Part 16

The bridegroom came up to them and asked for Roderick. The party had already missed him for some time, and no one could guess what had become of him; they now dispersed in search of him. At last a young man they asked told them he was down below in the hall, playing off tricks at cards, to the great amazement of a troop of grooms and servants. They went down and disturbed the circle of gapers. Roderick, however, did not let himself be put out, but went on for some time with his conjuring. As soon as he had done, he went with the rest of the party into the garden, saying, by way of accounting for his employment, "I merely do it to strengthen those fellows' faith for them. Their groomships are setting up to be free-thinkers, and it is as well to give them a staggerer now and then--it helps to their conversion."

"I perceive," the bridegroom said, "that my friend, among his other accomplishments, does not think charlatanism beneath his notice."

"We live in strange times," he answered; "one must not despise any thing now-a-days; nobody knows what he may not come to."

When the two friends were alone, Emilius turned again into the retired walk, and said, "Can you tell me why it is that to-day, which is or ought to be the happiest of my life, I feel so deeply depressed? Whatever you may think of me, I assure you I am not fit for the duties that devolve on me; I have no skill to move up and down a crowd of people with a civil speech for every one; entertain all these hosts of her and my relations, with respects for fathers and mothers, and compliments for ladies; receive visitors, and see that horses and servants are taken care of--I cannot do it."

"Oh, all that goes right of itself," said Roderick. "Your house is capitally arranged for that sort of thing. There is your steward, a famous fellow, with omnipotence and omnipresence in his hands and legs; he is made on purpose to arrange these matters, and see large parties taken care of, and put properly in their places: leave it all to him and your pretty bride."

"This morning," said Emilius, "I was walking before sunrise in the plantation here: my thoughts had taken a very serious turn, for I felt, to the bottom of my soul, that my life was now become fixed and definite, and that this love had given me a home and a calling. As I approached the summer-house yonder, I heard voices. It was my beloved in earnest conversation. 'Has it not turned out as I predicted?' said a strange voice; 'exactly as I knew it must be? you have your wishes, so be content.' I could not prevail on myself to go in to them; and afterwards, when I came to the summer-house again, they were both gone. I can do nothing but think and think what these words could mean."

"Very likely she has long loved you," said Roderick, "and you have not known any thing about it: all the better for you."

At that moment a late nightingale began to sing, as if to wish all joy and good fortune to the lovers. Emilius became more and more gloomy.

"Come down with me into the village yonder," said Roderick; "I will shew you something to amuse you. You are not to suppose you are the only man that is to be made happy to-day. There is a second pretty couple. A young scamp, it seems, what with opportunity and having nothing else to do, got upon too intimate terms with a damsel that might be his mother, and the fool thinks he is in duty bound to make her an honest woman. They'll have dressed themselves out by this time. The scene will be rich; I would not miss it for the world."

The sad and gloomy Emilius let himself be dragged away by his talkative friend, and they reached the cottage just at the moment the cavalcade passed out on their road to the church. The young countryman had on his every-day linen smock, and his only piece of smartness consisted of a pair of leather gaiters, which he had polished up to make look as bright as possible. He was a simple-looking fellow, and seemed shy and awkward. The bride was tanned by the sun, and her face shewed very few remaining traces of youthfulness. She was coarsely and poorly dressed, but her clothes were clean, and a few red and blue silk ribbons, rather faded, were pinned up in bows on her stomacher. The worst part of her figure was her hair, which they had pasted up with a daub of fat and meal, and done into a great cone with hair-pins straight up from her head, on the top of which they had placed the marriage-garland. She tried to laugh and seem in good spirits, but she was ashamed and frightened. The old people followed. His father was in the employ of the house; and the cottage, as well as the furniture and clothes, all betrayed the extremest poverty. A dirty-looking squint-eyed fiddler followed the troop, grinning and smirking, and scraping away on a thing professing to be a violin, which was made up half of wood and half of pasteboard, having three pieces of packthread for strings.

