel synoym,” said Benedictus, with a grave smile, “ a SamboGeorge.”
“ Ah, I named him,” said Gabriel, pensively. “ And I named the linnet after my old German-master, a proof of respect, a singing epitaph. The other Mario, the canary, teaches him, with a patience worthy of a tutor.”176
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“ What a child you are still! ” said Tory.
“ Don’t, pray,” entreated Gabriel; “,to be a child in that sense, or in that want of sense, is to be ridiculous.”
“You are a little ridiculous,” Berta admitted, “ amiably so. It. is rather pretty of Buth to be so fond of dumb things. She seems up to their dialects, their chatter, and tastes.”
“You appear to have a great deal of leisure,” said Oscar.
“ Well, yes,” Gabriel admitted; “ the rate at which really industrious people live, leaves a certain amount of time unemployed to those who know how to value it.”
“Your bicycle employs you,” suggested Thyra ; this was a recent acquisition presented by Benedictus since his inheritance.
“ The bicycle is the poem of the road, the song of the ceaseless movement of the age, to glide along between the scented hedges, with my little bell tinkling, as a bell guided Hans Andersen’s Prince into dreamland, is magic. Ah,” cooling suddenly as he heard his own voice, “ the bicycle is the best thing the world has shown for years, of absolute progress.”PHANTASMAGORIA.	177
“ Let us hope the poor world’s invention is not quite exhausted,” said Alberta.
As they were leaving Herr Freund signed to Estelle and Gabriel to follow him into the library. Here he informed them of that of which Estelle was already aware, that to her only a beautiful, sparkling bracelet was left, while Gabriel was to have a thousand pounds.
“To determine his future, unsettled at present,” ran the accompanying words, while round the bracelet was written, “ For faithful love.”
“ That is her sole reference to a fact well known to us of her regard for you,” continued Herr Freund. “ But to your brother Gabriel she has left a thousand pounds. Strange act!”
Gabriel started, grew crimson, and gazed with an unbelieving expression in his troubled face from one to the other.
As forEstelle, she comprehended, and with a grateful heart recognised how thoroughly Madame Freund had understood her hesitating refusal of a legacy. Hesitating only because she feared to hurt her warm feelings.
“ Have you any clue to this act?” said
II.	N178
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Herr Freund. He looked with something of his former shrewdness at Estelle, who found it possible to avoid the nervous blush which must betray her, under this scrutiny. “You were much in her confidence, I think ? But you must not agitate yourself,” he added, less sharply. “We have gone through great trouble together. You are not wounded because Madame Freund named your brother instead of you. I am somewhat puzzled, for 1 never knew he was such a favourite.”
“Oh no,” exclaimed Estelle. “Indeed, indeed, Herr Freund, I have no such thought as being hurt, or wounded, or any of those evil things. Madame Freund well knew my objection to a legacy.”
“ You are singular, I fancy, in that respect,” Herr Freund remarked, with a sad smile. “ But I begin to see how the matter lies, Miss Hofer. My poor wife, with the tact and generosity, and the keen insight into all that was honourable and good which distinguished her, read your motives aright, and saw how you who struggled so hard for your brother and sister when we first made your acquaintance, when you depended en-PHANTASMAGORIA.
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tirely on your own exertions to become as it were the representative of the parent who was taken, considered, doubtless, the part of special providence was one that you loved to enact too often, and assumed that you would again deprive yourself of such a token as money for some reason, or no reason at all.” He paused to lightly touch Estelle’s shoulder. “ Then she who forgot nothing, remembered this tall boy’s manhood,” and another, and by no means so delicate a touch of goodwill, descended on Gabriel. “ Ah I see it all! Light dawns on my old eyes, things alter rapidly, and my wife is dead, and I am hastening into age.”
A longer pause ensued, during which Gabriel alternately flushing and paling beneath the influence of amazement and emotion, braced the tumult of his mixed sensations, sufficiently to be able to step forward and say earnestly a few words in which a little about his surprise and gratitude strove with a great deal concerning his affection for every Freund. If one and the most lovely Freund prompted his eloquent description of a sort of phenomenal attachment born with Gabriel Hofer for the whole180
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family, Herr Freund did not suspect it. It was gratifying to hear his wife praised, and it pleased him to perceive Gabriel’s fresh, ardent disposition.
“ You see now,” he said, “the cause of my suggestion that Gabriel may reconsider his profession. It is not a great sum, but quite enough to let him study for some particular taste. Are you convinced that you have not mistaken your vocation ? No, do not consult Miss Hofer with that searching gaze; judge for yourself. You are young, you may have taken the wrong path. A new bent would perhaps be more congenial. I do believe painting more according to your wish than preaching.”
There seemed to flash before Gabriel’s eyes a pageant, where gaily and rhythmically all the finest and highest aims of humanity moved in a bright procession. Among them he beheld no office of the pulpit. It was, in fact, a procession of the fine arts which unfolded before him. He knew that he would never succeed as a painter. But as a poet, a musician, surely he would gain fame.PHANTASMAGORIA.
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Suddenly the close, constraining shackles of a destiny chosen in haste, for ever lamented, yet fortunately not irrevocable, seemed to glide off, to leave him how light, how free! Those alone who have made a life-long error of choice can understand; and those who, without fault of theirs, have been compelled to abide by the same. He could by that timely gift develop his talents according to his wishes, and as Estelle steadfastly looked at the bracelet, so that her tears might remain unobserved, she mused on the plots and plans the heart’s affections form for one’s dearest, and left that matter in God’s hands. It was not for her to help or to hinder Thyra’s unasked love, nor to circumvent Madame Freund’s arrangements for her own child. That Herr F reund was attached to the Roumanian, whose courage, generosity, and enterprising efforts for freedom had seized his fancy from the first, she knew well. And now a fresh fortune removed every bar from the way of the proud man if he cared for Thyra; yet he spoke not; and there was Ruth, whom he had evidently persuaded himself was worth seeking, merely182
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dazzled by bis attentions, and far more frightened than pleased by them.
There was little spoken of between the brother and sister as they returned to the heath cottage, where Estelle intended to stay for the short time intervening between her .stepmother’s return and her own journey. The Freund family were going to Vienna for a year, and Benedictus spoke of making a home once more in Roumania.
Separations are sad, and Gabriel guessed her sadness and stooped to kiss her.
“ Cheer up, dear Estelle. Give up Piedmont. Go with me to Florence and Rome for a year.”
“Yes, Gabriel,” suddenly; “you still want me, do you not, dear?” And she covered her face with her hands.183
CHAPTER XV.
AT BURLINGTON HOUSE.
Shortly after these events, Estelle paid a visit to the Loan Collection at the Academy. Gabriel was going, she, too, would be leaving England for a year to stay with him, and watch whether, after all, his violin would unite him with Thyra. And Thyra also was about to go to Vienna, while Benedictus appeared hardly to know his own intentions; was it really Ruth who exercised a sway above Thvra’s, that lovely girl with her eyes u cast towards the mountains ? ”
Unnerved by the sudden loss of her dear friend, Estelle resolved to see what her favourite pursuit might bring her of consolation.
This particular collection or selection of184
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pictures was unrivalled in examples of the early Italian painters.
Gradually regret, anxiety, and impatience were soothed as most literally her fatigued soul drank in the beauty of colour, the majesty of form, the infinite peace of wide stretching landscape.
She paused before one of Cima da Cone-gliano’s pictures representing S. Sebastian and St. Roch, and in some mysterious manner her old passion for self-sacrifice was roused at sight of these martyrs.
She forgot present disappointment—notably Gabriel’s easy relinquishment of his first profession, or perhaps, among the pale, auburn-haired or dark olive-hued framed types of ancient Biblical tragedies, she dreamed herself back into the heart of her own passionate, repressed youth, with its fervent longing after ancestral traditions of endurance and steadfast bravery.
M. Becquer’s voice broke the charm of her reverie.
“ Miss Hofer, what good fortune! Come with me and look at this marvellous Carpaccio. What a chance to find a genuine Carpaccio on view! Leave the Saints,”AT BURLINGTON HOUSE.
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with a rapid gesture of long fingers expressing devout respect.
“ Those few minutes of exaltation were worth much to you, I know. But they can be resumed; they can be resumed! Ah, I noticed your engrossing delight. That fixed look well became your countenance,” continued M. Becquer, with his customary if not always agreeable candour; “ it improved you.”
He hurried her on, not quite unwillingly, towards his goal—the solitary instance of Carpaccio’s genius. F ondly he gazed at it for a few minutes—an exquisite study of the Holy F amily, full of tranquillity and peace, and yet touched by some mystical foreshadowing of woeful destiny, of agony, of affliction to come among all its tender, grave grace.
Earnestly did Estelle and M. Becquer study the splendid work, but it was soon obvious to her that not even the fine opportunity of studying a veritable Carpaccio was the true reason of his interruption of her day-dream. All the imagination, brilliancy of design, and vividness of colour, that marked the pictures around them,186
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failed to divest these two persons, singularly alike in warmth and depth of feeling, although so different in glowing frankness and firm reserve, of the habit of letting their own hopes and fears, as it might be, flavour and give a personal meaning to that on which they looked.
“ Divine! ” murmured M. Becquer, in the softest voice, as if in that one word of homage to the subject he unwillingly condensed volumes of adoration.
“Miss Hofer!” suddenly beginning on his real errand, with a world of pathetic protest in his expression, “ Benedictos has betrayed me, and you know in what manner; yet to you it must not be told—it is not delicate, not ‘ conventional.’ ”
He threw out his hands quickly, and in that minute’s movement contrived to convey the exaggerated, acute susceptibilities of some ultra-refined critic,
“How dreadful! ” Estelle replied, forced to believe something shocking had occurred by this dramatic and startling avowal. The remembrance of M. Becquer’s impetuous, fantastic, easily swayed feelings, failed to prepare her for some overdrawnAT BUKLINGTON HOUSE.
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opinion. She believed and compassionated him. “What has M. Benedictus done, then ? ”
“ He loves your sister,” was the absurd and startling response, and Estelle hardly knew whether to laugh or to cry. It seemed rather hard to bring in well-worn and troublesome topics among the stately pictures.
“M. Becquer, you tell me news. And why should it be so shocking to you? ”
“To me—myself—no! I am not in love with the little lady, no, certainly not,” he eagerly exclaimed. Had Estelle pre-de-termined the best means of allaying his vexation she could not have chosen a better answer. This view of the affair presented itself to his vivacious fancy with her words —she might believe him jealous of Benedictus !
Jealous! Of that little every-day Miss, too!
The mistake must be rectified. He was certain Estelle thought he cared for Ruth.
“ But I do not want her, I will assure you,” he explained, with that light-hearted laugh which reconciled his friends to his188
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extraordinary manners. “ She would not have me, perhaps. We are not of mutual attraction; our creed, too, is otherwise, I will say it in all respect. But Adrian! my Iscariot! I destined him, my Quixote of the nineteenth century, my bad, independent, wicked, unique Benedictus, for the beautiful Miss Freund. Her mother dies. Yes,’” with a downward glance of profound, but evanescent melancholy at Estelle’s black dress; “we mourn, we regret her. But it would have passed. She required some one more rich and great than Adrian. She did not care for him. The good God removes her, and my friend becomes inheritor; and then—and then—why, with obstinacy he prefers your sister.”
“Really, M. Becquer,” Estelle said, almost provoked from her patience by the artist’s whims, “you should consider; you cannot arrange things just as you would, or rule the fate of your friend. Your friend and mine evidently did not care about your plan. It is not good taste to use Mademoiselle Freund’s name in this way.”
“ But it is true that he chooses the little round-faced Miss. He goes, and he asksAT BURLINGTON HOUSE.
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her to-day,” M. Becquer insisted. “From the first I sought to make Adrian cognisant that it was she, that beautiful maiden, with her gaze set towards the limitless hills, that fair vision, who was fitted to be his companion. They would have ennobled and elevated each other. So I told him. He listened, and said he liked Ruth Hofer. But oh, Miss Hofer, let us prevent it. Send your sister on a visit.”
His mortification and earnestness were so genuine that Estelle was carried away by his zeal. She sympathised with the bitterness of his disappointment. Why would the wrong people choose each other ? M. Becquer was not to be judged as an ordinary mortal. It was annoying to hear him discuss Ruth, and he certainly hated her; but he must be, if not exactly agreed with, forgiven and indulged.
