Sketches Part 8

'You would just suit Mr. Novalis, then,' observed Mr. Revel, bowing to the sculptor.

'Novalis is an astrologer,' said Madame Schulembourg; 'I think he would just suit you.'

'Destiny is a grand subject,' observed Walstein, 'and although I am not prepared to say that I believe in fate, I should nevertheless not be surprised to read my fortunes in the stars.'

'That has been the belief of great spirits,' observed the sculptor, his countenance brightening with more a.s.surance.

'It is true,' replied Walstein, 'I would rather err with my great namesake and Napoleon than share the orthodoxy of ordinary mortality.'

'That is a dangerous speech, Baron,' said Schulembourg.

'With regard to destiny,' said Mr. Revel, who was in fact a materialist of the old school, 'everything depends upon a man's nature; the ambitious will rise, and the grovelling will crawl--those whose volition is strong will believe in fate, and the weak-minded accounts for the consequences of his own incongruities by execrating chance.'

Schulembourg shook his head. 'By a man's nature you mean his structure,'

said the physician, 'much, doubtless, depends upon structure, but structure is again influenced by structure. All is subservient to sympathy.'

'It is true,' replied the sculptor; 'and what is the influence of the stars on human conduct but sympathy of the highest degree?'

'I am little accustomed to metaphysical discussions,' remarked Walstein; 'this is, indeed, a sorry subject to amuse a fair lady with, Madame de Schulembourg.'

'On the contrary,' she replied, 'the mystical ever delights me.'

'Yet,' continued Walstein, 'perceiving that the discontent and infelicity of man generally increase in an exact ratio with his intelligence and his knowledge, I am often tempted to envy the ignorant and the simple.'

'A man can only be content,' replied Schulembourg, 'when his career is in harmony with his organisation. Man is an animal formed for great physical activity, and this is the reason why the vast majority, in spite of great physical suffering, are content. The sense of existence, under the influence of the action which is necessary to their living, counterbalances all misery. But when a man has a peculiar structure, when he is born with a predisposition, or is, in vulgar language, a man of genius, his content entirely depends upon the predisposition being developed and indulged. And this is philosophical education, that sublime art so ill-comprehended!'

'I agree with you,' said Revel, who recollected the nonsense-verses of Eton, and the logic of Christ Church; 'all the sc.r.a.pes and unhappiness of my youth, and I a.s.sure you they were not inconsiderable, are to be ascribed to the obstinate resolution of my family to make a priest out of a man who wished to be a soldier.'

'And I was disinherited because I would be a physician,' replied Schulembourg; 'but instead of a poor, insignificant baron, I am now a n.o.ble in four kingdoms and have the orders of all Europe, and that lady was not ashamed to marry me.'

'I was a swineherd in the wilds of Pomerania,' said Novalis, his eyes flas.h.i.+ng with enthusiasm. 'I ran away to Italy, but I broke my poor mother's heart.'

There was a dead, painful pause, in which Walstein interposed. 'As for myself, I suppose I have no predisposition, or I have not found it out.

Perhaps nature intended me for a swineherd, instead, of a baron. This, however, I do know, that life is an intolerable burthen--at least it would be,' he added, turning with a smile to his fair hostess, 'were it not for occasionally meeting some one so inspiring as you.'

'Come,' said Madame, rising, 'the carriages are at the door. Let us take a drive. Mr. Walstein, you shall give me your opinion of my ponies.'

CHAPTER III.

_Containing a Drive in the Park with a Very Charming Lady._

MADAME DE SCHULEMBOURG'S carriage, drawn by two beautiful Hanoverian ponies, cream in colour, with long manes and tails like floss silk, was followed by a britzka; but despatches called away Mr. Revel, and Novalis stole off to his studio. The doctor, as usual, was engaged. 'Caroline,'

he said, as he bid his guest adieu, 'I commend Mr. Walstein to your care. When I return in the evening, do not let me find that our friend has escaped.'

