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made the entire circuit of the Schloss gardens. of breezy morning sunshine, of May roses, of a Suddenly, as the last accents of the Chodd trage- brook's music, and, in common with most of nady die on Lady Pamela's lips, they come in sight ture's cheeriest gifts, asks nothing from you in of Sir Christopher Marlowe, outstretched upon return. Falling short of all the stern moralities, the patch of smooth green turf that borders the all the big aims of existence, living, in fact, “bemoat, and violently flirting, in pantomime, with yond the diocese of the strict conscience," he is Elspeth, whose peony face bobs coquettishly really the very happiest, most happiness-giving backward and forward at one of the basement of human creatures, a flesh-and-blood refutation windows.
of the pessimist philosophers, who now, in this Sir Christopher springs, somersaults rather nineteenth century, have migrated, after the fashto his feet, on being thus discovered ; advances ion of their kind, from Germany to Oxford. with a fantastic kind of little Dundreary run; No moral dyspepsia, or feeling of his own then sinks on his knees before Jeanne, in an atti- pulse, no questioning as to whether life be worth tude of stage despair, and lifts her hand to his living for Sir Christopher! Honest in his epilips.
curean principles, he gathers honey, like the hymnThe girl breaks from him, breathless with in- book bee, from every opening flower, and is condignation.
tent. "If these be London manners,” she is be- “The Mirabels and Dorimants of comedy," ginning hotly
said Elia, “must not be judged in our every-day “They be the manners of Kit Marlowe,” law-courts. They get out of Christendom into a cries Lady Pamela, with her careless laugh. “Sirland where pleasure is duty, and the manners Christopher is a licensed jester, my dear sim- perfect freedom; a happy breathing-place from plicity, and no one, even in squeamish Babylon, the burden of a perpetual moral questioning." takes umbrage at him. In this generation of Sir Christopher's friends-who that knows dullards, we are only too thankful to any harle- him is not his friend ?-are well disposed to give quin who will wear the cap, and jingle the bells him a like benefit of clergy. for us gratuitously.- Jingle them a little now, Sir “Little Kit Marlowe is a general benefactor,” Christopher ! Dance a breakdown, sing a bur- Lady Pamela Lawless has been heard to declarelesque. Do something that shall make this mira- "a tonic, pro bono publico, a pick-me-up for all cle of propriety give a hearty human laugh." who need. As well dissect a butterfly with a
“I would rather make the miracle of pro- tomahawk, as well weigh sunshine (oh, yes, I priety thaw into a tender human smile,” says Kit know all about Mr. Crookes and the radiometer) Marlowe. “A burlesque, indeed! I will melt -as well weigh sunshine in a grocer's scales, as Jeanne's obdurate heart by the most pathetic apply rule-of-thumb measurement to the characballad ever written in the English language.” ter and motives of Sir Christopher Marlowe.”
And then in a small, not unmusical tenor And society-with a shrug of the shoulders, voice he trolls forth a verse or two from one of it may be, an elevation of the eyebrow, a whisper the latest songs (ironically called comic) of the behind the fan-society, on the whole, is disposed music-halls. Long before it is over, Lady Pame- to indorse the sentiments of Lady Pamela ! la, whose yawns have ever advanced in a crescendo scale, has vanished.
“Take me under your protection, Fräulein Jeanne,” says Sir Christopher, with solemn mock
CHAPTER VII. gallantry. “Accept my arm, teach me my way about the place, and let us endeavor, as far as
BEWARE! may be, not to fall in love with one another.”
Little Jeanne is too shy to say him nay. She “SOCIETY! You have made vastly creditrests her slender finger-tips on Sir Christopher's able social progress, Miss Dempster, considering arm, accompanies him along every fragrant bor- the shortness of your apprenticeship — vastly der, through every rose-embowered terrace of creditable, in truth.” the vast old garden, and when, an hour later, The dark oak walls of Count Paul's study they reënter the house, is in love-not so much are unillumined by lamp or candle. Such light with Sir Christopher Marlowe as with herself, as the young moon yields falls full upon the and with the universe in which she holds an un- boy's portrait, upon the marble heads of Goethe important place!
