CHAPTER SIX.
"ECSTASY!"
"...From thy rose-red lips my name Floweth; and then, as in a swoon, With dinning sound my ears are rife, My tremulous tongue faltereth, I lose my colour, I lose my breath, I drink the cup of a costly death, Brimm'd with delirious draughts of warmest life!"
Some few days after Christmas, little Miss Pimpernell gave a smallevening party for the especial delectation of those who had someritoriously assisted in the decoration of the church.
Of course, it was not at all like the "barty" the celebrated HansBreitman "giv'd" to his friends for the imbibition of "lager beer" adlibitum; but still, one may feel inclined to exclaim, in the exquisitebroken words of that worthy, "Where am dat barty now?" For, time hasworked its usual changes; and all of us have long since been divided,separated, scattered, and dispersed to the four winds of heaven, so tospeak, to the severance of old ties, and all kindred associations.
I had not had the slightest inkling that the "little affair" was aboutto "come off" beforehand. I had met Miss Pimpernell out the verymorning of the day on which it took place; yet--sly old lady that shewas--she hardly gave me a hint of her social intent.
She certainly said that she had a little surprise in store for me; butwhen I pressed her to learn what that "something" was, she preserved aprovoking reticence, declining to enlighten me any further. "No,Frank," she said in her cheery way, "it is of no use your trying to coaxme with your `dear Miss Pimpernell,' or think to flatter me intodivulging my news by false compliments paid to my shabby old bonnet!No, you shall hear it all in good time, so don't be impatient. I won'ttell you another word now, my boy, there!" she added finally, trottingoff on her parochial rounds and leaving me in suspense until theevening, to exercise my imagination regarding her contemplated"surprise."
Then, however, I was let into the secret; and the party was all the morepleasurable from coming quite unexpectedly. I always like doing thingson the spur of the moment, without premeditation. If you look out foranything long beforehand, it is apt to pall on the palate when itarrives within your reach. "Unlooked-for blessings" are generally twiceas grateful as those which you are led to expect--so, at least, I havefound them.
On my return home from a walk in the evening, I found a little note ofinvitation awaiting me, in which Miss Pimpernell requested me to comeround to the vicarage precisely at eight, "dressed all in my best," likethe impassioned lover of "Sally in our Alley," as she "expected a fewfriends." She added in a postscript, underlined with one of hercharacteristic dashes, that _Miss Clyde_ would be there, if that wouldbe any further inducement for me.
Oh Miss Pimpernell, you machiavellian old lady! I would not havethought you could have practised such great dissimulation. Would Min'spresence be any further inducement to me! Wouldn't it? Oh, dear no,certainly not!
In ten minutes' time I was dressed en regle and at the vicarage.
It was quite a nice little party. Not one too many, and not a singlediscordant element. Old ladies and gentlemen seemed to have beenrigidly tabooed, with the exception, naturally, of our host and hostess,the vicar and his sister; for Lady Dasher, owing to some fortunateconjuncture of circumstances, was unable to come: Miss Spight was busyat home, entertaining an elderly relative who had suddenly thrownherself on her hospitality; while Mr Mawley was at Oxford enjoying theseason with sundry dogmatic Fellows of his own calibre. Minus thesecharmers, our gathering was pretty much what it had been down in the oldschool-room at the decorations. There were the Dasher girls, two youngcollegians from Cambridge--ex-pupils of the vicar--to entertain Bessieand Seraphine, Lizzie Dangler, Horner with his inseparable eye-glass andfaultless toilet, Baby Blake for _his_ entertainment--Miss Pimpernellwas a wise caterer--Min, and myself.
Our hostess had so planned that we should all pair off, each lady havingher cavalier, as she said, in the good old-fashioned way. She plannedvery ably, as we had one of the pleasantest evenings imaginable, withoutany stiffness or formality or being forced to make a toil of enjoyment,in the customary manner of most fashionable reunions: we were not"fashionable," thank goodness. But we had "a good time" of it, as youngAmerica says, all the same.
What did we do?
