Kitabı oku: «Eve», sayfa 23

CHAPTER XLVI.
‘PRECIOSA.’

Eve had lost something of her light-heartedness; in spite of herself she was made to think, and grave alternatives were forced upon her for decision. The careless girl was dragged in opposite directions by two men, equally selfish and conceited, the one prosaic and clever, the other æsthetic but ungifted; each actuated by the coarsest self-seeking, neither regarding the happiness of the child. Martin had a passionate fancy for her, and had formed some fantastic scheme of turning her into a singer and an actress; and Mr. Coyshe thought of pushing his way in town by the aid of her money.

Eve was without any strength of character, but she had obstinacy, and where her pleasure was concerned she could be very obstinate. Hitherto she had not been required to act with independence. She had submitted in most things to the will of her father and sister, but then their will had been to give her pleasure and save her annoyance. She had learned always to get her own way by an exhibition of peevishness if crossed.

Now she had completely set her heart on going to Plymouth. She was desirous to know something about her mother, as her father might not be questioned concerning her; and she burned with eagerness to see a play. It would be hard to say which motive predominated. One alone might have been beaten down by Barbara’s opposition, but two plaited in and out together made so tough a string that it could not be broken. Barbara did what she could, but her utmost was unavailing. Eve had sufficient shrewdness to insist on her desire to see and converse with a friend of her mother, and to say as little as possible about her other motive. Barbara could appreciate one, she would see no force in the other.

Eve carried her point. Barbara consented to her going under the escort of Jasper. They were to ride to Beer Ferris and thence take boat. They were not to stay in Plymouth, but return the same way. The tide was favourable; they would probably be home by three o’clock in the morning, and Barbara would sit up for them. It was important that Mr. Jordan should know nothing of the expedition, which would greatly excite him. As for Martin, she would provide for him, though she could not undertake to find him duck and green peas and crusted port every day.

One further arrangement was made. Eve was engaged to Mr. Coyshe, therefore the young doctor was to be invited to join Eve and Jasper at Beer Alston, and accompany her to Plymouth. A note was despatched to him to prepare him, and to ask him to have a boat in readiness, and to allow of the horses being put in his stables.

Thus, everything was settled, if not absolutely in accordance with Eve’s wishes – she objected to the company of the doctor – yet sufficiently so to make her happy. Her happiness became greater as the time approached for her departure, and when she left she was in as joyful a mood as any in which Barbara had ever seen her.

Everything went well. The weather was fine, and the air and landscape pleasant; not that Eve regarded either as she rode to Beer Alston. There the tiresome surgeon joined her and Jasper, and insisted on giving them refreshments. Eve was impatient to be on her way again, and was hardly civil in her refusal; but the harness of self-conceit was too dense over the doctor’s breast for him to receive a wound from her light words.

In due course Plymouth was reached, and, as there was time to spare, Eve, by her sister’s directions, went to a convent, where were some nuns of their acquaintance, and stayed there till fetched by the two young men to go with them to the theatre. Jasper had written before and secured tickets.

At last Eve sat in a theatre – the ambition, the dream of her youth was gratified. She occupied a stall between Jasper and Mr. Coyshe, a place that commanded the house, but was also conspicuous.

Eve sat looking speechlessly about her, lost in astonishment at the novelty of all that surrounded her; the decorations of white and gold, the crimson curtains, the chandelier of glittering glass-drops, the crowd of well-dressed ladies, the tuning of the instruments of the orchestra, the glare of light, were to her an experience so novel that she felt she would have been content to come all the way for that alone. That she herself was an object of notice, that opera-glasses were turned upon her, never occurred to her. Fond as she was of admiration, she was too engrossed in admiring to think that she was admired.

A hush. The conductor had taken his place and raised his wand. Eve was startled by the sudden lull, and the lowering of the lights.

Then the wand fell, and the overture began. ‘Preciosa’ had been performed in London the previous season for the first time, and now, out of season, it was taken to the provinces. The house was very full. A military orchestra played.

Eve knew the overture arranged for the piano, for Jasper had introduced her to it; she had admired it; but what was a piano arrangement to a full orchestra? Her eye sparkled, a brilliant colour rushed into her cheek. This was something more beautiful than she could have conceived. The girl’s soul was full of musical appreciation, and she had been kept for seventeen years away from the proper element in which she could live.