'I am sure that though unhappy he is not ungallant,' replied Caroline, with a smile; and she took his offered arm, and ascended her seat.

Swiftly the little ponies scudded along the winding roads. The Corso was as yet but slightly attended. Caroline pa.s.sed through the wide avenue without stopping, but sometimes recognising with bow and smile a flitting friend. They came to a wilder and woodier part of the park, the road lined on each side with linden trees, and in the distance were vast beds of tall fern, tinged with the first rich hues of autumn.

'Here, Mr. Walstein,' said Caroline, 'with your permission, I shall take my afternoon walk.' Thus speaking, she stopped the carriage, which she and her companion quitted. Walstein offered her his arm, but she declined it, folding herself up in her shawl.

'Which do you like best, Mr. Walstein, Constantinople or Dresden?' said Madame de Schulembourg.

'At this moment, decidedly Dresden,' replied her companion.

'Ah! that is a compliment,' said Madame de Schulembourg, after a moment's musing. 'My dear Mr. Walstein,' she continued, looking up with an arch expression, 'never pay me compliments.'

'You mistake me: it was not a compliment,' replied Walstein. 'It was a sincere and becoming tribute of grat.i.tude for three hours of endurable existence.'

'You know that you are my patient,' rejoined Madame de Schulembourg.

'I have orders to cure your melancholy. I am very successful in such complaints.'

'I have no doubt of it,' replied Walstein, with a slight bow.

'If we could but find out the cause!' continued Caroline. 'I venture to believe that, after all, it will turn out an affair of the heart. Come, be frank with your physician. Tell me, have you left it captive with a fair Greek of the Isles, or a dark-eyed maiden of the Nile? Is our heroine a captive behind a Spanish jalousie, or in an Italian convent?'

'Women ever believe that all moods and tempers of man are consequences of their influence,' replied Walstein, 'and in general they are right.'

'But in your case?'

'Very wrong.'

'I am determined to find it out,' said Madame de Schulembourg.

'I wish to heaven you could,' said Baron de Walstein.

'I think a wandering life has spoiled you,' said Caroline. 'I think it must be civilisation that you find wearisome.'

'That would be very sublime,' replied Walstein. 'But I a.s.sure you, if there be one thing that disgusts me more than another, it is the antic.i.p.ation of renewed travel! I have seen all that I wish, and more than I ever expected. All that I could experience now would be exertion without excitement, a dreadful doom. If I am not to experience pleasure, let me at least have the refuge of repose. The magic of change of scene is with me exhausted. If I am to live, I do not think that I could be tempted to quit this city; sometimes I think, scarcely even my house.'

'I see how it is,' exclaimed Madame de Schulembourg, shaking her head very knowingly, 'you must marry.'

'The last resource of feminine fancy!' exclaimed Walstein, almost laughing. 'You would lessen my melancholy, I suppose, on the principle of the division of gloom. I can a.s.sure you, my dear Madame de Schulembourg,' he continued, in a very serious tone, 'that, with my present sensations, I should consider it highly dishonourable to implicate any woman in my destiny.'

'Ha! ha! ha!' laughed Madame; 'I can a.s.sure you, my dear Mr. Walstein, that I have a great many very pretty friends who will run the risk. 'Tis the best cure for melancholy, believe me. I was serious myself at times before I married, but you see I have got over my gloom.'

'You have, indeed,' said Walstein; 'and perhaps, were I Doctor de Schulembourg, I might be as gay.'

'Another compliment! However, I accept it, because it is founded on truth. The fact is, I think you are too much alone.'

'I have lived in a desert, and now I live in what is called the world,'

replied Walstein. 'Yet in Arabia I was fairly content, and now I am-----what I shall not describe, because it will only procure me your ridicule.'

'Nay! not ridicule, Mr. Walstein. Do not think that I do not sympathise with your affliction, because I wish you to be as cheerful as myself.

If you were fairly content in Arabia, I shall begin to consider it an affair of climate.'