CHAPTER XVIII.
_Joys of the Alhambra_
THE Duke threw himself into his carriage in that mood which fits usfor desperate deeds. What he intended to do, indeed, was doubtful,but something very vigorous, very decided, perhaps very terrible. Anindefinite great effort danced, in misty magnificence, before the visionof his mind. His whole being was to be changed, his life was to berevolutionised. Such an alteration was to take place that even she couldnot doubt the immense yet incredible result. Then despair whispered itscold-blooded taunts, and her last hopeless words echoed in his ear. Buthe was too agitated to be calmly miserable, and, in the poignancy of hisfeelings, he even meditated death. One thing, however, he could obtain;one instant relief was yet in his power, solitude. He panted for theloneliness of his own chamber, broken only by his agitated musings.
The carriage stopped; the lights and noise called him to life. This,surely, could not be home? Whirled open the door, down dashed the steps,with all that prompt precision which denotes the practised hand of anaristocratic retainer. (284)
'What is all this, Symmons? Why did you not drive home?'
'Your Grace forgets that Mr. Annesley and some gentlemen sup with yourGrace to-night at the Alhambra.'
'Impossible! Drive home.'
'Your Grace perhaps forgets that your Grace is expected?' said theexperienced servant, who knew when to urge a master, who, to-morrow,might blame him for permitting his caprice.
'What am I to do? Stay here. I will run upstairs, and put them off.'
He ran up into the crush-room. The opera was just over, and some partieswho were not staying the ballet, had already assembled there. As hepassed along he was stopped by Lady Fitz-pompey, who would not let sucha capital opportunity escape of exhibiting Caroline and the young Duketogether.
'Mr. Bulkley,' said her Ladyship, 'there must be something wrong aboutthe carriage.' An experienced, middle-aged gentleman, who jobbed on insociety by being always ready and knowing his cue, resigned the arm ofLady Caroline St. Maurice and disappeared.
'George,' said Lady Fitz-pompey, 'give your arm to Carry just for onemoment.'
If it had been anybody but his cousin, the Duke would easily haveescaped; but Caroline he invariably treated with marked regard; perhapsbecause his conscience occasionally reproached him that he had nottreated her with a stronger feeling. At this moment, too, she wasthe only being in the world, save one, whom he could remember withsatisfaction: he felt that he loved her most affectionately, but somehowshe did not inspire him with those peculiar feelings which thrilled hisheart at the recollection of May Dacre.
In this mood he offered an arm, which was accepted; but he could not ina moment assume the tone of mind befitting his situation and the scene.He was silent; for him a remarkable circumstance.
'Do not stay here,' said Lady Caroline is a soft voice, which her mothercould not overhear. 'I know you want to be away. Steal off.'
'Where can I be better than with you, Carry?' said the young Duke,determined not to leave her, and loving her still more for her modestkindness; and thereon he turned round, and, to show that he was sincere,began talking with his usual spirit. Mr. Bulkley of course neverreturned, and Lady Fitz-pompey felt as satisfied with her diplomatictalents as a plenipotentiary who has just arranged an advantageoustreaty.
Arundel Dacre came up and spoke to Lady Fitz-pompey. Never did twopersons converse together who were more dissimilar in their manner andtheir feelings; and yet Arundel Dacre did contrive to talk; a resultwhich he could not always accomplish, even with those who couldsympathise with him. Lady Fitz-pompey listened to him with attention;for Arundel Dacre, in spite of his odd manner, or perhaps in some degreein consequence of it, had obtained a distinguished reputation both amongmen and women; and it was the great principle of Lady Fitz-pompey toattach to her the distinguished youth of both sexes. She was pleasedwith this public homage of Arundel Dacre; because he was one who, withthe reputation of talents, family, and fashion, seldom spoke to anyone,and his attentions elevated their object. Thus she maintained herempire.
St. Maurice now came up to excuse himself to the young Duke for notattending at the Alhambra to-night. 'Sophy could not bear it,' hewhispered: 'she had got her head full of the most ridiculous fancies,and it was in vain to speak: so he had promised to give up that, as wellas Crockford's.'
This reminded our hero of his party, and the purpose of his entering theopera. He determined not to leave Caroline till her carriage was called;and he began to think that he really must go to the Alhambra, after all.He resolved to send them off at an early hour.
