CHAPTER XXIII
FOREWARNED
It was a pleasant life that we led in the fine old castle at Edeldorf.Victor was always an enthusiast in field-sports, and since his returnfrom the war he devoted himself to the pursuit of wild animals moreassiduously than ever. This was no less a measure of prudence than ofinclination on the part of my friend. An inveterate Nimrod seldombusies himself much with politics, and as the antecedents of the DeRohans had somewhat compromised that patriotic family in the eyes of theGovernment, its present representative was looked on less unfavourablyin the character of a young thoughtless sportsman, than he would havebeen as a disaffected man brooding in solitude, and reserving hisenergies for more dangerous occupations.
Moreover, to one who loved the fresh breath of morning and the crack ofthe rifle, Edeldorf was a perfect paradise. Within a ride of two hoursits hills furnished many a pair of antlers for the castle hall, and thewild boar whetted his tusks upon the stem of many a fine old forest treein its deep woodlands. An occasional wolf and a possible bear or twoenhanced the interest of the chase; and when the Count quitted his homeat early morning, belted and equipped for his work, he could promisehimself a day of as varied enjoyment as the keenest sportsman coulddesire.
I was getting rapidly better, but still unable to accompany my friend onthese active expeditions. I am not sure that I longed very eagerly toparticipate in their delights. As I got stronger, I think I felt lessinclined to break my habits of convalescence and helplessness--ahelplessness that made me very dependent on Valerie de Rohan.
I was awaking from a pleasant dream of evening skies and perfumedorange-groves and soft music, with a dim vision of floating hair andmuslin dresses, when Victor, with a lighted candle in his hand, enteredmy apartment--a habit he had acquired in boyhood, and which he continuedthrough life--to bid me "Good-morning," and favour me with hisanticipations of his day's amusement.
"I wish you were well enough to come with me, Vere," said he, as hepeered out into the dark morning, not yet streaked with the faintestvestige of dawn. "There is nothing like shooting, after all; war is amistake, Vere, and an uncomfortable process into the bargain; butshooting, I find, gives one quite as much excitement, and has theadvantage of being compatible with a comfortable dwelling and plenty toeat every day. I have changed my note, Vere, and I say _Vive lachasse!_ now."
"Did you wake me to tell me that?" I yawned out, as I warded the lightof the candle from my sleepy eyes, "or do you wish me to get out of mywarm bed this cold morning and hold a discussion with you on thecomparative attraction of shooting men and beasts? The former isperhaps the more exciting, but the latter the more innocent."
Victor laughed. "You lazy, cold Englander!" he replied; "I woke you asI always do when I anticipate a pleasant day, that I may tell you all Iexpect to do. In the first place, I shall have a delightful ride up tothe hills; I wish you could accompany me. A cigar before dawn, after acup of coffee, is worth all the smoking of the rest of the twenty-fourhours put together. I shall gallop the whole way, and a gallop countsfor something in a day's happiness. Confess _that_, at least, you cold,unimpassioned mortal."
I pointed to my wounded leg, and smiled.
"Oh! you will soon be able to get on horseback, and then we two mustscamper about across the country once more, as we used to do when wewere boys," resumed Victor; "in the meantime, Valerie will take care ofyou, and you must get well as quick as you can. What a charming ride itis up to the hills: I shall get there in two hours at the outside, forCaspar goes like the wind; then to-day we mean to beat the woods at thefarthest extremity of the Waldenberg, where my poor father shot thefamous straight-horned stag years and years ago. There are several wildboar in the ravine at the bottom, and it was only the season before lastthat Vocqsal shot a bear within twenty yards of the waterfall."
"By the bye," I interrupted him, "are bears and boars and red-deer theonly game you have in view? or are there not other attractions asfascinating as shooting, in the direction of the Waldenberg?"
It was a random shaft, but it hit the mark; Victor positively blushed,and I could not help thinking as I watched him, what a handsome fellowhe was. A finer specimen of manly beauty you would hardly wish to seethan the young Count de Rohan, as he stood there in his greenshooting-dress, with his powder-horn slung across his shoulder, and hishunting-knife at his waist. Victor was now in the full glow of youthfulmanhood, tall, active, and muscular, with a symmetry of frame that,while it was eminently graceful, qualified him admirably for athleticexercises, and a bearing that can best be described by the emphatic term"high-bred." There was a woman's beauty in his soft blue eyes and silkyhair of the richest brown, but his marked features, straight, determinedeyebrows, and dark, heavy moustaches, redeemed the countenance,notwithstanding its bright winning expression, from the charge ofeffeminacy. Perhaps, after all, the greatest charm about him was hisair of complete enjoyment and utter forgetfulness of self. Everythought of his mind seemed to pass across his handsome face; and tojudge by appearances, the thoughts were of the pleasantest description,and now he absolutely blushed as he hurried on without taking any noticeof my remark--
"If I can bring Valerie back a bear-skin for her sledge, I shall bequite satisfied; and I will tell you all about my _chasse_ and my day'sadventures over a cigar when I return. Meantime, my dear fellow, takecare of yourself, order all my carriages and horses, if they are of theslightest use to you, and farewell, or rather _au revoir_."