Then the curtain rose, and disclosed the garden of Don Carcamo at Madrid. Eve could hardly repress an exclamation of astonishment. She saw a terrace with marble statues, and a fountain of water playing, the crystal drops sparkling as they fell. Umbrageous trees on both sides threw their foliage overhead and met, forming a succession of bowery arches. Roses and oleanders bloomed at the sides. Beyond the terrace extended a distant landscape of rolling woodland and corn fields threaded by a blue winding river. Far away in the remote distance rose a range of snow-clad mountains.

Eve held up her hands, drew a long breath and sighed, not out of sadness, but out of ecstasy of delight.

Don Fernando de Azevedo, in black velvet and lace, was taking leave of Don Carcamo, and informing him that he would have left Madrid some days ago had he not been induced to stay and see Preciosa, the gipsy girl about whom the town was talking. Then entered Alonzo, the son of Don Carcamo, enthusiastic over the beauty, talent, and virtue of the maiden.

Eve listened with eager eyes and ears, she lost not a word, she missed not a motion. Everything she saw was real to her. This was true Spain, yonder was the Sierra Nevada. For aught she considered, these were true hidalgoes. She forgot she was in a theatre, she forgot everything, her own existence, in her absorption. Only one thought obtruded itself on her connecting the real with the fictitious. Martin ought to have stood there as Alonzo, in that becoming costume.

Then the orchestra played softly, sweetly – she knew the air, drew another deep inspiration, her flush deepened. Over the stage swept a crowd of gentlemen and ladies, and a motley throng singing in chorus. Then came in gipsies with tambourines and castanets, and through the midst of them Preciosa in a crimson velvet bodice and saffron skirt, wearing a necklace of gold chains and coins.

Eve put her hands over her mouth to check the cry of astonishment; the dress – she knew it – it was that she had found in the chest. It was that, or one most similar.

Eve hardly breathed as Preciosa told the fortunes of Don Carcamo and Don Fernando. She saw the love of Alonzo kindled, and Alonzo she had identified with Martin. She – she herself was Preciosa. Had she not worn that dress, rattled that tambourine, danced the same steps? The curtain fell; the first act was over, and the hum of voices rose. But Eve heard nothing. Mr. Coyshe endeavoured to engage her in conversation, but in vain. She was in a trance, lifted above the earth in ecstasy. She was Preciosa, she lived under a Spanish sun. This was her world, this real life. No other world was possible henceforth, no other life endurable. She had passed out of a condition of surprise; nothing could surprise her more, she had risen out of a sphere where surprise was possible into one where music, light, colour, marvel were the proper atmosphere.

The most prodigious marvels occur in dreams and excite no astonishment. Eve had passed into ecstatic dream.

The curtain rose, and the scene was forest, with rocks, and the full moon shining out of the dark blue sky, silvering the trunks of the trees and the mossy stones. A gipsy camp; the gipsies sang a chorus with echo. The captain smote with hammer on a stone and bade his men prepare for a journey to Valencia. The gipsies dispersed, and then Preciosa appeared, entering from the far background, with the moonlight falling on her, subduing to low tones her crimson and yellow, holding a guitar in her hands. She seated herself on a rock, and the moonbeams played about her as she sang and accompanied herself on her instrument.

 
Lone am I, yet am not lonely,
For I see thee, loved and true,
Round me flits thy form, thine only,
Moonlit gliding o’er the dew.
 
 
Wander where I may, or tarry,
Hangs my heart alone on thee,
Ever in my breast I carry
Thoughts that burn and torture me.
 
 
Unattainable and peerless
In my heaven a constant star,
Heart o’erflowing, eyes all tearless,
Gaze I on thee from afar.
 

The exquisite melody, the pathos of the scene, the poetry of the words, were more than Eve could bear, and tears rolled down her cheeks. Mr. Coyshe looked round in surprise; he heard her sob, and asked if she were tired or unwell. No! she sobbed out of excess of happiness. The combined beauty of scene and song oppressed her heart with pain, the pain of delight greater than the heart could contain.

Eve saw Alonzo come, disguised as a hunter, having abandoned his father, his rank, his prospects, for love of Preciosa. Was not this like Martin? – Martin the heroic, the self-sacrificing man who rushed into peril that he might be at her feet – Martin, now laid up with rheumatism for her sake.

She saw the gipsies assemble, their tents were taken down, bales were collected, all was prepared for departure. Alonzo was taken into the band and fellowship was sworn.