“ In the meantime,” she said, with some gaiety, “ you are quite miserable, for a fancy, a mere surmise. Until you have absolute proof that he really has carried out his intention, also that Ruth accepts him— she may not, you know—why be so determined?”190
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This idea, on the whole, cheered the artist. He mused upon it, turned it over in his mind, rejected its truth, finally derived blended vexation and comfort from it, first for Benedictus—the daring Miss refuse him!—and lastly consented to have trust in this many-sided reflection.
“ I can breathe,” he said, with a grateful sigh. “Miss will not appreciate him; she will tremble at his superiority. If he were a wounded bird, or a strayed dog, now, it would be, ‘ Come in, sweet Adrian, come in,’ and she would love him. I know Miss by report. First she would pity, then she would care for him.”
“ He loved before,” said Estelle, with a tremulous voice. “To such a man, a mistake might well be pardoned.”
“Let him not make another, a more serious error,” said M. Becquer, with a theatrical wave of his hand. “ See ! ” pointing to the grand figure of an Apostle, by Mantegna, and again making a rapid sign in the direction of a pathetic Descent, and once again where hung a stately picture of St. John the Evangelist, “here, there, we have his true prototypes. A headAT BURLINGTON HOUSE.
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such as his, a bearing as ardent, as soldierly, as inspired, as repressed, were the ideals of the studies of the early painters. His soul corresponds with those lofty ideals of a traditional power and beauty.”
This championship was of a very faithful and admiring sort, Estelle thought. It was very fresh and exalted, in a world where petty altercations and fierce disputes wage and war with friendship, and vanity and self-love seek food for themselves alone, to find this strong and steadfast preference, even though it sought its expression in an eccentric fashion.
Then old romance had not yet spent itself; then the very first aims, and plans, and beliefs, which attract youth, actually find a basis of truth as life continues ?
This new aspect of M. Becquer was far more pleasant to Estelle than the narrow judgment of his warm heart and easily offended yet as easily forgiving vanity, through the mere excuse of eccentricity. It is so much happier to idealise than to limit, that her spirits received a certain stimulus from surrounding her friend with a glow of goodwill.192	BENEDICTUS.
Back across their old track her thoughts travelled. She too loved to trust, to believe, to exalt that hero of her choice, whom fate had placed in so unheroic a light. She resolved to close her perceptions to all that had disappointed her in her first high estimate.
She moved away from M. Becquer, drifting on, rather than selecting her favourites among the pictures. Preoccupied as she was, some sweet stray sunbeam suddenly flung across a large canvas transported her to Haye Place once more.
Where had she seen that Claude and its companion, with the mellow, yellow light, the golden shadows, the ineffable serenity and breadth of prospect, and beautiful, halfmelancholy, half-rapturous hint of a vast solitude ? Where had she dreamt over those paintings, where learnt them by heart and copied them from memory, in her frightened dread lest her father would sternly forbid her thus to waste her time, long ago, oh, long ago ?
Where but at Haye Place, and often with Cecil Haye, who now had sent them, as fine specimens of landscape, as hundreds of otherAT BURLINGTON HOUSE.
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wealthy country gentlemen had done. It was but a simple coincidence, after all, that the master of Haye Place should have strolled into the Academy, and that while the absorbed Estelle studied these contributions, casting a backward glance over a past happier, doubtless, in retrospect than in absolute happening, he likewise should have allowed his gaze to linger on that once familiar figure bending over them. So slightly altered was Estelle, so gently touched by the hand of those ten years which formed the period of her separation from all connected with Haye Place, that it might have been the day before—last week, even this morning—that she had lost her father in the grey cathedral city, wearing just such a heavy, soft black robe now, as then. Those flowing, sombre lines suited her appearance now, as well as then, when she was an eager, but not a happy girl, already beginning life troubles. Colours and bright hues seemed ever out of place for a setting for that tragic countenance. She must have loved him, he thought, with a triumph based on the true knowledge of her faithful heart, quite in keeping with his II.	o194
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character, for he could appreciate singleness of purpose and constancy, or perhaps that serious and earnest directness of intention so widely differing from his inborn vacillation was the particular charm which struck him in her. He could value stern sincerity to all affections in the exact degree wherein he was deficient in its possession.
She must have loved him, being unmarried still, for without doubt the dignity, delicacy of taste, devotion, and talent that had irresistibly drawn her to him, must in the course of ten years have won admiration from other suitors. That tragic face, too, had a beauty of its own. In its way, in a deeper and more impressive, but far graver style, it had an attraction akin with, yet how finely differing from, Thyra’s transmitted and fair type of perfect oriental beauty, bestowed on both by some bygone ancestral touch of hereditary, Hebraic splendour—on the sweet, alabaster-hued, Austrian heiress, as on the dark and somewhat sombre daughter of the poor German doctor of philology.
Youth might be receding but with very gracious tread, only shown in a more kindlyAT BURLINGTON HOUSE.
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reserve, a wider sympathy than her passionate nature permitted itself in past days to show. The cloud-like lustreless hair, the soft, large eyes, were just the same. Ready smile and sparkle were gone for ever : the sensitive, shut mouth expressed silent sorrow, long suppressed.
Had Cecil Haye something to answer for in Time’s handiwork ?
He shrank from the thought after courting it.
But the black dress appealed to his remembrance of her when he knew her first, and had loved, and pitied, and spontaneously understood her.
A start, and Estelle looked up, and their eyes met ; and both instinctively comprehended that they always had been, and would be, first in each other’s thoughts. If ten, or if twenty, years elapse, if the glimpse of a true love is thus confronted, there must be a shock, a conscious regret, perhaps a pathetic, lingering trust in the face of separation and change.
And Estelle was but slightly changed. This, perhaps, was the very essence of Cecil Haye’s constancy, tardily awakened.196
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It was their first meeting since his wife’s death, and, to Estelle, it was a perfectly matter-of-fact occurrence to meet him within the walls of Burlington House. Not so much to see the pictures as to assure himself of the safety and excellent position of his companion Claudes had he come, for it was Estelle’s rapturous appreciation of art in former times which had amused and interested his own mediocre pleasure in it. Everybody of any good taste must care for pictures. Such enthusiasm as hers could, of course, only spring from her own desire to excel in it. Or, in some collector or art critic, a similar and engrossing earnestness might be met with. His sisters insisted on this. To “rave,” as they put it, of any theme was not the way with a well-bred person.
Estelle coloured violently, for there was M. Becquer about the length of a yard from her. He would see, he would weave an idea, and connect events, perhaps believe this a pre-arranged rencontre. Estelle hated the disagreeable fancy. Nevertheless, it weighed on her.
Some words of vague condolence falteredAT BURLINGTON HOUSE.
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on his ear as he took her hand. What could be said of consolation ? for it was well known that Juliet Fairfax had not been a good wife to him. But whatever Estelle might have uttered, of commiseration, of pain for his pain, of conventional kind wishes, it must he supposed that it did not at least wound him, for he listened gravely, as if arguing with himself as to the proper combination of emotions incumbent on him to feel, so hesitatingly referred to by her.
And while he stood and held her hand, rather mechanically than as if he seized the present position, and once again felt free to show his unabated friendship, memory, in truth, had much to say, and kept up a busy recital of the every-day story, so very sweet in its telling, and transported him to the darkened room, when he had been the consoler, when she stood before him with bent head and drooping arms, a graceful figure clothed in black as now, not heeding his words in her grief, hearing only the frank and gentle tone in which he bade her take better cheer in higher thoughts, and not to weep so despairingly for her father. His thoughts and his. fancy flew198
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back with his re-awakened longing for that generous, genial April, filled with the generous impulses of a youth that had promised so much for the future.
She noted his abstraction, and, half divining its cause, drew away her hand.
“ You would be sorry, I knew,” he said, as if with effort recalling himself to the purport of her trial to bring forward a sympathetic phrase that should skilfully convey her real regret. “ You, too, have lost a dear friend, I see,” glancing at her attire as M. Becquer had looked a few minutes since. “ Poor Madame Freund ! what a clever, charming creature she was ; a little worldly and spoilt, but excessively fascinating. Her daughter, the fair, red-haired child my cousin Gerard and I used to tease, has become a beauty. I have met her occasionally, but she is rather difficult to get on with. A beauty, and a great heiress too—fortunate conjunction ! She is destined for her cousin, Baron Oscar, I hear. No ? What folly idle people repeat! ” —he laughed slightly at the platitude. “Your great philanthropist, M. Benedictus, has succeeded to a fortune. Strange! IAT BURLINGTON HOUSE.
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wonder whether he has burned his fingers enough to take warning against over-zealous attempts to regenerate the world, or whether he will cast this after the other.”
He watched Estelle closely as he spoke. .Would she be eager in the Roumanian’s defence ? Was not the character of Benedicts of that romantic, unselfish, quixotic order to charm her in spite of herself ? It was rumoured that his creed was lax, and that he adhered to no formal doctrine now. Would not the task of leading him back to the old beaten track, the familiar path of her religion, present a fascination for her, and of necessity for him ?
Estelle remained unmoved.
“ I am glad to hear that so good a man as M. Benedictus is, need no longer know the hindrance of poverty,” she said, steadily.
“ I do not think his undertaking was as limitless as you have been told, however. It was but to regenerate his countrymen in Jassy—not the world, surely—for which he struggled. He will not cease to struggle for the persecuted Roumanians : he will never stay his efforts at reinstating them in200
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their proper rank as agriculturists and labourers.”
She would not satirise, or even criticise, Benedictus, that was certain. A load was lifted from Cecil’s heart. She might admire, but she had no deeper feeling than» admiration and respect for the hero of more than one circle.
“ Well, I wish him luck ! ” he exclaimed, more lightly. “ His is the truest religion, morality, and human sympathy. But one against the Roumanian ministry, a government formed of despots and tyrants, a country where flagrant enervation walks side by side with the most arbitrary persecution ! Again I make M. Benedictus my warm congratulations on the choice of an avenue to fame.”
“ I, too,” said Estelle, with unabated gravity. “ He is a great man.”
A pause ensued. Almost without a decision in the matter she found herself slowly walking beside her early lover.
“ You have been paying such close attention to the Claudes,” he said, scanning her averted face. “You remember them, do you not ? They are in excellent com-AT BURLINGTON HOUSE.
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pany here. And now you are a judge and an authority, instead of a young girl with an adoring artist’s mind, who used to stand, nevertheless, gazing, gazing with such a rapt, intent speculativeness at these heirlooms of .mine, just as you did awhile since.”
(“You are no more a girl,” he thought, as it were, in brackets. “But how much you are improved since girlhood vanished.”)
“Yes, that was in the dark ages,” she said, trying to speak gaily. “Years ago. And now I must hurry back, for my brother and I are going to winter in Rome, then to Florence.”
“But is he not intended for your ministry ? ” Cecil asked.
A tide of colour rushed and receded from Estelle’s pale face. He could observe that this suggestion caused her regret or pain.
“Yes, it is true, but he has renounced that idea.”
“ But is it not a banishment, in a certain sense, for you ? ” he persisted, keenly conscious of his intense wish that she should not dwell out of England.
“ Gabriel said that if he were to study, I must accompany him for a year,” she said,202
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with a sudden sweet smile. There was comfort in that, and how could Italy, the birthplace of art, be expatriation ? She would be giving up friends but for twelve months.
“Wait a few minutes,” he entreated, impulsively. That swift smile had made Estelle positively handsome for a time. “ One short confidence in ten years, you cannot refuse that when I beg, when I implore for it! Here, away from the crowd, sit here, and listen as if we two were once more young man, and girl. Let me tell you,” he went on, in low, rapid tones, “ that many an hour in those ten years the shadow of your old city seemed to envelop vivid moments of ambition, and that the shadow of the mistake I made—not you, dear, you were noble throughout—hovered near me, a bitter enough confession! How grandly you built up your life alone, whilst I allowed myself to drift—well, yes, I can see by your face this is a repugnant confidence. Poor Juliet is gone, and the dead are for ever shielded. One half of the world would condemn me, and vaguely pity her. We had better let all that remainAT BURLINGTON HOUSE.
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in silence. But it was a mistake, notwithstanding.”
“ You might have thought just the same if all obstacles had been overcome. You might have known a regret even keener for your first plans had they succeeded,” Estelle said, nervously, rising, and eagerly desirous of ending this unlooked-for meeting, or at least of returning to general topics. They were not a whit less agitating because years had elapsed.
