Chapter 11

"How, Prince? Have you changed your mind? Would you leave the captivating Rollina in the lurch, and throw away the golden opportunity you have been sighing for for two months? The letter you sent to-day, inclosing the diamond watch, did wonders. The proud but fragile beauty surrenders. This morning you were in raptures, and now you are as cold as ice! What is the cause of the change?"

"That is my business, not yours," said Philip.

"I had your orders to join you at half-past eleven. Perhaps you have other engagements?"

"Perhaps."

"A petit souper with the Countess Born? She is not present here; at least among all the masks I can't trace her out. I should know her among a thousand by that graceful walk and her peculiar way of carrying her little head--eh, Prince?"

"Well, but if it were so, there would be no necessity for making you my confidant, would there?"

"I will take the hint, and be silent. But won't you at any rate send to the Signora Rollina to let her know you are not coming?"

"If I have sighed for her for two months, she had better sigh a month or two for me. I sha'n't go near her."

"So that beautiful necklace which you sent her for a New Year's present was all for nothing?"

"As far as I am concerned."

"Will you break with her entirely?"

"There is nothing between us to break, that I know of."

"Well, then, since you speak so plainly, I may tell you something which you perhaps know already. Your love for the Signora has hitherto kept me silent; but now that you have altered your mind about her, I can no longer keep the secret from you. You are deceived."

"By whom?"

"By the artful singer. She would divide her favors between your Royal Highness and a Jew."

"A Jew?"

"Yes! with the son of Abraham Levi."

"Is that rascal everywhere?"

"So your Highness did not know it? but I am telling you the exact truth; if it were not for your Royal Highness, she would be his mistress. I am only sorry you gave her that watch."

"I don't regret it at all."

"The jade deserves to be whipped."

"Few people meet their deserts," answered Philip.

"Too true, too true, your Royal Highness. For instance, I have discovered a girl--O Prince, there is not such another in this city or in the whole world! Few have seen this angel.--Pooh! Rollina is nothing to her. Listen--a girl tall and slender as a palm tree--with a complexion like the red glow of evening upon snow--eyes like sunbeams--rich golden tresses,--in short, the most beautiful creature I ever beheld--a Venus--a goddess in rustic attire. Your Highness, we must give her chase."

"A peasant girl?"

"A mere rustic; but then you must see her yourself, and you will love her. But my descriptions are nothing. Imagine the embodiment of all that you can conceive most charming--add to that, artlessness, grace, and innocence. But the difficulty is to catch sight of her. She seldom leaves her mother. I know her seat in church, and have watched her for many Sundays past, as she walked with her mother to the Elm-Gate. I have ascertained that a handsome young fellow, a gardener, is making court to her. He can't marry her, for he is a poor devil, and she has nothing. The mother is the widow of a poor weaver."

"And the mother's name is?"

"Widow Bittner, in Milk Street; and the daughter, fairest of flowers, is in fact called Rose."

Philip's blood boiled at the sound of the beloved name. His first inclination was to knock the communicative Dutchman down. He restrained himself, however, and only asked:

"Are you the devil himself?"

"'T is good news, is it not? I have taken some steps in the matter already, but you must see her first. But perhaps such a pearl has not altogether escaped your keen observation? Do you know her?"

"Intimately."

"So much the better. Have I been too lavish of my praises? You confess their truth? She sha'n't escape us. We must go together to the widow; you must play the philanthropist. You have heard of the widow's poverty, and must insist on relieving it. You take an interest in the good woman; enter into her misfortunes; leave a small present at each visit, and by this means become acquainted with Rose. The rest follows, of course. The gardener can be easily got out of the way, or perhaps a dozen or two dollars slipped quietly into his hand may--"

Philip's rage broke forth.

"I'll throttle you--"

"If the gardener makes a fuss?" interposed the Dutchman. "Leave me to settle this matter. I'll get him kidnapped, and sent to the army to fight for his country. In the meantime you get possession of the field; for the girl has a peasant's attachment for the fellow, and it will not be easy to get the nonsense out of her head, which she has been taught by the canaille. But I will give her some lessons, and then--"

"I'll break your neck."

