CHAPTER XXIX
"A MERRY MASQUE"
It was a beautiful sight, one calculated to inspire feelings of mirthand gaiety, even in a heart ill at ease with itself. Such a ball-room asthe Redouten-Saal is perhaps hardly to be seen elsewhere in Europe.Such music I will venture to say can only be heard in Vienna, where thewhole population, from the highest to the lowest, seem to live only thatthey may dance. Everybody knows the effect of brilliant light on theanimal spirits; the walls of these magnificent rooms are of a pale fawncolour, almost approaching to white--the very shade that best refractsand enhances the effect of hundreds of wax candles, shedding their softradiance on the votaries of pleasure below. No wonder people are ingood spirits; no wonder they throng the spacious halls, or parade thelong galleries above, and looking down from their elevated position,pass many a pointed jest and humorous sally on the varied scene thatcrowds the floor below. No wonder they frequent the refreshment-roomsthat skirt these galleries, and flirt and talk nonsense, and quiz eachother with the cumbrous vivacity of the Saxon race. When I entered fromthe quiet street I was dazzled by the glare, and almost stupefied by thehum of many voices, and the pealing notes of one of those waltzes whichStrauss seems to have composed expressly to remind the fallen childrenof Adam of their lost Paradise. From a boy music has made memelancholy--the sweeter the sadder; and although it is a morbid unmanlyfeeling, which I have striven hard to overcome, it has always conqueredme, it will always conquer me to the last. I felt bitterly out of placeamongst these pleasure-worshippers. What had I to do here, where allwere merry and full of enjoyment? My very dress was out of keeping withthe scene, for I was one of a very small minority in civil attire.Gorgeous uniforms, white, blue, and green, glittered all over theball-room; for in Austria no officer nowadays ever appears out ofuniform; and as an army of six hundred thousand men is officered almostexclusively from the aristocracy, the fair ball-goers of Vienna find nolack of partners in gaudy and warlike attire. The ladies were allmasked; not so their respective cavaliers, it being part of theamusement of these balls that the gentler sex alone should appear_incognito_, and so torment their natural prey at more than their usualadvantage; thus many a poisoned dart is planted, many a thrust drivensecurely home, without a chance of a parry or fear of a return. ThoughPity is represented in a female garb, it seems to me that woman, whenshe does strike, strikes harder, straighter, swifter, more unsparinglythan man. Perhaps she suffers as much as she inflicts, and this makesher ruthless and reckless--who knows? if so, she would rather die thanacknowledge it. These are not thoughts for a ball, and yet they crowdedon me more and more as I stood under the musicians' gallery, gazingvacantly at the throng.
Victor and his party had not yet arrived. I was sure to distinguishthem by Ropsley's scarlet uniform, and I was also sure that in such anassemblage of military connoisseurs the costume of Queen Victoria'sbody-guard would attract observation and remark that could not passunnoticed even by so preoccupied a spectator as myself. Besides, I knewthe colour of Valerie's dress; it was to be pink, and of some fabric,beautiful exceedingly, of which I had forgotten the name as soon astold. I was consequently sure of finding them whenever I wished, so Istood quietly in my corner, and watched the crowd go by, without caringto mingle in the stream or partake of the amusements every one elseseemed to find so delightful. How poor and vapid sounded theconversation of the passers-by; how strained the efforts at wit; howforced and unnatural the attempts at mystification! The Germans are toolike ourselves to sustain for any length of time the artificial pace ofbadinage and repartee. It is not the genius of the nation, and theysoon come to a humble jog-trot of old trite jokes, or, worse still,break down completely, and stop once for all. The only man that seemedin his element was a French _attache_, and he indeed entered into thespirit of the thing with a zest and enthusiasm of truly Parisian origin.Surrounded by masks, he kept up a fire of witticism, which never failedor diminished for an instant; like the juggler who plays withhalf-a-dozen balls, now one, now another, now all up in air at once.The Frenchman seemed to ask no respite, to shrink from no emergency; hewas little, he was ugly, he was not even gentleman-like, but he was "theright man in the right place," and the ladies were enchanted with himaccordingly. Surrounded by his admirers, he was at a sufficientdistance for me to watch his proceedings without the risk of appearingimpertinent, and so I looked on, half amused at his readiness, halfdisgusted with his flippancy, till I found my attention wandering oncemore to my own unprofitable and discontented thoughts.