I heard him humming his favourite waltz as he strode along the gallery(by the way, the very Ghost's Gallery of our childish adventure), and inanother minute his horse's hoofs were clattering away at a gallop intothe darkness. Whilst I turned round in bed with a weary yawn, and afterpatting Bold's head--a compliment which that faithful animal returned bya low growl, for the old dog, though true and stanch as ever, wasgetting very savage now,--I composed myself to cheat a few more hours ofconvalescence in sleep. What a contrast to my friend! Weary, wounded,and disappointed, I seemed to have lived my life out, and to havenothing more now to hope or to fear. I had failed in ambition, I hadmade shipwreck in love. I was grey and old in heart, though as yetyoung in years; whilst Victor, at the same age as myself, had all hisfuture before him, glowing with the sunshine of good health, goodspirits, and prosperity. Let us follow the child of fortune as hegallops over the plain, the cool breath of morning fanning his brow andlifting his clustering hair.
To a man who is fond of riding--and what Hungarian is not?--there is nocountry so fascinating as his own native plains, where he can gallop onmile after mile, hour after hour, over a flat surface, unbroken even bya molehill, and on a light sandy soil, just so soft as to afford hishorse a pleasant easy footing, but not deep enough to distress him.Although I could never myself appreciate the ecstatic pleasures of agallop, or comprehend why there should be a charm about a horse that isnot possessed by the cow, the giraffe, the hippopotamus, or any otheranimal of the larger order of mammalia, I am not so prejudiced as to beunaware that in this respect I am an exception to the general run of mycountrymen. Now, I cannot shut my eyes to the fact that there are menwhose whole thoughts and wishes centre themselves in this distinguishedquadruped; who grudge not to ruin their wives and families for hissociety; and who, like the Roman Emperor, make the horse the veryhigh-priest of their domestic hearth. To such I would recommend agallop on a hard-puller over the plains of Hungary. Let him go! Thereis nothing to stop him for forty miles; and if you cannot bring him toreason in about a minute and a half, you must for ever forfeit yourclaim to be enrolled amongst the worshipful company of Hippodami towhich it seems the noblest ambition of aspiring youth to belong. Adeacon of the craft was my friend Victor; and I really believe heenjoyed a pleasure totally unknown to the walking biped, as he urgedCaspar along at speed, his fine figure swaying and yielding to everymotion of the horse, with a pliancy that, we are informed by those whopique themselves on such matters,
can only be acquired by long years ofpractice superinduced on a natural, or, as they would term it,"heaven-born," aptitude to excel in the godlike art.
So Victor galloped on like Mazeppa, till the dawn "had dappled intoday"; and save to light a fresh cigar, gave Caspar no breathing-timetill the sun was above the horizon, and the dew-drops on the acaciasglittered like diamonds in the morning light. As he quitted the plainsat last, and dropped his rein on his horse's neck, while he walked himslowly up the stony road that led to the Waldenberg, he caught sight ofa female figure almost in the shadow of the wood, the flutter of whosedress seemed to communicate a corresponding tremor to Victor's heart.The healthy glow paled on his cheek, and his pulses beat fitfully as heurged poor Caspar once more into a gallop against the hill, none theless energetically that for nearly a mile a turn in the road hid theobject of interest from his sight. What a crowd of thoughts, hopes,doubts, and fears passed through his mind during that long mile ofuncertainty, which, had they resolved themselves into words, would havetaken the following form:--"Can she have really come here to meet me,after all? Who else would be on the Waldenberg at this early hour?What can have happened?--is it possible that she has walked all this wayon purpose to see me alone, if only for five minutes, before our_chasse_ begins? Then she loves me, after all!--and yet she told meherself she was so volatile, so capricious. No, it is impossible!--shewon't risk so much for me. And yet it is--it must be! It is just herfigure, her walk,--how well I know them. I have mistrusted, I havemisjudged her; she is, after all, true, loving, and devoted. Oh! Iwill make her such amends." Alas! poor Victor; the lady to whom you arevowing so deep a fidelity--to whom you are so happy to think you owe somuch for her presence on the wild Waldenberg--is at this moment drinkingchocolate in a comfortable dressing-room by a warm stove at least tenmiles off; and though you might, and doubtless would, think herextremely lovely in that snowy _robe de chambre_, with itscherry-coloured ribbons, I question whether you would approve of theutter indifference which her countenance displays to all sublunarythings, yourself included, with the exception of that very dubiousFrench novel on her knee, which she is perusing or rather devouring withmore than masculine avidity. Better draw rein at once, and ride back toEdeldorf, for one hundred yards more will undeceive you at the turnround that old oak-tree; and it is no wonder that you pull up in utterdiscomfiture, and exclaim aloud in your own Hungarian, and in tones ofbitter disgust--"Psha! it's only a Zingynie, after all."
