CHAPTER VIII.
My first care, after finding myself completely settled at Saragossa, was to overcome the difficulties of the Spanish language. I had studied it superficially long before, and, thanks to my Bearnaise tongue, I now accomplished the hardest part of the undertaking, namely, the pronunciation, which is very rarely acquired by Frenchmen in general. By the time this was gained, I had been three months in Spain, living in a state of high ease and tranquillity, very much against my will; finding nothing to excite or to romance upon; and, at best, meeting with but those little adventures which are unworthy, if not unfit for detail. It was not, however, my fault. I went continually to the Teatro, to the Plaza de Toros, and to all those places where one may most easily get one's self into mischief, without accomplishing my object; going from one to the other with the most provoking, quiet, uninterrupted facility that fortune could furnish forth to annoy me withal. Every one was calm, polite, and cold; no one fell in love with me; no one quarrelled with me; no one took any notice of me, and I was beginning to think the Spaniards the most stupid, sober, mole-like race that the world contained, when some circumstances occurred, which, from the very first excited my curiosity, if they did not reach any more violent passion.
I have said, that the room which I had chosen looked into the street wherein we lodged, and also that that street was very narrow. At first, I had hoped to draw something from this circumstance, having always entertained high ideas of the pleasures and agitations of making love across a street, and for the whole first night after our arrival, I amused myself with fancying some very beautiful lady, with some very horrible guardian, who would find means of conversing with me from the jalousies on the other side.
I was soon undeceived; a very little knowledge of the localities showing me that the windows opposite to my own were placed in the back of a row of houses, forming one side of the principal street, to which our own was parallel; and I had reason to believe that none but servants and inferior persons in general dwelt in those rooms, the windows of which might communicate with mine. This was a disappointment, and I thought no more of it till one evening, when I had been riding in the environs with the Chevalier de Montenero, who, in general, gave me about an hour of his society every day. The rest of his time was principally spent, I understood, in reading and writing, and in bringing to a conclusion some affairs of importance, which had accumulated during a long absence in the New World, where, my talkative landlady assured me, he had won high honours both as a statesman and a warrior. On the day which I speak of, however, we had been absent nearly three hours, and, returning somewhat heated, I threw myself down before the open window, with a book in my hand. How I happened to raise my eyes to the opposite houses, I know not; but doing so, I saw the fingers of a hand so fair, that it could belong to no servant, resting on the bars of the jalousie, while, at the same time, a very bright pair of eyes glittered through the aperture, apparently rather turned down the street, as if watching for the coming of some one.
My own jalousie was drawn for the sake of the shade, so that I could observe without being remarked; and, approaching the window, in a few minutes after, I saw a priest enter at a small door, just below the window, where the eyes were watching. I concluded that this was the father confessor, and I took care to see him depart; after which I partly opened my blind, and remarked, behind the one opposite, the same eyes I had before seen, but now evidently turned towards myself, and I determined not to lose, for lack of boldness, whatever good fortune should fall in my way.
Love, of course, was out of the question: for I certainly loved Helen now as deeply as ever; and having no excuse, I shall not seek one, nor even try to palliate my fault. The only incentives I had, were idleness, youth, and a passion for adventure; but these were quite sufficient to carry me headlong on, upon the first mad scheme that opened to my view. Every one, I believe, feels, or must have felt, sensations somewhat similar, when the heart's wild spirit seems rioting to be free, and hurrying on reason, and thought, and virtue tumultuously along the mad course of passion, till each is trodden down in turn beneath the feet of the follies that come after. What I sought I hardly know. It was not vice--it was adventure.
From that day forward, I was more frequently at my window than anywhere else; and I cannot say that the fair object of my watchings seemed, after a time, to find the proximity of her own blind the most disagreeable part of her apartment. Indeed, the weather was so warm and so oppressive, that on more than one occasion she partially opened her jalousie to admit a freer current of air, giving me, at the same time, an opportunity of beholding one of the loveliest faces and forms I ever beheld, though so shadowed by the semi-darkness of the room, as to throw over the whole a mysterious air of dimness, doubly exciting. Of course the matter paused not here. I had heard and read a thousand tales of such encounters; I was as deeply read in all romances of love, as the Knight of La Mancha was in those of chivalry; and I had recourse to the only means in my power of commencing a communication with my fair neighbour--namely, by signs. At first she withdrew, as if indignant; then endured them; then laughed at them; and, in the end, somewhat suddenly and abruptly seemed to return them, though so slightly, that all my ingenuity would not serve me to comprehend what she sought to express. I had heard that the ladies of Spain were so skilful in finding the means of carrying on these mute conversations, that many a tender tale had been told in silently playing with a fan; and I somewhat wondered to find even one Spanish girl so ignorant of the language of signs. She had evidently, however, endeavoured to return an answer to mine, and that was enough to make my heart beat high.