"_Mouton gui reve_," said a voice at my elbow, so close that it made mestart.
I turned rapidly round, and saw a lady standing so near that her dresstouched mine, masked, of course, and thoroughly disguised in figure andappearance. Had it not been for the handsome arm and the camellia sheheld to her lips, I should not have recognised her as the lady I hadspoken to at the door of the Opera, and who had appointed to meet me atthis very spot--a _rendezvous_ which, truth to tell, I had nearlyforgotten.
"_Mouton gui reve_," she repeated, and added, in the same language,"Your dreams must be very pleasant if they can thus abstract you fromall earthly considerations, even music and dancing, and your dutytowards the fair sex."
"Now what _can_ this woman want with me? I wish she would let mealone," was my inward thought: but my outward expression thereof wascouched in more polite language.
"Dreaming! of course I was dreaming--and of Madame; so bright a vision,that I could hardly hope ever to see it realised. I place myself atMadame's feet as the humblest of her slaves."
She laughed in my face. "Do not attempt compliments," she said, "it isnot your _metier_. The only thing I like about you English is yourfrankness and straight-forward character. Take me upstairs. I want tospeak seriously to you. Don't look so preoccupied."
At this instant I recognised Ropsley's scarlet uniform showing to greatadvantage on his tall person in the distance; I could not help glancingtowards the part of the room in which I knew the pink dress was to befound, for the pink dress would of course have entered with Ropsley, andwhere the pink dress was there would be _another_, whom, after to-night,I had resolved _never, never_ to see again.
My mysterious acquaintance had now hooked herself on to my arm, and aswe toiled up the stairs it was necessary to say something. I said thefirst thing that occurred to me. "How did you know I was anEnglishman?" She laughed again.
"_Not_ by your French," she answered; "for without compliment, you speakit as well as I do; but who except an Englishman would go to sleep withhis eyes open in such a place as this? who else would forget such a_rendezvous_ as I gave you here? who else, with a pretty woman on hisarm (I _am_ a pretty woman, though I don't mean to unmask), would belonging to get away, and hankering after a pink dress and a black dominoat the other end of the room? You needn't wince, my friend; I know allyour secrets. You were in the seventh heaven when I interrupted you. Iwish you would come down to earth again."
I will not say where I wished _she_ would go down to, but I answeredgravely and politely enough--"It was not to tell me this you stoppedyour carriage after the opera to-night; tell me how I can serve you--Iam at the disposition of Madame, though I am at a loss to discover whatshe means by her pink dresses and black dominoes."
"I will not laugh at you for being serious," she replied. "I am seriousmyself now, and I shall be for the next ten minutes. Frankly, I knowyou; I know all about you. I know the drawing-room at Edeldorf, and Iknow Valerie de Rohan--don't look so frightened, your secret is safewith me. Be equally frank, Monsieur l'Interprete, and interpretsomething for me, under promise of secrecy. You are an Englishman," sheadded, hurriedly, her manner changing suddenly to one of earnestness,not unmixed with agitation; "can I depend upon you?"
"Implicitly, Madame," was my reply.
"Then tell me why Victor de Rohan is constantly at the Hotel Munsch withhis foreign friends; tell me why he is always in attendance on tha
tproud young lady, that frigid specimen of an English 'meess'? Is ittrue, I only ask you--tell me, is it true?"
