Chapter III (1)

Monsieur de Menneval was, at all points, a cavalier who yielded nothing to his rival, Monsieur de Beaugency. He was fair. He had a blue eye, a broad forehead, a mouth that wore a dreamy expression, and that somewhat pensive air which became so well the Troubadours of France in the olden time.

We cannot say whether Monsieur de Menneval had perpetrated verse; but he loved the poets, the arts, the quiet of the fields, the sunsets, the rosy dawn, the breeze sighing through the foliage, the low and mysterious tones of a harp, sounding at eve from the light bark shooting over the blue waters of the Loire--all things in short that harmonize with that melodious concert of the heart, which passes by the name of love.

He was timid, but he passionately loved the beautiful widow; and his dearest dream was of passing his whole life at her feet, in well chosen retirement, far from those envious lookers-on who are ever ready to fling their sarcasms on quiet happiness, and who dissemble their envy under cloak of a philosophic scepticism.

He trembled, as he entered the Marchioness's boudoir. He remained standing before her, and blushed as he kissed her hand. At length, encouraged by a smile, emboldened by the solemnity of this coveted interview, he spoke to her of his love, with a poetic simplicity and an unpremeditated warmth of heart--the genuine enthusiasm of a priest, who has faith in the object of his adoration.

And as he spoke, the Marchioness sighed, and said within herself:

"He is right. Love is happiness. Love is to be two indeed, but one at the same time; and to be free from those importunate intermeddlers, the indifference or the mocking attention of the world."

She remembered, however, the advice of the King, and thus addressed the Baron:

"What will you indeed do, in order to convince me of your affection?"

"All that man can do."

The Baron was less bold than Monsieur de Beaugency, who had talked of conquering a throne. He was probably more sincere.

"I am ambitious," said the widow.

"Ah!" replied Monsieur de Menneval, sorrowfully.

"And I would that the man, whom I marry, should aspire to every thing, and achieve every thing."

"I will try so to do, if you wish it."

"Listen; I give you an hour to reflect. I am, you know, the King's god-daughter. I have begged of him an embassy for you."

"Ah!" said Monsieur de Menneval, with indifference.

"He has granted my request. If you love me, you will accept the offer. We will be married this evening, and your Excellency the Ambassador to Prussia will set off for Berlin immediately after the nuptials. Reflect; I grant you an hour."

"It is useless," answered Monsieur de Menneval; "I have no need of reflection, for I love you. Your wishes are my orders: to obey you is my only desire. I accept the embassy."

"Never mind!" said she, trembling with joy and blushing deeply. "Pass into the room, wherein you were just now waiting. I must complete my toilet, and I shall then be at your service. I will summon you."

The Marchioness handed out the Baron by the right-hand door, as she had handed out the Marquis by the left; and then said to herself:

"I shall be prettily embarrassed, if Monsieur de Beaugency should consent to end his days at Courlac!"

Thereupon, the King removed the screen and reappeared.

His Majesty stepped quietly to the round table, whereupon he had replaced the oranges, and took up one of them.

"Ah!" exclaimed the Marchioness, "I perceive, Sire, that you foresee the difficulty that is about to spring up, and go back accordingly to the oranges, in order to settle it."

As his sole reply, Louis XV. took a small ivory handled pen-knife from his waistcoat pocket, made an incision in the rind of the orange, peeled it off very neatly, divided the fruit into two parts, and offered one to the astonished Marchioness.

"But, Sire, what are you doing?" was her eager inquiry.

"You see that I am eating the orange."

"But--"

"It was of no manner of use to us."

"You have decided then?"

"Unquestionably. Monsieur de Menneval loves you better than Monsieur de Beaugency."

"That is not quite certain yet; let us wait."

"Look," said the King, pointing to the valet, who entered with a note from the Marquis, "You'll soon see."

The widow opened the note, and read:

"Madam, I love you--Heaven is my witness; and to give you up is the most cruel of sacrifices. But I am a gentleman. A gentleman belongs to the King. My life, my blood are his. I cannot, without forfeit of my loyalty, abandon his service----."

"Et cetera," chimed in the King, "as was observed by the Abbe Fleury, my tutor. Marchioness, call in Monsieur de Menneval."

Monsieur de Menneval entered, and was greatly troubled to see the King in the widow's boudoir.

"Baron," said his Majesty, "Monsieur de Beaugency was deeply in love with the Marchioness; but he was more deeply still in love--since he would not renounce it, to please her--with the embassy to Prussia. And you, you love the Marchioness so much better than you love me, that you would only enter my service for her sake. This leads me to believe that you would be but a lukewarm public servant, and that Monsieur de Beaugency will make an excellent ambassador. He will start for Berlin this evening; and you shall marry the Marchioness. I will be present at the ceremony."

"Marchioness," whispered Louis XV. in the ear of his god-daughter, "true love is that which does not shrink from a sacrifice."

And the King peeled the second orange and eat it, as he placed the hand of the widow in that of the Baron.

"I have been making three persons happy: the Marchioness, whose indecision I have relieved; the Baron, who shall marry her; and Monsieur do Beaugency, who will perchance prove a sorry ambassador. In all this, I have only neglected my own interests, for I have been eating the oranges without sugar.... And yet they pretend to say that I am a selfish Monarch?"

THE MISSING MARINERS,

A DREAM OF THE ARCTIC SEAS.