The moon had set, but see – what is this? A red light smites betwixt the trees and kindles the trunks orange and scarlet, the rocks are also flushed, and simultaneously with a burst, joyous, triumphant, the whole band sing the chorus of salutation to the rising sun. Preciosa is exalted on a litter and is borne on the shoulders of the gipsies. The light brightens, the red blaze pervades, transforms the entire scene, bathes every actor in fire; the glorious song swells and thrills every heart, and suddenly, when it seemed to Eve that she could bear no more, the curtain fell. She sprang to her feet, unconscious of everything but what she had seen and heard, and the whole house rose with her and roared its applause and craved for more.

It is unnecessary for us to follow Eve’s emotions through the entire drama, and to narrate the plot, to say how that the gipsies arrive at the castle of Don Fernando where he is celebrating his silver wedding, how his son Eugenio, by an impertinence offered to Preciosa, exasperates the disguised Alonzo into striking him, and is arrested, how Preciosa intercedes, and how it is discovered that she is the daughter of Don Fernando, stolen seventeen years before. The reader may possibly know the drama; if he does not, his loss is not much; it is a drama of little merit and no originality, which would never have lived had not Weber furnished it with a few scraps of incomparably beautiful music.

The curtain fell, the orchestra departed, the boxes were emptying. All those in the stalls around Eve were in movement. She gave a long sigh and woke out of her dream, looked round at Jasper, then at Mr. Coyshe, and smiled; her eyes were dazed, she was not fully awake.

‘Very decent performance,’ said the surgeon, ‘but we shall see something better in London.’

‘Well, Eve,’ said Jasper, ‘are you ready? I will ask for the manager, and then we must be pushing home.’

‘Home!’ repeated Eve, and repeated it questioningly.

‘Yes,’ answered Jasper, ‘have you forgotten the row up the river and the ride before us?’

She put her hand to her head.

‘Oh, Jasper,’ she said, ‘I feel as if I were at home now – here, where I ought always to have been, and was going again into banishment.’

CHAPTER XLVII.
NOAH’S ARK

Jasper left Eve with Mr. Coyshe whilst he went in quest of the manager. He had written to Mr. Justice Barret as soon as it was decided that the visit was to be made, so as to prepare him for an interview, but there had not been time for a reply. The surgeon was to order a supper at the inn. A few minutes later Jasper came to them. He had seen the manager, who was then engaged, but requested that they would shortly see him in his rooms at the inn. Time was precious, the little party had a journey before them. They therefore hastily ate their meal, and when Eve was ready, Jasper accompanied her to the apartments occupied by the manager. Mr. Coyshe was left over the half-consumed supper, by no means disposed, as it had to be paid for, to allow so much of it to depart uneaten.

Jasper knocked at the door indicated as that to the rooms occupied by the manager and his family, and on opening it was met by a combination of noises that bewildered, and of odours that suffocated.

‘Come in, I am glad to see you,’ said a voice; ‘Justice sent word I was to expect and detain you.’

The manager’s wife came forward to receive the visitors.

She was a pretty young woman, with very light frizzled hair, cut short – a head like that of the ‘curly-headed plough-boy.’ Eve could hardly believe her eyes, this was the real Preciosa, who on the stage had worn dark flowing hair. The face was good-humoured, simple, but not clean, for the paint and powder had been imperfectly washed off. It adhered at the corners of the eyes and round the nostrils. Also a ring of white powder lingered on her neck and at the roots of her hair on her brow.

‘Come in,’ she said, with a kindly smile that made pleasant dimples in her cheeks, ‘but take care where you walk. This is my parrot, a splendid bird, look at his green back and scarlet wing. Awake, old Poll?’

‘Does your mother know you’re out?’ answered the parrot hoarsely, with the hard eyes fixed on Eve.

The girl turned cold and drew back.

‘Look at my Tom,’ said Mrs. Justice Barret, ‘how he races round his cage.’ She pointed to a squirrel tearing inanely up the wires of a revolving drum in which he was confined. ‘That is the way in which he greets my return from the theatre. Mind the cradle! Excuse my dress, I have been attending to baby.’ She rocked vigorously. ‘Slyboots, he knows when I come back without opening his peepers. Sucking your thumb vigorously, are you? I could eat it – I could eat you, you are sweet as barley-sugar.’ The enthusiastic mother dived with both arms into the cradle, brought out the child, and hugged it till it screamed.