Well, then, there were none of those abominable "round games," which,unless they descend to vulgar romping, are the dreariest attempts atconviviality possible to conceive; none of those dreadful and much-to-be-avoided exactions and remissions of "forfeits," that plunge everybodyinto embarrassing situations, and destroy, instead of creating,sociability; none of those stock--so-called--"drawing-roomentertainments;" in fact, which always result in hopeless boredom. But,we had a little music and part-singing: a little lively, general chit-chat, in which all could join and each take a share: a few anecdoteswell told--a complete success, to be brief, in making us all feelperfectly natural and at ease, for we were allowed to do and say exactlywhat we pleased in moderation.
Each of us was made to feel that his or her absence would have detractedfrom the happiness of the rest; and _that_ is the true art of treatingone's guests--an art which both the vicar and Miss Pimpernell hadapparently studied to perfection, although it really proceeded fromtheir natural good-heartedness.
But, amongst our company I had almost forgotten to enumerate the name ofMonsieur Parole d'Honneur, one of the nicest of French emigres and adear friend of the vicar's; one known to most of us, also, for manyyears.
Perhaps you may chance to remember the noise that the great Barnardextradition case made in the newspapers--and, indeed, all over Englandtoo, for that matter--in the year 1859?
You don't? Why, it nearly led to a war between France and Britain! Didyou never hear how the fiercely-moustachioed Gallic colonels swaggeredabout the Boulogne cafes, loud in their denunciations of perfidiousAlbion, while smoking their endless cigarettes and sipping theirpoisonous absinthe; and how, but for the staunch fidelity of the ill-fated Emperor Napoleon--since deserted by his quondam ally--and thejaunty pluck of our then gallant premier, brave "old Pam"--whose loss wehave had ample reason, oftentimes of late, to deplore--there might havebeen a sudden rupture of that "entente cordiale" between the twonations, which was cemented in the Crimea, and expired but a couple ofyears ago under the besieged walls of Paris?
Ah! that was a time when the whilom "Cupid's" boast, "Civis Anglicanussum," was not an empty claim, as it is in these days of poverty-stricken"retrenchments," and senile forfeitures of all that made England greatand grand through five hundred years of history!
But the Barnard case--you must have heard of that, surely? It was justabout the period when the wonderful volunteer fever commenced to ragewith such intense earnestness over here; and when our "valuableauxiliary forces"--as amateur military critics in the House are so fondof repeating--were first instituted, in the fear of a second invasion ofthis sacred realm of liberty. We did not then place much reliance onthe "streak of silver sea," when in the direct face of danger, as agreat "statesman" would have us do now that it no longer confronts us!Ha, at last you recollect, eh? I need not prompt your memory anyfurther.
Bien. It was at this period that Monsieur Parole d'Honneur was advisedin high official circles that it would be for the benefit of his healthif he quitted French soil for awhile. He had been known to have oncebeen intimately associated with Mazzini, and that gentleman was supposedto be implicated in the Orsini affair--when an attempt was made againstNapoleon's life in the Place d'Opera; so, as Parole d'Honneur hadlikewise been heard to speak rather unguardedly at a political club ofpatriots to which he belonged, the prefectorial mind "putting that andthat together," very reasonably presumed that our friend must have someconnection with the bomb conspirators. The consequences were, thatParole d'Honneur was told to quit Paris instantly, and leave Franceitself within four-and-twenty hours,--although he was innocent of theslightest knowledge concerning the plot.
However, there was no help for it. Prefects are not in the habit ofdiscussing their suspicions with suspected persons; and thus h
e had tobid adieu to his country in a hurry. He thereupon shook off its dustfrom his papier-mache-soled boots, coming to England, in the manner ofhis compatriots, to earn his livelihood as a teacher of languages.
Having the highest recommendations, he easily obtained as muchemployment as he wanted, and devoted himself to giving conversationallectures to a circle of collegiate establishments lying in differentparts of London, which he visited bi-weekly, or so, in turn. Amongstthese was one in our suburb; hence, first an acquaintance and then alasting friendship sprung up between him and the vicar, both taking toeach other immensely through their large-hearted philosophy; thus, too,I also got acquainted with one of the brightest, cheeriest, kindestGauls of many that I have had the happiness of knowing.