This fanciful sketch was written and published, before the fate of
Sir John Franklin and his Discovery Ships was known.

There was not a curtain of any kind over the window.

Now, there are few things that I dislike more than this total want of privacy in a bed-room. Opposite to a dead wall at a foot's distance, so that none but bogies could peer within, or looking out through a port-hole over the lonely sea, I confess to an almost old-maidenish particularity in this respect. Failing, therefore, in sundry efforts to substitute a great coat for a curtain, or even to delude myself into a sense of seclusion, by planting an open umbrella upon a chair before the window, I finally abandoned my efforts, determined to brazen it out, blew out my light, and tumbled into bed, not in the best of humours.

You remember, perhaps, the bitter cold night and the flurry of a snow storm, that came abruptly upon us, a few weeks since. That was the time of which I write--the place was a country village. And what a freezing night it was! The east wind blew gustily and drearily. It was moonlight, but dull and grey; and as I lay in bed, without raising my head from the starveling bolster vainly eked out by a meagre carpet bag, I could see a single pine tree, on a steep bank right opposite my window, nodding, and bowing at me by fits and by starts, as though the capricious spirit of the night wind had bid it mock me. How I longed for the sight of a chimney-pot!

There was no snow yet; but I listened to the rush of each driving blast, and shrunk, huddling under the clothes, from the chill it sent through me, as its keen edges forced their way through the crevices of the roof over my head. At length, and after much tumbling and tossing, I fell asleep--or believed that I did so; and presently I awoke again--or so it seemed to me. What was sleeping, and what was waking, I scarcely knew, that night.

Suddenly, there, between us--between myself, I mean, and the white, shining hill-side--came an object, undefined in form but palpable in substance, waving gently to and fro, passing and repassing before the window, and at last appearing almost to touch it. Finally it became stationary there, yet still undulating with that soft tremulous motion which you may have noticed in the humming-bird, when, poised upon his delicate wings, he darts his slender tongue into the petals of a favourite flower. "What in the world is it?" I exclaimed; and had just fancied that I could see a few slight cords reaching from it upwards, above the upper edge of the window, when I distinctly heard a rap upon the pane, and sprung from my bed, in wonderment, but not in fear. The glass melted away--frame-work to the casement there was none--I passed outwards, unconscious how or wherefore. I was seated, warmly and comfortably seated, springing aloft into the moonlit and starry sky.

Then I knew that it was a balloon. It rose at the instant, and sped rapidly through the air. The wind was strong, but blowing a steady gale; not in gusts now, as it had been. And I felt that it was from the south, for it was soft and balmy; and I knew that I was driving towards the Polar star, for I saw it; and saw it growing larger and more luminous.

Then my spirit yearned after the missing Mariners; and I prayed Heaven that I might be on my way to find them.

On we sped; but I was conscious, though the southerly gales were wafting me to the frozen regions of the North, that there was a spirit beneath or behind me, guiding the tiny car in which I was borne. I felt that he was there, though I strove in vain to detect his presence. Slily did I glance over my shoulder, abruptly did I turn my head, cautiously did I crane over the edge--I could not see him. I felt him directing my looks to what I beheld, shaping my thoughts whitherward they went; but it pleased him to remain invisible.

It was yet night. Many rivers did we cross in our progress, some looking inky-black as they flowed between snowy banks, others dimly made out, and lost in the one unvaried tone. Lakes were there, too, and cities sparcely scattered. The latter were mostly slumbering in the same quiet as the former; but ascending from one I heard the alarm of a bell, and glanced downwards at a herd of figures who seemed to be fussing and fuming around a fire.

And now, for a moment, I knew that I was dreaming; and oh, grievous disappointment, I half awoke to a consciousness that the vision was slipping away from me. How I clutched at it! how I hugged it, and refused to have a word to say to my senses! Did you never try this plan and succeed in it? If not, I would not give a fig for your dreams.

But I caught up the thread of mine. Bravo! It was a narrow escape, though. They told me, next day, that there had been a false alarm of fire in the village, during the night. I would have been roasted alive, rather than not have dreamed out my dream.

* * * * *

Day-light, and early summer, and we were hovering over the icy land and icy sea, scarcely now distinguishable, one from other. Nor can I, indeed, describe much of what I saw; for methought, that we were driving hither and thither, not only in the dreary realm of the Frost-king, but up, and down, and athwart the ordinary current of times and seasons. So was there much confusion. Anon it was that awful Winter, whose cold will eat, like red-hot iron, into the unguarded flesh, or more fatal still, will palm off Death upon his victim under the alluring disguise of Slumber--Winter, with his terrible silence, more fearful than the roar of his fiercest hurricanes--Winter, with his blinding mantle of unbroken white, and his snowdrifts wherein cities might be engulphed--Winter, with his one redeeming beauty, one attendant goddess, one Aurora, the Borealis, whose coruscations were so marvellous to behold, so changeful, so grand, so brilliant, that I smiled in looking on them, to think that ever human skill had fabricated fire-works, and that their display could throw spectators into ecstacies.