Agitated as was the questioner, her words smote home to her listener'sheart. How blind I had been, living with them every day, and never tosee it! while here was a comparative stranger, one at least who, by herown account, had been absent from Vienna for weeks, and she was mistressof the details of our every-day life; she had been watching like a lynx,whilst I was sleeping or dreaming at my post; well, it mattered littlewhich, now. The hand that held her bouquet was shaking visibly, but hervoice was steady and even slightly sarcastic as she read her answer inmy face, and resumed--
"What I have heard, then, is true, and Count de Rohan is indeed anenviable man. You need not say another word, Monsieur l'Interprete, Iam satisfied. I thank you for your kindness. I thank you for yourpatience; you may kiss my hand;" and she gave it me with the air of aqueen. "I am an old friend of his and of his family; I shall go andcongratulate him; you need not accompany me. Adieu! good sleep andpleasant dreams to you."
I followed her with my eyes as she moved away. I saw her walk up toVictor, who had a lady in blue, Constance, of course, upon his arm. Shepassed close by him and whispered in his ear. He started, and I couldsee that he turned deadly pale. For an instant he hesitated as if hewould follow her, but in a twinkling she was lost amongst the crowd, andI saw her no more that night.
I threaded my way to where Ropsley in his scarlet uniform was conversingwith a knot of distinguished Austrian officers; they were listening tohis remarks with attention, and here, as elsewhere, in the ball-room atVienna as in the playground at Everdon, it seemed natural that my oldschool-fellow should take the lead. Sir Harry was by his sideoccasionally putting in his word, somewhat _mal-a-propos_, for though ashrewd capable man, foreign politics were a little out of Sir Harry'sdepth. Behind him stood the much-talked-of pink dress; its wearer wasclosely masked, but I knew the flowers she held in her hand, and Ithought now was the time to bid Valerie a long farewell. She was alittle detached from her party, and I do not think expected me so soon,for she started when I spoke to her, but bowed in acquiescence, and puther arm within mine when I proposed to make the tour of the room withher, although, true to the spirit of a masquerade, not a word escapedher lips. I led her up to the galleries, and placed a seat for her apartfrom the crowd. I did not quite know how to begin, and contrary to herwont, Valerie seemed as silently disposed as myself. At last I tookcourage, and made my plunge.
"I have asked to speak to you, to wish you good-bye," I said. "I amgoing away to-morrow. For my own sake I must stay here no longer. I amgoing back to the East. I am well now, and anxious to be on serviceagain. I have stayed in the Fatherland far too long as it is. To-morrowat daybreak Bold and I must be _en route_ for Trieste." I paused; shewinced, and drew in her breath quickly, but bowed her head withoutspeaking, and I went on--"Mine has been a strange lot, and not a veryhappy one; and this must account to you for my reserved, unsociableconduct, my seeming ingratitude to my best and kindest friends. Believeme, I am not ungrateful, only unhappy. I might have been, I ought tohave been a very different man. I shall to-night bid you farewell,perhaps for ever. You are a true friend; you have always borne andsympathised with me. I will tell you my history; bear and sympathisewith me now. I have been a fool and an idolater all my life; but I havebeen at least consistent in my folly, and true in my idolatry. From myearliest boyhood there has been but one face on earth to me, and thatone face will haunt me till I die. Was it my fault, that seeing herevery day I could not choose but love her? that loving her I would havestriven heart and soul, life and limb, to win her? And I failed. Ifailed, though I would have poured out my heart's blood at her feet. Ifailed, and yet I loved her fondly, painfully, madly as ever. Why am Ian exile from my country--a wanderer on the face of the earth--a ruined,desperate man? Why, because of her. And yet I would not have itotherwise, if I could. It is dearer to me to sorrow for her sake, thanit could ever have been to be happy with another. Valerie, God forbidyou should ever know what it is to love as I have done. God forbid thatthe feeling which ought to be the blessing and the sunshine of a lifeshould turn to its blight and its curse! Valerie!"