“ Miss Hofer, dear Estelle, you are leaving England. Forget how few are the months since poor Juliet’s loss. Your father can no longer be estranged by the prospect of your embarkation on a different career than that which his experience taught him to prefer. Forget that one too obvious difference between your rearing and mine. Who is to be grieved, or alienated now? Let us be true to each other at last—think even of Esther, of Ruth, examples honoured by you, who fulfilled important destinies chiefly by the peculiarity of their marriage. Surely, and here, dear, is the final conclusion of all my pleading, you care for me a little still?”204
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“Always, all my life,” she whispered, strangely shaken by his words, and with a choked sob.
“You were my first, my only love,” Cecil exclaimed, exultantly, “ whatever has come and gone, that remains. It may hurt your upright and single-minded nature, but it is so, notwithstanding your face, which cannot disguise your disapproval. Oh, listen Estelle! Love survives when creeds differ; then if we two recognize love’s controlling force, and take up the sequel of our life with the resolution of being as happy as before our trust in each was tested, and you were nineteen, and I was twenty-three, we need no other opinion. Answer, Estelle.”
- Sweet, subtle arguments! Let her listen yet a few minutes, and even if in this she proves not so much her weakness as her trembling joy in hearing those dangerously dear sentences again; her woman’s vanity and triumph, perhaps, in gaining a strong attachment, grant her forgiveness, for art and ambition are very great and glorious, but love is worth more, and her life had been given a scant measure of thatAT BURLINGTON HOUSE.
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whereof her sombre eyes seemed to foretell. Wait, while she hears, and dreams, with a heart beating so thickly and heavily that her hands grow cold; but if this be death, then die for ever, she thinks, close to her lover—her dear friend of old days.
“ Let us wait for a year, then marry me.” “ Too late! too late, believe me, Cecil; a fair promise, never to be fulfilled.”
“ It is merely the old vexed question of creed, I suppose? ” he said, angrily. “ Love is religion, the law of life. Should we, if wedded, be for ever arguing why I do this, or wherefore you do not do that? Absurd! Did we at any time differ, Estelle ? ” More tenderly, “Do not Protestants marry Catholics? What constitutes the difference for us? A step onward, that is the sole point.” “ I am no theologian,” Estelle said, sadly, after a pause, “ not even clever enough to combat dogmas. Life, I think, is meant for action, not controversy, and for some, destiny is only difficulty.”
“ It need be so no more for you. If I seemed fickle, was it not you who banished me? Let us forget the error we mutually made, for it is not too late, Estelle. Oh,206
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Estelle, imagine after to day to enter on another season of endless separation! ”
How ceaselessly did her soul echo the same prayer addressed to herself. A pretty Royalist song supposed to have been written by Sir R. L. Estrange, entitled “ Loyalty confin’d,” haunted her like a tune too frequently heard. Gabriel used to sing it, saying once to his step-sister that it suited his own state of feeling towards Thyra. Was it not equally suitable to Estelle? She could not help murmuring it, half aloud:—
“ What though I cannot see my king,
Neither in person nor in coin;
Yet contemplation is a thing That renders what I have not, mine.
My king from me what adamant can part,
Whom I do wear engraven on my heart?
“ Have you not seen the nightingale A prisoner like, coopt in a cage,
How doth she chant her wonted tale In that, her narrow hermitage !
Even then, her charming melody doth prove,
That all her bars are trees, her cage a grove.
1 am that bird whom they combine Thus to deprive of liberty;
But though they do my corps confine Yet maugre hate my soul is free :
And though immured yet can I chirp, and sing Disgrace to rebels, glory to my kingAT BURLINGTON HOUSE.
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“ What quaint, and charming verses ! ” he said, as he thought humouring her indecision. But Estelle blushed deeply, glad that he had missed the reason for her sudden impulse of quotation. How true the words were, as Gabriel insisted! With what a pensive and persistent sweetness they rang from a bygone century !
Estelle retained an anxious sense above his pleading that they were not unnoticed by the passers-by. And indeed the tall, handsome, fair-haired Cecil, distinguished and eager, formed a sufficiently striking contrast to the eloquent, downcast countenance on which he looked with such admiration.
A group quite as striking and picturesque, if of later date, in its elements of passion and pathos as any of the framed scenes depicting emotional situations on the walls. More than one in the crowd paused, and turned to cast a backward, inquisitive glance in their direction. The crape-bound hat of Cecil, the black dress of Estelle, and their engrossed demeanour, rendered them worthy of speculation, for she did not look as if she were his wife, she208
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surely could not be his sister, for her race was strongly marked in her characteristic countenance. Yet both were still young; some brighter prospect must be in store for them, although sorrow might have clouded the full splendour of their youth. Estelle guessed, more than watched, the curiosity they roused. Too sensitive, as well as too proud, to afford a subject for comment, or character sketch, or story, to the visitors, she rose and moved from her seat.
“ If I read of a girl, or heard of a woman remaining in a public place after such a conversation, I should hold her in contempt,” she thought; then to her companion : “ Forget all this, and let me go.”
“ And is this your farewell ? ” indignantly.
“ It can be no more now.”
“ It can; it must be a prologue to eternal constancy. Oh! must you leave me in this manner, Estelle? Look up, look, if you will not speak.”
And he lightly touched her arm.
F rom eyes expressive of changeless affection, from tremulous lips, from blushing cheeks “hollowed a little mournfully,”AT BURLINGTON HOUSE.
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Cecil might read, as he did then for the first and last time, the strength and truth of that answer which she would never utter; founded on a love powerful enough to cling to as a vision, irradiating existence, yet never to be anything but a vision, of joy for relinquishing.
She could love him, and let him go.
She would still remain content, and “ extol God.” For once her splendid eyes revealed something that he had never hoped to read, and as she met the gaze of the gentle, handsome lover of former days she smiled, an involuntary, wholly happy smile, forgetful of the suffering she had outlived, expressive no more of a sad past, but a dear present. How far would the religious romanticism which he considered representative of her principles, carry her from him?
Love had leaped up in those sombre eyes ■of hers impulsively. Loving her, he thought her now lovely. In her own circle, silent surprise, an eloquent comment enough, would have succeeded to the hint that Estelle Hofer might have a certain claim to being called good-looking.
ii.	P210
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Now, something beyond and above her every-day calm exterior shone from those tragical dark eyes, and showed that under different and happier conditions she might develope into a grandly handsome creature. At least in the judgment of Cecil Haye.
She ought, but she could not dismiss the question with the steadfast finality she wanted to show, and for ever deprive her* self of that mocking prospect of being cherished and beloved.
He saw her hesitation, or rather the agitation that could easily be mistaken for it.
“We have waited long; we can wait again. A year from this day. F orget that I have been precipitate; think better of me than I perhaps deserve, Estelle. You are going abroad, you say. It was always the case for your movements to depend on the whim of others; but remember, Estelle, that now I shall believe in a brighter future; my first love, dearer than life.”
He held her hand for an instant and was gone, for he had seen an acquaintance enter, and resented the idea of being scrutinised.
It had all happened as a dream happens,AT BURLINGTON HOUSE.
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oh, trite and hackneyed comparison! And as a dreamer seeks to grasp and to retain some especial point in his vision, to convince himself that it is not all fancy, she tried to find a fact to which she might cling in the confusion of her ideas.
“Thank heaven for Italy and for Gabriel’s change of fortune, after all,” she thought; and for that imperious need of her which would certainly divide her from the probability of her meeting Cecil Haye for many months. She had not won the battle with herself even yet.
It was as if she had once more taken out and admired a fine jewel, hidden away, but never mislaid. It assorted ill with the dull robes of every day. She never had, she never must wear it.
Cecil was free. He loved her still. Her own love was unalterable. Had that which had kept their lives asunder lost its significance? Was he more selfish, less steadfast than of yore ?
Tears rained down on the holiday jewel. Its worth was obscured. Its possession lost its value. She would in time become inured to keeping it for ever hidden.212
BENEDICTUS.
In other words, she resolved not to listen to the kind voice and the precious words which she could not withstand. Work, change, determination should exert their control over her restless thoughts.
She felt well and happy. She walked quickly. The tumultuous arguments surging in her heart made her insensible to fatigue. “ I am very happy,” she repeated to herself; “but is this dying?”
The same pang which had seized her in the Academy returned with an acuter power. Already she had nearly reached the hedge-bound turning which would bring her to the heath, but would she ever quite reach it ? Was the world and its beauty and its woes receding from her, or was she only being gradually hushed, with now and then a sharp prick in her heart, into a sleep that she longed for ?
Estelle caught the trunk of a tree with her failing arms. Perhaps she would not fall; and she desperately tried to see her way through the mists closing in on her; to hear her own voice call for help in a deafening sound of voices—Cecil’s—her father’s—AT BURLINGTON HOUSE.
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“ Miss Hofer,” a kind and well-known tone at last made itself distinct to her tired brain, “are you faint? Did you strike your head against that great beech ? ”
She was dreamily back in the present again. She put her hand to her forehead.
“ No,” she said, weakly. “I do not know what is the matter with me. I was perfectly well and strong a minute ago.”
She saw and fully recognized Dr. Holt, a physician who was one of the tenants of the heath, and who occasionally attended Mrs. Hofer. She was sitting, or half leaning, against the roots of the old tree. She looked wild and white, as one who had been checked on the threshold of an unforeseen calamity.
“ What could it have been ? ” she whispered, in a shocked murmur.
“ That is what we shall have to find out,” was the grave reply. “ Take my arm, Miss Hofer; do not speak just now. We, are close to the cottage, fortunately.” Estelle clung to the proffered arm. F or a few steps she felt no wish to speak, but gaining a little strength from the fresh air, she said, “ Perhaps I over-tired myself.”214
BENEDICTUS.
“ That is always probable. How far have you walked?”
“ F rom Burlington House; but I like, and am accustomed to very long walks.”
“ A great deal too far, Miss Hofer. You have been using yourself without mercy lately.”
The physician’s rapid glance took in the hollow eyes, the colourless face, the signs of sorrow and a sudden agony, and thought Miss Hofer was beginning prematurely to show traces of age. For the very nature of the complaint he believed her to be suffering from, engraves deep, remorseless lines. It was a ghastly semblance of that animated countenance of an hour since.
“ I am not in the slightest degree tired,” she continued, summoning her forces.
“You have been living at a great pace, I can see; working too hard, thinking too much—but that would always be the case,” Dr. Holt said, meditatively. “Have you ever experienced .the same sort of feeling, or is this the first time ? ”
If it were, the physician thought, fatigue might account for it. But she said she was not tired.AT BURLINGTON HOUSE.
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“Oh no,” said Estelle, simply, “it has happened before. But never as badly as to-day; I have been rather troubled, that is the reason. But the sensation passes off quickly. I really thought I was dying,” smiling, but meeting with no responsive smile on Dr. Holt’s side. “I soon forget it,” she said, somewhat surprised.
“ You must not forget it, Miss Hofer.” “Not forget pain when it is gone; but why?”
“ Because you must be very careful to avoid excessive exertion, or pain, or agitation.”
“ Oh, I have often been told and warned against the same things. But who can guard completely against the plainest conditions of active life ? And I am not at all delicate, or weak, Dr. Holt. In fact, I was more than ordinarily, well and strong, until that terrible feeling came—how, I cannot tell. In nearly the same manner it has arrived when I have been neither overdone by work, or by walking.”
“And you really have kept this secret ?” “Certainly; why should I mention the matter, or make a fuss ? Even now, I beg216
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of you not to tell my stepmother or sister.-Do you think me seriously ill, then ? My father died of heart complaint. People often believe it hereditary. Tell me, Dr. Holt, you look so grave, do you think I have it too ? ”
There was not a tinge of alarm or anxiety in her voice.
For a minute they continued their way in silence, then Dr. Holt said, very gently—
“ I think you have.”
“ And one can absolutely die in such a condition as I was ? ”
“Yes,” very gently and slowly, “ as with care one can live, and live happily, if that condition—mark me, Miss Hofer—is not frequently and carelessly incurred by agitation. You may live,” with a reassuring smile, tinged with a sad reserve, “ all those years whereof the Psalmist says, ‘ they are
but vexation, and travail; ’ or------” he
hesitated.
“Yes,” eagerly, “do not prepare your verdict, please, Dr. Holt. Or ?----”
“ Or you may die, Miss Hofer, at any place, at any moment, if you are left toAT BURLINGTON HOUSE.
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struggle alone in that state too long without proper remedies. Poor girl! do not think me cruel. You do not wish me to fence with truth ? I shall give you a palliative for the pain. I will do my best.”