And anon it was the Arctic summer--and the blue waters peeped at intervals between giant pyramids of ice--pyramids, and pinnacles, and turrets, and all shapely and all shapeless masses. And these were floating in the sunlight--some majestically sailing through the ever opening spaces, coming never in contact with their fellows--others jarring, and crashing, and splintering into a thousand fragments, as the upheaving waves compelled them perilously to embrace each other; and their greeting was as the roar of thunder-storms. And uncouth walrusses were playing their clumsy antics on detached fragments of the ice, and the seal was basking in the sun, and the huge whale was spouting, and the seagull was skimming the surface of the loosened deep, dipping therein the tips of his wings, as though to assure himself that it was indeed liquid. Landward, too--for there was land, also, beneath us--I seemed to see the scanty blades of a dwarfish vegetation thrusting themselves pertinaciously through the snow; and anon the garb of the earth seemed changing from one universal white, to varied hues of brown and green.

Those things and other such, rare and beautiful, were visible to the bodily eye; but the eye of my mind was not therewith content. It strained its utmost, but saw not what it longed for; and my voice broke out in bitterness, "Oh, the ships and the men, the men and the ships, the good Sir John and his daring crews!"

Then I was conscious that my attendant spirit impelled the balloon in a direction hitherto unexplored, and lo! there beneath us was a ship--a ship, one of the objects of my search!

A ship! and my heart bounded within me at the first glimpse I caught of it. But ah! how the blood curdled in my veins, when, at the next moment, I saw that the ship had not, and could not have occupants. Poor, ill-fated, ill-treated vessel; never surely did typhoon or whirlwind so displace thee from thy proper bearings. The troubled waters of the Atlantic or the Caribbean Sea might indeed have reared thee upwards, and plunged thee downwards, and made thee reel to and fro, like a drunkard; but it was alone the frozen waters of the Arctic, that could have forced thee into this unnatural position, and then cruelly nailed thee there, to rot into decay.

Ay, stout ship _Erebus_ or _Terror_--I wot not which--there wert thou lying, or rather there didst thou stand upright, thy bows grovelling in the ice, thy stern uplifted high in air, thy keel propped up against a sheer precipice of ice, thy bowsprit shivered into splinters, thy masts and yards, and tackle, fallen all, and tangled in most inextricable confusion. One stick alone remained set out horizontally from the deck. From it drooped the tattered remnant of a flag; it was the blood-red standard of England!

As the balloon glided downwards towards the wreck, I could have peered into the after-cabin windows; but a single glance had already satisfied me that no living being would be found on board. I have said that my blood curdled in my veins. Turning hastily with a sudden movement of indignation, I obtained a moment's glance at my guide--his form was shadowy; but by his hideous features I recognized him as Despair, and felt that he and I were one.

But ho, a pleasant change! Down we floated, till my tiny car was almost on a level with the vessel's bows; and there--oh, joy of joys--were signs, palpable and undoubted, that the crew had fared better than their ship--that they had escaped, and were gone, and had carried what they pleased away with them. At one view I comprehended this--I read it in the aperture sawn through the doubled planking, and in the fragments of casks and cases with which the ice was bestrewn around. There was a board, too, with writing upon it, nailed up conspicuously; but I tried in vain to decipher it. Under the impulse of strong excitement, I again turned abruptly toward my guide; this time, I could not obtain a glimpse of him. Methought, however, that I heard a rustle like the sound of wings, and that the inflated silk over my head became suddenly tinted with the hues of the rainbow. And so I knew that I was under the guidance of Hope; and that Despair would trouble me no more. Whither my countrymen were gone I could not conjecture; but, at least, I deemed them safe.

* * * * *

Away, and away, we soared upwards and sped onwards; how far, and how long, I marked not. And lo, another object! not a ship--it is a house, this time; yes, a house in the lonely wilderness of that frozen ocean, a hut upon the waves of that boundless _mer de glace_. And it was fashioned in rude form; and the material was rough blocks of ice; and snow seemed to have been used as their cement. The roof was formed by poles and spars; and across them yet hung a sailcloth covering. Roundabout the hut was a lofty wall, built apparently to shelter it from storms, and snowdrifts; and the wall was built with the same material as the house, for Nature's plentiful quarry fails not in those Polar regions, if man's hand and man's axe be brought there, to hew and shape. But for whom the shelter, and whither had they gone, who tenanted it? I knew well that the long lost had been here. None but they--no miserable, wandering tribe of Esquimaux--could have left such unmistakable marks of forethought, and skill, and energy. Near by, too, was plainly visible the icy cradle wherein a vessel had been lying, and on an even keel. But ships and men were gone--gone, but how gone, and whither? Earnestly did I gaze for some solution of this mystery; and at length I solved it, ay, plain enough; a line along the surface of the ice became distinctly visible, rugged and indented indeed, but straight, and stretching far away to the Westward. Then was I assured that Sir John and his brave comrades had been here, that they had cut out a channel for their barque, and that the ice had closed in behind them, so soon as they had passed on their way. Yes, I was on their track. And again I heard the soft rustling of the wings of Hope; and the rainbow-tinted hues of the balloon were three-fold more brilliant than before.

One other circumstance only could I note, ere we sped away again upon the search--all who came hither had not departed hence. Side by side, in a sheltered nook, beneath a towering pinnacle of ice, two wooden crosses, peering above the snow, told plainly that beneath it two of the Mariners were sleeping in death. And their names were rudely carved upon the crosses; but again my sight, though in some respects preternaturally sharpened, refused to satisfy my curiosity. Never mind, thought I, 'tis a small proportion in so large a company. We must all die once; and those who rest here, rest as well as though they were laid beneath the "long-drawn aisle;" and their bodies are more enduringly embalmed by the servants of the great Frost-King, than in olden days they could have been by the hand of the cunning men of Egypt.