As soon as night followed upon the day which had beheld this gracious and favourable change, I returned to my station at the window. The jalousies were closed, and no sign or symptom announced that any one was within for near half an hour, when suddenly I heard them move, and beheld them slowly and cautiously open, to perhaps the extent of three inches. I could see nothing, but that they were open, though I strained my eyes to discover what was beyond. However, after a moment's silence I had my recompense, by hearing a very soft and musical voice demand, in a low tone, "Are you there?"
"I am," answered I, in the hyperbolic style usual to Spanish gallants,--"I am, fairest of earth's creatures! and ready to serve you with life and----"
"Hush!" said the voice. "Go instantly to the theatre, and ask for the box marked G. Wait there, whatever betide--and say no more."
The jalousie immediately closed; and snatching up my hat, I prepared to obey the command, when my door opened, and Father Francis appeared with a light.
"In the dark, my dear Louis!" said he, with some astonishment; "what are you doing in the dark? Better come and read Seneca with me."
"I am just going to the play," replied I, holding up my hand to my eyes, as if the sudden light affected them, but, in reality, to cover a certain crimsoning of the cheek, which the mere presence of so good and pure a being called up, in spite of my efforts to prevent it. "They play to-night Calderon's Cisma de Inglaterra."
"You are all too fond of that bad place, a theatre," said Father Francis; "but I suppose, Louis, that it will always be so at your age. I must not forget now, when I can no longer enjoy, that you are in the season of enjoyment, and that I was once like you. However, I hope that your love of theatres will soon pass. They were instituted, doubtless, to promote morality, and to do good, but they are sadly perverted in our day. Well, God be with you!"
I could have well spared the interruption, but more especially the good father's recommendation to God, when my purpose was not what my own heart could fully approve. Not that I had any formed design of evil--not that I had any wish of wronging innocence--nay, nor of breaking my faith to Helen. 'Twas but excitement I sought; and though perhaps I wished I had not advanced so far, I was ashamed of drawing back, and I hurried on to the theatre.
A great crowd was going in; and, following the course of the stream, I sought for the box marked G. On finding it, I was surprised to discover that it was one of the curtained boxes reserved for the principal officers of the city. An old woman had the keys of these boxes in charge, and to her I applied for admission. The face of surprise which she assumed I shall not easily forget. "Heyday!" she exclaimed, "let you into the box of the corregidor! I dare say! Pray, young sir, where is your order?"
"Here!" said I, nothing abashed, and resolved to accomplish my object; and, putting my hand in my pocket, I seemed to search for the order till some persons who were near had passed on. I then produced a pistole, which the old lady found to be an order in so good and authentic a form, that she drew forth the key, and proceeded towards the door, saying, "The corregidor went out of town this morning, and will not return for two days, so there can be no great harm in letting you in; but keep the curtains close. You can see and hear very well through the chinks, without showing yourself in the corregidor's box, I warrant."
I promised to observe her directions, and entered the box, which was empty. I seated myself behind the curtains, which, drawn completely across the front, hid me from the spectators, though I had still a good view of the stage. The play, indeed, was not what I came to see; and at first I listened with eager and attentive ears to the sound of every foot that passed by the door of the box. Actually trembling with anxiety and excitement, I could hear one person after another go by, till the tide of spectators began to slacken, and, at last, but the solitary step of some late straggler sounded along the passage, hurrying on to make up for his delay. Two or three times, when the foot was lighter than the rest, or when it seemed to pause near the door, I started up, and my heart beat till it was actually painful to feel it throbbing against my side: but, after a while, in order to calm such sensations, I endeavoured to fix my mind upon the play; and, won by the cunning of the scene, I gradually entered into the passions I saw portrayed.
The play (La Cisma de Inglaterra) contained all Calderon's rigour and wit, and also all his extravagance. The first scene, representing the dream of Henry VIII., King of England, and his reception of the two letters from the pope, and from Martin Luther, was too full of petty conceits to engage me for a moment; but the description of Anne Bullen, as given by Carlos in the second scene, caught my young imagination, and the exquisite wit of the court-fool, Pasquin, soon riveted my attention. This character had been allotted to one of the best performers of the company; and it was wonderful what point he gave to the least word of the jester. Calderon had done much, but every theatrical writer must leave much for the player; and, in this instance, nothing he could have wished expressed was either omitted or caricatured. It was all true and simple, from the broad childish stare, half folly, half satire, with which he exclaimed, "Que soy galan de galanes," to the face of moralizing meditation, half bewildered, half severe, with which he commented on the king's melancholy:--
"Triste està Rey, de què sirve
Quanto puede, quanto manda
Si no puede, estàr alegre
Quando quiere?"