“ Ah,” said Estelle, feeling strangely calm and indifferent. She was better now; she removed her arm from the physician’s, and turned towards the setting sun, which was lying in a piled-up cloud-couch of gold, and marigold, of opal, and rosy tints. She gazed steadily towards the lovely, peaceful spectacle. When she withdrew her gaze, some of the brief illumination of that sunset appeared reflected in them, and on her cheeks.
“ Do not say a word at home,” she said, with a decision rarely apparent with her, where her wishes were solely concerned, watching, warning, fearing, I could not bear. Freedom is my life. My father, if he knew the truth about himself, kept it secret also. Promise not to tell them.” The. physician mused. What difference could it make in the end? And she had the chief right to dictate.
“ I promise,” he said, more cheerfully,218
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“ and you, on your part, must promise me to avoid exciting thoughts, or acts, or even thoughts and topics. Yes, every variation of excitement must be as a dead letter to you. You have a calm enough expression, Miss Hofer, but I mistrust it. A fairly quiet, unemotional existence is your best medicine, and that I cannot recommend too strongly. No pull on your feelings, nothing ‘intense,’ no desire of producing masterpieces of energy and devotion besides pictures. Be content with moderate success, and do not tear physical and mental strength to tatters. Look down on the daisy, figuratively : paint that. Not away to the hills, after gorgeous effects, or significant scenes of grandeur.”
Estelle again mechanically let her looks set forth on that short journey where the most beautiful arrangement of colours made way for the night, where the soft lustre of gold and marigold, rose and saffron, rapidly blended with a grey neutral tint, the covering of the vanished sun. The heath was noted for lovely sunsets. Late on in the year as it was, it was vivid with glow and grace.AT BURLINGTON HOUSE.
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Study the daisy; lead an uneventful domestic life, while even peaceful natural beauty, as of the heath, and the sky, moved her to an excess of feeling incompatible with perfect tranquillity.
“ I will try to follow your figurative advice, Dr. Holt. My brother is going to Italy, and I with him.”
“ To Italy! But is he not then destined for a minister ? Why, surely, not so long ago he read an essay—clever and spirited enough —on some ancient Hebrew poet, and spoke modestly, but assuredly of his work? ”
“ Ah, but all that is changed.”
“ In the meantime, Miss Hofer, I shall send you something to set you up. Take the greatest care of yourself, it is important.”
“ In the meantime, Dr. Holt, a thousand thanks for your prompt kindness.” She flung a retrospect to that other occasion when Benedictus had appeared so opportunely, and was vexed to remember that this was the second recurrence of the weakness. “ The third time, the third time,” she seemed to hear, “ and who will restore me then ? ” And aloud : “ I shall220	BENEDICTUS.
do very well, Dr. Hofer, in the meantime, doubtless. Parts of Italy are dear homes to me.”
She went to lie down for an hour, she needed rest and reflection. But almost immediately her stepmother entered. It was now complete twilight, but Estelle turned her face towards the wall. Thé pain and its memory were legible in her pallor.
“ I would not disturb you, Estelle,’* Mrs. Hofer said, ignorant of her stepdaughter’s condition. “ But M. Benedictus has spoken to Ruth, I think it will be a match. And oh, Estelle, how rich he is now! and I am certain that he has taken up all the old ceremonies again. Ruth is not as particular as I should wish,” with a sigh, “ but I have great hopes of both. I do not think it will be a long engagement.” (And as after events proved, it certainly was not.) “He wishes to return to Rou-mania, for Ruth to see that wonderful rose harvest. She might look in on dear Lexie, and see the dear children,” Mrs. Hofer continued, happily rambling on in anticipation, and as if Constantinople were next door, as it might be, to Jassy. “ FelicitâAT BURLINGTON HOUSE.
221
must be quite a tall girl now, and Alexis, and Frederic, like Ruth and Gabriel when they were five years old, from Lexie’s description. I feel as if I really were their grandmother. I always did regard you, dear Estelle, and Lexie, as my own daughters.”
A knock at the door heralded Dr. Holt’s swiftly-sent restorative.
“ Medicine for you, Estelle! What ails you ? ”
“ Nothing, now, but I met Dr. Holt, and he offered to send me a tonic. I am only tired, truly.”
“ Then, Estelle, I will leave you. Ruth shall not come up till after dinner. She is not settled enough, and may tease you. But you lie here, dear. I will send you some tea instead of dinner. Ruth seems quite unlike her usual sensible self. She says she is frightened of M. Benedictus.”
Mrs. Hofer spoke inquiringly, but Estelle could make no reply. So then, he had asked, and Ruth had consented. That was all that she cared to hear just now.
And then she faced in the absolute silence the doom which hung over her. Who can222
BENEDICTüS.
intrude on that secret struggle with expansive description, who tell how terrible it appeared, or how solemn to her after her meeting with her old lover.
“ God was good. This doom might save her even from herself. Cecil would always think tenderly of her. Her strictest friends remain without alienation.”
But oh ! life, how sweet it was ! Already was its tale told for Estelle ?
There, lock the door softly. All are happy below stairs ; none know, none suspect but Dr. Holt, and his promise of silence is given ; then weep, and weep !
Benedictus in his rôle of suitor was not without a grotesque interest to some spectators. He was always stately. He could be sometimes rude, and if for an instant the veneer of a polished civilisation were ruffled, a few national qualities of passion, arbitrary despotism and fury—all quickly vanishing, however—appeared on the surface. He was most tender and reverent of all things sacred, lonely, aged, or holy, but apt to be supercilious, cynical, and domineering to those who did not understand him.AT BURLINGTON HOUSE.
223
As Ruth had not the slightest wish to understand him, and had never studied his disposition, and as she read the present crisis of her youth as an interlude of importance and flattery, she was extremely embarrassed, troubled, and alarmed. She tried to talk up to his level, while he more honestly sought to adapt himself to hers; bought her big Guest—or “ Guess,” as he fantastically thought he was called—a smart collar, whistled in a manner that charmed Penberthy, the blackbird (with whose prefix he would have nothing to do in pronouncing); and when Ruth, shyer than ever, felt more alarmed, and remained mute, and found her best refuge in going up to Jacob’s cage and tremulously talking nonsense to that linnet, Benedictus followed her, and gravely praised him, whom he spoke of as her “ bird of the Bible.”
It gave Ruth a dreadful feeling of being penned in, as she looked up at the flitting Jacob stiffly, sensible of the tall Benedictus anxiously and hopefully copying her movements. Jacob was perplexed by it too. He fluttered about, and a little feather flew off in his agitation, which made his mistress224	BENEDICTUS.
•wretched. It was a sure sign of worry with Jacob. She moved off with crimson cheeks, to coax and caress her other dumb friends, but her awkward haste to show that she was entirely at ease had but a contrary result. They were puzzled by this mechanical, self-conscious creature, who was not the Ruth who so thoroughly and instinctively comprehended them. She swung their cages, instead of carefully steadying them with one hand. When Sambo laid his fine, smooth, black head on her knee and sneezed, as a reminiscence of his last evening stroll in the garden, she pushed him from her with a start, and with great courtesy the dignified Benedictus unbent to say, “ Salute, Sambo Georgius ! ” She laughed nervously. Benedictus was charmed with her love of animals and shyness. In short, he thought her an amiable, sincere child. To Ruth this tête-à-tête was simple anguish. She tried to talk of the poor, whom she truly hated, and of whom she knew nothing. She spoke of every celebrity she had heard of, with a superficial smattering not thrown away on a well read man of the calibre of Benedictus. SheAT BURLINGTON HOUSE.
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sought to be striking, smart, witty, profound, and bewitching by turns She left what she really knew, to talk of what she was in ignorance. Benedictus, annoyed, astonished, disappointed, wondered whether she were mad, listened, was silent, went away, and was sad.
It was no better when he came again with a little white dog, with a coat like thick, white chrysanthemum petals, or short feathers. She loved the dog better than Benedictus, and Snow gained her affections without any effort on his own part except a luxurious, selfish indolence, and an engrossing taste for sugar. She was, however, too much perplexed to thank him. Her mother came to her rescue, and said what she found no voice to utter.
The romance of Ruth Hofer’s engagement lasted three days. Miss Nugent was not told of it; M. Becquer was in Paris; the whole short-lived comedy was played out without publicity.
Ruth had fallen into a not uncommon mistake of accepting flattered vanity, and the hope of taking a high position in the world, for love. And when, on the third
II.	Q226
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day, the tall, serious Benedictus stooped to place a little ring of rubies and diamonds on her finger, the flash of the sparkling stones showed her that to her his ring was a fetter. F or, at least, Ruth was not mercenary. Her real nature came back to her suddenly, and as it returned, she shrank.
“ Oh, no! no! ” she said, as he sought to slide the ring on that obstinately tumbled-up finger. That he had just kissed the ring, perhaps, as a preliminary to carrying out the same ceremony on her hand, filled her with dread.
Benedictus frowned.
“ You will have my dog, but not my ring ? You do not care to have me,” he said, in a tone hardly calculated to make any but a visionary or Thyra Freund think the question admitted of a doubt.
She was not very attractive, after all, as she stood with her hands tightly clasped together, as if mutely to avoid the ring, tears of dismayed apprehension falling over her round cheeks.
‘‘You think me a child,” she faltered.
“Well,” with a most indulgent smile, which rendered his face quite amiable asAT BURLINGTON HOUSE.
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well as handsome, “are you not a child, my child ? ”
“ No, M. Benedictus. I do not like to be addressed as a child. Miss Ashby and Thyra Freund are not called children,” she said, quickly reaching the end of her examples. “ Please let us think it a mistake. Let it be my fault, if you like. You do not wish me to be anything but a good little girl, and of course I want to be beyond that.”
She was equally vague and terrified. This also Benedictus perceived, seeing also that the wisest course was to leave her, with her young fashion of protesting against being what she was, by trying to be what she was not. That she could not love him was apparent, or during that painful courtship she would have found that there was no cause to fear him.
Oh, to be obliged to go with him to a country she thought ferocious! To be compelled to do what she briefly spoke of in a general way as “ good,” to visit, even to think of, poor people, or reinstating the poor Roumanians in their proper trades! What was a rose harvest to her but a phenomenon ? A rose show in England was228
BENEDICTUS.
another matter. Like her mother, all her instincts were for home, though Ruth had made a contrary pretence. These things were bores—bores also that he did not expect her to understand, or enter into if she did not wish, only to smile on his schemes, to be docile, and happy.
“ Do not be offended,” she urged, instantly robbing her words of their force by a special want of tact.
“ It is all the worse of me,” she said, in a lower voice, “ because of the other young lady who behaved badly to you.”
Benedictus became white to the lips at this inappropriate remark. A sense of offence, novel in his feeling for Ruth, changed the anger quickly to scorn.
“We will not refer to my former history, if you please,” he said, so haughtily that poor Ruth trembled.
Then with one of his rare gestures of restrained violence, he threw the case with the pretty ring straight into the fire, to her terror. And with a low bow, that she felt as a mockery, he moved to the door.
“Will you not take back the dog ? ” sheAT BURLINGTON HOUSE.
229
asked, with a childishness which made Benedictus inclined to laugh.
“ Not now, in my pocket, I think,” he said; and in time Snow became the sole sign in the heath cottage that the Roumanian had ever been there.
Benedictus slipped entirely out of their sphere. Estelle and Gabriel departed, and Ruth and her mother dwelt together as of old.230
BENEDICTUS.
CHAPTER XVI.
SNOW, AND THE PROMISE OP SPRING.
There is a priest who dwells among lepers, ■who has devoted a noble young life to a cause in which there is nothing of triumph or of reward but that which lies in the triumph of the spirit above the flesh, a recompense in an invisible heaven, and the natural, humane task of voluntarily working for an afflicted and unhappy people. Few can hope to equal or even to imitate an example such as this, an ambition so noble as to be phenomenal in its complete self-abnegation. Yet if it is not granted to all to share in the character and bravery of the self-elected martyr, Father Damien, to nurse, to work for, and heal, and at last to fall a victim to his own ardently pious undertaking, in the Island of Molokai, thereSNOW, AND THE PROMISE OP SPRING. 231
are fine schemes throughout the world, making earnest and solemn demands on an energy for deliverance from ills of a not less hopeless magnitude in their way than that of the frightful disease from which even the Crusaders shrank.
There needs no list of such ills in this story, because they are of world-wide repute, and because, beside this affecting and unparalleled heroism of the Catholic priest, other enterprises for the sake of common humanity have a trick of appearing trivial and small.