and Schiller above the book-shelf. Beside an Wiser heads, graver hearts than Jeanne open window Jeanne and her master, a foot or Dempster's might well surrender to the airy two apart, are deep in converse: Wolfgang, cigar gayety, the never-ending animal spirits of Kit in hand, upon a projecting ledge or balcony that Marlowe. He has the effect upon your nerves surrounds the tower; Jeanne inside, her elbows
resting on the sill, her face outstretched to court • Miss Vivash is - a miracle of touching the dewy, fragrant freshness of the night. frankness." The master has to consider within
" It gives me pleasure to merit your praise, at himself for some moments before pronouncing last, sir,” she remarks demurely. “During the the eulogy. “She has passed through the furlast eight weeks I have worked, to the best of nace of publicity scathless — unworldly as she my belief, well. This is the first time you have is beautiful, full of fine exalted feeling, full of been good enough to encourage me by such a romance, of sensibility!" word as 'progress.' I am grateful to you." A bitter little laugh breaks from Jeanne's
And, raising herself to her full height, she lips. With the story of Mr. Samuel Chodd, the makes him a mocking little courtesy, then stands Twickenham dinner, Lord Vauxhall—with Lady before the window with meek face, with arms Pamela's budget of town scandal fresh in her crossed, as if in humility, upon her breast. recollection, this old-fashioned word “sensibility,”
"Grateful?” repeats Wolfgang, coolly skepti- as applied to Miss Vivash, is too much for her. cal. “Yes, till to-night I might have been weak A woman of the world will listen composedly to enough to credit you with such a feeling! I see an unworthy rival's praise ; Jeanne is seventeen ! you now as you are, Miss Dempster-open to Indignation, vanity, quick shame, quicker jealsweet words, won by any idle coxcomb, by any ousy, every honest emotion of her girlish heart cajoling voice that speaks, like the rest." may be read by him who runs. It takes a good
“We will leave gratitude alone, sir. I am many more than seventeen years to perfect huflattered, if you like the expression better, by man beings in that hardest of all hardly acquired your high opinion of me.”
virtues-magnanimity. “Flattered-by the talk of Sir Christopher Until to-night, Mr. Wolfgang, I have given Marlowe, the first empty-brained, eye-glassed you credit for common sense. I have thought popinjay who has happened to cross your path.” you a trifle severe, perhaps, as to false quantities
Although, on common occasions, the master and shaky nominatives, but a sound critic in the speaks English admirably, his accents, the mo- main. I see you as you are " (successfully ment he is moved, take a cadence unmistakably mimicking the tone of his former strictures on Teutonic.
At his pronunciation of the word herself)—"a man open to sweet words, led by popinjay, Jeanne smiles.
the first cajoling voice that flatters, like the rest." “ In English, sir, it is not our custom to say “ Miss Vivash is too discriminating to waste bobbingjay. Excuse my want of politeness, but sweet words on a fellow like me,' says Wolfyou have so often asked me to correct you, if gang, with a certain air of restraint—"flattering need were, and these 'B's' and 'P's' are really enough that Miss Vivash should bestow time stumbling-blocks to a Chairman tongue.” on me at all, in the absence of worthier asso
Wolfgang scans her for a few seconds, grimly ciates.” silent. "Jeanne," he then begins, flinging away “ In the absence," says little Jeanne, turning his cigar, and, with a quick spring, entering the her head aside, and playing a grand imaginary study-window, “what did yonder poor little dandy fantasia on the window-frame, "of—Lord Vauxfind to say to you during the sixty minutes or hall, for instance." more that you and he were walking about alone The master watches her averted face narin the moonlight ?”
rowly. “Sixty minutes ? Is it possible? Why, they “What nonsense are you talking about?” he passed like a flash of light,” cries Jeanne artlessly. asks her, in a tone of real displeasure. Who “ You can not think what pleasant speeches Sir has been filling your head with such subjects ? Christopher Marlowe made; how thoroughly he Lord Vauxhall's is not a name that I choose you intends to enjoy himself here, at Schloss Eg- understand me, Jeanne, that I choose-to hear mont, during the next fortnight!”
from your lips." "And you were charmed by his intellect, “But Lord Vauxhall is Miss Vivash's greatest the depth of his observations, the delicate ori- friend, sir-think of that !--the friend of a girl ginality of his wit?”
full of fine, exalted feeling, romance, sensibility! “What judge am I, sir?-I, who till Mr. His first wife managed to break her heart, I am Wolfgang came accidentally to the Schwartz- told; his second one has the ill luck to be shut wald, had never spoken to any man of higher up in an asylum. But his manners are perfect ! culture than a wood-cutter! It would be more Lord Vauxhall takes his hat off with a better to the point for you to say, after two hours' ex- grace than any man in Europe ; and as to his perience, what you think of the wit and originality Twickenham dinners—" of Miss Vivash!"
“Lord Vauxhall's domestic history! Lord The abrupt side-wind seems to take Mr. Vauxhall's Twickenham dinners !” exclaims Wolfgang somewhat aback.
Wolfgang hotly. “And pray what have you, a
simple Black Forest maiden, to do with such "Mr. Wolfgang!" things ?”