'Anything new to-night, Henry?' asked his Grace, of Lord St. Maurice. 'Ihave just come in.'
'Oh! then you have seen them?'
'Seen whom?'
'The most knowing _forestieri_ we ever had. We have been speaking ofnothing else the whole evening. Has not Caroline told you? Arundel Dacreintroduced me to them.'
'Who are they?'
'I forget their names. Dacre, how do you call the heroes of the night?Dacre never answers. Did you ever observe that? But, see! there theycome.'
The Duke turned, and observed Lord Darrell advancing with two gentlemenwith whom his Grace was well acquainted. These were Prince Charles deWhiskerburg and Count Frill.
M. de Whiskerburg was the eldest son of a prince, who, besides beingthe premier noble of the empire, possessed, in his own country, a verypretty park of two or three hundred miles in circumference, in theboundaries of which the imperial mandate was not current, but hid itsdiminished head before the supremacy of a subject worshipped under thetitle of John the Twenty-fourth. M. de Whiskerburg was a young man,tall, with a fine figure, and fine features. In short, a sort ofHungarian Apollo; only his beard, his mustachios, his whiskers,his _favoris_, his _padishas_, his sultanas, his mignonettas, hisdulcibellas, did not certainly entitle him to the epithet of _imberbis_,and made him rather an apter representative of the Hungarian Hercules.
Count Frill was a different sort of personage. He was all rings andringlets, ruffles, and a little rouge. Much older than his companion,short in stature, plump in figure, but with a most defined waist, fair,blooming, with a multiplicity of long light curls, and a perpetual smileplaying upon his round countenance, he looked like the Cupid of an operaOlympus.
The Duke of St. James had been intimate with these distinguishedgentlemen in their own country, and had received from them many anddistinguished attentions. Often had he expressed to them his sinceredesire to greet them in his native land. Their mutual anxiety of neveragain meeting was now removed. If his heart, instead of being bruised,had been absolutely broken, still honour, conscience, the glory of hishouse, his individual reputation, alike urged him not to be cold orbackward at such a moment. He advanced, therefore, with a due mixtureof grace and warmth, and congratulated them on their arrival. At thismoment, Lady Fitz-pompey's carriage was announced. Promising to returnto them in an instant, he hastened to his cousin; but Mr. Arundel Dacrehad already offered his arm, which, for Arundel Dacre, was really prettywell.
The Duke was now glad that he had a small reunion this evening, as hecould at once pay a courtesy to his foreign friends. He ran into theSignora's dressing-room, to assure her of his presence. He stumbledupon Peacock Piggott as he came out, and summoned him to fill the vacantplace of St. Maurice, and then sent him with a message to some friendswho yet lingered in their box, and whose presence, he thought, might bean agreeable addition to the party.
You entered the Alhambra by a Saracenic cloister, from the ceiling ofwhich an occasional lamp threw a gleam upon some Eastern arms hung upagainst the wall. This passage led to the armoury, a room of moderatedimensions, but hung with rich contents. Many an inlaid breastplate,many a Mameluke scimitar and Damascus blade, many a gemmed pistoland pearl-embroidered saddle, might there be seen, though viewed in asubdued and quiet light. All seemed hushed, and still, and shrouded inwhat had the reputation of being a palace of pleasure.
In this chamber assembled the ex
pected guests. And having all arrived,they proceeded down a small gallery to the banqueting-room. The roomwas large and lofty. It was fitted up as an Eastern tent. The wallswere hung with scarlet cloth, tied up with ropes of gold. Round the roomcrouched recumbent lions richly gilt, who grasped in their paws a lance,the top of which was a coloured lamp. The ceiling was emblazoned withthe Hauteville arms, and was radiant with burnished gold. A cresset lampwas suspended from the centre of the shield, and not only emitted anequable flow of soft though brilliant light, but also, as the aromaticoil wasted away, distilled an exquisite perfume.
The table blazed with golden plate, for the Bird of Paradise lovedsplendour. At the end of the room, under a canopy and upon a throne, theshield and vases lately executed for his Grace now appeared. Everythingwas gorgeous, costly, and imposing; but there was no pretence, savein the original outline, at maintaining the Oriental character. Thefurniture was French; and opposite the throne Canova's Hebe, boundedwith a golden cup from a pedestal of ormolu.