She was shaking all over; she was weeping convulsively under her mask: Icould hear her sobs, and yet I was pitiless. I went on. It was such arelief in the selfishness of my sorrow, to pour out the pent-up grief ofyears, to tell any one, even that merry, light-hearted girl, howbitterly I had suffered--how hopeless was my lot. It was not that Iasked for sympathy, it was not that I required pity; but it seemed anecessity of my being, that I should establish in the ears of one livingwitness the fact of my great sorrow, ere I carried it away with me,perhaps to my grave. And all this time the melody of the "Weintrauben"was pealing on, as if in mockery. Oh, that waltz! How often she hadplayed it to me in the drawing-room at Beverley! Surely, surely, itmust smite that cold heart even now.
My companion's sobs were less violent, but she grasped the bouquet inher hand till every flower drooped and withered with the pressure.
"Valerie," I continued, "do not think me vain or presumptuous. I speakto you as a man who has death looking him in the face. I am resolvednever to return. I am no braver than my neighbours, but I have nothingon earth to live for, and I pray to die. I can speak to you now as Iwould not dare to speak if I thought ever to look in your face again.You have been my consoler, my sister, my friend. Oh, I could have daredto love you, Valerie; to strive for you, to win you, had I but beenfree. You are, perhaps, far worthier than that proud, unfeeling girl,and yet--and yet--it cannot be. Farewell, Valerie, dear Valerie; weshall never meet again. You will be happy, and prosperous, and beloved;and you will think sometimes of the poor wounded bird whose broken wingyou healed, only that it might fly away once more into the storm. Asfor me, I have had no future for years. I live only in the past. Boldand I must begin our wanderings again to-morrow--Bold whom she used tofondle, whom I love for her sake. It is not every man, CountessValerie, that will sacrifice his all to an idea, and that idea a falseone!"
"Stop, Vere!" she gasped out wildly; "hush, for mercy's sake, hush!"
Oh! that voice, that voice! was I dreaming? was it possible? was I mad?Still the wild tones of the "Weintrauben" swelled and sank upon mineear; still the motley crowd down below were whirling before my sight;and as surely as I saw and heard, so surely was it Constance Beverleywho laid her hand in mine, and tearing down her mask, turned upon me alook so wild, so mournful, so unearthly, that, through all myastonishment, all my confusion, it chilled me to the heart. Many a dayafterwards--ay, in the very jaws of death, that look haunted me still.
"So true," she muttered; "oh, misery, misery! too late."
"Forgive me, Miss Beverley," I resumed, bitterly, and with coldpoliteness; "this communication was not intended for you. I meant tobid Countess Valerie farewell. You have accidentally heard that which Iwould have died sooner than have told you. It would be affectation todeny it now. I shall not annoy you any further. I congratulate you onyour many conquests, and wish you good-bye."
She was weeping once more, and wrung my hand convulsively.
"Vere, Vere," she pleaded, "do not be so hard upon me; so bitter, somocking, so unlike yourself. Spare me, I entreat you, for I am verymiserable. You do nob know how I am situated. You do not know how Ihave struggled. But I must not talk thus _now_."
She recovered her self-command with a strong effort, and pale as death,she spoke steadily on.
"Vere, we may not make our own lot in life; whatever is, is for thebest. It is too late to think of what might have been. Vere, dearVere, you are my brother--you never can be more to me than a dear,_dear_ brother."
"Why not?" I gasped, for her words, her voice, her trembling frame, hersoft, sweet, mournful looks, had raised once more a legion of hopes thatI thought were buried for ever in my breast; and despite my crueltaunts, I loved her, even whilst I smote, as the fierce human heart canlove, a
nd tear, and rend, and suffer the while, far, far more keenlythan its victim.
"Because I am the promised wife of another. Your friend, Count deRohan, proposed for me this very day, and I accepted him."
