Part 8 (1/2)
THE LOVECHARM.
Emilius was sitting in deep thought at his table, awaiting his friend Roderick. A light was burning before him; the winter-evening was cold; and today he wisht for the presence of his fellow traveller, though at other times wont to avoid his society; for on this evening he purpost to disclose a secret to him and ask his advice. The timid, shy Emilius found so many difficulties, such insurmountable hinderances, in every affair he was engaged in, and in every event that befell him, that it almost seemed as if his destiny had been in an ironical mood when it threw him and Roderick together, Roderick being in all things the reverse of his friend. Fickle, flighty, always determined and fixt by the first impression, he attempted everything, had a plan for every emergency; no undertaking was too arduous for him, no obstacles could deter him. But in the midst of the pursuit he wearied and broke down just as suddenly as at first he had kindled and sprung forward: whatever then opposed him did not act as a spur to urge him more eagerly onward, but only made him abandon and despise what he had so hotly rusht into; and thus Roderick was evermore thoughtlessly beginning something new, and with no better reason relinquis.h.i.+ng and carelessly forgetting what he had begun just before. Hence no day ever pa.s.sed but the friends got into a quarrel, which threatened to be a death blow to their friends.h.i.+p: and yet what to all appearance thus divided them, was perhaps the very thing that bound them most closely together: each loved the other heartily; but each found pa.s.sing satisfaction in being able to discharge the most justly deserved reproaches upon his friend.
Emilius, a rich young man of a sensitive and melancholy temperament, had become master of his fortune on his father's death, and had set out on his travels for the sake of cultivating his mind: he had already been spending several months however in a large town, to enjoy the pleasures of the carnival, about which he never gave himself the slightest trouble, and to make certain important arrangements concerning his fortune with some relations, whom he had scarcely yet visited. On his journey he had fallen in with the restless, ever-s.h.i.+fting and veering Roderick, who was living at variance with his guardians, and who, to get rid altogether of them and their troublesome admonitions, had caught eagerly at his new friend's offer to take him with him on his travels.
On their road they had already been often on the point of separating; but after every dispute both had only felt the more forcibly that neither could live without the other. Scarcely had they got out of their carriage in any town, when Roderick had already seen everything remarkable in it, to forget it all again on the morrow: while Emilius took a week to study thoroughly whatever was said in books about it, that he might not leave anything unnoticed; and after all out of indolence thought there was hardly anything worth going to look at.
Roderick had immediately made a thousand acquaintances, and been to every public place of entertainment; and he would often bring his new-made friends to Emilius in his solitary chamber, where, as soon as he began to be tired of them, he left him alone with them. At other times he would confound the modest Emilius by heaping extravagant praises on his talents and acquirements in the presence of learned and intelligent men, and by telling them how much information they might derive from his friend with regard to languages, antiquities, or the fine arts, though he himself could never find leisure to listen to him on these subjects when the conversation happened to turn on them. But if Emilius ever chanced to be in a more active mood, he might almost make sure that his truant friend would have caught cold the night before at some ball or sledge-party, and be forced to keep his bed; so that, with the liveliest, most restless, and most communicative of men for his companion, Emilius lived in the greatest solitude.
On this day he confidently expected him, having made Roderick give him a solemn promise to spend the evening with him, in order to hear what it was that for several weeks had been depressing and agitating his pensive friend. Meanwhile Emilius wrote down the following lines:
'Tis sweet when spring its choir a.s.sembles, And every nightingale is steeping The trees in his melodious weeping, Till leaf and bloom with rapture trembles.
Fair is the net that moonlight weaves; Fair are the breezes gambolings As with lime-odours on their wings They chase each other through the leaves.
Bright is the glory of the rose, When Love's rich magic decks the earth, From countless roses Love peeps forth, Those stars wherewith Love's heaven glows.
But sweeter, fairer, brighter far To me that little lamp's pale gleaming, When, through the narrow cas.e.m.e.nt streaming It bids me hail my evening star;
As from their braids she flings her tresses, Then twines them in a flowery band, While at each motion of her hand The light robe to her fair form presses;
Or when she wakes her lute's deep slumbers, And, as at morning's touch updarting, The notes beneath her fingers starting, Trip o'er the strings in playful numbers.