* * * * *

Upwards, and onwards, and steering ever a Westwardly course. And lo, at length--oh, God be praised--yes I found the men I sought! Yes--no more doubt--there I saw them below me, although, with the caprice incident to dreams, I was prevented from dropping down in the midst of them, or rendering myself either visible or audible.

A strange scene it was, independent of its surpassing interest. Rocky islands--vast packs and floes of ice--a lone ship beset, impeded, entangled--a hundred pairs of lusty arms at work with ice-saws and axes, striving to extricate her, by cutting a channel in the direction where open water was visible. A little apart from the busy groups stood one whom I instantly recognised as the Chief. Care had furrowed his brow, and somewhat whitened his locks, and bowed his vigorous form; but manly resolution was stamped upon his features, and command was in every gesture. Bethink you how I strove to shout--how I struggled even to throw myself down into their arms; but the dream-spell was on me; I was invisible, perforce, and my tongue refused to give utterance.

How I watched them! and look, the burly seaman who is a few steps ahead of his comrades, tracking out the pathway to be dug--look, he starts as though a rattlesnake were issuing from the snow under his feet. What is it? He stoops, and I see his big brown hand tremble, as it assuredly would not have done, if picking up a burning grenade. What is it, bold tar, that moves thee thus? Ay, I see now, and know the cause, 'tis yonder little slip of gay coloured silk on which are printed a few short words. Jack could not read, it was evident enough; but he held up his prize, and called out something which I could not hear, and his mess-mates bounded to the spot. Foremost in the race was an athletic young man, in the threadbare uniform of a Midshipman, who had left his father's halls, five years ago, a beardless boy. Nor was the Chieftain himself the last. How did it pass rapidly from hand to hand, that little silken slip! How did its fall amongst them seem to change the whole spirit of the scene! But look again, a gesture from the Chief, not as one of authority this time, but rather as one of suggestion. It is obeyed, however, and a hundred heads are bared; and by the movements of their lips, I could see that every living man amongst them ejaculated a hearty "amen" to the Chieftain's short but earnest thanksgiving to Heaven, for the assistance now known to be at hand. Then I remembered that the brave Sir John was a pious and a God-fearing man; and that the veriest infidel sneers not at religion in the mouth of him, whose heart is fearless and true.

Visible to me, if not audible, what extravagant demonstrations of joy ensued! I felt my little car vibrating to their force, as cheers, peal upon peal, came rolling up into the welkin. Singular was it, too, that though in my dream my ears were stopped, I could read in the expressive features of those rejoicing Mariners their varied emotions, as they vociferated their glee. I could see in their honest countenances, which cheer was for Old England--which for their Queen--which for their homes--which for their wives and little ones. Then they burst forth into grotesque dancing, and slapping of each others' hands, and jumping on to each others' backs, and a thousand merry antics, as though they were children just let loose from school. And anon, in their mirth, running races hither and thither, one, an officer amongst them, picked up another printed silken slip, in general aspect like the former, but addressed, it seemed, to the Chieftain by name. A second look would have been sufficient to master its contents, but the young man looked not the second time, he hurried with it straightway to Sir John. Rare instance this, methought, of the working of a high sense of honour!

And the veteran, what did it convey to him? I saw not; but I saw a tear course down his furrowed cheek; and for the moment my ears were opened to hear his half-smothered ejaculation, "Jane, Jane, God bless thee--true wife, noble woman--we shall meet, thank God, we shall meet!"

So I watched the merry throng, and strove in vain to catch portions of their earnest talk. Suddenly, all eyes were turned upon the Captain; he was speaking, and pointing to the West. A few words only seemed to come from his lips; but those surely were words of command. In a moment, every man, though half delirious with delight, seized upon his axe or his saw. Work recommenced; labour was distributed in gangs. Every arm was vigorously plied. The watch, descended from the mast-head to hear the wondrous tidings, mounted lustily again to his look-out station. Each man was busy at his post; and though there was perchance some display of increased energy and activity, you would not have surmised that these patient labourers had just exchanged the gathering gloom of Despair for the radiant smiles of Hope. O gallant hearts of oak, thought I--resolute, unflinching, enduring, in the prospect of the dreariest of fates--orderly, obedient, loyal, in the thrill of unexpected deliverance.

* * * * *

The remainder of my dream came upon me in snatches.

Midway in a narrow strait, between lofty and sterile banks, a battered and crippled barque was steering South. I knew the place to be Behring's Straits, the vessel the Discovery Ship that I had just left amidst the ice. So bruised, however, was she, so rent, and strained, and maltreated, that but for the friendly aid of a consort's tow-rope, she could scarcely have adventured even on this comparatively easy navigation. At her peak floated the standard of England; but I strove in vain to make out the colours of her welcome escort. Once, I thought I saw plainly the Stars and Stripes of America; but these either faded away, or assumed the appearance of the double-headed eagle of Russia. Be that as it may, my sense of hearing was restored; and I could both hear and see signs of continuous rejoicing and festivity. Sounds of mirth, and song, and music, came upwards to me from those pleasant waters. Many a canoe, too, filled with outlandish people, visited the ships; all was wonder, and delight, and congratulation.