"Your Highness is too good. But if your Highness would use your influence with the King to procure me the Chamberlain's key--"

"I wish I could procure you--"

"Oh, don't flatter me, your Highness. Had I only known you thought so much of her beauty, she would have been yours long ago."

"Not a word more," cried the enraged Philip, in a smothered voice; for he dared not speak aloud, he was so surrounded by maskers, who were listening, dancing, talking, as they passed him, and he might have betrayed himself; "not a word more!"

"No, there will be more than words. Deeds shall show my sincerity. You may advance. You are wont to conquer. The outposts will be easily taken. The gardener I will manage, and the mother will range herself under your gilded banners. Then the fortress will be won!"

"Sir, if you venture," said Philip, who now could hardly contain himself. It was with great difficulty he refrained from open violence, and he clutched the arm of the Dutchman with the force of a vice.

"Your Highness, for Heaven's sake, moderate your joy. I shall scream--you are mashing my arm!"

"If you venture to go near that innocent girl, I will demolish every bone in your body."

"Good, good," screamed the Dutchman, in intense pain; "only let go my arm."

"If I find you anywhere near Milk Street, I'll dash your miserable brains out. So look to it."

The Dutchman seemed almost stupefied; trembling, he said:

"May it please your Highness, I could not imagine you really loved the girl as it seems you do."

"I love her! I will own it before the whole world!"

"And are loved in return?"

"That's none of your business. Never mention her name to me again. Do not even think of her; it would be a stain upon her purity. Now you know what I think. Be off!"

Philip twirled the unfortunate Dutchman round as he let go his arm, and that worthy gentleman slunk out of the hall.

VIII.

In the meantime Philip's substitute supported his character of watchman on the snow-covered streets. It is scarcely necessary to say that this was none other than Prince Julian who had taken a notion to join the watch--his head being crazed by the fire of the sweet wine. He attended to the directions left by Philip, and went his rounds, and called the hour with great decorum, except that, instead of the usual watchman's verses, he favored the public with rhymes of his own. He was cogitating a new stanza, when the door of a house beside him opened, and a well-wrapped-up girl beckoned to him, and ran into the shadow of the house.

The Prince left his stanza half finished, and followed the apparition. A soft hand grasped his in the darkness, and a voice whispered:

"Good-evening, dear Philip. Speak low, that nobody may hear us. I have only got away from the company for one moment to speak to you as you passed. Are you happy to see me?"

"Blest as a god, my angel,--who could be otherwise than happy by thy side?"

"I've some good news for you, Philip. You must sup at our house to-morrow evening. My mother has allowed me to ask you. You 'll come?"

"For the whole evening, and as many more as you wish. Would we might be together till the end of the world! 'T would be a life fit for gods!"

"Listen, Philip; in half an hour I shall be at St. Gregory's. I shall expect you there. You won't fail me? Don't keep me waiting long--we shall have a walk together. Go now--we may be discovered." She tried to go, but Julian held her back and threw his arms round her.

"What, wilt thou leave me so coldly?" he said, and tried to press a kiss upon her lips.

Rose did not know what to think of this boldness, for Philip had always been modest, and never dared more than kiss her hand, except once, when her mother had forbidden their meeting again. They had then exchanged their first kiss in great sorrow and in great love, but never since then. She struggled to free herself, but Julian held her firm, till at last she had to buy her liberty by submitting to the kiss, and begged him to go. But Julian seemed not at all inclined to move.

"What! go? I'm not such a fool as that comes to! You think I love my horn better than you? No indeed!"

"But then it isn't right, Philip."

"Not right? why not, my beauty? there is nothing against kissing in the ten commandments."

"Why, if we could marry, perhaps you might--but you know very well we can't marry, and--"

"Not marry? why not? You can marry me any day you like."

"Philip!--why will you talk such folly? You know we must not think of such a thing."

"But _I_ think very seriously about it--if you would consent."

"You are unkind to speak thus. Ah, Philip, I had a dream last night."

"A dream--what was it?"