The guests are seated; but after a few minutes the servants withdraw.Small tables of ebony and silver, and dumb waiters of ivory and gold,conveniently stored, are at hand, and Spiridion never leaves the room.The repast was refined, exquisite, various. It was one of those meetingswhere all eat. When a few persons, easy and unconstrained, unencumberedwith cares, and of dispositions addicted to enjoyment, get together atpast midnight, it is extraordinary what an appetite they evince. Singersalso are proverbially prone to gourmandise; and though the Bird ofParadise unfortunately possessed the smallest mouth in all Singingland,it is astonishing how she pecked! But they talked as well as feasted,and were really gay.
'Prince,' said the Duke, 'I hope Madame de Harestein approves of yourtrip to England?'
The Prince only smiled, for he was of a silent disposition, andtherefore wonderfully well suited his travelling companion.
'Poor Madame de Harestein!' exclaimed Count Frill. 'What despair she wasin, when you left Vienna, my dear Duke. I did what I could to amuse her.I used to take my guitar, and sing to her morning and night, but withouteffect. She certainly would have died of a broken heart, if it had notbeen for the dancing-dogs.'
'Did they bite her?' asked a lady who affected the wit of Lord Squib,'and so inoculate her with gaiety.'
'Everybody was mad about the dancing-dogs. They came from Peru, anddanced the mazurka in green jackets with a _jabot_. Oh! what a _jabot!_'
'I dislike animals excessively,' remarked another lady, who was asrefined as Mr. Annesley, her model.
'Dislike the dancing-dogs!' said Count Frill. 'Ah! my good lady, youwould have been enchanted. Even the Kaiser fed them with pistachio nuts.Oh! so pretty! Delicate leetle things, soft shining little legs, andpretty little faces! so sensible, and with such _jabots!_'
'I assure you they were excessively amusing,' said the Prince, in asoft, confidential undertone to his neighbour, Mrs. Montfort, who was asdignified as she was beautiful, and who, admiring his silence, which shetook for state, smiled and bowed with fascinating condescension.
'And what else has happened very remarkable, Count, since I left you?'asked Lord Darrell.
'Nothing, nothing, my dear Darrell. This _betise_ of a war has madeus all serious. If old Clamstandt had not married that gipsy, littleDugiria, I really think I should have taken a turn to Belgrade.'
'You should not eat so much, Poppet!' drawled Charles Annesley toa Spanish danseuse, tall, dusky and lithe, glancing like a lynx andgraceful as a jennet. She was very silent, but no doubt indicatedthe possession of Cervantic humour by the sly calmness with which sheexhausted her own waiter, and pillaged her neighbours.
'Why not?' said a little French actress, highly finished like aminiature, who scarcely ate anything, but drank champagne and chattedwith equal rapidity and composure, and who was always ready to fightanybody's battle, provided she could get an opportunity to talk. 'Whynot, Mr. Annesley? You never will let anybody eat. I never eat myself,because every night, having to talk so much, I am dry, dry, dry; soI drink, drink, drink. It is an extraordinary thing that there is nolanguage which makes you so thirsty as French.'
'What can be the reason?' asked a sister of Mrs. Montfort, a tall fairgirl, who looked sentimental, but was only silly.
'Because there is so much salt in it,' said Lord Squib.
'Delia,' drawled Mr. Annesley, 'you look very pretty to-night!'
'I am charmed to charm you, Mr. Annesley. Shall I tell you what Lord BonMot said of you?'
'No, _ma mignonne!_ I never wish to hear my own good things.'
'Spoiled, you should add,' said the fair rival of Lord Squib, 'if BonMot be in the case.'
'Lord Bon Mot is a most gentlemanlike man,' said Delia, indignant atan admirer being attacked. 'He always wants to be amusing. Whenever hedines out, he comes and sits with me for half an hour to catch the airof the Parisian badinage.'
'And you tell him a variety of little things?' asked Lord Squib,insidiously drawing out the secret tactics of Bon Mot.
'_Beaucoup, beaucoup_,' said Delia, extending two little white handssparkling with gems. 'If he come in ever so, how do you call it? heavy,not that: in the domps. Ah! it is that. If ever he come in the domps, hegoes out always like a _soufflee_.'