* * * * *

Hitherto there had been some consistency in my dream; for if my mode of seeing were dream-like and fantastical, what I saw had the verisimilitude of reality. But this was over, or at least was changed. In place of being seated in the car of a balloon, I was now in the maintop of Sir John's battered and leaky ship, a witness to what could only have existence in the wild imaginings of a vision. For, methought we were still steering to the South, when on our larboard hand uprose a range of lofty hills, upon which it seemed to me that I could almost have jumped. Down their sides rolled hundreds of little streams; and in the waters, waist-deep, were myriads of human beings, delving, and scraping, and washing, and picking up what seemed to me to be gold. But they paused in their busy occupations, when they saw the approach of the ships; and, holding up shining masses of the golden ore, shouted to the long missing mariners to come to the mines, and gather a plentiful harvest after their toils. Yardarm were we to the glittering hill-sides, and the miners wore the air of men who rarely tempted in vain; but the crew of the worn-out ship gaily shook their heads, laughed a pleasant little laugh of defiance, and the words, "home, home," came floating up to me from her deck.

* * * * *

Another trial. The men had theirs, and were staunch. It was the master's turn. Heading still to the southwards, but almost becalmed, I saw a swift steamer ranging fast up with us from astern. This time the Stars and Stripes were plainly evident. She came alongside. Her captain was on our deck in a moment, and engaged in earnest conversation with the good Sir John. By the wave of his hand and a word caught here and there, I knew that the kindly American was pressing the veteran to take passage in his steamer. He drew a little almanac from his pocket, and there seemed to be some comparison as to dates; but Sir John finally, with a moistened eye, touched the other on the shoulder, pointed upwards to the British ensign, and firmly shook his head. Away rushed the friendly steamer, and the crowding passengers on her deck took leave of us with reiterated cheers.

* * * * *

My dream was drawing to a close; but I yet was housed snugly in my new position, when the look-out at the mast-head announced a sail. It might have been the same day, or the next, or a week later. But he announced a sail--then another--and another--and lastly a steamer under canvas. The squadron bore down upon us. It consisted of two line-of-battle-ships, a frigate, and a screw-propeller, under command of the British Admiral in the Pacific. The greetings and salutes were over, and official etiquette was somewhat relaxed under the intense excitement of the moment, when I heard in my dream, on the quarter-deck of the flag ship, the Admiral thus addressed the carpenter, with a certain meaning twinkle in his eye. "That leaky old tub can never swim round Cape Horn, Carpenter." "I think not, your Honour," discreetly replied Mr. Chips. "Youngster," continued the Admiral turning quickly to a little middy, "go to Captain B. with my compliments, and tell him to call an immediate survey on the Discovery Ship." The little middy touched his cap respectfully, and off he jumped with his message. "Mr. C.," cried the Admiral to the other midshipman who stood by the signal-locker, "signalize the propeller to light her fires, and get up all steam." In thirty seconds four bits of bunting flew out from the mizen royal-mast head.

* * * * *

The last object that I saw in my vision was the figure of a woman, walking the ramparts of an old Spanish city on the Pacific coast of Central America. Matronly, and dignified in her air and bearing, her featured bore the impress of past anxiety, but across them flitted at times the consciousness of approaching joy. She gazed wistfully ever and anon seaward; and my heart yearned to tell her all that I had so lately seen. The herd of vulgar gold-hunters, who thronged the battlements, respected her, for her long-continued sorrows, her abiding faith, her matchless perseverance. They pressed not on her steps.

I, too, who knew more than they did, how I longed to see the meeting--but no, no, 'twere better that it should be sacred.

I had not the choice; at this moment, forced upon my unwilling ears, through the key-hole came a tiny voice, "Please, Sir, mother says won't you get up; the stage will be here in ten minutes."

WOMAN NEVER AT A LOSS.

_An Eastern Apologue--From the French._

----I read her my manuscript; I had been abusing woman I must confess. Not a single good word could I say for the sex; and long did my companion and I battle the point. Many truisms, much that was strictly veritable had I brought forward, and she had been obliged to yield to the justice of almost all my remarks, though disclaiming against my slander at the same time. Finally--"You intend to marry, yourself?" she asked.

"Certainly," I replied; "to find a woman bold enough to take me, after having convinced her that I knew all the duplicity of the sex, will henceforward be the dearest of my hopes."

"Is this resignation or fatuity?"

"That is my secret."

"Well, then," she said, "most learned doctor of conjugal arts and sciences, permit me to relate to you a little Eastern apologue, that I read long ago in a small volume that was offered to us every year in the shape of an almanac." I bowed my delighted attention. The pretty creature threw herself back in her _chaise longue_, rested her little feet upon the fender, and fixed her arch dark eyes upon me.

"At the commencement of the Empire," she began, "the ladies brought into fashion a game which consisted in accepting nothing from the person with whom one agreed to play, without saying the word 'Iadeste.' An affair of this kind lasted, as you may suppose, whole weeks, and the height of cleverness was to surprise one another into receiving a trifle without uttering the magic word."

"Even a kiss?"

"Oh! I have twenty times gained 'Iadeste' in that way," said she, laughing. "It was, I believe, about this time, apropos of this game of which the origin is either Arabian or Chinese, that my apologue obtained the honours of print."

"But if I tell it to you," she interrupted, looking doubtfully at me, and passing her taper finger slowly across her lips, with a charmingly coquettish gesture, "promise me to insert it at the end of your book!"