"You had won a prize in the lottery; we were both so happy! you had bought a beautiful garden, handsomer than any in the city. It was a little paradise of flowers--and there were large beds of vegetables, and the trees were laden with fruit. And when I awoke, Philip, I felt so wretched--I wished I had not dreamed such a happy dream. You've nothing in the lottery, Philip, have you? Have you really won anything? The drawing took place to-day."

"How much must I have gained to win you too?"

"Ah, Philip, if you had only gained a thousand dollars, you might buy such a pretty garden!"

"A thousand dollars! And what if it were more?"

"Ah, Philip--what? is it true? is it really? Don't deceive me! 'twill be worse than the dream. You had a ticket! and you've won!--own it! own it!"

"All you can wish for."

Rose flung her arms around his neck in the extremity of her joy, and kissed him.

"More than the thousand dollars? and will they pay you the whole?"

Her kiss made the Prince forget to answer. It was so strange to hold a pretty form in his arms, receive its caresses, and to know they were not meant for him.

"Answer me, answer me!" cried Rose, impatiently. "Will they give you all that money?"

"They've done it already--and if it will add to your happiness I will hand it to you this moment."

"What! have you got it with you?"

The Prince took out his purse, which he had filled with money in expectation of some play.

"Take it and weigh it, my girl," he said, placing it in her hand and kissing her again. "This, then, makes you mine!"

"Oh, not THIS--nor all the gold in the world, if you were not my own dear Philip!"

"And how if I had given you twice as much as all this money, and yet were not your own dear Philip?"

"I would fling the purse at your feet, and make you a very polite curtsey," said Rose.

A door now opened; the light streamed down the steps, and the laughing voices of girls were heard. Rose whispered:

"In half an hour, at St. Gregory's," and ran up the steps, leaving the Prince in the darkness. Disconcerted by the suddenness of the parting, and his curiosity excited by his ignorance of the name of his new acquaintance, and not even having had a full view of her face, he consoled himself with the rendezvous at St. Gregory's Church door. This he resolved to keep, though it was evident that all the tenderness which had been bestowed on him was intended for his friend the watchman.

IX.

The interview with Rose, or the coldness of the night, increased the effect of the wine to such an extent that the mischievous propensities of the young Prince got the upper hand of him. Standing amidst a crowd of people, in the middle of the street, he blew so lustily on his horn that the women screamed, and the men gasped with fear. He called the hour, and then shouted, at the top of his lungs:

The bus'ness of our lovely state Is stricken by the hand of fate-- Even our maids, both light and brown, Can find no sale in all the town; They deck themselves with all their arts, But no one buys their worn-out hearts."

"Shame! shame!" cried several female voices from the window at the end of this complimentary effusion, which, however, was crowned with a loud laugh from the men. "Bravo, watchman!" cried some; "Encore! encore!" shouted others. "How dare you, fellow, insult ladies in the open street?" growled a young lieutenant, who had a very pretty girl on his arm.

"Mr. Lieutenant," answered a miller, "unfortunately watchmen always tell the truth, and the lady on your arm is a proof of it. Ha! young jade, do you know me? do you know who I am? Is it right for a betrothed bride to be gadding at night about the streets with other men? To-morrow your mother shall hear of this. I'll have nothing more to do with you!"

The girl hid her face, and nudged the young officer to lead her away. But the lieutenant, like a brave soldier, scorned to retreat from the miller, and determined to keep the field. He therefule made use of a full round of oaths, which were returned with interest, and a sabre was finally resorted to, with some flourishes; but two Spanish cudgels were threateningly held over the head of the lieutenant by a couple of stout townsmen, while one of them, who was a broad-shouldered beer-brewer, cried: "Don't make any more fuss about the piece of goods beside you--she ain't worth it. The miller's a good fellow, and what he says is true, and the watchman's right too. A plain tradesman can hardly venture to marry now. All the women wish to marry above their station. Instead of darning stockings, they read romances; instead of working in the kitchen, they run after comedies and concerts. Their houses are dirty, and they are walking out, dressed like princesses; all they bring a husband as a dowry are handsome dresses, lace ribbons, intrigues, romances, and idleness! Sir, I speak from experience; I should have married long since, if girls were not spoiled."