The play had proceeded for some time, and I was listening with deep interest to the exquisite dialogue between the king and Anne Bullen, in which he first discovers his passion to her, when the door of the box opened, and a lady entered, wrapped in a black mantilla. Her face was also concealed with a black velvet mask; and though, after shutting the door of the box carefully, she dropped the mantilla, discovering a form on whose beauties I will not dwell, she still retained the mask for some moments, and I could see her hand shake as it leaned on the back of one of the seats. My heart beat so violently, that I could scarcely speak; and I would have given worlds for one word from her lips, to which I might have replied. Time, however, was not to be lost, and advancing, I offered my hand to lead her forward; but she raised her finger, saying, in a very low voice, "Hush! Is there any one in the box to the left?"
"I have heard no one," replied I, rejoicing to recognise the same tones in which the appointment had been made with me. "Nay, do not tremble so," I added, laying my hand on hers; and I believe the agitation which that touch must have told her I experienced myself, served more to re-assure her than my words. "Why should you fear, with a friend, a lover, an adorer? Why, too, should you hide your face from one to whom its lightest look is joy? Will you not take off your mask?"
The lady made no reply; but, seating herself in the back part of the box, leaned her head for some time upon her hand, over which the ringlets of her rich black hair fell in glossy profusion. My agitation gradually subsided; I added caresses to tender language--I held her hand in mine--I ventured to carry it to my lips, and I am afraid many a burning word did passion suggest to my tongue. For a moment or two she let me retain her hand, seeming totally absorbed by feelings which gave no other sense power to act; but at length she gently withdrew it from mine, and, untying a string that passed through her hair, let the mask drop from her face. If her figure had struck me as lovely, how transcendently beautiful did her face appear when that which hid it was thus suddenly removed. She could not be more than eighteen, and each clear, exquisite feature seemed moulded after the enchanting specimens of ancient art, but animated with that living grace which leaves the statue far below. Her lip was all sweetness, and her brow all bland expanse; but there was a wild energetic fire in her eye, which spoke of the strong and ardent passions of her country; and there was also an occasional gleam in it, that had something almost approaching the intensity of mental wandering. Let me not say that those eyes were anything less than beautiful. They were of those full, dark, thrilling orbs, that seem to look deep into the heart of man, and exercise upon all its pulses a strange, attracting influence, like that which the bright moon holds over the waters of the world; and round them swept a long, black, silky fringe, that shaded and softened without diminishing their lustre by a ray.
As soon as she recovered herself sufficiently to speak, she replied to my ardent professions in language which, though somewhat wild and undefined, left me no doubt of her feelings. She told me, too, that she was the daughter of the corregidor; that her mother was dead, and that her father loved her even to idolatry; that she returned his affection; and that never, even were it to wed a monarch, would she leave him. At the same time she spoke enthusiastically, even wildly, of love and passion, and to what it might prompt a determined heart. She spoke, too, of jealousy, but she said it was incompatible with love, for that a mind which felt like hers would instantly convert its love into hate, if it once found itself deceived: and what was there, she asked, that such hate would not do?
On this subject she threw out some dark and mysterious hints, which, at any other moment, might have made me estimate the dangerous excess of all her passions; but I was infatuated, and would not see the perils that surrounded the dim gulf into which I was plunging. We talked long, and we talked ardently, and in the end, when, some little time before the play was concluded, she rose to leave me, my brain was in a whirl that wanted little but the name to be madness.
"Though I have unlimited power over my own actions," said she, "even perhaps too much so--for, ungrateful that I am!--I sometimes wish my father loved me less, or more wisely;--but, as I said, though I have unlimited power over my own actions, some reasons forbade me to-night receiving you in my own house. To-morrow night you may come. You have remarked," she added, putting on her mask, and wrapping her mantilla round her, "a small door under the window of my dressing-room; at midnight it will be open--come thither, for there are many things I wish to say." She then enjoined me not to leave the theatre till the play was completely over, and left me, my whole mind and thoughts in a state of agitation and confusion hardly to be expressed. I will not say that conscience did not somewhat whisper I was doing wrong; but the tumult of excited passion, and the gratification of my spirit of romance, prevented me even from calculating how far I might be hurried. There was certainly some vague point where I proposed to stop short of vice; and I trust I should have done so, even had not other circumstances intervened to save me therefrom. However that may be, let it be marked and remembered, from the first, that the steps I took in wrong, by an extraordinary chain of circumstances, caused all the misery of my existence.