Part 64 (1/2)
”Not a line,” answered the Baroness, with great navete; ”I never saw them.”
”Pauvre enfant!” said Madame Carolina; ”I will employ you, then, while you are here.”
”I never read,” said the Baroness; ”I cannot bear it. I like poetry and romances, but I like somebody to read to me.”
”Very just,” said Madame Carolina; ”we can judge with greater accuracy of the merit of a composition when it reaches our mind merely through the medium of the human voice. The soul is an essence, invisible and indivisible. In this respect the voice of man resembles the principle of his existence; since few will deny, though there are some materialists who will deny everything, that the human voice is both impalpable and audible only in one place at the same time. Hence, I ask, is it illogical to infer its indivisibility? The soul and the voice, then, are similar in two great attributes: there is a secret harmony in their spiritual construction. In the early ages of mankind a beautiful tradition was afloat that the soul and the voice were one and the same.
We may perhaps recognise in this fanciful belief the effect of the fascinating and imaginative philosophy of the East; that mysterious portion of the globe,” continued Madame Carolina, ”from which we should frankly confess that we derive everything; for the South is but the pupil of the East, through the mediation of Egypt. Of this opinion,”
said Madame with fervour, ”I have no doubt: of this opinion,” continued the lady with enthusiasm, ”I have boldly avowed myself a votary in a dissertation appended to the second volume of Haroun: for this opinion I would die at the stake! Oh, lovely East! why was I not oriental! Land where the voice of the nightingale is never mute! Land of the cedar and the citron, the turtle and the myrtle, of ever-blooming flowers and ever-s.h.i.+ning skies! Ill.u.s.trious East! Cradle of Philosophy! My dearest Baroness, why do not you feel as I do? From the East we obtain everything!”
”Indeed!” said the Baroness, with simplicity; ”I thought we only got shawls.”
This puzzling answer was only noticed by Vivian; for the truth is, Madame Carolina was one of those individuals who never attend to any person's answers. Always thinking of herself, she only asked questions that she herself might supply the responses. And now having made, as she flattered herself, a splendid display to her favourite critic, she began to consider what had given rise to her oration. Lord Byron and the ballet again occurred to her; and as the Baroness, at least, was not unwilling to listen, and as she herself had no ma.n.u.script of her own which she particularly wished to be perused, she proposed that Vivian should read to them part of the Corsair, and in the original tongue.
Madame Carolina opened the volume at the first prison scene between Gulnare and Conrad. It was her favourite. Vivian read with care and feeling. Madame was in raptures, and the Baroness, although she did not understand a single syllable, seemed almost equally delighted. At length Vivian came to this pa.s.sage:
My love stern Seyd's! Oh, no, no, not my love!
Yet much this heart, that strives no more, once strove To meet his pa.s.sion; but it would not be.
I felt, I feel, love dwells with, with the free.
I am a slave, a favour'd slave at best, To share his splendour, and seem very blest!
Oft must my soul the question undergo, Of, ”Dost thou love?” and burn to answer, ”No!”
Oh! hard it is that fondness to sustain, And struggle not to feel averse in vain; But harder still the heart's recoil to bear, And hide from one, perhaps another there; He takes the hand I give not nor withhold, Its pulse nor checked nor quickened, calmly cold: And when resign'd, it drops a lifeless weight From one I never loved enough to hate.
No warmth these lips return by his imprest, And chill'd remembrance shudders o'er the rest.
Yes, had I ever prov'd that pa.s.sion's zeal, The change to hatred were at least to feel: But still, he goes unmourn'd, returns unsought, And oft when present, absent from my thought.
Or when reflection comes, and come it must, I fear that henceforth 'twill but bring disgust: I am his slave; but, in despite of pride, 'Twere worse than bondage to become his bride.
”Superb!” said Madame, in a voice of enthusiasm; ”how true! what pa.s.sion! what energy! what sentiments! what knowledge of feminine feeling! Read it again, I pray: it is my favourite pa.s.sage.”
”What is this pa.s.sage about?” asked the Baroness, with some anxiety; ”tell me.”
”I have a French translation, ma mignonne,” said Madame; ”you shall have it afterwards.”
”No! I detest reading,” said the young lady, with an imperious air; ”translate it to me at once.”
”You are rather a self-willed beauty!” thought Vivian; ”but your eyes are so brilliant that nothing must be refused you!” and so he translated it.
On its conclusion Madame was again in raptures. The Baroness was not less affected, but she said nothing. She appeared agitated; she changed colour, raised her beautiful eyes with an expression of sorrow, looked at Vivian earnestly, and then walked to the other end of the room. In a few moments she returned to her seat.
”I wish you would tell me the story,” she said, with earnestness.
”I have a French translation, ma belle!” said Madame Carolina; ”at present I wish to trouble Mr. Grey with a few questions.” Madame Carolina led Vivian into a recess.
”I am sorry we are troubled with this sweet little savage; but I think she has talent, though evidently quite uneducated. We must do what we can for her. Her ignorance of all breeding is amusing, but then I think she has a natural elegance. We shall soon polish her. His Royal Highness is so anxious that every attention should be paid to her. Beckendorff, you know, is a man of the greatest genius.” (Madame Carolina had lowered her tone about the Minister since the Prince of Little Lilliput's apostasy.) ”The country is greatly indebted to him. This, between ourselves, is his daughter. At least I have no doubt of it. Beckendorff was once married, to a lady of great rank, died early, beautiful woman, very interesting! His Royal Highness had a great regard for her. The Premier, in his bereavement, turned humorist, and has brought up this lovely girl in the oddest possible manner; n.o.body knows where. Now that he finds it necessary to bring her forward, he, of course, is quite at a loss. His Royal Highness has applied to me. There was a little coldness before between the Minister and myself. It is now quite removed. I must do what I can for her I think she must marry von Sohnspeer, who is no more Beckendorff's son than you are: or young Eberstein, or young Bernstorff, or young Gernsbach. We must do something for her. I offered her last night to Emilius von Aslingen; but he said that, unfortunately, he was just importing a savage or two of his own from the Brazils, and consequently was not in want of her.”
A chamberlain now entered, to announce the speedy arrival of his Royal Highness. The Baroness, without ceremony, expressed her great regret that he was coming, as now she should not hear the wished-for story.
Madame Carolina reproved her, and the reproof was endured rather than submitted to.