"Jeanne !" Little Jeanne claps her hands; she dances, You will not take it amiss if I relieve my with wary speed, beyond arm's reach of the conscience by giving you a word of warning ?" master.
“ How could I take amiss anything said or “I have been listening to improving town talk done by you?" for a good many hours, sir. It may be that I “ Beware! beware!" sings the girl with mockhave a better memory for London scandal than ing emphasis : I have for Latin verbs and propositions in Euclid.
"I know a maiden fair to seeLord Vauxhall” (dwelling with a child's perverse
Take care ! pleasure on the forbidden name) “is not unknown to you, it seems, by reputation? Did you ever,
She can both false and friendly be
Beware!'" in the intervals of mathematical study, chance to hear of Mr. Samuel Chodd ? Birmingham scis- With a quick flank movement Wolfgang makes sors-people, you know, weak as water about lords for the singer; but, ere he reaches the threshold, and honorables, and deliciously apoplectic !' Jeanne has fled. Far away along the vaulted Samuel's papa married the Lady Ermengarde corridor he catches a glimpse of the little els-like Vauxhall, and was considerate enough to die figure, hears the echoes of her clear voice: within a twelvemonth.” The master remains silent, his eyes fixed upon
“She gives thee a garland woven fair : Jeanne's clear and guileless face. “You talk as
It is a fool's cap for thee to wear,
Beware!'" if I were a dandy fresh, like your friend Sir Christopher, from Piccadilly," he remarks presently"I, a penniless, itinerant teacher, hawking such poor brains as I possess about the country-side,
CHAPTER VIII. or settling myself for a few months in a neighborhood, as the charcoal-burners do, if I can get a
PAINT, PATCHES, AND POWDER. little chance employment from my betters. Rich scissors-people-Lord Vauxhall—Lady Ermen- "I SCORE a royal marriage, my best Frau garde-I know just as much of such people as Pastor, and make sure of my game.” you knew yesterday, Fräulein Jeanne."
The guest-room wears a look of company "Yesterday is not to-day, Mr. Wolfgang. I unknown in Schloss Egmont since the longfeel wiser" (her voice sinking a little), “oh, wiser buried days when princes and prime ministers by twenty years, than I did before our guests ar- were wont to kneel at the Countess Dolores's feet. rived."
The chandeliers blaze with wax-lights ; the moth“Too wise to come out for a last turn upon fretted satin curtains, the scantily gilt chairs and the terrace with me? The forest is overshad- consoles, the pastel court beauties, are looking owed—the owls have left off calling to each their bravest ; and, in all the majesty of blue other. In ten minutes more yonder black cloud ribbon and many-colored flounces, Mamselle will have reached the moon. Will you come?” Ange conducts her reception.
“ Yes" is in Jeanne's eyes-on her lips; the Village pastors and their wives never got spirit of contradiction is at her heart. “Mam- beyond the servants' hall,” Ange will tell you selle Ange will want me in the guest-room, sir, confidentially,“ in the times when German socieI have no more time to waste. We are to have ty was society. In these revolutionary days no a grand reception to-night-the Herr Pastor and one knows where to dra the line.” Besides, his wife, in addition to our English visitors and has not the Frau Pastor helped one with the perhaps the Frau Pastor will play us some dance- made dishes, and does not all the neighborhood music, as she does at Christmas. I wonder” know that the poor soul is respectably connected (with malicious show of interest) “ if Sir Christo- -a sixteenth, or thereabouts, of patrician blood pher Marlowe is too fine a gentleman to waltz?” on the maternal side, and related by marriage to
The master moves aside without answering; the most noble Herr Oberkammermeister at the for a minute or more he watches the darkening Residenz? western terrace—the terrace where five evenings The pastor is a large square man, with large ago little Jeanne told him Malva's history, where square feet, incased in village-made shoes, that to-night he has played audience to the exalted fit them—a pastor with dingy linen, a vast, blank feelings, the romance, the sensibility of Miss Vi- forehead, a rugged voice, the manners of a Divash! When he looks round again his pupil is ogenes, and the heart of a little child! Like many standing just within the open door, ready for another of his country's divines, Herr Pastor flight.
