LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VII, Issue 754, 20 November 1876, Page 3

LITERATURE.

DK. BASILIUS.

Chapter II

The r"ar of the sea and the whistling of the wind were still the same. As for the rain, it fell with such violence that it seemed as though the clouds were joined to the earth by a sheet of water, I waited a long while before the house, with the hope that the doctor would really quit it in order to seek my home, as the woman had promised. But no sound within indicated any preparation for the doctor’s departure. 1 became furious and once more assailed the entrance with a shower of blows, fairly howling in my rage. Still that deathlike silence.

Finally discouraged, crushed, convinced that the Dutch woman had taken advantage ol my credulity, I sorrowfully re-entered the narrow path which led to the quay, and ascended to the upper part of the city. I paused half-way to throw a last glance over the route I had just followed. But as far as my eye could penetrate through the deluge from the heavens into the obscurity, the route was deserted. At last I reached my home.

A faint light shone through a small window. It was the light of the night-lamp which’ burned near the bed of the sick one.

I shuddered upon perceiving it. * Alas ! My God ! ’ I said, ‘as faint as this light is, perhaps it has outlived my poor Esther.’ My agony was so Intense that I hesitated to enter. But, with a supreme effort, I gathered up my strength and went in, throwing myself at once before the bed and seizing my wife’s hand. It was cold. Was she dead ?

I was about to bend over her to listen for her breathing, when a sort of malicious laugh, proceeding from a corner of the room caused me to start. I turned round, and distinguished in the shade of an angle of the wall a man seated upon a cane stool. This man held a pipe between his teeth, the bowl of which was red-hot through smoking. ‘Ah ! ah ! ah! ’ he exclaimed, ‘it seems that you have played truant, my young friend; for, though the way is long from my house to yours, I have been expecting you here for more than one hour. ’ ‘ Who are you, sir ? ’ I inquired. ‘Dr Basilius, of course! ’ replied the smoker.

I then eyed tho strange visitor with wonder. He was a coarse, thick-set man of about lifty. His face was brick red; his large flabby cheeks and jaw-bone, which made his face broader below than above, gave his physiognomy a vulgar expression which was only redeemed by the strangeness of his look.

Though sunken in their sockets, and half hidden by heavy eye-brows, the eyes were bright aiid piercing. The lips were fleshy and sensual, and turned up at the corners in a smile which \ completely contrasted the visage.

As to the forehead, it was prominent and totally devoid of hair; which allowed one to distinguish a protruberance situated where ancient mythology places the horns of satyrs, and the magic of modern ages, those of Satan. A covering of red network supplied the place of the absent hair.

His dress bore no resemblance to that worn by his brothers. Since the invasion of the European coat, the physicians of Batavia wore the traditional costume—black coat, black trousers, white vest, and white cravat. Now, nothing similar protected the person of Basilius.

Over trousers of striped ticking, he had drawn as a protection from the rain, yellow oil-skin breeches, such as are worn by sailors; a very ordinary blue overcoat, but warm and thick, and a red handkerchief fastened at the neck by an enormous pin in the shape of an anchor, completed his attire.

Well, I said that the doctor sat upon a cane stool smoking a pipe rendered red hot by rapid smoking. * How did you come here ? ’ I asked, with amazement.

‘ Through the air on a broomstick,’ was the answer. He gave vent to a little dry and nervous laugh, which was probably peculiar to him, and which resembled the chirp of a grasshopper. ‘You comprehend that driven along by such weather, I came here in a very short time,’ he pursued.

‘ In fact, you’are here, doctor,’ I resumed, ‘ and my recognition is hearty. It matters little what locomotive power brought you. Thanks, good doctor, thanks 1 ’ I sought his hand, that I might express my feeling in a friendly shake. ‘Take care,’ he cried, drawing back quickly, ‘ you will burn yourself with my claws.’