"Will you not be bestowing a treasure? I owe you already so many obligations, I do not hesitate to add this; therefore, I accept it at once." She smiled maliciously, and went on in these words.

"A philosopher had compiled a very large collection of all the tricks our sex can play; and so, to guard himself against our wiles, he carried this constantly about him. One day, in travelling, he found himself near an Arabian encampment. A young woman, sitting under the shade of a palm-tree, got up suddenly, on the approach of the stranger, and invited him so obligingly to repose under her tent that he could not resist accepting. The husband of this lady was then absent. The philosopher had scarcely established himself upon the soft carpets, when his graceful hostess presented him with fresh dates and a vessel full of milk; he could not help seeing the rare perfection of the hands which offered the beverage and the fruit. But to recover from the confusion into which the charms of the young Arabian had thrown him, and whose snares he began to dread, the wise man drew out his book and read! The enchanting creature, piqued at this disdain, said to him in the sweetest voice, 'That book must be very interesting, since it seems to be the only thing you consider worthy of notice. Would it be an indiscretion to ask the name of the science of which it treats!' The philosopher replied without raising his eyes, 'The subject of this book is beyond the comprehension of woman.' This refusal excited more and more the curiosity of the young Arabian. She put forward the prettiest little foot that ever left its transient trace upon the fleeting sands of the desert. The sage began to waver; his truant looks would wander toward those dainty feet till his eyes, too powerfully tempted, finally mingled the flame of their admiration with the fire that darted from the ardent and black orbs of the young Asiatic. Again, then, she asked in her soft low tones, 'what is the book?' and the charmed philosopher replied, 'I am the author of this work. It contains a record of all the tricks that woman ever invented!'

"'What! all--absolutely all?' inquired the daughter of the desert.

"'Yes--all! And it is only in studying woman constantly, that I have been able to overcome my fear of them.'

"'Ah!' said the Arabian, dropping the long lashes of her snowy eyelids; and then throwing suddenly upon the pretended sage the full lustre of her Eastern eyes she made him forget in one instant his valuable book and its invaluable contents. Behold my philosopher the most impassioned of men!

"Thinking that he perceived in the manner of his young hostess a slight touch of coquetry, the stranger hazarded an avowal of his adoration. How could he have resisted? The sky was so blue, the sand shone in the distance like a blade of gold; the wind brought love upon its wings, and the wife of the absent Arab seemed to reflect all the brilliancy with which she was surrounded. Her bright eyes, too, became liquid; and she seemed, by a slight movement of her graceful head, to consent to listen to the honeyed words of the quondam philosopher.

"The wise man was in a full tide of eloquence when the distant gallop of a horse was heard rapidly approaching.

"'We are lost!' cried the alarmed Fatima; 'my husband is coming. He is jealous as a tiger, and still more fierce. In the name of the Prophet, and if you love your life, hide yourself in this chest!' The frightened author, seeing nothing else to do, rushed into the chest; his hostess shut it down, locked it, and took the key. She went to meet her spouse, and after several caresses, which put him into the best of humour, 'I must tell you,' said she, 'a very singular adventure.'

"'I listen, my gazelle,' said the Arabian, seating himself upon a cushion and crossing big legs after the Oriental fashion.

"'There came here to-day a kind of philosopher; he pretended to have collected in a book all the treacheries of which my sex is capable; and this false sage--spoke--to--me of love!'

"'Well?'

"'I listened to him!' At these words the Arab bounded like a lion, and drew his kangiar. The philosopher, from the bottom of the chest, heard all, and sent to the devil his book, woman, and all the men of Arabia Petrea.

"'Fatima!' cried the husband, if you wish to live, answer! 'Where is the traitor?'

"Horrified at the storm she had raised, Fatima threw herself at the feet of her lord, and trembling under the menacing steel of the poniard, she pointed out the coffer, with a single look, as prompt as it was timid. Then rising, ashamed, she drew the key from her girdle and gave it to her jealous lord. But--as he turned furiously from her, the malicious beauty burst into a shout of laughter, and laying her white hand upon his shoulder, 'Iadeste!' she exclaimed; 'at last, I shall have my beautiful gold chain! Give it to me; you have lost. Another time, Fazom, have a little better memory!' The husband stupefied, let fall the key, and presenting the golden chain, on his knees, offered his dear Fatima to bring her all the jewels of all the caravans that passed that year, if she would only give up such cruel methods of gaining the 'Iadeste.' Then, as he was an Arabian and did not like to lose his gold chain, though it was to his wife, he remounted his steed and went off, grumbling at his ease in the desert--for he loved Fatima too much to show her his regrets.

"At last, the young woman released the philosopher more dead than alive from his prison, and said to him, gravely,

"'Mr. Philosopher, don't forgot to insert this trick in your collection.'"

MANDRAGORA--BY THE DOZEN.

