Part 39 (1/2)

LETTER XIV.

A German Visionary.--Remarkable conversation with him.--History of a Ghost-seer.

It is not at every corner of life that we stumble upon an intrinsically singular character: to-day however, at Noronha's, I fell in with a Saxon count,[27] who justly answers to that description. This man is not only thoroughly imbued with the theoretical mysticism of the German school, but has most firmly persuaded himself, and hundreds besides, that he holds converse with the souls of the departed. Though most impressive and even extravagant upon this subject, when started, he proves himself a man of singular judgment upon most others, is a good geometrician, an able chymist, a mineralogist of no ordinary proficiency, and has made discoveries in the art of smelting metals, which have been turned already to useful purpose. Yet nothing can beat out of this cool reflective head, that magical operations may be performed to evident effect, and the devil most positively evocated.

I thought, at first sight, there was a something uncouth and ghostly in his appearance, that promised strange communications; he has a careworn look, a countenance often convulsed with apparently painful twitches, and a lofty skull, set off with bristling hair, powdered as white as Caucasus.

Notwithstanding I by no means courted his acquaintance, he was resolved to make up to me, and dissipate by the smoothest address he could a.s.sume, any prejudices his uncommon cast of features might have inspired. Drawing his chair close to mine, whilst Noronha and his party were busily engaged at voltarete, he tried to allure my attention by throwing out hints of the wonders within reach of a person born under the smile of certain constellations: that I was the person he meant to insinuate, I have little doubt. Having heard that fortune had conferred upon me some few of her golden gifts, he thought, perhaps, that I might be _fused_ to advantage, like any other lump of the precious metals. Be his motives what they may, he certainly took as many pains to wind himself into my good opinion as if I had actually been the prime favourite of a planet, or a distant cousin by some diabolical intermarriage, in the style of one of the Plantagenet matches, of old Beelzebub himself.

After a good deal of conversation upon different subjects, chiefly of a sombrous nature, happening to ask him if he had known Schroffer, the most renowned ghost-seer in all Germany,--”Intimately well,” was his reply; ”a bold young man, not so free, alas! from sensual taint as the awful career he had engaged in demanded,--he rushed upon danger unprepared, at an unhallowed moment--his fate was terrible. I pa.s.sed a week with him not six months before he disappeared in the frightful manner you have heard of; it was a week of mental toil and suffering, of fasts and privations of various natures, and of sights sufficiently appalling to drive back the whole current of the blood from the heart.

It was at this period that, returning one dark and stormy night from trying experiments upon living animals, more excruciating than any the keenest anatomist ever perpetrated, I found lying upon my chair, coiled up in a circle like the symbol of eternity, an enormous snake of a deadly lead colour; it neither hissed nor moved for several minutes: during this pause, whilst I remained aghast looking full upon it, a voice more like the whisper of trees than any sound of human utterance, articulated certain words, which I have retained, and used to powerful effect in moments of peril and extreme urgency.”

I shall not easily forget the strange inquisitive look he gave me whilst making this still stranger communication; he saw my curiosity was excited, and flattered himself he had made upon me the impression he meditated; but when I asked, with the tone of careless levity, what became of the snake on the cus.h.i.+on, after the voice had ceased, he shook his white locks somewhat angrily, and croaked forth with a formidable German accent, ”Ask no more--ask no more--you are not in a disposition at present sufficiently pure and serious to comprehend what I _might_ disclose. Ask no more.”--For this time at least I most implicitly obeyed him.

Promising to call upon me and continue our conversation any day or hour I might choose to appoint, he glided off so imperceptibly, that had I been a little more persuaded of the possibility of supernatural occurrences, I might have believed he had actually vanished. ”A good riddance,” said Noronha; ”I don't half like that man, nor can I make out why Florida Blanca is so gracious to him.”--”I rather suspect he is a spy upon us all,” observed the Sardinian amba.s.sadress, who made one of the voltarete party; ”and though he guessed right about the winning card last night at the Countess of Benevente's, I am determined not to invite him to dinner again in a hurry.”

LETTER XV.