‘ What do you mean ? ’ I questioned. ‘ Are you the only one good city of Batavia who is not aware that Satan and myself are fast friends ; that the Prince of Darkness partakes of my coffee and cream every morning, and sips my plain coffee at night? Are you ignorant of the fact that it is to his counsels I owe the satisfaction of being a lesser ass than my brothers ? ’

‘So I have heard, doctor; but how can such foolish things receive credence at this epoch ? ’

l Ah I ah ! ah ! my young friend,JJone must not be sure of anything; besides, recognition is a difficult burden to bear, and a good number of people would be very happy to get rid of it, even at the price of folly.’ ‘ O, doctor, exclude me from such people, and be assured that all my life I shall remember the obligingness, promptitude, and disinterestedness with which you have come to my assistance.’

‘Ah 1 ah 1 ah I ’ cried the doctor, this time taken with such a fit of laughter, that it degenerated into a paroxysm of coughing. ‘This young man amuses me; he amuses me prodigiously. Continue, my little friend; I like to see expansions of the heart manifest themselves in waterfalls of words; they prove a sublimity of soul—and I adore sublime souls, I do. Ah ! let us see, what might your recognition be ? ’ ‘ In exchange for the service you are about to render me, in curing my Esther, you may dispose of me as you will think best; and no matter what price you may claim of my gratitude, I shall always hold myself in readiness to sacrifice even my life for you.’ ‘ But you are proposing a compact, young man. Decidedly you are wrong; recognition carries you too far. Recognition—pest! beware of it, it is wise to be diffident of this sentiment.’

* Doctor, doctor,’ I implored, distracted, ‘you are deriding me.’ ‘ Oh ! I should take good care not to deride you,’ my visitor hastened to say. * Have I ever doubted anything ? I believe all promises ; one ia alwayi sincere when he makes them; but the keeping of them is another thing!’ * Doctor, I swear ’ ‘Do not swear, it would be a waste of words. But look in that broken glass, ’he went on, pointing at a cracked mirror facing me. ‘What do you see?’ ‘ My face,’ I replied. ‘Well, do you expect that twenty years hence the image reflected by this glass will be the same as it is t"-day ? It would be nonsense, likewise nonsense to swear that all your life you will be grateful for my present services. But, no matter, go on, my young friend. It gives me ten times more pleasure to heai' men speak of their recognition than it does to ascertain the execution of it. So go on, go on ; do not be uneasy, be outspoken.’ ‘Doctor,’ I said softly, seeing that we had lost time in idle talk, ‘ shall I rouse the patient ?’ ‘ For what ? ’ ‘ Why, that you may study her condition and administer some medicine.’

* Good 1 ’ he said, with a harsh laugh ; ‘ her body requires nothing for the moment; she is sleeping as she never has slept before. Listen, you do not even hear her breathing,’ ‘ It is true,’ I returned, ill at ease, taking a step toward the bed. But the doctor seized my coat and held me back. ‘ Let her sleep,’ he said : ‘ nature regains her strength through repose. Ah ! ah ! ’ My brain was on fire. ‘ At least, allow me to explain her malady, We have lost precious time,’ I pursued, huskily. ‘ First, my young friend, know this ; we are not losing time and have lost none. We are philosophising ; which is, on the contrary, the best use a man can make of his hours. Aa to the explanation you would like to give me, I know it already. So let your wife sleep, while we converse on other matters.’

I heaved a sigh ; but thinking it better to cede to the doctor’s whims, I asked :

On what subject would you like to converse ? ’

‘On any subject, my young friend. I have spoken for hours with a venerable Brahmin of Juggernaut, and, on the morrow* as I had exhausted all the mysteries of Brahma’s thirty-sis incarnations, I interested myself in the garrulity of the lascars belonging to the junk upon which we descended the sacred river.’

1 Well, then, doctor,’ I continued, with impatience, ‘ tell me how it is that you have taken this interest in me. lon are aware that I am poor.’ ‘ There is something I prefer to gold,’ he replied— ‘ perhaps because I have more gold than I know how to handle.’

I opened my eyes wide. (To he continued.)