Meyer, during his thirty years of rural ministry,
has struck up liaison after liaison with the passing quarante hollow. In the days when I used to philosophers of the day. The works of men who addle my head over books of averages at Monaco, have for their motto, “ Il faut sabrer la théologie,” I saw no excitement to come up to it. Twenty lie openly on his study-table. His sermons are for a royal marriage, eleven for an ace, six-andfilled by turns with the rationalistic affability of sixty counts one; and the longer you play the Schleiermacher, and the cloudy mysticism, lead- lower your score.—Some morning, when you are ing nowhere, of the Hegelites. Such of his week- at leisure, Miss Dempster," he turns appealingly day hours as he can spare from his pigs and to Jeanne, “I shall ask you to unriddle for me mangel-wurzel, are occupied over a ponderous the mysteries of six-and-sixty." book, still in manuscript, on the “Evolution of Do you know the game, reader? I speak Being out of not Being,” or “ The Blank at the from knowledge, solid, concrete experience gained Center of the Cosmos." He corresponds—'tis during the lagging hours of many a German winthe innocent glory of his life to boast of it—with ter, when I call it the dreariest, lengthiest, hardHaeckel, of Jena, and, to the scandal of Mamselle est form of arithmetic that twisted human inAnge, reads aloud the pamphlets of Büchner and telligence ever gilded over with the name of play. Vogt—the popular “deifiers of matter ”—with You start at a supposed score of nine; you clutch the same impartial gusto as he devours schinken- at a visionary six-and-sixty which you perpetually roh, sauerkraut, wurst, and pfannkuchen at his fall short of or overstep; you work back-through own tea-table.
what interminable convolutions of kings, queens, The Frau Pastor is lean and wire-drawn as a and their marriages—to nothing; and when you metaphysical abstraction, the very converse of are nothing, you have won! Cards, they say, were her spouse. It has been already said that the invented for the amusement of a mad French worthy pair visited Paris on their wedding tour. king. For the delectation of what doubly mad Frau Meyer dresses still as the Paris world, seen German König or Kaiser could the heart of man by provincial eyes, dressed in 'fifty-five: hair, or have hit upon the dull, difficult, interminable set remains of hair, brought low upon the cheeks, of combinations styled six-and-sixty? voluminous skirts, hanging sleeves, and a crino- Mamselle Ange loves it with passion. The line. The good Frau Pastor, whose age may intricate, backward-moving score, the crooked just fall short of the half century, wears also a twists and turns, the airy inconclusiveness of necklace of mock pearls, a plume of marabout every detail of the game, possess, I doubt not, feathers, an artificial rose, spectacles, and a touch nice affinities with the constitution of her own of rouge! Yes—on the honor of a faithful his- mind. “Whist and chess are played by rule," torian-spectacles and rouge !
she will say disdainfully. “They can be learned Is not taste, as some broad thinkers aver of like a primer. At six-and-sixty you never know conscience, a matter of latitude and longitude ? what is coming, or where you are; and, as the
A Parisian–her forty years well struck- winning-point is zero, your hopes are kept up to gives a shrug of the shoulders over her dead the last." Often have Ange and the Frau Pastor youth, then buries it decently in a shroud of been known to seat themselves at a card-table black lace (haunted by a just perceptible pathet- by two o'clock of a December afternoon, and ic odor of patchouli), for evermore. A German play at six-and-sixty, losing their tempers and their wreathes roses round the poor corpse's head, pfennigs, alternately, till supper-time. Looking strings beads round its throat, bares its arms, over their hands on such occasions, it has somesmears a touch of red on its cheek-bone, and times seemed to Jeanne that neither opponent parades it boldly forth, in the glare of day, a was strictly correct in her play. Extraneous cirdistress to gods and men.
cumstances, however—the waning light, the driftDoes the Teuton woman or the Frank, pray, ing snow against the window-frame, the howling exhibit the more genuine philosophy ?
of the north wind in the forests—may have been “ Yes, I score a royal marriage,” cries Mam- to blame. And if there had been no little errors, selle Ange, looking up from the card-table where where had been the disputes—the human eleshe and the Frau Pastor are playing their accus- ment, the very salt and savor of the game! tomed game of six-and-sixty (the pastor, tired “Yes, Jeanne can teach you the rudiments, after his day's plowing, is sleeping the sleep of Sir Christopher, although she is but a spiritless the just in an adjacent stiff-backed chair), “and player. Jeanne knows the rules of six-and-sixty I lead the king of trumps, six-and-sixty. This as well as I do. And perhaps," says Ange, “ you
" brings my score down to one."
might induce Miss Vivash to join you ” (glancSir Christopher Marlowe, who is standing be- ing across at the sofa on which Beauty is talking, side the card-players, assumes an air of liveliest in low whispers, with practiced slow smiles, to interest.
Wolfgang-Lady Pamela, in her due position as “The game beats roulette and trente-et- chaperon, at their side). “By starting from eigh
teen, instead of nine, it could be turned into an thing. We can get over dresses from England in exceedingly pretty parti for three, though of three days, and we will fix the performance for course the counting would be more compli- the evening of Count von Egmont's return.” cated."