She was standing up as she said it, and she spoke in a steady measuredvoice; but she sat down when she had finished, and tried to put her maskon again. Her fingers trembled so that she could not tie the strings.
I offered her my arm, and we went downstairs. Not a word did weexchange till we had nearly reached the place where Sir Harry was stillstanding talking to Victor de Rohan. Ropsley, in his scarlet uniform,was whirling away with a lady in a blue dress, whose figure I recognisedat once for that of the Countess Valerie. It was easy to discover thatthe young ladies, who resembled each other in size and stature, hadchanged dresses; and the Countess, to enhance the deception, had lenther bouquet to her friend. I was giddy and confused, like a man withhis death-hurt, but pride whispered in my ear to bear it in silence andseeming unconcern.
Three paces more would bring us to Sir Harry. I should never see heragain. In a short time she might perhaps read my name in the _Gazette_,and then hard, haughty, false as she was, she would like to know that Ihad been true to her to the last. No, I would not part with her inanger; my better angel conquered, and I wrung her hand, and whispered,"God bless you, Constance." "God bless you, Vere," she replied; and thepressure of those soft trembling fingers thrilled on mine for many aday.
I recollect but little more of that ball in the Redouten-Saal. I believeI congratulated Victor on his approaching marriage. I believe I wishedValerie good-bye, and was a little disappointed at the resignation withwhich she accepted my departure. I have a vague impression that evenRopsley, usually so calm, so selfish, so unsympathising, accompanied mehome, under the impression that I was ill. My mind had been overstrung,and I walked about like a man in a dream. But morning came at last, andwith my cased sword under my arm, and Bold in a leash at my feet, Istood on the platform of the railway-station, waiting for the departureof my train. An English servant, in the well-known livery, touched hishat as he put a letter into my hand. Miser that I was! I would notread it till I was fairly settled in the carriage. Little thought thefaded belle, with her false front, opposite me, or the fat man, with aseal-ring on his fore-finger, by my side, how that scrap of paper wasall my wealth on earth; but they were honest Germans, and possessed thattruest of all politeness, which does as it would be done by. Noinquisitive regards annoyed me during its perusal; no impertinentsympathy remarked on the tears which I am ashamed to say fell thick andfast upon it ere it closed. I have it by me now, that yellow well-wornpaper. I have read those delicate womanly characters by scorchingsunlight, by the faint glimmer of a picket's lantern, far away on theboundless sea, cramped and close in the stifling tent. If indeed "everybullet has its billet," and any one of them had been destined to lodgein my bosom, it must have found its way right through that fragileshield--ay, carried in with it the very words which were ineffaceablyengraven on my heart. No wonder I can remember it all. Here it is:--
"Vere, you must not judge me as men are so prone to judgewomen--harshly, hastily, uncharitably. We are not all frivolous,selfish, and fond of change, caring only for our amusements, our_conquests_, as you call them, and our enmities. You were bitter andcruel to me last night. Indeed, indeed, I feel you had a right to be so,Vere. I am so, _so_ sorry for you. But you must not think I havetreated you unkindly, or with want of confidence. Remember how you haveavoided me ever since we came to Vienna; remember how you have behavedto me as a stranger, or at most a mere acquaintance; how you have neveronce inquired about my prospects, or alluded to old times. Perhaps youwere right; perhaps you felt hurt, proud, and angry; and yet, Vere, Ihad expected better things from _you_. Had I been in your place I thinkI could have forgiven, I think I could have cared for, sympathised with,and respected one whom I was forbidden to love. If I were a man, itseems to me that I should not place happiness, however great, as the onesole aim of my existence; that I should strive to win honour anddistinction, to benefit my fellow-men, and above all, to fulfil my duty,even with no higher reward here below than my own approval. Vere, whena man feels he is doing right, others think so too. I could be proud,oh! so proud, of my brother. Yes, Vere, it is my turn to implore now,and I entreat you let me be a sister, a very dear sister to you. Assuch I will tell you all my griefs, all my doings; as such I can confidein you, write to you, think of you, pray for you, as indeed I do, Vere,every morning and evening of my life. And now let us dismiss at onceand for ever the thoughts of what might have been. The past is beyondrecall--the present, as you used to say, does not exist. The futurenone can call their own. There is but one reality in life, and that isRight. Vere, I have done right. I have followed the path of duty.Brother, I call upon you for your help along the rough steep way; youhave never failed me yet, you will not fail me now.