The spectators laughed heartily, and the lieutenant slowly put back his sword, saying peevishly: "It's a little too much to be obliged to hear a sermon from the canaille."

"What! Canaille!" cried a smith, who held the second cudgel. "Do you call those canaille who feed you noble idlers by duties and taxes? Your licentiousness is the cause of our domestic discords, and noble ladies would not have so much cause to mourn if you had learned both to pray and to work."

Several young officers had gathered together already, and so had some mechanics; and the boys, in the meantime, threw snowballs among both parties, that their share in the fun might not be lost. The first ball hit the noble lieutenant on the nose, and thinking it an attack from the canaille, he raised his sabre. The fight began.

The Prince, who had laughed amazingly at the first commencement of the uproar, had betaken himself to another region, and felt quite unconcerned as to the result. In the course of his wanderings, he came to the palace of Count Bodenlos, the Minister of Finance, with whom, as Philip had discovered at the masquerade, the Prince was not on the best terms. The Countess had a large party. Julian saw the lighted windows, and still feeling poetically disposed, he planted himself opposite the balcony, and blew a peal on his horn. Several ladies and gentlemen opened the shutters, because they had nothing better to do, and listened to what he should say.

"Watchman," cried one of them, "sing us a New Year's greeting!"

This invitation brought a fresh accession of the Countess' party to the windows. Julian called the hour in the usual manner, and sang, loud enough to be distinctly heard inside:

"Ye who groan with heavy debts, And swift approaching failure frets, Pray the Lord that He this hour May raise you to some place of power; And while the nation wants and suffers, Fill your own from the people's coffers."

"Outrageous!" screamed the lady of the Minister; "who is the insolent wretch that dares such an insult?"

"Pleashe your exshellenshy," answered Julian, imitating the Jewish dialect in voice and manner, "I vash only intendsh to shing you a pretty shong. I am de Shew Abraham Levi, vell known at dish court. Your ladyship knowsh me ver' well."

"How dare you tell such a lie, you villain?" exclaimed a voice, trembling with rage, at one of the windows; "how dare you say you are Abraham Levi? I am Abraham Levi! You are a cheat!"

"Call the police!" cried the Countess. "Have that man arrested!"

At these words the party confusedly withdrew from the windows. Nor did the Prince remain where he was, but quickly effected his escape through a cross-street. A crowd of servants rushed out of the palace, led by the secretaries of the Finance Minister, and commenced a search for the offender. "We have him!" cried some, as the rest eagerly approached. It was in fact the real guardian of the night, who was carefully perambulating his beat, in innocent unconsciousness of any offence. In spite of all he could say, he was disarmed and carried off to the watch-house, and charged with causing a disturbance by singing libellous songs. The officer of the police shook his head at the unaccountable event, and said: "We have already one watchman in custody, whose verses about some girl caused a very serious affray between the town's people and the garrison."

The prisoner would confess to nothing, but swore prodigiously at the tipsy young people who had disturbed him in the fulfilment of his duty. One of the secretaries of the Finance Minister repeated the whole verse to him. The soldiers standing about laughed aloud, but the ancient watchman swore with tears in his eyes that he had never thought of such a thing. While the examination was going on, and one of the secretaries of the Finance Minister began to be doubtful whether the poor watchman was really in fault or not, an uproar was heard outside, and loud cries of "Watch, watch!"

The guard rushed out, and in a few minutes the Field-Marshal entered the office, accompanied by the captain of the guards on duty. "Have that scoundrel locked up tight," said the Marshal, pointing behind him--and two soldiers brought in a watchman, whom they held close prisoner, and whom they had disarmed of his staff and horn.

"Are the watchmen gone all mad to-night?" exclaimed the chief of police.

"I'll have the rascal punished for his infamous verses," said the Field-Marshal angrily.

"Your excellency," exclaimed the trembling watchman, "as true as I live, I never made a verse in my born days."