‘What is Jacko about, I wonder,’ said the ex-Preciosa; ‘do observe him, sitting in the corner as demure as an old woman during a sermon. I’ll warrant he’s been at more mischief. What do you suppose I have found him out in? I was knitting a stocking for Justice, and when the time came for me to go to the theatre I put the half-finished stocking with the ball of worsted down in the bed, I mistrusted Jacko. As I dare not leave him in this room with baby, I locked him into the sleeping apartment. Will you believe me? he found what I had concealed. He plunged into the bed and discovered the stocking and unravelled the whole; not only so, but he has left his hair on the sheets, and whatever Justice will say to me and to Jacko I do not know. Never mind, if he is cross I’ll survive it. Now Jacko, how often have I told you not to bite off the end of your tail? The poor fellow is out of health, and we must not be hard on him.’

The monkey blinked his eyes, and rubbed his nose. He knew that his delinquencies were being expatiated on.

‘You have not seen all my family yet,’ said Mrs. Barret. ‘There is a box of white mice under the bed in the next room. The darlings are so tame that they will nestle in my bosom. Do you believe me? I went once to the theatre, quite forgetting one was there, till I came to dress, I mean undress, and then it tumbled out; I missed my leads that evening, I was distracted lest the mouse should get away. I told the prompter to keep him till I could reclaim the rascal. Come in, dears! Come in!’ This was shouted, and a boy and girl burst in at the door.

‘My only darlings, these three,’ said Mrs. Barret, pointing to the children and the babe. ‘They’ve been having some supper. Did you see them on the stage? They were gipsies. Be quick and slip out of your clothes, pets, and tumble into bed. Never mind your prayers to-night. I have visitors, and cannot attend to you. Say them twice over to-morrow morning instead. What? Hungry still? Here, Jacko! surrender that crust, and Polly must give up her lump of sugar; bite evenly between you.’ Then turning to her guests, with her pleasant face all smiles, ‘I love animals! I have been denied a large family, I have only three, but then – I’ve not been married six years. One must love. What would the world be without love? We are made to love. Do you agree with me, Jacko, you mischievous little pig? Now – no biting, Polly! You snapping also?’

Then, to her visitors, ‘Take a chair – that is – take two.’

To her children, ‘What, is this manners? Your hat, Bill, and your frock, Philadelphia, and heaven knows what other rags of clothes on the only available chairs.’ She swept the children’s garments upon the floor, and kicked them under the table.

‘Now then,’ to the guests, ‘sit down and be comfortable. Justice will be here directly. Barret don’t much like all these animals, but Lord bless your souls! I can’t do without them. My canary died,’ she sniffled and wiped nose and eyes on the back of her hand. ‘He got poisoned by the monkey, I suspect, who fed him on scraps of green paper picked off the wall. One must love! But it comes expensive. They make us pay damages wherever we stay. They charge things to our darlings I swear they never did. The manager is as meek as Moses, and he bears like a miller’s ass. Here he comes – I know his sweet step. Don’t look at me. I’ll sit with my back to you, baby is fidgety.’ Then entered the manager, Mr. Justice Barret, a quiet man with a pasty face.

‘That’s him,’ exclaimed the wife, ‘I said so. I knew his step. I adore him. He is a genius. I love him – even his pimples. One must love. Now – don’t mind me.’ The good-natured creature carried off her baby into a corner, and seated herself with it on a stool: the monkey followed her, knowing that he was not appreciated by the manager, and seated himself beside her, also with his back to the company, and was engrossed in her proceedings with the baby.

Mr. Justice Barret had a bald head, he was twice his wife’s age, had a very smooth face shining with soap. His hands were delicate and clean. He wore polished boots, and white cravat, and a well-brushed black frock-coat. How he managed in a menagerie of children and animals to keep himself tidy was a wonder to the company.

‘O Barret dear!’ exclaimed his lady, looking over her shoulder, and the monkey turned its head at the same time. ‘I’ve had a jolly row with the landlady over that sheet to which I set fire.’

‘My dear,’ said the manager, ‘how often have I urged you not to learn your part on the bed with the candle by your side or in your hand? You will set fire to your precious self some day.’

‘About the sheet, Barret,’ continued his wife; ‘I’ve paid for it, and have torn it into four. It will make pocket-handkerchiefs for you, dear.’

‘Rather large?’ asked the manager deferentially.

‘Rather, but that don’t matter. Last longer before coming to the wash, and so save money in the end.’

The manager was now at length able to reach and shake hands with Eve and Jasper.

‘Bless me, my dear child,’ he said to the former, ‘you remind me wonderfully of your mother. How is she? I should like to see her again. A sad pity she ever gave up the profession. She had the instincts of an artiste in her, but no training, horribly amateurish; that, however, would rub off.’

‘She is dead,’ answered Eve. ‘Did you not know that?’