'As empty, I have no doubt,' said the witty lady.
'And as sweet, I have no doubt,' said Lord Squib; 'for Delcroixcomplains sadly of your excesses, Delia.'
'Mr. Delcroix complain of me! That, indeed, is too bad. Just because Irecommend Montmorency de Versailles to him for an excellent customer,ever since he abuses me, merely because Montmorency has forgot, in thehurry of going off, to pay his little account.'
'But he says you have got all the things,' said Lord Squib, whose greatamusement was to put Delia in a passion.
'What of that?' screamed the little lady. 'Montmorency gave them me.'
'Don't make such a noise,' said the Bird of Paradise. 'I never can eatwhen there is a noise. Duke,' continued she in a fretful tone, 'theymake such a noise!'
'Annesley, keep Squib quiet.'
'Delia, leave that young man alone. If Isidora would talk a littlemore, and you eat a little more, I think you would be the most agreeablelittle ladies I know. Poppet! put those bonbons in your pocket. Youshould never eat sugarplums in company.'
Thus, talking agreeable nonsense, tasting agreeable dishes, and sippingagreeable wines, an hour ran on. Sweetest music from an unseen sourceever and anon sounded, and Spiridion swung a censer full of perfumesround the chamber. At length the Duke requested Count Frill to give thema song. The Bird of Paradise would never sing for pleasure, only forfame and a slight cheque. The Count begged to decline, and at the sametime asked for a guitar. The Signora sent for hers; and his Excellency,preluding with a beautiful simper, gave them some slight thing to thiseffect.
I.
Charming Bignetta! charming Bignetta! What a gay little girl is charming Bignetta! She dances, she prattles, She rides and she rattles; But she always is charming, that charming Bignetta!
II
Charming Bignetta! charming Bignetta! What a wild little witch is charming Bignetta! When she smiles, I'm all madness; When she frowns, I'm all sadness; But she always is smiling, that charming Bignetta!
III.
Charming Bignetta! charming Bignetta! What a wicked young rogue is charming Bignetta! She laughs at my shyness, And flirts with his Highness; Yet still she is charming, that charming Bignetta!
IV.
Charming Bignetta! charming Bignetta! What a dear little girl is charming Bignetta! 'Think me only a sister,' Said she trembling: I kissed her. What a charming young sister is charming Bignetta!
To choicer music chimed his gay guitar 'In Este's Halls,' yet still hissong served its purpose, for it raised a smile.
'I wrote that for Madame Sapiepha, at the Congress of Verona,' saidCount Frill. 'It has been thought amusing.'
'Madame
Sapiepha!' exclaimed the Bird of Paradise. 'What! that prettylittle woman, who has such pretty caps?'
'The same! Ah! what caps! what taste!'
'You like caps, then?' asked the Bird of Paradise, with a sparkling eye.
'Oh! if there be anything more than another that I know most, it is thecap. Here,' said he, rather oddly unbuttoning his waistcoat, 'you seewhat lace I have got.'
'Ah me! what lace!' exclaimed the Bird, in rapture. 'Duke, look at hislace. Come here, sit next to me. Let me look at that lace.' She examinedit with great attention, then turned up her beautiful eyes with afascinating smile. '_Ah! c'est jolie, n'est-ce pas?_ But you like caps.I tell you what, you shall see my caps. Spiridion, go, _mon cher_, andtell Ma'amselle to bring my caps, all my caps, one of each set.'
In due time entered the Swiss, with the caps, all the caps, one of eachset. As she handed them in turn to her mistress, the Bird chirped apanegyric upon each.
'That is pretty, is it not, and this also? but this is my favourite.What do you think of this border? _c'est belle cette garniture? etce jabot, c'est tres-seduisant, n'est-ce pas? Mais voici_, the cap ofPrincess Lichtenstein. _C'est superb, c'est mon favori_. But I also lovevery much this of the Duchess de Berri. She gave me the pattern herself.And, after, all, this _cornette a petite sante_ of Lady Blaze is a dearlittle thing; then, again, this _coiffe a dentelle_ of Lady Macaroni isquite a pet.'
'Pass them down,' said Lord Squib; 'we want to look at them.'Accordingly they were passed down. Lord Squib put one on.