At the time of which I write, Parole d'Honneur was a very happy emigre,despite his enforced exile in the land of fogs. Indeed, he was an exileno longer in the strict sense of the word, as he had received permissionto go back to France whenever he pleased; a permission of which he hadalready availed himself, having paid a visit, in company with me, toParis, the previous month, at the time when I had been so miserable anddespondent about not meeting Min again. However, he had become so fondof England and things English, from his long enforced residence here,that he avowed his determination of living and dying amongst us--thatis, unless his country and "the cause" should have need of his services.
On the evening of Miss Pimpernell's little party, this patrioticgentleman, in the presence of ladies, whom he reverenced with a knight-errant's devotion and homage, was the life of our circle. He carried anaroma of fun and light-heartedness about him that was simply contagious.He sang Beranger's ditties with a verve and elan that brought backbonny Paris and student days to those of us who were acquainted withthem. One moment he played exquisite bits from Mozart on his violin, tothe accompaniment of the vicar's violoncello, that were most entrancing;the next, scraped away at some provoking tarantella that almost set thewhole of us dancing, in defiance of the proprieties generally observedat the vicarage.
We were asking each other riddles and conundrums. Monsieur Parolesuddenly bethought him of one. "Ah, ha!" he said, "I heard one goodreedel ze ozer day. A leetle mees at one of my academies told it me.Young ladies, why is ze old gentlemans, le diable, zat is--"
"O-oh! Monsieur Parole!" ejaculated Miss Pimpernell.
"Your pardon, Mees Peemple," said Monsieur Parole--he never could giveher the additional syllable to her name--"Your pardon, Mees Peemple; butwe wiz call hims somesing else. Why is--ah, ha! I have got hims. Whyis Lucifers like, when riding sur un souris, on a mouse, like the verysame tings? You gives him up? Ah, ha! I t'ought you would never guesshim!" he continued, on our professing our ignorance of the solution."Because he is synonime!--vat you calls sin-on-a-mouse! Ha, ha, ha!"and he burst into a chuckle of his merry laughter.
This reminded Horner of one. "Bai-ey Je-ove!" he said, after a longpause. "I--ah, came akwass a vewy good one the othah day--ah. A blindbeggah had a bwoth-ah, and the bwoth-ah died; now, what welation was--ah, the blind beggah to the--ah, dead beggah?"
"His sister, of course," said Bessie Dasher, promptly.
"Weally," said Horner, who usually put on most of his _w_ and _r_ ishairs when in the presence of ladies in evening costume: in the day hesometimes spoke more plainly. "Weally, how clevah you ah! I asshawyou, I didn't gwess it for neawy a week--ah!"
"I can quite believe _that_!" said Seraphine, wickedly.
"Did you ever hear any of Praed's charades?" I asked Min.
"No," she said. "Do you recollect some?"
"Ah," put in the vicar, "Praed was a clever fellow; and a true poet,too."
"Indeed?" said Min. "I have heard his name, but I've never seenanything that he wrote. Do you recollect any of his charades, MrLorton?" she asked again, turning to me.
"I think I remember one," I said, repeating those three spirited verseswhich are well-known, beginning "Come from my First, ay, come!"
"How beautiful the lines are!" said Min; "but it seems a pity that theyshould be thrown away on a mere charade."
"That was exactly Praed's way," said the vicar. "I remember well, whenI was a young man at college, what a stir his name made, and what greatthings were predicted of him, that he never lived to realise."
"He died young, did he not?" asked Min.
"Yes," said the vicar, "in his thirty-second year. If he had lived, hewould probably have been one of the foremost men in England to-day."
"`Whom the gods love, die young,'" quoted I grandiloquently, likeMawley.
"True," said the vicar. "There is more philosophy in that, than in mostof those old Pagan beliefs: there is a glimmering of Christianity aboutthe saying."
"I wonder," said Miss Pimpernell, "whether there is any connectionbetween it and the text, `Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth'?"
"I can't say, my dear," said the vicar, "if you are right in thisinstance; but there is often a great similarity between different partsof the Bible and the utterances of profane writers."
"Have you ever noticed, sir," said Min, "how David says in the Psalmsthat `all the foundations of the world are out of course;' whileShakespeare makes Hamlet observe that `the world is out of joint'?"
"Yes," said the vicar, "and there are many other parallels that could bedrawn from Shakespeare. He was frequently indebted to the inspiredvolume for his reflections; whether wittingly or unknowingly, I cannotsay."
"I think," said I, "that Douglas Jerrold's celebrated bon mot aboutAustralia must be put down to the same source. He said, if youremember, speaking of the prolific nature of the soil of the newcontinent, `Tickle her with a hoe, and she will laugh with a harvest;'and in the Psalms we have the verse, `The valleys also shall stand sothick with corn, that they shall laugh and sing.'"
"It is debatable," said the vicar, "whether we should ascribe thesestriking resemblances to unconscious plagiarism or to similarity ofthought."
"We will have to agree with Solomon," said I, "that there is nothing newunder the sun!"
"True enough, Frank," said the vicar. "From the explorations at Ninevehand at Pompeii, we have already learnt that the ancients well knew ofwhat we in our pride long ascribed to modern inquiry and research."
Miss Pimpernell here calling upon her brother and Monsieur Parole forsome more of their concerted music, they sat down to a sonata ofBeethoven. The remainder of us broke up into little coteries; Min and Ihaving a long quiet talk, under cover of the deep tones of the vicar'svioloncello, in a corner by the piano, where we entrenched ourselves forsome time undisturbed.
What did we say?
I'm sure I can't tell you. Probably we talked about the weather and thecrops; the prospects of the coming season; the expected new tenor at theopera, who was said to rival Orpheus and put Mario into the shade; or,peradventure, we discussed political economy, grumbling over the highprice of meat and the general expenses of housekeeping! But, please putyourself in our place, and you will be able, I have no doubt, to imagineall we could possibly have found to chat about, much better, probably,than I can describe it. I will merely say for your guidance, withoutentering into details, that it was happiness, rapture to me, to be onlybeside her--will that enlighten you at all?
Later on, came supper.
After that we had some part-singing of good old glees, like "The Choughand Crow," "Here in cool Grot," and the ever-beautiful "Dawn of Day."We then separated, after the pleasantest of evenings, when it was closeon midnight:--Miss Pimpernell's party had been emphatically a socialsuccess.
Of course I walked home with Min. I had been so much with her of late,that I somehow or other began to look upon her as my own property; andwas jealous of the interference of anyone else. You should have seenhow I glared at Horner when he suggested, good-naturedly enough, thatMin should go round, by the way that the Dasher girls and the otherswent, under his escort! How overjoyed I was when she politely declinedthe offer, saying that, as her mamma was sitting up for
her, she musthurry home by the shortest way!
She looked like a little fairy, tripping along beside me through thefresh-looking frozen snow, her dark dress and scarlet petticoat showingout in strong relief against the glittering white of the roadway. Themoon was shining brightly, so that it was as light as day; and I couldsee her face distinctly as she looked up into mine every now and then toanswer some remark. Her honest, lustrous, grey eyes sparkled with fun,while a little ripple of silvery laughter came occasionally from therosebud-parted coral lips! We chatted merrily, exchanging notestouching the enjoyments of the evening.
We gradually approached her door. I was telling her that, instead ofmere days, I seemed to have known her for years and could not affect totreat her as a stranger.
She said that she looked upon me almost as an old friend already.
I asked her if she would let me abandon the formal appellation of "MissClyde," and call her "Min?"
She said, "Yes."
I asked her then, ere the door opened, on wishing her "good-bye," with alingering hand-clasp, whether she would not call me by my Christianname, too?
She gently whispered, "Frank"--so softly, so faintly, that the night-wind, sighing by, could not catch the accents and bear the sound toalien ears; but _I_ heard it, and my heart throbbed in a delirioustempest of happiness; I lost my senses almost: my head swam in awhirlwind of tumultuous joy: I was intoxicated with ecstasy!
"Good-night, Frank!" I heard her dear, sweet voice whispering, likestrains of music in my heart, as I went homewards. I seemed to feel herwarm violet breath still on my cheek. I could fancy I yet gazed intothe star-depths of her soul-speaking, deep, grey eyes.
"Good-night, Frank!" The words sang in my ears all night, and I sleptin fairyland.