Adrian Benedictus, whose restless desire to benefit all who required his help, whose vast benevolence continued long after he had first made a wreck of his happiness, returned from a year’s travel twelve months after Madame Freund’s death without having formed a home for himself in Roumania. It may be safely assumed that Ruth Hofer had a purely imaginary hold on his affections. In short, his feeling for her was nothing more than affectionate friendship, but mortified by Madame Freund’s ill-concealed impatience of him, which he considered must be shared by Thyra, he232
BENEDICTUS.
fortified his proud reserve against the chance of another blow, and a blow that he knew would be irretrievable, by leaving England before her after this second mistake. Yet in the summer fate brought him suddenly into her presence, in a beautiful Austrian forest, on a sunny noon; into her presence, and Victoria’s, and that of Baron Oscar.
Through the dark January air Benedictus walked one day in London, through odious courts and slippery streets, heavy with freezing mud, but he sees the up-springing flowers of that green and golden wood amid the squalor surrounding the neighbourhood where Mr. Hirsch lives, to whom he has been summoned, for the old man is peacefully passing from earth, happy in the trust that his emigrant son is successful. Clad in his fur coat, impervious to the chill dreariness of the atmosphere, Benedictus smiled to himself, a very sweet smile, as memory brought Thyra’s face before him. Before he made any fresh definite plan for himself, he would, he must seek her, and half with anger, half with pride in her, he remembered that he had .known her well enough to be sure that she would show noSNOW, AND THE PROMISE OF SPRING. 233
sign of her feelings. Through Drunk Street—as it may he called, with but the addition of one letter to point its meaning —he took his way among the inhabitants, chiefly masculine, accustomed to the visits of well-intentioned, tiresome people, who wanted them to work and to leave the public-houses. He was such a fool, they decided, that this goal of their wishes was nothing to him. Fortunately he was not a Sister of Mercy; he would not ask them whether their children went to school, or worry them with such minor details. He certainly did not.
Earth, indeed, offers varied posts of absolute and voluntary duty, immeasurably below the standard of the self-sacrificing volunteer to Molokai, yet encouraging to minor attempts, of which there are many individual needs. And this errand of compassion towards a lonely old man, neither lofty or important, was of the order to which Adrian had pledged himself since his failure with a government alternately bribed and assassinated.
“Benedict! qui venitis in nomine Domini! ” a cheerful voice exclaimed. “I come234
BENEDICTUS.
from your invalid, who cannot last long. He has visitors besides. You do well to follow them quick,” M. Becquer made a significant gesture. The end of his friend’s short courtship of Ruth had not been confided to him. The two had hardly separated, when Adrian found himself opposite Thyra and Estelle.
“ Should you be here, after all?” he said, after their greeting, and looking anxiously up to the leaden sky; “a storm is predicted.”
“Poor Mr. Hirsch sent to say that he wished to see me once more; my father permitted it because of the urgency of the case. It was quite clear at Kensington, so I—so Miss Hofer, who is in England, as you perceive, at last, resolved that a storm, so often foreboded, and yet delayed, should not hinder us.”
Benedictus looked at the two; Estelle he thought altered, and it was true that the mental battle fought over and over again began to leave its traces. Gabriel was well established at Milan; dreaming of operas, and gradually working himself into fame, but still Estelle was tired; more from the ever-present urgency of strongSNOW, AND THE PROMISE OE SPRING. 235
feeling, than the recurrence of toil. Often Dr. Holt’s words would ring in her ears; words which would assuredly solve without discussion all that she wished, all that she did not dare. Occasionally she thought of Esther, the Persian queen, commanded by her pious kinsman to make just such a marriage as that from which she shrank. That was a crisis for the ultimate welfare of the Hebrew maiden’s nation. She could not deceive herself into the belief that any veritable similarity existed between the two cases, or that if she, after her first youth was over, tried to retrieve her resolution, to recall the past, to prop up a lost love with fancy, all this would be undertaken for no crisis of her country, for herself alone,
Yet oneself has a right to be happy. Then came the grand ideal of being true to her inclination for sacrifice. The supreme and ascetic content in not being so very happy. Then again thoughts of Cecil.
So the sunburn of Florence was brighter on her cheek than it had been for long years; but the cheek itself was hollow.
Benedictus reflected that on the whole she looked ill.236
BENEDICTUS.
But Thyra’s delicately moulded face, Tvithin the circle of her close black bonnet, was, if that could be possible, improved. She was innocently anxious to prove to him that she was less spoilt and luxurious, and seriously explained that she would not come in a carriage; it attracted attention, and could not make much progress through narrow courts.
“That was not prudent,” said Bene-dictus, with his customary and charao teristic bluntness; “ we shall have snow.”
“ Miss Hofer has no carriage,” exclaimed Thyra, “ nor Miss Nugent. Why, then, should I be different in the mode of travel? ” “ You are different,” said Benedictus, decidedly.
That Estelle was present to hear of that difference had no influence on the remark. Estelle, however, scarcely heard it; that little argument concerning queen Esther and Estelle Hofer sounded so loudly now that the new year was commencing, and any day she might hear from Cecil. And Benedictus, after some hesitation, for his mind recurred to the episode of Ruth, asked for Gabriel, whom he had alwaysSNOW, AND THE PROMISE OF SPRING. 237
liked. Thyra tried to show how slight was the interest she felt in the passionate and talented youth, and that even that slight interest was his because of having been her playmate for a short time during her childhood, and limited to this fact alone. To Estelle, this anxiety appeared rather paltry and superfluous. It was to convince Benedicts that she was disengaged. How strange was her fascination for one who scarcely ever praised or flattered her; whose manners were now and then at variance with his noble nature, when his mood was vexed; whose odd ideas of his power to choose and to reject a bride were significant of an arbitrary rule which might probably constitute the charm to Thyra in some measure. That the two temperaments met on the platform of sincere benevolence and practical good-will towards the human race, likewise lent its touch of pleasure in their knowledge of each other.
New wealth robbed Adrian Benedictus of the romance which at first encircled him. He was now in no respect different from any other gentleman of fortune and position who might wish to win Thyra Freund.238
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But the insuperable obstacle to himself lay in the fact that the two objects of his choice had exhibited such a ludicrous inconstancy. And yet what fantastic impulse except an obstinate pride had led him to think of Ruth, when from the commencement Thyra’s beauty and earnest character attracted him ? It was an error, and an error only to be repaired, Benedictus decided, by being very certain, before he again put his fate to the test, that Thyra cared for him.
The Roumanian was too directly simple-minded in the autocratic plans he formed for his own life to regret as a swerving from his true allegiance the three days’ grave courtship at the heath cottage. If he ever considered the matter, it was with a sense of relief that he was free to recall his mistake.
Beside the bedside of Ludwig Hirsch, the old teacher, the beautiful instincts of the enthusiastic, faithful, and compassionate Hebrews towards age, sorrow, and parting, might be read as Benedictus bent over the old man, and with the respect and tenderness which procured so soon a pardon forSNOW, AND THE PROMISE OP SPRING. 239
his whimsical faults, took the feeble hand in his and murmured low some words of prayer. Entirely free from self-consciousness as he was, the thought of the lovely girl on the other side of the room failed to disturb his concentrated devotion to the contrast of illness and stricken years before him. Towards Benedictus the old teacher turned, and to both Estelle and Thyra it was very affecting to note the complete dependence and trust evinced by the invalid to his friend. The apartment showed the presence of comfort and care. A nurse was with the old man; he smiled at Thyra, but soon forgot her, and rested placidly against the Roumanian’s strong arm, while the familiar sound of the ancient solemn tongue in which his first prayers had been framed fell on the silence in the deep and musical voice of Benedictus.
“ Please go downstairs,” he said, after a few minutes; “it is better for you both.”
Thyra hesitated, but with another wave of his hand she felt herself dismissed.
“We had better make our way home,” Estelle said, W Thyra lingered in the lower room.240
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“ Will you not wait for M. Benedictus, MissHofer?”
“ He may be delayed, Thyra, dear. He will not leave Mr. Hirsch yet, and see, the weather has changed. How it snows! ” Thyra sighed, but followed Estelle obediently, scarcely thinking of the weather as she wondered whether Benedictus would be disappointed at missing them. A sort of fragment fell from the leaden sky, slowly ; a fragment compounded of snow, and stinging ice. • The traffic was closed, and the shutters were rapidly being placed in the shops. They had passed the station of the underground railway some time before the fact of the entire cessation of the vehicles became clear to them, each being convinced that a cab, even an omnibus, would give them shelter, and assist them towards their destination. The City, which they had now reached, was even more completely deserted than the precincts of Whitechapel.
“What are we to do?” asked Thyra, bewildered by the blinding snow, clinging to Estelle; “what a dreadful day, and not five o’clock! Why do not the public conveyances run? What will papa say?”SNOW, AND THE PROMISE OP SPRING. 241
“ Thyra, I can leave you in one of these houses if you prefer, and go on alone, and send the carriage for you.”
“And allow you to encounter this terrible array of streets by yourself—no, indeed. Who could believe that we are in London? It is more like Russia, really! This must be the threatened storm. Oh, Miss Hofer, have you mo better plan to propose than to leave me here, while you, a most solitary pioneer, go forward? ”
“Yes, dear Thyra; straight, steadily on will take us to the viaduct of Holborn. There we can at once continue our journey.” Thyra strove to rejoice at this idea. Her childish wish of “ roughing it ” was to blame. Her desire to do like others—oh, vague and countless “ others,” who go about in the world desirous of bringing comfort and help to its inhabitants, but to whose weary feet and aching head a hansom is often but a luxurious dream! Thyra, unfitted by nature and training for an emergency; unused to combat with such bad weather; in all her guarded days, hardly realising the fact of the hundred governesses, district visitors, and poor girl
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students who are compelled to face similar storms when they occur, now for the first time understood something of what woman’s working life was composed. The gusts of wind-blown snow confused her, but she derived a certain strength from her companion’s quiet resolution.
“ It only requires bears,” she said; “ can people be actually lost in a London snowstorm? ”
Estelle knew this was a very exceptional snowstorm. It might be, that the apprehension of Thyra regarding such a fate might not be entirely without foundation.
“ Lean on me, Thyra,” she said; “ we will be slow, and sure. Every step brings us nearer to the railway station.”
Thyra clung to her hand like a child.
UI did think M. Benedictus was a gentleman, if not a polished cavalier,” she said, with a childish break in her voice. “ He sent us downstairs as if we were infants, without a thought of what we were to do in such weather.”
“Darling Thyra, do you forget poor Hirsch, who is dying? He was engrossed with that poor old man. I do not think heSNOW, AND THE PROMISE OF SPRING. 243
knew we were going. Afterwards you will be so grateful that you did not stay for M. Benedictus.”
“ Afterwards! ” urged Thyra, u oh, suppose there is no afterwards to this unequalled day? ”
“Wrap your cloak round you; face the wind. We must not imagine the worst.”
“ It is all my fault,” Thyra said, changing her tone; “ it is my fault still, to dishearten your courage.”
The scene was both marvellous and exciting, the roads heavy with white hillocks. The delicate vista of snow showed scarce a human being beside themselves. Those roads so thronged by day, were absolutely empty. The definite and delicate design of a city church or gate seemed suddenly seized by the raging wind; reversed; grotesquely altered, confused, disguised, obliterated beneath repeated showers, descending like lance-thrusts, across the pale faces of the belated wayfarers.
The rich girl, and she who as a girl had encountered absolute poverty found no parallel in their mutual experience for this spectacle of mingled sleet and snow.244
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They pass by Christ’s Hospital, at which point of their progress Estelle could not refrain from noticing, the slender, beautifully pure forms of the architecture, touched with the snow, and more graceful than she could have imagined in this fair drapery. Thyra was without this consolation of sight. That poetic face of hers was the symbol of a most matter-of-fact mind. The bitter cold stung her; the wind baffled her; the steady descent of the snow brought with it physical discomfort, incapable of being soothed by rare glimpses of solemn beauty. They arrived at the corner of the Viaduct, and here a fresh danger was perceptible, for a perfect whirlwind of snow raged at the four turnings with which that district is endowed.
Here Thyra slipped and fell.
It was but for a minute. Estelle pulled her up.
“ We are well on our way,” she whispered, but the hoarse blast blew her words far, and made them inaudible. Could it be that in populous London, both might perish—be drawn into a snow drift, unseen, unrecognised?SNOW, AND THE PROMISE OF SPRING. 245
“ Can we try a nearer way? ” Thyra entreated.