Madame Bendicho.--Unsuccessful search on the Prado.--Kauffman, an infidel in the German style.--Ma.s.s in the chapel of the Virgin.--The d.u.c.h.ess of Alba's villa.--Destruction by a young French artist of the paintings of Rubens.--French amba.s.sador's ball.--Heir-apparent of the house of Medina Celi.

Sunday, Jan. 13th.

Kauffman[28] accompanied me to the Prado this morning, where we met Madame Bendicho and her faithful Expilly, (a famous tactician in war or peace,) who told me that somebody I thought particularly interesting was not far off. This intelligence imparted to me such animation, that Kauffman was obliged to take long strides to equal my pace. I traversed the whole Prado without meeting the object of my pursuit, and found myself almost unconsciously in the court before the ugly front of the church of Atocha. A tide of devotees carried us into the chapel of the Virgin, which is hung round with trophies, and ex-voto's, legs, arms, and fingers, in wax and plaster.

Kauffman is three parts an infidel in the German style, but I advised him to kneel with something like Castilian solemnity, and hear out a ma.s.s which was none of the shortest, the priest being old, and much given to the wiping and adjusting of spectacles, a pair of which, uncommonly large and l.u.s.trous, I thought he would never have succeeded in fitting to his nose.

We happened to kneel under the shade of some banners which the British lion was simple enough to let slip out of his paws during the last war.

The colours of fort St. Philip dangled immediately above my head.

Amongst the crowd of Our Lady's wors.h.i.+ppers I espied one of the gayest of my ball-room acquaintances, the young Duke of Arion, looking like a strayed sheep, and smiting his breast most piteously.

A tiresome salve regina being ended, I measured back my steps to the Prado, and at length discovered the person of all others I wished most to see, strictly guarded by mamma. I accompanied them to their door, and returned loiteringly and lingeringly home, where I found Infantado, who had been waiting for me above half an hour. With him I rode out on the Toledo road to see a pompous bridge, or rather viaduct; for the river it spans, even in this season, is scarcely copious enough to turn the model of a mill-wheel, much less the reality.

From this spot we went to a villa lately purchased by the d.u.c.h.ess of Alba, and which, I was told, Rubens had once inhabited. True enough, we found a conceited young French artist in the arabesque and cupid line, busily employed in pouncing out the last memorials in this spot of that great painter; reminiscences of favourite pictures he had thrown off in fresco, upon what appeared a rich crimson damask ground. Yes, I witnessed this vandalish operation, and saw large flakes of stucco imprinted with the touches of Rubens fall upon the floor, and heard the wretch who was perpetrating the irreparable act sing, ”Veillons mes surs, veillons encorrre,” with a strong Parisian accent, all the while he was slas.h.i.+ng away.

My sweet temper was so much ruffled by this spectacle, that I begged to be excused any further excursion, and returned home to dress and compose myself, while Infantado went back to his palace. I soon joined him, having been invited to dine with his right virtuous and estimable papa. Thank heaven the rage for Frenchified decoration has not yet reached this plain but princely abode, which remains in n.o.ble Castilian simplicity, with all its famed pictures untouched and uncontaminated.

As soon as the old duke had retired to his evening's devotions, we hurried to the French amba.s.sador's ball, where I met fewer saints than sinners, and saw nothing particularly edifying, except the semi-royal race of the Medina Celis dancing ”high and disposedly.” Cogolhudo, the heir-apparent of this great house, is a good-natured, busy personage, but his ill.u.s.trious consort, who has been recently appointed to the important office of Camerara mayor, or mistress of the robes to the image of Our Lady of La Soledad, is a great deal less kindly and affable.[29]

LETTER XVI.

Visit from the Turkish Amba.s.sador.--Stroll to the gardens of the Buen Retiro.--Troop of ostriches.--Madame d'Aranda.--State of Cortejo-ism.--Powers of drapery.--Madame d'Aranda's toilet.--a.s.sembly at the house of Madame Badaan.--Cortejos off duty.--Blaze of beauty.--A curious group.--A dance.

Sunday, 23rd.