‘Dead!’ exclaimed the manager. ‘Poor soul! so sweet, so simple, so right-minded. Dead, dead! Ah me! the angels go to heaven and the sinners are left. Did she remain with your father, or go home to her own parents?’

‘I thought,’ said Eve, much agitated, ‘that you could have told me concerning her.’

‘I!’ Mr. Justice Barret opened his eyes wide. ‘I!’

‘My dear!’ called Mrs. Barret, ‘will you be so good as to throw me over my apron. I am dressing baby for the night, and heaven alone knows where his little night-shirt is. I’ll tie him up in this apron.’ ‘Does your mother know you’re out?’ asked the parrot with its head on one side, looking at Eve.

‘I think,’ said Jasper, ‘it would be advisable for me to have a private talk with you, Mr. Barret, if you do not mind walking with me in the square, and then Miss Eve Jordan can see you after. Our time is precious.’

‘By all means,’ answered the manager, ‘if Miss Jordan will remain with my wife.’

‘O yes,’ said Eve, looking at the parrot; she was alarmed at the bird.

‘Do not be afraid of Poll,’ said Mr. Barret. Then to his wife, ‘Sophie! I don’t think it wise to tie up baby as you propose. He might be throttled. We are going out. Look for the night dress, and let me have the apron again for Polly.’

At once the article required rushed like a rocket through the air, and struck the manager on the breast.

‘There,’ said he, ‘I will cover Polly, and she will go to sleep and talk no more.’

Then the manager and Jasper went out.

‘Now,’ said the latter, ‘in few words I beg you to tell me what you know about the wife of Mr. Jordan of Morwell. She was my sister.’

‘Indeed! – and your name? I forget what you wrote.’

‘My name is Babb, but that matters nothing.’

‘I never knew that of your sister. She would not tell whence she came or who she was.’

‘From your words just now,’ said Jasper, ‘I gather that you are unaware that she eloped from Morwell with an actor. I could not speak of this before her daughter.’

‘Eloped with an actor!’ repeated the manager. ‘If she did, it was after I knew her. Excuse me, I cannot believe it. She may have gone home to her father; he wanted her to return to him.’

‘You know that?’

‘Of course I do. He came to me, when I was at Tavistock, and learned from me where she was. He went to Morwell to see her once or twice, to induce her to return to him.’

‘You must be very explicit,’ said Jasper gravely. ‘My sister never came home. Neither my father nor I know to this day what became of her.’

‘Then she must have remained at Morwell. Her daughter says she is dead.’

‘She did not remain at Morwell. She disappeared.’

‘This is very extraordinary. I will tell you all I know, but that is not much. She was not with us very long. She fell ill as we were on our way from Plymouth to Launceston, and we were obliged to leave her at Morwell, the nearest house, that is some eighteen or nineteen years ago. She never rejoined us. After a year, or a year and a half, we were at Tavistock, on our way to Plymouth, from Exeter by Okehampton, and there her father met us, and I told him what had become of her. I know that I walked out one day to Morwell and saw her. I believe her father had several interviews with her, then something occurred which prevented his meeting her as he had engaged, and he asked me to see her again and explain his absence. I believe her union with the gentleman at Morwell was not quite regular, but of that I know nothing for certain. Anyhow, her father disapproved and would not meet Mr., what was his name? – O, Jordan. He saw his daughter in private, on some rock that stands above the Tamar. There also I met her, by his direction. She was very decided not to leave her child and husband, though sorry to offend and disobey her father. That is all I know – yes! – I recall the day – Midsummer Eve, June the twenty-third. I never saw her again.’

‘But are you not aware that my father went to Morwell on the next day, Midsummer Day, and was told that Eve had eloped with you?’

‘With me!’ the manager stood still. ‘With me! Nonsense!’

‘On the twenty-fourth she was gone.’

Mr. Barret shook his head. ‘I cannot understand.’

‘One word more,’ said Jasper. ‘You will see Miss Eve Jordan. Do not tell her that I am her uncle. Do not cast a doubt on her mother’s death. Speak to her only in praise of her mother as you knew her.’

‘This is puzzling indeed,’ said the manager. ‘We have had a party with us, an amateur, a walking character, who talked of Morwell as if he knew it, and I told him about the Miss Eve we had left there and her marriage to the squire. I may have said, “If ever you go there again, remember me to the lady, supposing her alive, and tell me if the child be as beautiful as I remember her mother.”’

‘There is but one man,’ said Jasper, ‘who holds the key to the mystery, and he must be forced to disclose.’