Estelle refused. In the distance she perceived, that which Thyra had not observed, a small, insignificant procession slowly moving towards St. Bartholomew’s hospital, past the grim buildings which lead to it. Some accident, perhaps one of many, must have happened; a woeful ambulance, which had escaped Thyra’s notice.
“It is wiser to keep to the thoroughfare; bye-streets are uncertain. We will push on till we reach the railway station; we can at least remain while we telegraph to Herr Freund.”
“Oh, but can we cross over ? ” questioned Thyra. “ Look, Miss Hofer, the road seems impassable. At least, there is nothing to fear from the horses.”
They plunged and struggled on breathless. Down again! this time it was Estelle, and Thyra’s turn to extricate her companion. The wind roared round the Viaduct; pillars of feathery snow were brought together to be dispersed, as if by magic, at bidding of the blast.
“We must die,” thought Thyra. Yet246
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how hard to die uncertain whether Benedicts cared for her!
“We must die,” thought Estelle, hut Gabriel would soon forget, and console himself by another love for that which had hitherto filled his life with ambition. She must die, and for a little while her help and her work would be missed at home, while Cecil-----?
The grim humour of the situation struck her with a sense of mockery. It was more difficult, more dangerous to cross to seek refuge in the great station of the Dover and Chatham railway than to cross the sea as a rule, to climb a mountain, or descend into a mine. This wide, white road, this unromantic spot in Holborn, was as closely encompassed by peril as if the two were in some remote country untouched by civilisation.
As they advanced from the wild corner where the wind howled, they came face to face with a solitary pedestrian.
“ My God! ” ejaculated the wretched creature, with terrible laughter, “ a white woman! ” and she smote her hands in a sort of frenzy as she stared at Estelle, who, covered with icicles, was foremost, and asSNOW, AND THE PROMISE OP SPRING. 247
she passed on her lonely way, her laughter echoed like the wail of a lost spirit.
Estelle was more unnerved by this incident than the inexperienced Thyra.
u After all, you see, there are a few people who, like ourselves, have been overtaken by the storm,” remarked the simple-minded girl. “ But why did she laugh in that dreadful manner, Miss Hofer? She rushed so swiftly—quicker than we can manage, that I could not ask her if there might not be a cab farther on. Why did you not think to do so, Miss Hofer ? ” u Dear, she might not have heard me,” Estelle said, hesitating. “Was ever such a blast in such a crowded city ? Was there ever such a vacancy for it to sound as now, in this desolation? ”
“ If we had but waited! ” moaned Thyra, and with that regret, assisted by a sudden emotional impulse to confidential speech strange to her nature, and consequent on the tension of her overstrung nerves, she added, excitedly, “ M. Benedictus thinks me cold, and fond of wealth and fashion, and because of Gabriel’s marked attentions, perhaps, that I care for him. Now,248
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Miss Hofer, I believe that we shall never reach home. If we die, if I die, as I shall no doubt, and you, Miss Hofer, survive this cruel exposure and chill, tell this to him, to both if you choose, that I fell in love with Adrian Benedictus from the outset of our acquaintance, for his repute; then for pity; lastly, I loved him, as I always shall and must, for love’s sake alone.”
She burst into tears, which seemed to freeze in the sharp air as they fell down her delicate face.
Those words appeared to mark a crisis in their adventure.
The snow had deadened the sound of a firmly approaching footfall; neither of them had perceived the echo of a heavier step gradually overtaking their less assured progress. Neither had once looked back, and truly the dazzling hurry of the storm rendered any backward glance useless through the flying flakes. Yet scarcely had Thyra ceased her passionate confession than they stopped; they believed, they doubted, they were convinced. There stood Benedictus beside them, and with him came a sense of security, of safety. He said somethingSNOW, AND THE PROMISE OF SPRING. 249
rapidly in an agitated undertone. Cold as it was, he raised his hat.
“ The Roumanian language sounded like a collection of curses,” Gabriel Hofer had once remarked when he was more than ordinarily jealous, and the phrase recurred to his step-sister as she wondered what.that by no means inharmonious phrase meant. Could the clear, trembling voice of Thyra have reached him through the muffled air to rouse his sympathy, his love; to change his indifference, that confession penetrating the wind speak to him of their dangerous plight ?
“ Could you not wait? ” he said, addressing Thyra in a voice so gently remonstrant as to be pathetic. “ Oh, take my cloak, poor child!” and he wrapped her in his fur coat.
“ Oh, no, let Miss Hofer have it,” Thyra said, growing crimson; “ she has been so good, so brave.”
“ But my coat is no reward of bravery. For Miss Hofer a Victoria Cross by-and-by; for you, the garment now,” urged Benedictus. “If it warmed you both, well! but it will not, and Miss Hofer is of the same opinion.”250
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He was sorry that Estelle should be unprotected, but he had a prevailing idea that she was rather visionary, and that she was to be censured for accompanying Thyra on this expedition. Also, that she thought of him as a reversed Lochinvar—neither lucky in love or in war—and, in short, he was not fond of Estelle.
What indescribable comfort in steady shining, amber lamps; in being able to see their way; to meet others after their wild afternoon ramble, prematurely night. Benedicts told them that directly he knew they had set out he had followed them, and would have accompanied had they waited.
Thyra scarcely attended to the explanation, she only cared for the fact that Benedicts would protect them. She thought nothing about Gabriel, eager and exultant, sure that in time his violin would work the miracle of winning her; it was but to Benedictus, her hero, that she could spare a thought.
And Estelle, weary of the contest with the weather, with icicles still on her dress and snow unmelted in her thick hair, with wide-eyed gaze on the flitting stations, sawSNOW, AND THE PROMISE OP SPRING. 251
neither the vista of snow, nor her companions, nor far-off Gabriel, but always and only the prostrate form of Madame F reund, who had bid her prevent the marriage of Benedictus.
The snow continued for three days in less measure than at first, till town-bred eyes grew accustomed to the fair novelty of prevailing whiteness, while the near end of the world became familiarly close to those dismal, prophetic souls who generally try to connect phenomenal aspects of the weather with the conclusion of earthly affairs. All the dirty and ugly places were obliterated, while every lovely wonder of architecture still remaining in a London gradually being despoiled of its fine buildings, wrapped in the hush of the snow, or delicately issuing from the heaped-up cushions spread by this severe winter round hard objects, looked more lovely than its wont.
Within the wide cemetery wherein the dead of the Hebrews lie buried, wherein reigns a, mystic and stern solemnity, Adrian Benedictus reverently enters shortly after the snowfall which had so greatly alarmed Thyra.252
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The broad sky of a clear blue, with piled-up clouds of silvery hue, seemed to brood with sad serenity above the graves, some of which bore peculiar symbols, which stood forth among the clearly-cut Hebrew letters from the snow-wreaths of the saddest of backgrounds.
Here struggles up the sweetbriar, while a snowdrop mutely asserts its natural right to fling a tribute from the earth to those to whom no other offering of earth can be fitly adapted. Many a touching tribute does Nature herself collect to the memory of her dead children, of plants that, bare in winter and bud-burdened in summer, trail their sapless branches, or cast down their crowns of blossoms at the feet of those quiet ones. And here, see how a bird has fallen in the cold from its high nest, and lies dead, with stiff, outstretched brown wings, open, as if in act of flying, in the most pathetic manner another,—and how pitiful an effort of earth decoration by an emblem more tender than stern—of the little grave of a child! No flowers or shrubs here interfere with the office of the dead bird, who seems as if it had noted itsSNOW, AND THE PROMISE OF SPRING. 253
solitude from above, and hastened to take it into its protection by that caressing act. It looks as if it had dropped from heaven on to the stone, with a kiss for the baby buried beneath—a message from some high, merciful angel; and after whispering the message in the snow, the brown bird had died too.
There are sweet and verdant lanes that are the setting of the solemn place. No sound of the hurry, the turmoil of the world penetrates through, to vex by callousness, or by eager life disturb the immutable, prevailing peace. All about now lies the snow; later on the lilac and laburnum may have their tale to tell to the clear air. Now it is the reign of the snow, piled up, flung near and far, in little hillocks, in fantastic work of crystal. Somewhere hidden among the leafless boughs a robin sings; and sings, and sings, as if his sweet heart were in his song, as if to sing should be to wring the very soul of the listener, yet in its melancholy beauty offering suggestions of the patter of spring rain through broadening leaves, with which the sun shall weave a golden shining.254
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How sweetly, how mournfully to-day the robin sings! Invisible as some spirit, its melody is directed to the air—to the spell of the snow, to the songs of the summer. It is a tranquil and sacred place, but the English landscape forms a delicate and harmonious setting for its peculiar observances. No one else represents a mourner for the poor orientalist, and so it appears a holy duty to the Roumanian to follow his poor friend, to stand beside his grave, and act for him as no son could act; and Adrian, who made no boast of obedience to any particular form, came as a matter of course filially and naturally to such a service. The simple ordinances which accompany the death of a Hebrew in any land had all been carried out, and to the last Benedictus had proved a strong and gentle fidelity to the poor pensioner, Ludwig Hirsch. He could read and understand the suggestions of the snow. He saw the rigid bird helping to cover the little grave with its frozen wings. It was the pure emblem of a mighty and divine love, and not of the cruelty and separation of death, Adrian mused, as he saw the dead bird’s embrace, and listenedSNOW, AND THE PROMISE OF SPRING. 255
to the living bird’s song, but of death’s shield and death’s triumphant paean. The silver-touched scene of snow appealed to his inmost heart. The robin sang its song to his soul, alternately as an incentive, and a lull to all worldly aims.
No sister of his lay in that solitude to draw forth a bitter agony of recollection; no friend or relative to call forth sad meditations, only the old scholar whose existence had been rendered happier by his care and Thyra’s. A rich and pretty girl had been his first love; a rich and beautiful girl had displayed the very depths of her fine nature in his second experience. He had overheard her troubled confidence to Estelle; she would be his.
The red suti broke from the clouds for a bright momentary gleam, and with a strange, foreign gesture of farewell, Adrian spread out his hands, as if thus to bid goodbye to the obscure grave. Then he turned from the cemetery with his face set towards the new land of his adoption.
“ The weather agrees with Thyra,” her father meditated. The Roumanian had signified his wish to have some conversation256
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with Herr Freund, who, in his ignorance of its object, attributed Thyra’s colour to the advantage of the cold season. She was not ill, as everybody insisted that she should and would be. With the danger her excellent health had little to do, and now that it was over, an inner source of hope lighted her eyes to radiance.
“ And, Miss Hofer, Thyra,” continued her father, “ how is she after your unpardonable escapade ? ”
“ Oh, not unpardonable, papa! but I promise not to repeat it. As for Miss Hofer, she does not speak of herself in her note-----”
“A wonderful deliverance for you, my darling,” her father said, still thinking; “ many people never reached their homes that night, Thyra. Such a snowstorm has had no parallel since the first part of this century.”
“ Ah! ” said Thyra, “ the Hofers have had bad news of Gabriel, papa. He has been drawn into marrying a girl, a heiress to whom he taught the violin.”
“ That is a disagreeable phrase,” said Herr Freund, displeased, for he had a mostSNOW, AND THE PROMISE OF SPRING. 257
chivalrous estimate of woman. “ Does his sister use that expression? ”
“ No, papa, certainly, but it is to be guessed as Mrs. Hofer’s, for Miss Hofer writes that her stepmother is altogether shocked and grieved at the fact of Gabriel’s being drawn into such a marriage.”
It might have been as well to show Herr Freund the letter. Yet this could not be, for Estelle had added, “ How incredible it is that I should have left Gabriel full of thoughts of you, dear Thyra! ”
“ How old is the young lady ? ”
“ Seventeen, papa. Oh, he is too changeable.”
“That is youth, Thyra,” Herr Freund said. “ Young people are not generally as sober and grave as you. Merely youth, and that made the poor boy very attractive. -Ardour and enthusiasm, like a fine day, Thyra, set things in a fine light.”
“ At all events, I must go to see them, papa,” said Thyra. “ Do not be frightened; this time the carriage shall take me.”
But the depth of the snow retarded her visit. She was obliged to delay, and in the meantime Benedictus had made his it.	s258
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offer, and was accepted by Herr Freund as his daughter’s husband, without any knowledge of the dislike that Madame Freund had expressed to the project.