To stop their flight her voice she pours Full after them; they laugh, and fly, And to my heart for refuge hie: Her voice pursues them through its doors.
Leave me, ye mischiefs! hence remove!
They bar themselves within, and say: Till this be broken here we stay, That thou mayst know what 'tis to love.
Emilius stood up fretfully. It grew darker, but no Roderick came; and he was wis.h.i.+ng to tell him of his love for an unknown fair one, who dwelt in the opposite house, and who kept him at home all day long, and waking through many a night.
At length footsteps sounded on the stairs; the door opened without anybody knocking at it: and in came two gay masks with ugly visages, one of them a Turk, drest in red and blue silk, the other a Spaniard, in pale yellow and pink, with a plume of feathers waving on his hat.
When Emilius was losing patience, Roderick took off his mask, shewed his well-known laughing countenance, and cried: ”Heyday, my good friend, what a drowned puppy of a face! Is this the way to look in the carnival? I am come with my dear young officer here to carry you off: there is a grand ball tonight at the masquerade-rooms; and, as I know you have forsworn ever putting on any other suit than that which you always wear of the devil's own colour, come with us black as you are; for it is getting somewhat late.”
Emilius felt angry, and said: ”It seems that according to custom you have totally forgotten your engagement. I am extremely sorry,” (he added, turning to the stranger) ”that I cannot possibly be of your party: my friend has been overhasty in promising for me; indeed I cannot go out at all, having some matters of importance to talk over with him.”
The stranger, who was well-bred and saw Emiliuses meaning, withdrew: but Roderick with the utmost indifference put on his mask again, took his stand before the gla.s.s, and exclaimed: ”Verily, I am a most hideous figure, am I not? After all my pains it is a tasteless, disgusting device.”
”That there can be no question about!” answered Emilius in vehement displeasure. ”Making a caricature of yourself, and stupefying your senses, are among the pleasures you are the fondest of driving at.”
”Because you don't like dancing,” said the other, ”and look upon it as a pernicious invention, not a soul in the world is to be merry. How tiresome it is when a man is made up of nothing but whims!”
”Doubtless!” replied his irritated friend; ”and you afford me ample opportunity for finding that it is so. I fancied that after our agreement you would have given me this one evening; but--”
”But it is the carnival, you know,” interposed the other; ”and all my acquaintances, and divers fair ladies are expecting me at the grand ball tonight. Rely upon it, my dear friend, it is mere disease in you that makes you so unreasonably averse to all such amus.e.m.e.nts.”
”Which of us has the fairest claim to be called diseased,” said Emilius, ”I will not examine. But I cannot think that your incomprehensible frivolousness, your hunger and thirst for dissipation, your restless chase after pleasures that leave the heart empty, are altogether the healthiest state of human nature. On certain points at all events you might make a little allowance for my weakness, if you are determined to call it so; and you know there is nothing in the world that so sets my whole soul on edge as a ball with its frightful music. Somebody has said, that to a deaf person who cannot hear the music a party of dancers must look like so many patients for a madhouse: but to my mind this detestable music itself, this twirling and whirling and pirouetting of half a dozen notes, each treading on its own heels, in those odious tunes, which ram themselves into our memory, nay, I might say, mix themselves up with our very blood, so that one cannot get rid of the taint for many a woful day after,--this to me is the very trance of madness: and if I could ever bring myself to think dancing endurable, it would be dancing to the tune of silence.”
”Bravo, signor paradox-monger!” exclaimed the mask: ”You are so far gone, that you choose to think the most natural, the most innocent, and the merriest thing in the world unnatural, ay, and shocking.”
”I cannot change my feelings,” said his grave friend. ”From my very childhood these tunes have made me unhappy, and have often all but driven me out of my senses. They are to me the ghosts and spectres and furies in the world of sound, and they come and buz round my head, and grin at me with horrid laughter.”