The cavalcade halted at the sight of the new landlord. Some saucy-looking servants of the house, young boys and women, began to laugh and cut jokes at the expense of the young couple, particularly the ladies'-maids, who thought themselves a great deal prettier, and saw that they had infinitely smarter clothes. A shudder passed over Emilius. He looked round for Roderick, but he had run away again. An impudent-looking boy, a servant of one of the visitors, who wanted to be thought witty, pressed up to Emilius, and said, "What does your worship say to this brilliant couple? neither of them know where they are to get a piece of bread for to-morrow, and this afternoon they are going to give a ball, and have engaged the services of that good gentleman yonder."

"Not know where they are to get bread?" cried Emilius; "can these things be?"

"Oh, yes," the other went on; "every one knows how miserably poor they are; but the fellow says he will do his duty to the creature, though she has not a farthing. Yes, indeed, love is all-powerful: the ragamuffins haven't got so much as a bed; they have begged enough small beer to get drunk upon, and they are to sleep to-night in the straw."

There was a loud laugh at this, and the two unlucky objects of it did not dare to raise their eyes.

Emilius pushed the chattering fool in bitter anger from him. "Here, take this," he cried, and flung a hundred ducats, which he had received that morning, into the hands of the astonished bridegroom: the parents and the bridal pair wept aloud, threw themselves on their knees, and kissed his hands and clothes. He struggled to free himself. "Keep want from your bodies with that so long as it will last," he said, half bewildered.

"Oh, you have made us happy for our lives, best, kindest sir!" they all cried.

He scarcely knew how he broke from them. He found himself alone, and ran with tottering steps into the wood, where, in the most secluded spot that he could find, he flung himself down upon a bank and burst into a flood of tears.

"I am sick of life," he sobbed, in the deepest emotion. "I cannot enjoy it, I cannot, will not be happy in it. Oh, take me quickly to thyself, kind Earth, and hide me in thy cold arms from these wild beasts that call themselves men. O God in heaven, what have I done, that I sleep on down and wear silk apparel? that the grape spends her choicest blood for me, and men crowd round and cringe to me with love, and honour, and respect? This poor fellow is better, is nobler than I; yet misery is his nurse, and scorn and bitter mockery wish him joy upon his wedding-day. Every dainty morsel I enjoy, every draught from my cut glasses, my soft couches, and all this gold and ornament, oh, they are tainted with the poison of sin, so long as the world hunts to and fro these thousands upon thousands of poor wretches that hunger for the dry crumbs that fall from my table, and have never known what comfort means. Oh, now I understand you, ye holy saints; though the proud world turned from you with disdain and scorn when ye gave your all, even the cloak upon your back, to poverty, and chose rather as poor beggars to be trodden under foot, and bear the scoffs and sneers with which pride and selfish gluttony drive misery from their tables, rather to endure yourselves the last extreme of wretchedness, than bear upon your consciences this vile sin of wealth."

The world, and all its forms and customs, swam as a mist before his eyes; he thought he would find now his only friends and companions among the abject and the vile, and renounce for ever the society of all the world's great ones.

They had been waiting for him a long time in the saloon for the ceremony to be concluded; the bride became anxious, and her father and mother went out into the park to look for him. After some time, when he was partially recovered from his emotion, and his feelings were easier, he returned, and the solemn knot was tied.

And now they all left the great saloon for the open gallery, where the tables were set out, bride and bridegroom first, and the rest following in order. Roderick offered his arm to a lively-looking, chattering young lady.

"Why do brides always cry and look so serious and solemn at a wedding?" said she, as they entered the room.

"Because they never felt before this moment the true mysteriousness of life," answered Roderick.

"But our bride here," said his companion, "exceeds every thing I have ever seen; she looks perfectly miserable: I haven't seen her smile once."