But if the cold weather agrees with Thyra, according to her father’s opinion, it does not suit Jacob, Ruth Hofer’s linnet, who has had quite enough of the snow, and who now sits with his pretty eyelids half-closed in cross disgust at this absurd monotony of unvarying whiteness, obscuring the green details in which his very heart delights. Where is the sunshine, and where those golden shafts thrown by its beams, up which his hurry of happy trills used to ascend in that far-off fairy land of distant summer ? He sits in huddled up hatred of its reiteration; he draws up a little claw peevishly under his warm plumage; pulls his collar over his ears, and subsides into his wings, a little sulky ball of feathers. Ruth is not here. “ A knavery,” as the servants contemptuously refer to her collection of dear friends: the canary, the speckled, bright brown creature known to the Essex parlourmaid as the “ thresh,” has then no longer any interest for her ?SNOW, AND THE PROMISE OE SPRING. 259
A bright fire burns on the hearth, the chairs are set about it. If the petted Jacob is no longer jubilant in his aviary, he is no longer young, and the garrulous, dropping ashes tell their cheerful tale to the mute objects in the room. To Estelle’s pictures most constantly. The hearth song is for them; the flickering flames illumine the dear faces she has painted of Lexie, of Gabriel, of Ruth. Penberthy, Miss Nugent’s gift from Budleigh Salterton, the “thresh,” brought home as an infant reminiscent of Devonshire lanes, sings lightly now and then to himself. He in his infancy shared Ruth’s room. Like the “early bird” of the proverb, he rose at four, he called up Jacob; in the morning twilight he seemed to put on his boots, empty his pockets, fill coals into his box, as he jumped about incessantly and heavily in his wicker-work cage; then a pause, during which Ruth’s fretted nerves settled into the very border-land of repose, to be suddenly roused by a loud flutter, a thrilling pipe—both of which apparently it took Penberthy exactly five minutes to prepare, to be joined by the linnet in getting up more coals, trotting with the step of a260
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burglar about the cage, up and over his perch, until the two joined in a sweet duet of praise, and Ruth relinquished rest for the morning. Now, greatly to her annoyance ; in the snow, that is trying to a homereared bird, the pair went off at night with the parlourmaid.
For Ruth, who once exclaimed, “ How beautiful it must have been for God to make birds; to put in their soft eyes, to choose their wonderful feathers! ” can spare but scant thought to them now, as she sits alone with her mother.
Where is Estelle? Not here; but the landscapes and flowers painted by her, decorating this room of the heath cottage, smile from the wall on the winter. A branch of lilac, with blossoms deepening to pink, or a glimpse of a country road, or an illustration in brown ink of some familiar scene, speaks of her; and Penberthy awakes from a brief dream, and breaks the silence by a gentle warbling.
Shortly after his step-sister’s return, Gabriel Hofer was introduced to a Spanish girl, the only child of a very rich man. Salvedora, spoilt and capricious, wished toSNOW, AND THE PROMISE OF SPRING. 261
learn the violin. With so young and handsome a master the pleasure of violin playing increased. She was but a lovely child. If she cried, in homely phrase, for the moon, she expected to have it. She cried for Gabriel, or, in other words, she fell in love with him, a direct consequence of such violin lessons not strange in the situation. By degrees he confided to her that his career was diverted from its original plan, and that perhaps if from an earlier date he had devoted himself to the study of music he would have been famous now. Salve-dora sighed. She thought so too, and pitied him for his troubled destiny. To very little discretion she united an excellent heart. She admired and sympathised with him, and he, without a thought of the future, allowed himself to drift along pleasantly after his usual habit. Sometimes he thought he would tell this beautiful, sympathetic girl of his affection for Thyra. Some latent consideration, however, always checked this story, and found him regretting that for that unfortunate love, too, Salvedora’s sweet pity could not offer its consolation. She was but staying on a262
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visit in Milan; wandering about in sunny leisure with a most indulgent father; when she left, how Gabriel would miss talking to her about himself, about Alexina, Estelle, and Ruth!
Suddenly with a shock he found his idle happiness checked. He heard that Thyra was engaged to Adrian Benedictus, and with her image unchanged in his worship he was confronted by a yielding—too yielding parent, determined to confer joy on his child at all risks; encouraging Gabriel to put pride away; to ask for Salvedora, whose choice would not be despised. In short, he was regarded as a favourite of fortune, the triumphant lover of his impetuous pupil, instead of which he was astonished, confused, alternately prepared to give in, to deny, to fly. Surely his creed would, must make an important obstacle. Gabriel felt a fierce wave of religious resolution flow over his soul, and calm its anxiety. Did Mademoiselle Rusticci know of that difference in his faith? He knew hers; probably had regarded it as a safeguard in his heedless behaviour. It was no hindrance in Salvedora’s views, a mere nothing, andSNOW, AND THE PROMISE OP SPRING. 263
if her father thought more gravely of the matter, her soft entreaties convinced him that faith and religion must fade, or at least be embodied, in mutual love. Gabriel was hurried along, and reckless at the idea of Thyra’s marriage, passively allowed events to shape themselves, wedding Sal-vedora, and practically relinquishing by this step all his old ties.
Once, a few days after the announcement of their engagement, Salvedora found the sketch of a girl, slightly older than herself, between the green covers of his Chopin. She studied it attentively; she thought it a beautiful picture. What hair! what a steady lustre in those truthful eyes! what peachlike tints in that unknown countenance!
“ Your twin sister? ” she asked, playfully holding it up to him. “ Oh, how much better looking than you! No ? Then is it the married beauty in Constantinople of whom you told me? No, still? What, no relative?”
“ An early friend, dear,” he said, and stooped and kissed her hand, again remorseful that he had not at first won her interest, at least for him and for Thyra.264
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The dark head was held down for a minute, and when he raised it there were tears in his brilliant eyes. He stretched out his hand for the sketch:
“ Salve, I do not want to mislay it.” A sob seemed to sound in the light voice, and Salvedora, unquestioning, gave the portrait back.
She was not’in the slightest degree jealous. She was absolutely ignorant of life and its complications. She had several pictures of early friends, not left in Chopin’s nocturnes, but carefully kept in fine albums and frames. If Thyra’s picture had, instead of being a mere sketch by Estelle, with rough edges, experienced the aid of a frame, there might have been a reason to pursue the inquiry; as it was----
“Beside that beautiful, fair girl,” she reflected, “ I look too dark. Were we contrasted by companionship, Gabriel might not prefer me.”
And a most unconsciously pathetic truth was thus passed over by her young judgment.
But has Estelle, with the secret of Madame Freund’s opposition to Thyra’sSNOW, AND THE PROMISE OE SPRING. 265
marriage still untold, nothing to say? For the brother whose happiness has always been supremely dear to her, no word of congratulation. To Cecil Haye, when, after a year’s pause, he shall resume his love story, what answer ?
Six months have elapsed since she, with Thyra, were overtaken in the terrible snowstorm, she to whom every exceptional excitement, fatigue, or chill was a separate danger. Six months since the old teacher of languages succumbed to age and infirmity, since the children sang at half-past three on the wintry days in the twilight, while the slim tapers flickered and waned, the triumphal processional march, handed down from the period of Judas Maccabseus.
Far away from all tokens of that ancient captivity stands the cathedral of Exeter. A bright and sunny day, apparently fallen from the late sheaf of summer days, fell like a sunbeam across the grey building. It was nearly autumn, and the penetrating, sweet afternoon anthem appeared to float above the heads of the few worshippers and sightseers, as if it were something tangible—a delicate embroidery of song,266
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traced on the basis of every-day life, woven into matter of fact, or as a melody only, drifting far away into remote realms of rejoicing, of regret, or remorse, or supplication.
There was one among the congregation to whom this anthem of Dr. Gosse was inexpressibly affecting. He sat among the strangers and those who were not participating in the afternoon service, in a straw chair appointed for the purpose, apart from the aisle,—a tall, fair-haired man, whose face, covered with his hands now, and deeply drooped, usually wore an impenetrably haughty calm. The working of an excessive emotion witnessed to the power of the mournful and beautiful anthem, rousing the very depths of human sorrow, by heavy tears that would now and then escape the command of a firm self-control, and as he held his crape-bound hat, as if shading his eyes, his neighbour might perceive that he was both handsome and aristocratic, that his features were well moulded, and that his demeanour was both gentle and lofty.
It was the sort of countenance and mienSNOW, AND THE PROMISE OF SPRING. 267
that readily win love and trust. F rom that perfect outline none could guess want of fidelity, as from his proud bearing none could predict a gradual lowering of a highly elevated standard. He was young yet, and the tale that trial had written on his face merely softened it. To his inherited refinement neither joy or sorrow had power to add or diminish.
The echoes of the anthem died away and rolled oif into the pillared space, and this stranger rose and slowly moved to the door. He stood there for a moment, while his abstracted glance took in the surpliced procession of choristers, passing on like a flock of white birds: the clustered pillars flame, lit from stained glass windows, the pavement, illuminated by the same violet and crimson reflections, the lovely setting of green foliage as a framework to the massive door. The sightseers linger not at tomb or window to-day. They follow at a respectful distance a small party of three.
Among the grey cathedral shadows how strangely did this trio show. What fantastic affinity lay between them ? What affinity pointed by contrast ? The vivid268
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hues from the blazing windows shone on the principal figure of the group.
A beautiful girl, with hair of an extraordinary length, arranged in two thick plaits, which reached the hem of her dress. She wore a wide, flapping hat; she carried a fan. She was about eighteen,—her bewitching smile, her southern-looking eyes, and hair, and manner were favoured with many stares. The enormous Spanish fan and little mantilla, the length of her thick plaits, all graceful, unexaggerated, perfectly natural details in her appearance, were accentuated by the black of her dress. Among the screens, across the brasses, she lightly trod, with the gorgeous colours of the altars and the stained glass .flecking her heavy robe. Beside her was a young man equally handsome, if not as dark. His bare, closely-cropped head was splendidly shaped, the clear pallor of his face was lighted up by brilliant brown eyes, burning with a sort of kindling fire and fancy, humorous, melancholy, but always lustrous. He, too, wore mourning. The group was completed by a gentleman, old, with white hair, foreign, and with an air of distinction.SNOW, AND THE PEOMISE OF SPEING. 269
“ I declare,” broke from Gabriel Hofer in a passionate, low voice, “ tbat tbe thought of Estelle lives with and haunts me. I look round to show her that exquisite bit of sculpture, I look up to meet her delighted expression as the anthem ends. Do not shudder, Salvedora; she was always acquiescent and meek. If she could, she would not disturb those she loved so well.” “ She would never have loved me.”
“ Oh, superstitious Salvedora, is that why you tremble ? ” Gabriel asked, with passionately sorrowful raillery. “ Because of your faith, or want of faith ? Was Estelle ever a bigot ? No, dear. She carried out her own views as far as she could, and, as I often consider, the convictions of those whom she had been trained to respect more than her own. In her individual disposition she was brave and firm, although in some matters she had not the courage of a' child.”
Salvedora perhaps had even less. But Gabriel continued, half to himself, “ Just a minute to say ‘how dark it grows,’ and then—but I cannot speak of it. Fortu-nately my mother has forgiven our foolish270
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union, Salvedora,” he smiled a fond but mournful smile; “and dear little Ruth’s marriage, perfectly proper, prosperous, and conventional, will satisfy her. Is this cathedral as picturesque as those you have been accustomed to ? ”
Signor Rusticci began to dilate on the cathedrals in Spain, and the sightseers, unwilling to lose a party of whom no doubt of a picturesque aspect could be hinted, were felt as an annoyance. After a while, having quietly finished their circuit, they approached the door where he who had been so much moved by the anthem yet stood looking out on the peaceful Close, and listening to the strains of the organ. The shadow of the majestic trees fell like softened memories on the gravel; the rooks cawed above; a busy, useful life, exceedingly calm and tranquil, seemed the essence of the hour and scene.
“ Does the thought of Estelle follow you into the sunshine ? ” asked Salvedora, more gaily, for she was glad to be out in it herself.
The name was distinctly spoken, and at that name, Cecil Haye, the fair-hairedSNOW, AND THE PROMISE OF SPRING. 271
stranger, started, and looking at Gabriel seemed to be transported to that other cathedral at Stadchester, to see, to understand that here was the boy who had amused him of old by his brightness, his precocious gravity, his talents; one of the twins dear to Estelle. And by a flash of remembrance, helped by natural quickness, Gabriel also read and comprehended that this was the friend who formerly came with some frequency to the Ivy house, who had played with, and given presents to him and to Ruth, who used to shield Estelle in those bygone days from his boyish tyranny.
Gabriel steadfastly regarded the master of Haye Place, yet, though both instinctively read the past rightly, neither spoke. It was one of those recognitions impossible of forcing.