Vivian is really animated. A flush suffuses “A game for three,” muses Sir Christopher, the dead whiteness of her skin ; life comes into "to be played by Jeanne Dempster, Vivian Vi- her pale eyes. At this moment you could imagvash, and Kit Marlowe! An exceedingly pretty ine what she would be—not in the presence of parti; with a complicated reckoning, and Herr the man who loved her, unless, indeed, that man's Wolfgang left in the cold.—Jeanne, my dear," in hands were filled with diamonds—but before a a tone of sudden mock alarm, “we must take crowd of worshipers, mobbed in the park of a care of our peace of mind, in earnest. I am not Sunday, the cynosure of all eyes in an exhibitiona bad-looking fellow if the popular voice may be room beneath her own portrait. Publicity of believed, and you—"
some kind, of any kind, is a vital condition to her. Sir Christopher's words sink into a whisper; moral ozone, without which she can scarcely draw Jeanne's telltale face blushes and dimples; and breath. Even at the project of theatricals in this Beauty, who all this time is watching them dull old German house, before a visionary audithrough half-closed eyelids, changes color. The ence, the soul in her—I cancel the expressiondefalcation of the least among her slaves, of the the leading passion in her awakens, and with it coldest among her discarded suitors, causes this her beauty. She glances amicably at the differwoman pain more keen, it may be, than the pangs ent faces round the room-on Wolfgang she of worthy love. So nicely balanced, in the main, looks as, surely, no woman so courted, so handis the sum of human suffering.
some, has ever looked yet. “ Come hither, Jeanne," she cries, turning "A count in the hand,” according to Lady away from Wolfgang, with her high-handed ab- Pamela's dictum, “is worth a Chodd in the ruptness." You too, Sir Christopher. We are bush.” holding a council of war, Mr. Wolfgang and I A poor professor in the hand, it would seem, discussing the possibility of diverting ourselves, is not too lowly for this siren's favors in default in this benighted place, until our host's arrival. of worthier worshipers—or victims, as the case The question is, What shall our diversion be? may be.
- Pamela, my dear, suppose you wake up suffi- “ Private theatricals ! Paint, patches, and ciently to vouchsafe an opinion.”
powder!” cries Sir Christopher, with a groan. “My opinion is in favor of skittles,” says “Don't have ‘The School for Scandal,' Miss ViLady Pamela, lazily unclosing a pair of sleepy vash. I have played Charles Surface four times eyes. “There is a capital alley in the garden-a this season, and absolutely refuse to drink bumpKegelbahn, as the classic vernacular of the coun- ers to the peerless Maria, or bring my ancestry has it."
tors to the hammer any more.” “ You will never find a better game than six- "And I refuse all old women's parts,” cries and-sixty,” cries Ange, “and I believe, with a Lady Pamela, waking up in earnest. “Yes, Vivlittle calculation, it could easily be turned into a ian, dearest, I refuse. "I do them so well-efround game. We might invite over the honorable face myself so admirably-show such an artistic ladies from Katzenellenbogen, and—"
spirit, such want of vanity, in making up for the “I mean to get up theatricals,” interrupts character.' Yes, I know—I hear your good-naVivian, with the artless rudeness that her ador- tured compliments beforehand; but I am moders pronounce to be irresistible. “The dear est, and refuse. I do not intend to have my Princess gave me carte blanche to turn Schloss head turned anent my incomparable old women Egmont inside out, from turret to foundation- any more." stone, and I intend to do so. “No audience,' do “If I am positively wanted—behold me!" I hear some malcontent remark? We will send says Wolfgang. “How could I disobey any orinvitations to every visitable person in the duchy der given by Miss Vivash's lips? But I must of Baden.—There is a cavalry depot, you say, at ask to be cast for a walking gentleman, or ‘Enter Freiburg, Mr. Wolfgang? Then there are these servant, with candles.' My Anglo-Saxon is not Brummagen Highnesses at the Residenz." Ange of a quality for airing in public. My B's and glances ceilingward, as though to avert Heaven's P's "—with a cutting glance at Jeanne—“ are wrath at the profanity. “And if the worst come altogether inadmissible for an English hero." to the worst " (drawing up her white throat), " Things look deliciously theatrical already,” “ one might order over spectators from London. cries Vivian, still in high good humor. “Every • First nights we attend, but never unbend,' of actor discontented with his part even before his course. Still, a bored detachment from the part is assigned to him. Sir Christopher MarCrutch and Toothpick would be better than no- lowe will delight no fresh audiences with his ge