"It is all the more honour to her heart," replied Roderick, who, strange to say, seemed really affected. "You do not know, perhaps, that some years ago she adopted a lone little orphan girl, and took her to live with her and educate her. She devoted the whole of her time to the child, and the love of the dear little thing was her sweetest reward. She was just seven years old, when one day she had gone out for a walk in the city, and never came home again; and notwithstanding all the trouble that was taken to recover her, no one has ever been able to tell what has become of her. This misfortune the noble-minded woman took so much to heart, that a silent melancholy has settled upon her ever since; and nothing has been able to distract her from her regret for her little playfellow."

"What an interesting story!" said the young lady. "Some time or other we may have a most romantic conclusion, and a pretty poem written about it."

They seated themselves at the table, bride and bridegroom in the centre, looking out upon the beautiful landscape. There was a great deal of chattering and talking and drinking healths, and every one seemed to be in the best possible spirits. The bride's parents enjoyed themselves exceedingly; the bridegroom alone was gloomy and abstracted; he did not seem to enter into any thing that was going on, and took no part in the conversation. He started as he heard music ringing down from above through the air; but he soon recovered himself: it was but the soft note of a bugle which floated for a few moments over the garden, then swept across the park and died away among the distant hills. Roderick had placed the musicians in the gallery immediately over the banquet, and this arrangement seemed to satisfy Emilius. Towards the end of the feast he sent for his steward. "My dearest," he said, turning to his bride, "shall not poverty have a share of our abundance?" He desired that a number of bottles of wine, some roast meat, and a large portion of various other dishes, might be sent to the poor couple in the village, that they also might have reason to remember the day as a day of joy and happiness.

"Only see, my dear friend," cried Roderick, "how every thing hangs together in this world. This chattering and running about after every body else's business but my own you so often complain of in me, has given you the opportunity of doing this piece of kindness."

Many persons present began to say something complimentary about benevolence and compassionate hearts, and the young lady talked of generosity and nobleness of feeling.

"Oh, speak not so!" cried Emilius indignantly. "It is no kind action, no action at all; it is nothing. If the swallow and the linnet fill themselves with the refuse fragments of our abundance, shall not I think of a poor brother-mortal who has need of my assistance? If I followed the impulse of my heart, I should soon find little from you and the like of you but such scorn and laughter as ye gave the saints of old when they went out and made their homes in the wilderness, to hear no more of the world and its generosities."

No one spoke; and Roderick saw by the flashing eyes of his friend that he was violently displeased: he was afraid his excitement might lead him still more to forget himself, and endeavoured as quick as possible to give the conversation another direction. Emilius, however, had become uneasy and restless. His eyes were continually turned towards the upper gallery, where the servants, who occupied the highest floor of the house, were busily engaged.

"Who is that ugly old woman in a grey cloak, going backwards and forwards, making herself so busy there?" he asked at last.

"She is one of my servants," answered the bride; "she is to have the overlooking of the ladies' maids and the younger girls."

"How can you bear to have so hideous a creature about you?" said Emilius.

"Oh, let the poor thing be," replied the bride; "ugliness must live as well as beauty, you know; she is a good honest soul, and can be of the greatest use to us."

They rose from table, and the party now pressed round the new bridegroom to wish him all joy, and to beg to be allowed to have their ball. The bride threw her arms round him affectionately as she said, "My first request, dearest, you cannot refuse; it will make us all so happy; it is so long since I have been at a ball, and you have never seen me dance--are you not anxious to know how I shall look?"

"I never saw you in such high spirits," said Emilius; "I will not spoil your pleasure, do just as you please; only don't expect me to jump and tumble about and make myself ridiculous."

"If you are a bad dancer," said she, laughing, "you may be sure you will be left in peace." She ran away to make the requisite alterations in her dress for the ball.

"She does not know," Emilius said to Roderick as they walked away together, "that there is a secret door into her room from the one adjoining; I will surprise her while she is dressing."