'Do I look superb, sentimental, or only pretty?' asked his Lordship. Theexample was contagious, and most of the caps were appropriated. No onelaughed more than their mistress, who, not having the slightest idea ofthe value of money, would have given them all away on the spot; not fromany good-natured feeling, but from the remembrance that tomorrow shemight amuse half an hour in buying others.
Whilst some were stealing, and she remonstrating, the Duke clappedhis hands like a caliph. The curtain at the end of the apartment wasimmediately withdrawn, and the ball-room stood revealed.
It was the same size as the banqueting-hall. Its walls exhibited a longperspective of golden pilasters, the frequent piers of which were oflooking-glass, save where, occasionally, a picture had been, as it were,inlaid in its rich frame. Here was the Titian Venus of the Tribune,deliciously copied by a French artist: there, the Roman Fornarina, withher delicate grace, beamed like the personification of Raf-faelle'sgenius. Here, Zuleikha, living in the light and shade of that magicianGuercino, in vain summoned the passions of the blooming Hebrew: andthere, Cleopatra, preparing for her last immortal hour, proved by whatwe saw that Guido had been a lover.
The ceiling of this apartment was richly painted, and richly gilt: fromit were suspended three lustres by golden cords, which threw a softenedlight upon the floor of polished and curiously inlaid woods. At the endof the apartment was an orchestra.
Round the room waltzed the elegant revellers. Softly and slowly, led bytheir host, they glided along like spirits of air; but each time thatthe Duke passed the musicians, the music became livelier, and the motionmore brisk, till at length you might have mistaken them for a college ofspinning dervishes. One by one, an exhausted couple retreated from thelists. Some threw themselves on a sofa, some monopolised an easy chair;but in twenty minutes the whirl had ceased. At length Peacock Piggottgave a groan, which denoted returning energy, and raised a stretchingleg in air, bringing up, though most unwittingly, upon his foot, one ofthe Bird's sublime and beautiful caps.
'Halloa! Piggott, armed _cap-au-pied_, I see,' said Lord Squib. Thisjoke was a signal for general resuscitation.
The Alhambra formed a quadrangle: all the chambers were on the basementstory. In the middle of the court of the quadrangle was a beautifulfountain; and the court was formed by a conservatory, which was builtalong each side of the interior square, and served, like a cloisteror covered way, for a communication between the different parts of thebuilding. To this conservatory they now repaired. It was broad, fullof rare and delicious plants and flowers, and brilliantly illuminated.Busts and statues were intermingled with the fairy grove; and a rich,warm hue, by a skilful arrangement of coloured lights, was thrown overmany a nymph and fair divinity, many a blooming hero and beardless god.Here they lounged in different parties, talking on such subjects asidlers ever fall upon; now and then plucking a flower, now and thenlistening to the fountain, now and then lingering over the distantmusic, and now and then strolling through a small apartment which openedto their walks, and which bore the title of the Temple of Gnidus. Here,Canova's Venus breathed an atmosphere of perfume and of light; thatwonderful statue, whose full-charged eye is not very classical, to besure; but then, how true!
While they were thus whiling away their time, Lord Squib proposed avisit to the theatre, which he had ordered to be lit up. To the theatrethey repaired. They rambled over every part of the house, amusedthemselves with a visit to the gallery, and then collected behind thescenes. They were excessively amused with the properties; and Lord Squibproposed they should dress themselves. In a few minutes they were allin costume. A crowd of queens and chambermaids, Jews and chimney-sweeps,lawyers and Charleys, Spanish Dons, and Irish officers, rushed uponthe stage. The little Spaniard was Almaviva, and fell into magnificentattitudes, with her sword and plume. Lord Squib was the old woman ofBrentford, and very funny. Sir Lucius Grafton, Harlequin; and Darrell,Grimaldi. The Prince, and the Count without knowing it, figured aswatchmen. Squib whispered Annesley, that Sir Lucius O'Trigger mightappear in character, but was prudent enough to suppress the joke.
The band was summoned, and they danced quadrilles with infinite spirit,and finished the night, at the suggestion of Lord Squib, by breakfastingon the stage. By the time this meal was despatched the purple light ofmorn had broken into the building, and the ladies proposed an immediatedeparture.
BOOK IV.