Jacques started.
"Suicide!"
"The night is favorable, and my hopes are dead, like yours," said Sir Asinus, gloomily.
"That is enough to kill at one time," said the melancholy Jacques; "mine are not—animation is only suspended. On the whole, my dear friend, I am opposed to your proposition. Good night!"
And Jacques, with a melancholy smile, departed.
Sir Asinus, with a gesture of despair, rushed forth into the night. Whether that gentleman had been reading romances or not, we cannot say; but as he disappeared, he bore a strong resemblance to a desperate lover bent on mischief.
Within, the reel had now begun—that noble divertisement, before which all other dances disappear, vanquished, overwhelmed, driven from the field, and weeping their departed glories. For the reel is a high mystery—it is superior to all—it cannot be danced beyond the borders of Virginia—as the Seville orange of commerce loses its flavor, and is nothing. The reel ends all the festivities of the old Virginian gatherings, and crowns with its supreme merriment the pyramid of mirth. When it is danced properly,—to proper music, by the proper persons, and with proper ardor,—all the elements break loose. Mirth and music and bright eyes respectively shower, thunder and lighten. In the old days, it snowed too—for the powder fell in alabaster dust and foamy clouds, and crammed the air with fragrance.
As for the reel which they danced at the Raleigh tavern, in the Apollo room, upon the occasion we allude to, who shall speak of it with adequate justice? Jacques lost it—tulip-like, the king of grace—Belle-bouche was with him; and a thousand eyes were on the maze,—the maze which flashed, and buzzed, and rustled, ever merrier—and glittered with its diamonds and far brighter eyes—and ever grew more tangled and more simple, one and many, complicate and single, while the music roared above in flashing cadences and grand ambrosial grace.
And merrier feet were never seen. The little maidens seemed to pour their hearts out in the enchanting divertisement, and the whole apartment, with its dazzling lights and flowers, was full of laughter, mirth, and holiday from end to end. When the final roar of the violins dropped into silence, and so crumbled into nothing, all was ended. Cavaliers offered their arms—ladies put on their hoods—chariots drove up and received their burdens; and in another hour, the joyous festival was but a recollection. After the reel—nothingness.
The Apollo room was still again—waiting for other men than youthful gallants, other words than flattering compliments.