When Emilius was gone, and the ladies had also disappeared to put on their ball-dresses, Roderick took some of the young men aside and brought them to his own room. "It is getting late," he said,--"it will soon be dark; so now be quick all of you and get your masks on, and we will make this night a right mad and merry one. Any device you can think of, no matter what; the more hideous objects you can make yourselves, the better I shall be pleased--not a monster in creation but what I must have him--humpbacks, fat paunches, all of them. A wedding is such a strange piece of business, married people find, all of a sudden, such a wholly new fairy-tale set of circumstances round their necks, that we cannot make it absurd and mad enough to start them properly in their altered condition, and set them rolling along their new road; so to-night shall be a right wild mad nightmare, and never listen to any one that tells you to be reasonable."

"Don't alarm yourself," said Anderson; "we brought a box of masks and dresses from town with us that will astonish even you."

"And only look here," said Roderick, "what a treasure I have got from my tailor! the tasteless wretch was going to clip it to pieces for lappets. He bought it, he said, from an old woman, who I fancy must have worn it at Lucifer's gala on the Block's berg. This scarlet bodice with its lace and fringe, and the cap here all over glittering with gold, will look infinitely becoming; and then with this green petticoat on, and saffron trimmings, and this hideous mask, I will go as an old woman at the head of the whole troop of travesters to their room, and we will lead off our young lady in triumph to the ball; come, be quick with you."

The bugles were still playing, and the company were either dispersed in groups about the garden, or sitting in front of the house. The sun was going down behind a mass of heavy clouds, and a greyish mist was spreading over the landscape, when suddenly its last beams burst out under the dark curtain, and all the landscape round, and the house itself, with its galleries and columns, and wreaths of flowers, was bathed in a blood-red glow. At that moment the bride's parents and the rest of the spectators saw the wild troop of figures sweep along the upper gallery, Roderick going first as the scarlet old woman; and after him humpbacks, fat-paunched monsters with huge periwigs, harlequins, clowns, pantaloons, spectral dwarfs, women with broad hoop-petticoats and yard-high frisures, all like the phantoms of a hideous nightmare. On they went, tumbling, twisting, staggering, tripping, and strutting along the gallery, and disappeared into one of the doors.

Suddenly a wild shriek burst from the inner chambers, and out dashed the pale bride into the crimson light; a short white petticoat was her only dress; her fair bosom all open, and her hair floating in wild disorder down her back. With quivering features, and eyes starting from their sockets, she rushed madly along the corridors. Blinded with terror, she could find neither door nor stairs; and fast behind her flew Emilius, with the Turkish dagger gleaming in his uplifted hand: she had reached the end of the gallery and could go no further; he caught her. His masked friends, and the grey old woman, were close behind; but ere they reached him the dagger was in her breast, he had cut across her white neck; the red blood glittered in the evening glow. The old woman flung her arms round him to drag him off; but with one fierce effort, he hurled himself and her over the balcony, and fell, dashed in pieces, at the feet of his relations, who, in silent horror, had witnessed the bloody scene. Above and below, along the stairs and corridors, were seen the hideous masks rushing wildly up and down; like accursed demons come from hell.

Roderick took the dying Emilius in his arms. He had found him in his wife's room playing with the dagger; she was nearly dressed as he entered. At the sight of the scarlet dress his memory had returned; the terrible scene of that night rushed before his senses; gnashing his teeth, he had sprung upon his trembling flying bride to avenge that murder and those devilish arts. The old woman confessed the crime that had been committed before she died; and the whole house was turned suddenly to sorrow, and mourning, and woe.

THE BROTHERS.

There lived near Bagdad, Omar and Mahmoud, two sons of poor parents. On their father's death they inherited only a small property; and each resolved to try to raise his fortune with it. Omar set forth to seek a place where to settle. Mahmoud repaired to Bagdad, began business in a small way, and soon increased his property. He lived very thriftily and retired, carefully adding each sequin to his capital, as the ground-work for some new plan of making money. He thus got into credit with several rich merchants, who sometimes assigned to him part of a ship's freight, and entered into speculations in common with him. With repeated good fortune Mahmoud grew bolder, ventured larger sums, and every time they brought him in a high interest. By degrees he became better known, his business extended, he had granted many heavy loans, had the money of many others in his hands, and fortune seemed constantly smiling. Omar, on the contrary, had been unfortunate, not one of all his ventures had been successful; he came, quite poor, and almost without clothes, to Bagdad, heard of his brother, and went to him to seek his aid. Mahmoud was rejoiced to see his brother again, though he deplored his poverty. Being very good-natured and sensitive, he immediately gave him a large sum out of his business, and with this money he at the same time established him in a shop. Omar began by dealing in silk goods and women's apparel, and fortune seemed more favourable to him in Bagdad: his brother had made him a present of the money, and so he had no occasion to worry himself about repayment. In all his undertakings he was less prudent than Mahmoud, and, for this very reason, more fortunate. He soon gained the acquaintance of some merchants, who till then had done business with Mahmoud, and he succeeded in making them his friends. By this his brother lost many a means of profit, which now fell to _his_ lot. And Mahmoud too had just chosen a wife, who forced him into numerous expenses, which before that he had not had to make: he had to borrow of his acquaintances to pay debts; money which he was expecting failed to come in; his credit sank; and he was on the verge of despair, when news arrived that one of his ships had foundered, and nothing, not the least morsel of any thing, had been saved; at this moment a creditor appeared, pressingly demanding the payment of a debt. Mahmoud saw very clearly that his last hope of fortune depended on this payment; and he therefore resolved, in the greatest distress, to have recourse to his brother. He hastened to him, and found him very much out of sorts on account of a trifling loss which he had just undergone.

"Brother," began Mahmoud, "I come, in the utmost perplexity, to ask a favour of you."

_Omar._ Of what nature?

_Mahmoud._ My ship has gone to pieces; all my creditors are urgent, and will not hear of delay; my whole happiness depends on this one day; do just lend me ten thousand sequins for a time.

_Omar._ Ten thousand sequins?--You're not talking nonsense, brother?

_Mah._ No, Omar, I know what that sum is very well; and just so much, and not one sequin less, can save me from the most disgraceful poverty.

_Omar._ Ten thousand sequins?

_Mah._ Give them to me, brother; I will do my utmost to return them to you in a short time.

_Omar._ Where are they to come from? I have much due to me that is still unpaid; I don't myself know what I am to do,--this very day I have been cheated of a hundred sequins.

_Mah._ Your credit will easily procure me this amount.

_Omar._ But not a soul will lend money now. There's mistrust on all sides; not that I am mistrustful, heaven knows, but every one would guess that I want the money for you; and you know best on what frail threads one's confidence in a merchant often hangs.

_Mah._ Dear Omar, I must confess I didn't expect these demurs from you. If we were to change sides, you would not find me so suspicious and dilatory.

_Omar._ So you say. I am not suspicious either; I wish I could help you. I call God to witness, how glad I should be.

_Mah._ You can, if you like.

_Omar._ All I have would not make the sum you require.

_Mah._ O heavens! I had reproached myself for not making my brother the first of whom I asked assistance; and I am truly sorry that I have burdened him with a single word.

_Omar._ You are angry; you are wrong in being so.

_Mah._ Wrong? which of us neglects his duty? Ah, brother, I don't know you!

_Omar._ I have just lost a hundred sequins to-day; another three hundred are not at all safe, and I must make up my mind to the loss of them. If you had but come to me last week,--oh, yes, then most heartily.

_Mah._ Must I then remind you of our former friendship? Ah! how low can misfortune degrade us!

_Omar._ You talk, brother, almost as if you wished to insult me.

_Mah._ Insult you?

_Omar._ When one does all one can,--when one is in distress oneself, and in hourly fear of losing more,--can a man in such a case help being vexed when he receives nothing but bitter mockery and abject contempt for all his good-will?

_Mah._ Shew me your good-will, and you shall receive my warmest thanks.