“ Yes,” said Gabriel, as he took in with yearning gaze the vast and beautiful space within the cathedral and without, in the wide, bird-haunted Close, “that thought follows me still, Salvedora,” and he took her hand with gentle courtesy and led her forward. “ The sunshine no less than the shadow speaks of her.”272
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It is very quiet at the Hebrew cemetery. The trees wave here as at Exeter in the sunshine; yet here no voice from the outer world breaks the magic of the solemn silence. Lightly the broad leaves turn and rustle when little breezes play. Many a loving heart is mutely urged to seek some solace for a lifelong grief by a visit to some loved grave. Mrs. Hofer is always intending to come to this resting-place of the dead, and still she never comes. That she ever will come of free will has grown to be considered as a pathetic fiction by Ruth, although she patiently attends while her mother talks of it, plans for it, argues about it, finally finds a hundred excellent reasons to keep her in, to all of which Ruth agrees, knowing how she shrinks, and refraining from persuasion. The poor people come on those solemn anniversaries, when it would seem they try to absorb all their miseries at once. On the tragic Fast of Ab they come; it is their mode of deploring in the present that of which they can form but inadequate ideas in the long and piteous past, but for which they fast just the same; the destruction of the Temple, hardSNOW, AND THE PROMISE OF SPRING. 273
to realise in latter times. In the course of the year Gulielma Ashby, now married, will visit it; while Thyra and Benedictus never omit to enter for awhile here when they are in England. .And Gabriel and his wife, or Ruth, may linger and recollect when the busy tide of their lives leaves them some leisure. The world hurries them on, however; and occasionally they forget, and nowand then other duties intervene, so that several weeks elapse and delay them.
There is one, however, who does not forget; a tall and fair-haired man finds a magnetic attraction to the place where his first and only love is lying. He looks on these visits as the best halting-places in the rush of that world that engrosses him with more truth and sincerity of purpose than when he foretold for himself its higher aims, and as he pulls the sweetbriar towards him, he kisses it, as a kind of message to the eternally silent tenant of that grave that the sweetbriar surrounds, weaving a prickly, significant sweet wreath around the mystic Hebrew letters.
Adrian Benedictus, with his listed his-
II.	T274
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tories of organised sin and suffering, and schemes for the improvement of both, sees Thyra’s regal head shine above the columns of his reports and statistics, as if some compassionate angel were bending over the scroll of struggling existence. The two are perfectly happy, and eager in the promotion of the happiness of those less blest.
Estelle’s perplexities are gathered up, and solved in a way that has removed her far from the pain, and the trouble, and the heat of all burdens. What words shall reach her? What wistful tribute of love shall touch her, fast held in mighty arms whose embrace the clinging sweetbriar resembles? Whisper messages low in the grass again to her whom no earthly echo moves; tell her that affection is eternal as well as death.
While the trees rock in rhythmical, uninterrupted harmony of branch and leaf; while light playing with shadow alone marks the progress of the hours as they pursue their course, and the invisible robin sings on of the resurrection, of life that may fade, but of love that never dies.
THE END.ESTELLE.
BY THE AUTHOR OF
“ Mercer's Gardens“ Four Messengers,** “ Within a Circle
IN TWO VOLUMES.
(London: George Bell and Sons. 1878.)
©pinions of tty yfrxm.
a The author of 4 Mercers Gardens ’ is fashionable in taking a Jewish damsel, and that damsel an artist, as the subject of her story* We could wish that the tenderness and thoroughness of her treatment of the subject were equally in vogue. The sensitive and shrinking, but no less strong and patient nature of Estelle forms a fine contrast to the narrowness of her strict but loving parents, and to the impetuous, self-indulgent character of her lively younger sister. The Hebrew household are planted in an old and picturesque setting, a quaint mansion in a cathedral town, in the sight and neighbourhood of the grey pile which symbolizes an antagonistic creed. To such a fancy as Estelle’s, no root of bitterness springs up to mar the solace of such calm surroundings, though to her orthodox father the position seems rather to intensify the isolation in which he glories. It is against his will, though he is too proud and unsuspicious to feel concern about theOpinions of the Press.
matter, that a perilous intimacy grows up between his young daughters and a Christian family. They are, in fact, 4 taken up * by a pair of conventional young ladies, who, having formed very exoteric notions of Judaism, are at first charmed with the novelty of cultivated simplicity in an unexpected quarter. Their aunt’s friendship is more worth having, for she is a gentlewoman of that old school which was cultivated without being commonplace. But the disillusion, painful as it was, of finding lukewarm patronage in place of friendship in the nieces might have been counterbalanced by the appreciation of their gentler relation, and so far Estelle’s experience would have been as full of pleasure as of pain. The crucial trial comes to her in Cecil’s intelligent sympathy, which ripens into love, and is lost by a fickleness that not unfrequently accompanies such ready apprehension. In her relations to the man whom she idealizes, yet cannot quite accept; in her self-renunciation, based on patriotism and filial love, but never on a literal narrowness which her intelligence forbids ; in her pride, untainted with bigotry, and her devotion, unalloyed with bitterness, Estelle is a noble woman. Her days end as they begin, in the promotion, not the fruition, of happiness of the highest kind. She is an artist without living for art; sorrow as much as joy continues her education to the end. It will be seen that we rate this novel highly. That it is occasionally obscure, not seldom lapsing into an inversion of style which might have been avoided; that the versification of the intercalated poems is often inferior to their sentiments, are deductions we must make from its merit. But the picturesqueness of the homely details, the familiarity shown with Hebrew usages and feelings, the vitality of the dialogue, the apt contrasts of character, the piquancy of such minor personages as Ruth and Gabriel, leave little to be desired, and will palliate, if not justify, a trifle of enthusiasm.”—Athenceum.
“ The grace, the artistic colouring, and the happy blending of playfulness and pathos in this charming story,Opinions of the Press.
are a sufficient raison d'etre to need no other, yet it is evident that another exists in the author’s desire to present a picture at once faithful and attractive of modern English Judaism. Very skilfully has the author arranged the details of her story, so as to bring out the main idea of a Jewish household clinging closely to their ancient faith. The shy, sensitive Estelle cherishes deep down in her heart the hope of one day being a painter. The author interests us much by some descriptions, beautifully executed in every way, of the observances and worship of ‘ the peculiar people.’ But although 4 Estelle ’ is, to our thinking, to be regarded as primarily a novel with a purpose, it is, besides, considered as an ordinary story, one very perfect of its kind, full of human interest, and of fine and delicate touches of thought, and observation, and humour. Estelle Hofer, and her sister, the impulsive, beautiful 4 Lexie,’ are heroines showing nothing less than genius, who will live long in the reader’s memory. The twins too, Ruth and Gabriel, are a most admirable pair of children. The book is one of high mark, bearing from end to end the distinct impress of culture; and let us add that many of the verses scattered through it, especially the lines, 4 To Alexina at the piano,’ and those on the 4 Sabbath of trees,’ founded on an old Hebrew legend, are graceful, and of far more than ordinary merit.”—Contemporary Review.
44 The writer of4 Estelle,’ already known for commendable work, has chosen a theme in this, her latest story, which is in a great degree unfamiliar to the ordinary English reader—namely, the inner life of a cultured middle-class Jewish family, whose members are habitually brought into friendly contact with Gentiles. She writes as though herself a member of just such a household, and thus, albeit the interval of mere literary power between 4 Estelle ’ and * Daniel Deronda ’ is enormous, the newer story reads like a more trustworthy narrative, a truer record of facts, set down by a sympathetic pen, than the brilliant tour de force which has treated modern Judaism from without as just soOpinions of the Press.
much raw material to be worked up into artistic effects. There is nothing of this kind in ‘ Estelle.’ On the contrary, though ardent patriotism, or, more correctly speaking, nationalism, discloses itself throughout, and the type of Judaism set before us is the conservative one, and not that of those newer reformed synagogues whose teaching is scarcely discernible from Gentile Theism, yet the inroad is clearly shown to be from the Christian side, and not conversely ; and we have laid bare for us longings after Gentile culture and breadth, secret or open chafings against traditional restrictions, and keen sympathy with various distinctively Christian forms of thought, as all found in the younger members of a strictly orthodox Hebrew family, and that in a fashion which justifies the reader in believing that he is invited to examine types rather than individuals. The story, which is a very slight one, is wholly subordinated to working out this complex idea; and although there is more grace than power exhibited, conscientious labour has been freely given, and a book of real psychological interest' has been produced. As in a former work from the same pen, there are scraps of verse intercalated occasionally, which have a true, though not very deep vein of lyrical feeling, at any rate sufficient to show us that the author might write songs for music far superior to the average nonsense verses too commonly sung in the modern drawingroom. And this would be a charity to those guests who still think more of sense than of sound.”—Academy.
“ There has been a great deal of discussion lately as to whether a recent novel, by one of our most famous writers, does or does not give a true picture of modem Jewish life and thought. But here, unless internal evidence is absolutely deceptive, we have portraits of an English Jewish family, drawn by one who, to use the euphemism of our gifted Premier, is ‘ of the faith professed by the disciples before they followed our Lord.’ The picture, therefore, is presumably correct. It is certainly sketched with the light touch of a true artist, whose hand is no less firm than delicate. Admirers of Miss Braddon, Ouida, and MissOpinions of the Press.
Broughton, will find ‘ Estelle ’ insipid, of course; but persons who have retained a taste for pure fancy, gentle humour, poetic thoughts, a quiet pathos, and a tender sweetness and simplicity of expression, will thank us for calling attention to this touching tale. We long to tell our readers something about it—to quote from it many a graceful passage; but even if we had space for this, we doubt , whether we have a right to mar the pleasure we promise them, in coining fresh upon the beauties of the book for themselves. Some of the author’s short poems scattered throughout these volumes are more than pretty.”—Standard.
“ In the book under notice, on the contrary, we are presented with a picture of pure and refined Jewish life, devoid of the exaggeration into which novelists are too prone to fall. ‘ Estelle ’ is a domestic tale, where home life in a Jewish household of the middle classes is faithfully and feelingly portrayed. The description of Jewish ceremonial will give non-Jewish readers a correct idea of the various observances practised by Israelites, and perhaps may inspire some interest in that ancient race. ‘Estelle ’ is a novel of character rather than of adventure, and though the book is destitute of stirring incident, the reader follows with pleasure the history of a Jewish family isolated from the society of their co-religionists. Estelle is a Jewish maiden with artistic aspirations ; a retiring, enthusiastic girl, concealing strong feelings under a cold exterior, and intensely attached to her faith. The book is evidently the outcome of a cultivated mind. It is interspersed with original verses, some of which are pretty and even pathetic.”—Jewish Chronicle.
“ The author of ‘ Estelle ’ has pictured for us a charming interior in the home life of the family of Dr. Hofer, and if the tints on her canvas partake somewhat of the sombre hue, like the atmosphere of the old ‘ Ivy House,’ in the Cathedral Close, its inmates, she reminds us, are not of the gay world, but members of ‘ a scattered nation’ subjected to every vicissitude of pain and struggle for upwards of 3,000 years.”—The Jewish World.Opinions of the Press.
MERCER’S GARDENS.
BY THE AUTHOR OF
“Estelle,” “Four Messengers,” Sfc. fyc.
“ The anonymous author of ‘ Mercer’s Gardens ’ has brought to her work an unusually delicate touch, and a singularly felicitous fancy. The central figure is delightful throughout—from the time when she is found a shy, awkward girl, writing odd bits of verse in an old account-book, amid the wilderness of Mercer’s Court, till her appearance in London. The occasional scraps of verse are very clever sometimes, especially the ‘Leaflets’ of a strong-minded Miss Falconer,” &c. &c.—Academy.
“ The heroine of this story is one Miss Grace Arden, a character not devoid of many refreshingly original touches. She has read a good deal, and has an enthusiastic taste for much that is charming and quaint in ballad literature. There are pretty thoughts, and happy fancies, artistic contrasts, and pleasant pictures in ‘ Mercer’s Gardens.’ ”— World.
“ Some of Gracie’s verses which we come across from time to time are decidedly pretty, and altogether the anonymous author of ‘ Mercer’s Gardens ’ impresses us as one whom we shall be glad to meet on a future occasion.” —Graphic.
“ 4 Mercer’s Gardens ’ has a curious prettiness of its own, chiefly from the sweet, quaint feeling and tenderness of description. Grace is a very pretty character, with the vast dreams within, and the homely simplicity without,” &c. &c.—Guardian.
CHISWICK PRESS:—C. WHITTINGHAM AND CO., TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE.