Happily for me, my acquaintance among the Rosalinds of the bicycle, atthis period of my life, was but slight, and thus no familiarity withthe tweed knickerbocker feminine took off the edge of my delight onfirst beholding Nicolete clothed in like manhood with ourselves, andyet, delicious paradox! looking more like a woman than ever.
During those three days while the fairy tailors were at work ourfriendship had not been idle. Indeed, some part of each day we hadspent diligently learning each other, as travellers to distant landsacross the Channel work hard at phrase-book and Baedeker the weekbefore their departure. Meanwhile too I had made the acquaintance ofthe charming lady Obstacle,--as it proved so unfair to call her,--andby some process of natural magnetism we had immediately won eachother's hearts, so that on the moonlight night on which I took theriver path with my brown-paper parcel there was no misgiving in myheart,--nothing but harping and singing, and blessings on the riverthat seemed all silver with the backs of magic trout. As I thought ofall I owed that noble fish, I kneeled by the river's bearded lip, amongthe nettles and the meadowsweet, and swore by the inconstant moon thattrout and I were henceforth kinsmen, and that between our houses shouldbe an eternal amity. The chub and the dace and the carp, not to speakof that Chinese pirate the pike, might still look to it, when I cameforth armed with rod and line; but for me and my house the trout ishenceforth sacred. By the memory of the Blessed Saint Izaak, I swore it!
My arrival at Beaucaire was one of great excitement. Nicolete and theObstacle were both awaiting me, for the mysteries of masculine attirewere not to be explored alone. The parcel was snatched quiteunceremoniously from my hands, the door shut upon me, and I laughinglybidden go listen to the nightingale. I was not long in finding one,nor, being an industrious phrase-maker, did I waste my time, for,before I was summoned to behold Nicolete in all her boyhood, I hadfound occasion and moonlight to remark to my pocket-book that, Thoughall the world has heard the song of the Nightingale to the Rose, onlythe Nightingale has heard the answer of the Rose. This I hurriedly hidin my heart for future conversation, as the pre-arranged tinkle of thesilver bell called me to the rose.
Would, indeed, that I were a nightingale to sing aright the beauty ofthat rose with which, think of it, I was to spend a wholefortnight,--yes, no less than fourteen wonderful days.
The two girls were evidently proud of themselves at having succeeded sowell with the mysterious garments. There were one or two points onwhich they needed my guidance, but they were unimportant; and when atlast Nicolete would consent to stand up straight and let me have a goodlook at her,--for, poor child! she was as shy and shrinking as thoughshe had nothing on,--she made a very pretty young man indeed.
She didn't, I'm afraid, look like a young man of our degenerate day.She was far too beautiful and distinguished for that. Besides, her darkcurling hair, quite short for a woman, was too long, and her eyes--likethe eyes of all poets--were women's eyes. She looked, indeed, like oneof those wonderful boys of the Italian Renaissance, whom you may stillsee at the National Gallery, whose beauty is no denial, but rather thestamp of their slender, supple strength, young painters and sculptorswho held the palette for Leonardo, or wielded the chisel forMichelangelo, and anon threw both aside to take up sword for Guelf orGhibelline in the narrow streets of Florence.
Her knapsack was already packed, and its contents included a sergeskirt "in case of emergencies." Already, she naughtily reminded me, wepossessed a petticoat between us.
The brief remainder of the evening passed in excited chatter andcigarettes, and in my instructing Nicolete in certain tricks ofmasculine deportment. The chief difficulty I hardly like mentioning;and if the Obstacle had not been present, I certainly dare not havespoken of it to Nicolete. I mean that she was so shy about her prettylegs. She couldn't cross them with any successful nonchalance.
"You must take your legs more for granted, dear Nicolete," I summonedcourage to say. "The nonchalance of the legs is the first lesson to belearnt in such a masquerade as this. You must regard them as so muchbone and iron, rude skeleton joints and shins, as though they were thebones of the great elk or other extinct South Kensingtonspecimen,"--"not," I added in my heart, "as the velvet and ivory whichthey are."
We had agreed to start with the sun on the morrow, so as to get clearof possible Peeping Toms; and when good-nights had been said, and I wasonce more swinging towards my inn, it seemed but an hour or two, asindeed it was, before I heard four o'clock drowsily announced throughmy bedroom door, and before I was once more striding along thatriver-bank all dew-silvered with last night's moonlight, the sunrubbing his great eye on the horizon, the whole world yawning throughdainty bed-clothes of mist, and here and there a copse-full of birdscongratulating themselves on their early rising.
Nicolete was not quite ready, so I had to go listen to the lark, aboutwhom, alas! I could find nothing to say to my pocket-book, beforeNicolete, armed cap-a-pie with stick and knapsack, appeared at the doorof her chalet.
The Obstacle was there to see us start. She and Nicolete exchanged manykisses which were hard to bear, and the first quarter of an hour of ourjourney was much obstructed by the farewells of her far-flutteringhandkerchief. When at last we were really alone, I turned and lookedat Nicolete striding manfully at my side, just to make sure that it wasreally true.
"Well, we're in for it now," I said; "aren't you frightened?"
"Oh, it's wonderful," she replied; "don't spoil it by talking."
And I didn't; for who could hope to compete with the sun, who wasmaking the whole dewy world shake with laughter at his brilliancy, orwith the birds, any one of whom was a poet at least equal to Herrick?
Presently we found ourselves at four crossroads, with a four-fingeredpost in the centre. We had agreed to leave our destination to chance.We read the sign-post.
"Which shall we choose?" I said,--
"Aucassin, true love and fair, To what land do we repair?"
"Don't you think this one," she replied, "this one?--To the Moon!"
"Certainly, we couldn't find a prettier place; but it's a long way," Ireplied, looking up at the sky, all roses and pearls,--"a long way fromthe Morning Star to the Moon."
"All the longer to be free," cried Nicolete, recklessly.
"So be it," I assented. "Allons--to the Moon!"
CHAPTER VIII
THE KIND OF THING THAT HAPPENS IN THE MOON
Two friends of my youth, with whom it would be hopeless to attemptcompetition, have described the star-strewn journey to the moon. It isnot for me to essay again where the ingenious M. Jules Verne and Mr.William Morris have preceded me. Besides, the journey is nowadays muchmore usual, and therefore much less adventurous, than when thoserevered writers first described it. In the middle ages a journey to themoon with a woman you loved was a very perilous matter indeed. Even inthe last century the roads were much beset with danger; but in our ownday, like most journeys, it is accomplished with ease and safety in afew hours.
However, to the latter-day hero, whose appetite for dragons is notkeen, this absence of adventure is perhaps rather pleasurable thanotherwise; and I confess that I enjoyed the days I spent on foot withNicolete none the less because they passed in tranquiluneventfulness,--that is, without events of the violent kind. Ofcourse, all depends on what you call an event. We were not waylaid byrobbers, we fed and slept unchallenged at inns, we escaped collisionwith the police, and we encountered no bodily dangers of any kind; yetshould I not call the journey uneventful, nor indeed, I think, wouldNicolete.
To me it was one prolonged divine event, and, with such dailyintercourse with Nicolete, I never dreamed of craving for any otherexcitement. To walk from morning to evening by her side, to ministerto her moods, to provide such entertainment as I might for her brain,and watch like a father over her physical needs; to note when she wasweary and too proud to show it, and to pretend to be done up myself; tochoose for her the easiest path, and keep my eyes open for waysideflowers and every country surprise,--these
, and a hundred otherattentions, kept my heart and mind in busy service.
To picnic by some lonely stream-side on a few sandwiches, a flask ofclaret, and a pennyworth of apples; to talk about the books we loved;to exchange our hopes and dreams,--we asked nothing better than thissimple fare.
And so a week went by. But, though so little had seemed to happen, andthough our walking record was shamefully modest, yet, imperceptible asthe transition had been, we were, quite insensibly indeed, andunacknowledged, in a very different relation to each other than when wehad started out from the Morning Star. In fact, to make no more wordsabout it, I was head over heels in love with Nicolete, and I think,without conceit, I may say that Nicolete was rapidly growing ratherfond of me. Apart from anything else, we were such excellent chums. Wegot along together as if indeed we had been two brothers, equable inour tempers and one in our desires.
At last the feeling on my side became so importunate that I could nolonger keep silence.
We were seated together taking tea at a small lonely inn, whose windowslooked out over a romantic little lake, backed by Salvator Rosapine-woods. The sun was beginning to grow dreamy, and the whole worldto wear a dangerously sentimental expression.
I forget exactly what it was, but something in our talk had set usglowing, had touched tender chords of unexpected sympathy, andinvoluntarily I stretched out my hand across the corner of the tableand pressed Nicolete's hand as it rested on the cloth. She did notwithdraw it, and our eyes met with a steady gaze of love.
"Nicolete," I said presently, when I could speak, "it is time for youto be going back home."
"Why?" she asked breathlessly.
"Because," I answered, "I must love you if you stay."
"Would you then bid me go?" she said.
"Nicolete," I said, "don't tempt me. Be a good girl and go home."
"But supposing I don't want to go home," she said; "supposing--oh,supposing I love you too? Would you still bid me go?"
"Yes," I said. "In that case it would be even more imperative."
"Aucassin!"
"It is true, it is true, dear Nicolete."
"Then, Aucassin," she replied, almost sternly, in her great girlishlove, "this is true also,--I love you. I have never loved, shall neverlove, any man but you!"
"Nicolete!"
"Aucassin!"
There were no more words spoken between us for a full hour thatafternoon.
CHAPTER IX
WRITTEN BY MOONLIGHT
I knew deep down in my heart that it couldn't last, yet how deny myselfthese roses, while the opportunity of gathering them was mine!--themore so, as I believed it would do no harm to Nicolete. At all events,a day or two more or less of moonshine would make no matter either way.And so all next day we walked hand in hand through Paradise.
It has been said by them of old time, and our fathers have told us,that the kiss of first love, the first kiss of the first woman we love,is beyond all kisses sweet; and true it is. But true is it also thatno less sweet is the first kiss of the last woman we love.
Putting my faith in old saws, as a young man will, I had never dreamedto know again a bliss so divinely passionate and pure as came to mewith every glance of Nicolete's sweet eyes, with every simple pressureof her hand; and the joy that was mine when sometimes, stopping on ourway, we would press together our lips ever so gravely and tenderly,seems too holy even to speak of.
The holy angels could not have loved Nicolete with a purer love, a lovefreer from taint of any earthly thought, than I, a man of thirty,blase, and fed from my youth upon the honeycomb of woman.
It was curious that the first difficulty of our pilgrimage shouldbefall us the very next day. Coming towards nightfall to a small innin a lonely unpopulated countryside, we found that the onlyaccommodation the inn afforded was one double-bedded room, and therewas no other inn for at least ten miles. I think I was more troubledthan Nicolete. When, after interviewing the landlady, I came and toldher of the dilemma, where she sat in the little parlour wearied outwith the day's walk, she blushed, it is true, but seemed little putabout. Indeed, she laughed, and said it was rather fun, "likesomething out of Sterne,"--of such comfort is a literary reference inall seasons and circumstances,--and then she added, with a sweet lookthat sent the blood rioting about my heart, "It won't matter so much,will it, love, NOW?"
There proved nothing for it but to accept the situation, and we madethe arrangement that Nicolete was to slip off to bed first, and thenput out the light and go to sleep. However, when I followed her,having sat up as long as the landlady's patience would endure, I foundthat, though she had blown out the candle, she had forgotten to put outthe moon, which shone as though it were St. Agnes' Eve across half theroom.
I stole in very shyly, kept my eyes sternly from Nicolete's white bed,though, as I couldn't shut my ears, the sound of her breathing came tome with indescribable sweetness. After I had lain among the sheetssome five or ten minutes, I was suddenly startled by a little voicewithin the room saying,--
"I'm not asleep."
"Well, you should be, naughty child. Now shut your eyes and go tosleep,--and fair dreams and sweet repose," I replied.
"Won't you give me one little good-night kiss?"
"I gave you one downstairs."
"Is it very wicked to want another?"
There was not a foot between our two beds, so I bent over and took hersoft white shoulders in my arms and kissed her. All the heaped-upsweetness of the whitest, freshest flowers of the spring seemed in myembrace as I kissed her, so soft, so fragrant, so pure; and as themoonlight was the white fire in our blood. Softly I released her,stroked her brown hair, and turned again to my pillow. Presently thelittle voice was in the room again,--
"Mayn't I hold your hand? Somehow I feel lonely and frightened."
So our hands made a bridge across which our dreams might pass throughthe night, and after a little while I knew that she slept.
As I lay thus holding her hand, and listening to her quiet breathing, Irealised once more what my young Alastor had meant by the purity ofhigh passion. For indeed the moonlight that fell across her bosom wasnot whiter than my thoughts, nor could any kiss--were it even such akiss as Venus promised to the betrayer of Psyche--even in its fiercestdelirium, be other than dross compared with the wild white peace ofthose silent hours when we lay thus married and maiden side by side.
CHAPTER X
HOW ONE MAKES LOVE AT THIRTY
My sleeplessness while Nicolete slept had not been all ecstasy, for Ihad come to a bitter resolution; and next morning, when we were oncemore on our way, I took a favourable opportunity of conveying it toNicolete.
"Nicolete," I said, as we rested awhile by the roadside, "I havesomething serious to say to you."
"Yes, dear," she said, looking rather frightened.
"Well, dear, it is this,--our love must end with our holiday. No goodcan come of it."
"But oh, why? I love you."
"Yes, and I love you,--love you as I never thought I could love again.Yet I know it is all a dangerous dream,--a trick of our brains, anillusion of our tastes."
"But oh, why? I love you."
"Yes, you do to-day, I know; but it couldn't last. I believe I couldlove you for ever; but even so, it wouldn't be right. You couldn't goon loving me. I am too old, too tired, too desillusione, perhaps tooselfish."
"I will love you always!" said girl Nicolete.
"Whereas you," I continued, disregarding the lovely refrain of hertear-choked voice, "are standing on the wonderful threshold of life,waiting in dreamland for the dawn. And it will come, and with it thefairy prince, with whom you shall wander hand in hand through all itsfairy rose-gardens; but I, dear Nicolete,--I am not he."
Nicolete did not speak.
"I know," I continued, pressing her hand, "that I may seem young enoughto talk like this, but some of us get through life quicker than others,and when we say, 'It is done,' it is no use for onlookers to say, 'Why,it is just
beginning!' Believe me, Nicolete, I am not fit husband foryou."
"Then shall I take no other," said Nicolete, with set face.
"Oh, yes, you will," I rejoined; "let but a month or two pass, and youwill see how wise I was, after all. Besides, there are other reasons,of which there is no need to speak--"
"What reasons?"
"Well," I said, half laughing, "there is the danger that, after all, wemightn't agree. There is nothing so perilously difficult as the dailyintercourse of two people who love each other. You are too young torealise its danger. And I couldn't bear to see our love worn away bythe daily dropping of tears, not to speak of its being rent by thedynamite of daily quarrels. We know each other's tastes, but we knowhardly anything of each other's natures."
Nicolete looked at me strangely. 'Troth, it was a strange way to makelove, I knew.
"And what else?" she asked somewhat coldly.
"Well, then, though it's not a thing one cares to speak of, I'm a poorman--"
Nicolete broke through my sentence with a scornful exclamation.
"You," I continued straight on,--"well, you have been accustomed to acertain spaciousness and luxury of life. This it would be out of mypower to continue for you. These are real reasons, very real reasons,dear Nicolete, though you may not think so now. The law of the worldin these matters is very right. For the rich and the poor to marry isto risk, terribly risk, the very thing they would marry for--theirlove. Love is better an unmarried than a married regret."