"_Only_ a Zingynie, Count de Rohan!" replied a dark majestic old woman,with a frown on her fine countenance and a flash in her dark eye, as sheplaced herself across the road and confronted the astonished horseman;"_only_ your father's friend and your own; _only_ an interpreter offuturity, who has come to warn you ere it be too late. Turn back, Victorde Rohan, to your own halls at Edeldorf. I have read your horoscope, andit is not good for you to go on."
Victor had by this time recovered his good-humour; he forced a fewflorins into the woman's unwilling hand. "Promise me a good day's sport,mother!" he said, laughingly, "and let me go. I ought to be therealready."
"Turn back, my child, turn back," said the gipsy; "I will save you if Ican. Do you know that there is danger for you on the Waldenberg? Doyou know that I--I, who have held you in my arms when you were a baby,have walked a-foot all the way from the Banat on purpose to warn you?Do you think I know not why you ride here day after day, that you mayshoot God's wild animals with that bad old man? Is it purely for loveof sport, Victor de Rohan? Answer me that!"
He waxed impatient, and drew his reins rudely from the woman's grasp.
"Give your advice when it is asked, mother," said he, "and do not delayme any longer. If you want food and shelter, go down to Edeldorf. Ican waste no more time with a chattering old woman here."
She was furious; she flung the money he had given her down beneath hishorse's feet. Tears rose to her eyes, and her hand shook with passionas she pointed with outstretched arm in the direction of the Waldenberg.
"Ay, go on," said she, "go on, and neglect the gipsy's warning till itis too late. Oh! you are a nobleman and a soldier, and you know best; aman of honour, too, and you will go _there_. Listen to me once for all,Victor de Rohan, for I loved you as a baby, and I would save you evennow, if I could. I slept by the waters of the Danube, and I saw in avision the child I had fondled in my arms full-grown and handsome, andarrived at man's estate. He was dressed as you are now, with powder-hornand hunting-knife slung over his broad shoulders, and the rifle that heset such store by was in his hand. He spoke kindly and smilingly as washis wont, not angrily as you did now. He was mounted on a good horse,and I was proud to watch him ride gallantly away with St. Hubert'sblessing and my own. Again I saw him, but this time not alone. Therewas a fair and lovely woman by his side, dressed in white, and he hunghis head, and walked listlessly and slowly, as though his limbs werefettered and he was sore and sick at heart. I could not bear to thinkthe boy I had loved was no longer free; and when he turned his facetowards me it was pale and sorrowful, and there was suffering on hisbrow. Then my dream changed, and I saw the Waldenberg, with its ruggedpeaks and its waving woods, and the roar of the waterfall soundedstrange and ominous in my ears; and there were clouds gathering in thesky, and the eagle screamed as he swept by on the blast, and the rainplashed down in large heavy drops, and every drop seemed to fall chillupon my heart. Then I sat me down, weary and sorrowful, and I heard themeasured tread of men, and four noble-looking foresters passed by me,bearing a body covered with a cloak upon their shoulders, and one saidto the other, 'Alas for our master! is it not St. Hubert's day?' But acorner of the cloak fell from the face of him they carried, and I knewthe pale features, damp with death, and the rich brown hair falling limpacross the brow--it was the corpse of him whom I had loved as a baby andwatched over as a man, and I groaned in my misery and awoke. Oh, my boy,my young handsome De Rohan, turn, then, back from the Waldenberg, forthe old Zingynie's sake."
"Nonsense, mother," replied Victor, impatiently; "St. Hubert's day ispast; I cannot help your bad dreams, or stay here to prate about themall day. Farewell! and let me go." He turned his horse's head from heras he spoke, and went off at a gallop.
The old gipsy woman looked after him long and wistfully, as the clatterof his horse's hoofs died away on the stony causeway; she sat down bythe roadside, buried her face in her cloak, and wept bitterly andpassionately; then she rose, picked up the money that lay neglected onthe ground, and took her way down the hill, walking slow and dejected,like one who is hopelessly and grievously disappointed, and ever andanon muttering to herself, in words that seemed to form somethingbetween a curse and a prayer.