"Silence, knave!" roared the Marshal. "I'll have you hanged for them! And if you contradict me again, I'll cut you in two on the spot."

The police officer respectfully observed to the Field-Marshal that there must be some poetical epidemic among the watchmen, for three had been brought before him within the last quarter of an hour, accused of the same offence.

"Gentlemen," said the Marshal to the officers who had accompanied him, "since the scoundrel refuses to confess, it will be necessary to take down from your remembrance the worlds of his atrocious libel. Let them be written down while you still recollect them. Come, who can say them?"

The officer of police wrote to the dictation of the gentlemen who remembered the whole verses between them:

"On empty head a flaunting feather, A long queue tied with tape and leather; Padded breast and waist so little, Make the soldier to a tittle; By cards and dance, and dissipation, He's sure to win a Marshal's station."

"Do you deny, you rascal," cried the Field-Marshal to the terrified watchman; "do you deny that you sang these infamous lines as I was coming out of my house?"

"They may sing it who like, it was not me," said the watchman.

"Why did you run away, then, when you saw me?"

"I did not run away."

"What!" said the two officers who had accompanied the Marshal--"not run away? Were you not out of breath when at last we laid hold of you there by the market?"

"Yes, but it was with fright at being so ferociously attacked. I am trembling yet in every limb."

"Lock the obstinate dog up till the morning," said the Marshal; "he will come to his senses by that time!" With these words the wrathful dignitary went away. These incidents had set the whole police force of the city on the qui vive. In the next ten minutes two more watchmen were brought to the office on similar charges with the others. One was accused of singing a libel under the window of the Minister of Foreign Affairs, in which it was insinuated that there were no affairs to which he was more foreign than those of his own department. The other had sung some verses before the door of the Bishop's palace, informing him that the "lights of the church" were by no means deficient in tallow, but gave a great deal more smoke than illumination. The Prince, who had wrought the poor watchmen all this woe, was always lucky enough to escape, and grew bolder and bolder with every new attempt. The affair was talked of everywhere. The Minister of Police, who was at cards with the King, was informed of the insurrection among the hitherto peaceful watchmen, and, as a proof of it, some of the verses were given to him in writing. The King laughed very heartily at the doggerel verse about the miserable police, who were always putting their noses into other people's family affairs, but could never smell anything amiss in their own, and were therefore lawful game, and ordered the next poetical watchman who should be taken to be brought before him. He broke up the card-table, for he saw that the Minister of Police had lost his good humor.

X.

In the dancing-hall next to the card-room, Philip had looked at his watch, and discovered that the time of his appointment with Rose at St. Gregory's had nearly come. He was by no means sorry at the prospect of giving back his silk mantle and plumed bonnet to his substitute, for he began to find high life not quite to his taste. As he was going to the door, the Negro once more came up to him, and whispered: "Your Highness, Duke Herrman is seeking for you everywhere." Philip shook his head impatiently and hurried out, followed by the Negro. When they got to the ante-chamber, the Negro cried out, "By Heaven, here comes the Duke!"--and slipped back into the hall.

A tall black mask walked fiercely up to Philip, and said: "Stay a moment, sir; I've a word or two to say to you; I've been seeking for you long."

"Quick, then," said Philip, "for I have no time to lose."

"I would not waste a moment, sir; I have sought you long enough; you owe me satisfaction, you have injured me infamously."

"Not that I am aware of."

"You don't know me, perhaps," said the Duke, lifting up his mask; "now that you see me, your own conscience will save me any more words. I demand satisfaction. You and the cursed Salmoni have deceived me!"

"I know nothing about it," said Philip.

"You got up that shameful scene in the cellar of the baker's daughter. It was at your instigation that Colonel Kalt made an assault upon me with a cudgel."

"There's not a word of truth in what you say."

"What!--you deny it? The Lady Blankenswerd, the Marshal's lady, was an eye-witness of it all, and she has told me every circumstance."

"She has told your grace a fancy tale--I have had nothing to do with it; if you made an ass of yourself in the baker's cellar, that was your own fault."