And so you cannot coax yourself off to sleep? Why? Were you beguiled by their exquisite flavour into rashly smoking three or four of those potent Regalias, with which your friend, the rich stock-broker, professes to aid the digestion of his guests, after a lengthened sitting at his luxurious table? Or did the rounded arm and taper fingers of his fair wife, presiding over the mysteries of the silver urn, tempt you to indulgence in too frequent cups of Souchong? Perhaps you are endeavouring, in spite of yourself, to solve some knotty problem in politics, or love, or chess, or mathematics. Perhaps you have a considerable bill to take up to-morrow, with a very slim balance at your banker's. Perhaps you have a heart-ache; perhaps a head-ache. At any rate, your nerves and senses are painfully strained; and you feel as though you would give the world and all, for a lullaby that would serve its purpose. My good Sir, compose your mind. If you can't sleep and dream, as you desire--dream and sleep. Reverse, I say, the common order. And do not sneer at the suggestion, unless you prefer tossing about all night in vain. The process is not only not impossible; it is not half so difficult as you might suppose, presuming--as I have a right to presume, in regard to my reader--that your imagination is not hopelessly inert.

Some persons recommend to the restless and wide-awake the repetition of scraps from books, in prose or verse, just as though every one had a plenteous store of "elegant extracts" garnered up in his memory, and as though authors specially aimed at being somniferous. There are indeed not a few among them, who unavoidably achieve this distinction; and the advice might not really be bad, if you could con over--once would be sufficient--Mr. A.'s last pamphlet on political economy, or the Rev. Mr. B.'s last sermon. On the whole however, inasmuch as your favourite passages--should you know any of them by heart--may be the very opposite of soothing in their tendencies, this mode of wooing slumber can scarcely be pronounced successful.

You must commence, I say, by dreaming, if you would compel yourself gently to sleep; but before I proceed to introduce to you my list of available prescriptions in this line, I note one with which my readers may possibly be familiar, having learned it in their school-boy days. You will not now be told for the first time, that a drowsy sensation may be induced by musing upon--or dreaming of, which is the same thing--a field of tall and ripe barley, swept by fresh autumnal gales. The rise and fall of each bowed head, with its feathery and graceful spikes, combines well with the undulating motion of the whole and the varied play of light and shade. The idea is otherwise expressed by the British Laureate in "The Poet's Song," one of his minor pieces; "and waves of shadow," says he, "went over the wheat." Nevertheless it is clear that he missed the proper application of the thought, for, in place of lulling the beholder to forgetful repose, the sight seems to have made him break out into a song so loud that wild swans paused to listen in their flight, larks fluttered down to earth, swallows gave up hunting bees, snakes slipped under sprays, wild hawks stared over sparrows stricken under their claws, and the very nightingales were set a-thinking. Truly a sad perversion this of a golden opportunity! But your rhymsters were ever a crazy race. When they deal with their fellows generally, we all know how they botch poor human nature. What, then, can be expected, when poets undertake to figure out one of themselves? Still, let us improve the occasion. Barley-fields or wheat-fields are well enough in their way; only, if you conjure up this image, I would advise you to season it with an abundance of red poppies intermingled with the legitimate crop, and a very careful attempt on your part to number these interlopers one by one, preparatory, if so it please you, to flipping off their heads. With due allowance, therefore, for its lack of novelty, this dream may be admitted into our collection.

And it may be proper to remark at the outset that, though the dreams whereof I propose to treat are sufficiently distinct in their kind, it is desirable, in the practical use of them, to run them one into another--to fuse them unconsciously as it were, without being over-nice as to the point at which one ends and another begins. It is not requisite, however, for this reason, that they should all be packed into one paragraph, like a daily paper's report of one of Mr. Morrill's speeches on the Tariff, or a Secretary of the Treasury's Report. You shall have each dainty conceit served up in its own dish, so that, furthermore by the way, you can take them in such order as suits your own good pleasure. This view of the matter relieves me also from the necessity of formal arrangement. It is altogether unimportant which fancy comes uppermost. The main thing is to shut off all thought concerning the actualities of life, eschewing reference to your loves, your hates, your wrestlings with circumstance, your mental cares, your bodily ailments. I repeat it: you must dream, if you would sleep. Counting the breezy barley-field above mentioned as one, I believe I can supply you with a dozen subjects.

Your physical eye is closed, of course--your mind's eye being, on that account, all the more keenly alive to impression, and the better able to compass an unembarrassed range. Set it, then, upon a spiral stairway endless so far as I can imagine it, though you may perchance by looking earnestly upward discover whereto it leads, or by peering intently downward find out its base. But did I say a stairway? That was not what I meant; and dreamers, of all men, are at liberty to change or modify their views. I should have said an inclined plane. Let it be steep, smooth, slippery, broad enough to admit the passage of several figures simultaneously, and guarded by bannisters on either side. When, fatigued with the vain attempt to satisfy your doubts as to the safety of this strange structure, your curiosity craves enlightenment as to its uses, I pray you to observe how I would have it peopled. Sliding tumultuously adown the balustrades, lo and behold an innumerable throng of Cherubs in unbroken succession, coming whence and going whither you know not, but each the counterpart of his predecessors, and each flapping his little wings to maintain his balance, rendered precarious as it is by his inability to sit a-straddle. As for the inclined plane itself thus fantastically flanked, you soon perceive that it is the _via sacra_ of many an Ethardo, whom you have known in the flesh or in the spirit--Ethardo, the marvellous gymnast, who mounted and descended steep slopes at the Sydenham Crystal Palace, by trundling inflated balls beneath his feet. Up and down, down and up, some painfully and some skilfully pediculating, your Ethardi pass and repass each other, disorderly yet in order. Name them and salute them as they go by. You have probably more acquaintances among them than I; but I recognise Robinson Crusoe and Count Bismarck, Tarquinius Priscus and Horace Greeley, John Ruskin and Lucrezia Borgia, Mrs. Fry and Edgar Poe, Mr. Gladstone and Dion Boucicault, John Bright and Mrs. Grundy, Ben. Wade and Victor Hugo, Pio Nono and the Great Mogul. Note, too, the various material moulded into circular form, and blown up by way of ambulant footstool; now it is a crown, now a crozier, now a bag of gold, now a wind-bag, now a woman's heart, now a man's fame done up in a newspaper and properly puffed. Ring the changes upon these Ethardi and the motive power that each applies, O my wakeful friend; and at least you may lose sight of your own individuality. Or, take a slide down the banisters with the young Cherubs, and perchance you may touch bottom--in Lethe.