"You know my mother died when I was very young. Since then my father hasfulfilled the duties of both parents towards his child. As I have grownolder and seen more of the world, I have been better able to appreciatehis affection and devotion to myself. A little girl must have been asad clog upon a man like my dear father, a high-spirited gentleman, fondof the world, fond of society, fond of pleasure. Besides, had it notbeen for me, he would have married again, and he preferred to sacrificehis happiness to his child. Can I ever repay him? No. Whatever mayhave been his faults, he has been a kind, kind father to me. I willtell you all frankly, Vere, as this is the last time the subject canever be mentioned between us. Had I been free to choose, I would havebeen yours. I am not ashamed--nay, I am _proud_ to own it. But youknow how impossible it was, how absolutely my father forbade it. Tohave disobeyed him would have been wicked and ungrateful. I feel thateven you would not have respected me had I done so. But of late he hasbecome most anxious to see me settled in life. From his own hints, andCaptain Ropsley's open assertions, it seems this alone can stave offsome dreadful evil. I do not understand it. I only know I am bound todo all in my power for papa; and that he is entangled with that bad,unprincipled man I feel convinced. Oh, Vere, it might have been far,far worse. In accepting Count de Rohan I have escaped a great andfrightful danger. Besides, I esteem him highly, I like his society, Iadmire his open, honourable character. I have known him all my life; heis your oldest friend--I need not enlarge upon his merits to you. Hissister, too, is a charming, frank-hearted girl. From all I heard, fromall I saw, I had hoped, Vere, that she had effaced in your mind theunhappy recollections of former days. She is beautiful, accomplished,and attractive; can you wonder that I believed what I was told, andjudged, besides, by what I saw? Even now we might be related. You seemto like her, and she would make any one happy. Forgive me, Vere,forgive me for the suggestion. It seems so unfeeling now, whilst I haveyour tones of misery ringing in my ears; and yet, Heaven knows, _your_happiness is the wish nearest my heart. Consult only _that_, and Ishall be satisfied. To hear of your welfare, your success, will make mehappy. I cannot, I must not write to you again. You yourself would notwish it. I ought to write no more now. I feel for you, Vere; I knowhow you must suffer, but the steel must be tempered in the fire, and itis through suffering that men learn to be great and good. There areother prizes in life besides happiness. There is an hour coming for usall, when even the dearest and closest will have to part. May we bothbe ready when that hour arrives. And now it is time to bid the longfarewell; our paths in life must henceforth be separate. Do not thinkunkindly of me, Vere; I may not be with you, but I may be proud of you,and wish you every happiness. Forget me--yet not altogether. Dear,_dear_ brother, God bless you! and farewell!
"Take care of poor Bold."
So it was really over at last. Well, and what then? Had it not beenover, to all intents and purposes, long ago? Yes, there was somethingworth living for, after all. There was no bitterness now, for there wasnothing to hope; the cup had been drained to the dregs, and the veryintox
ication of the draught had passed away, but it had invigorated thesystem and given new life to the heart. It was much to feel that I hadbeen valued and appreciated by such a woman--much to know that my namewould never fall unmeaningly on her ear. And I would be worthy, I wouldnever fail. The sacrifice should be perfected. And though I mightnever see her again on earth, I would preserve her image pure andunsullied in my heart of hearts. Constance Beverley should henceforthand for ever be my ideal of all that was purest and noblest and bestbeloved in woman.