Not so? Let us proceed. There's a man at our Club, whose reputation is so solidly built up, though on an ethereal basis, that I never knew any one presume to question it. He is an absolute master of one accomplishment; unrivalled, and--to the best of my belief, though I can't vouch for the fact--unenvied. Admiring spectators gather round him and applaud; but, if he have ambitious imitators, they rehearse in secret. So far, he does well--ay, with consummate tact and unfailing certainty--what few men can do at all, unless once in a while at dreary intervals, and then by accident. Not to keep you in suspense, which is antagonistic to repose and slumber, this young paragon contrives to throw off his cigar-smoke from his lips, at will, in an unerring series of the most lovely rings or wreaths, which, as they float and rise in tremulous succession, strangely fascinate the looker-on. It may be that this feat is not much of an achievement, morally or physically or intellectually considered. It may be also that the Club does not do itself much honour, in setting so high a value on this performance. But what will you? In the palmy days of Greece, a man acquired a certain celebrity by his precision and address in throwing peas through a needle's eye--the peas being, I presume, much smaller or the needles much larger, than any with which we sow or make soup in these degenerate days. Still, so highly do I appreciate perseverance in the acquirement of any difficult art, that I purpose doing much more for my proficient in smoke, than was done for his man of peas by Philip of Macedon. That bushel of ammunition was a scurvy reward. I confer immortality, by thus registering a fact and hinting a name. And I do this from a sense of gratitude, wherein I trust that you will participate, so soon as you perceive the connection that may surely be traced, between the smoke thus artistically and gracefully jetted into air, and the drowsiness by which you would fain be possessed. Do but imagine a score of your acquaintances round a table, each an adept in this way, and each filling the atmosphere with coronet after coronet of vapour thrown up from meerschaum or cheroot. Whose are the most frequent, whose the most perfect, whose retain their form the longest? Watch the little circlets as they wave and tremble; and award the palm of merit fairly. Nay, even if you tell me that you are innocent of the weed and nauseated by its odour, none the less shall this fantasy be available. I saw once a ship-of-war firing a salute; and lo, from one of the guns went up to the pure sky, in magnified proportions, just such a wreath as those I have described, as delicate yet as clearly defined, and touched withal with a suspicion of prismatic colours as it caught the rays of the sun. An enthusiastic painter might have deemed it an invisible Fairy's aureole; a sentimental milliner would have set it down as the flounce of her unseen robe. Whether the gunner of this occasion had taken a lesson from my friend at the Club, I cannot pretend to decide; I only assure you that I witnessed the phenomenon. You have, therefore, but to multiply as well as magnify. Think of a squadron, a fleet, all the navies of the world, sailing slowly and majestically in unending circuit, as the custom is when they bombard some hapless fort. The saluting is continuous; the movement never ceases; but the big cannon are noiseless now and harmless. Space is joyous with the innumerable wreaths of bluish vapour; but the red slaughter and the accursed tumult of the sea-fight are not heard or seen. Ponder long and lazily, I counsel you, over the evolutions of the ships and the convolutions of the smoke. Those may lure you, possibly, into the Waters of Oblivion; these may spirit you away to the land of the Lotos-Eaters.

Another dream invites you; but it must be sketched with more reticence, and this for two reasons. In the first place, the subject has become identified with that portion of theatrical entertainments usually found to be the least soporific. In the second place, if your imagination were encouraged to free range hereupon, you might be foolish enough to connect its poetic motion and its charm with certain souvenirs of a certain fair friend of yours, whom it were wiser to forget if you desire to profit by this Mandragorean system. Briefly, then, I commend a Ballet, as not altogether unworthy of trial--but not, be it observed, that thing of gas lamps, and pink tights, and leers, and _poses plastiques_, over which young America goes into raptures. By no means. Picture to yourself a smooth sward beneath clustered pines, a tender moonlight, and Nymphs--not semi-nude as is the fashion of our day, neither affecting the contortions of the gymnast as in our modern caricature of dancing--but robed in swansdown, with nodding plumes and tasseled fuschias pendent, tripping it, if you will, on "light fantastic toe," yet through stately and solemn measures. You remember Giulio Romano's dance of Apollo and the Muses in the Pitti at Florence? Take that for your model; then place the figures to your liking. Nor forget to add an orchestra of Aeolian harps. Let them hang among the pine-branches, and sigh forth Weber's Last Waltz, just to set the groups in motion. Then fail not in your breathings, O soft night-wind; foot it daintily, ye wildwood Nymphs--so may sleep steal gently upon the restless one, while yet his ear and eye are unsated!