LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VIII, Issue 985, 22 August 1877, Page 3

LITERATURE.

A VERY STRANGE NIGHT. (From London Society.) Chapter I. It was a baking hot day in August. The rays of the midday sun fell straight on the dusty white road which leads to Ouchy with an uncompromising glare, to which even the green lizards, as they glided hastily across the path, seemed loth to expose themselves. Not a breath of air rustled amongst the surface of the deep blue lake, and the snowy lateen sails of the quaint stone-laden barques hung idly from the yards. Walking steadily along, regardless alike of heat and dust, came a suuburt traveller, whose whole appearance, from the weatherworn knapsack on his back to the thick laceboots, at once proclaimed the Englishman. ‘By Jove, 5 said he, ‘it is hot! I begin to think they are about right when they say that “only dogs and Englishmen walk in the sun. 55 Shall I ever get to Ouchy V As he spoke the white walls of the village showed themselves through the distant trees, and the traveller, uttering a joyful jodel which sent the lizards scuttling off to their nests amongst the -tones, quickened his pace and was soon at his destination Ouchy looked even hotter than the surrounding country. Not a soul to be seen on the sandy quay, and all the gaily striped blinds were drawn close over the windows. But the lake offered a charm to the dusty traveller before which other considerations paled ; so, directing his steps to the bathing house which stands on the brink, he was soou plunged in the cool water. On his return to term jinna. Ouchy wore a very different aspect. Half an hour ago every blind was drawn, and the quay was desolate. Now all was life and bustle. The blinds no longer concealed the wide-open windows, and through those of the large white hotel the busy waiters might be seen hurrying to and fro. On the little wooden jetty was a small group of tourists and hotel-porters, presided over by the officer of the Customs in all the glory that a military uniform and brass-hilted sword can bestow. Then a bell sounded musically over the waters, and as the steamer, cause of all the excitement, appeared round the grassy promontory, one or two intending passengers came hurrying down the hill from Lausanne; while an exhausted porter, staggering under the weight of a huge portmanteau, vainly endeavoured to keep pace with them. Such a snorting and puffing, such shouting and creaking, as the boat made fast to the jetty. Over half her deck was spread an awning ; beneath it a crowd of gaily-dressed passengers; whilst the remainder of the deck was well-nigh hidden beneath a forest of white sunshades and parasols. Now bustle and confusion reigned supreme, and the zealous porters seemed wild with excitement as they struggled with the Saratoga trunks and imposing heaps of luggage which were landed from the decks of the steamer. Then, with more splashing and putting and merry laughter from beneath the white awning, the boat again started on its course. The noise of the paddles and the laughter died away in the distance, the porters bore off the last of the luggage, the knot of idlers melted away, and Ouchy composed herself to sleep again. But stay - not quite asleep. One solitary figure might still be seen. A neatly attired man, carrying in his hand a small portmanteau, with which he strolled slowly along in the shadow of the trees that border the lake, smoking a cigarette the while. Upon the portmanteau was inscribed in legible characters, ‘ Emile Thouret.’ Turning a deaf ear to the blandishments of a zealous porter from the grand Beau Eivage hotel, who spied him from beneath the shade, he directed his steps to the less imposing building, at the window of which our friend was seated. Presently, portmanteau in hand, he entered the same room, and placed himself at an adjoining table. ‘ A pleasant-looking fellow—a very plea-sant-looking fellow, 5 thought the owner of the knapsack, listening with respectful admiration at the fluent German in which Monsieur Thouret addressed the obsequious waiter. Then the object of his thoughts turned towards him, and remarked in a cheery voice and in excellent English that the weather was extremely hot, was it not ? An observation which drew from the other a very hearty assent. The ice having now been broken, the conversation was continued whilst they discussed their luncheon, till Emile—glancing at his watch, exclaimed that he had only just time to catch the train for Freiburg, and that he must start at once. ‘ O, 5 said his newly-made acquaintance, ‘ I am going to Freiburg; why should we not travel together ?’ And in a few minutes they stood side by side on the platform. ‘ Why,’ exclaimed they simultaneously, as a long lu"gage train came rumbling towards the station, ‘ this surely is not our train ; it is all trucks ! ’ But, sad to say, their train it was; and, as they regarded it with blank dismay, it drew up to the platform, or rather put its head under the station roof, leaving a long tail of empty wagons stretching far away down the line. Next to the engine were two centre-passage carriages, a platform at the end of each, and the remainder of the train consisted solely of trucks. ‘ Lausanne ! Lausanne ! ’ shouted the guard, ‘Einsteigcu nach Freiburg! Der Zug halt an alien Zwischeustat’onen ! ’ and the long row of empty trucks rumbled slowly through the station, a solitary guard on the last, his metal buttons glancing brightly in the sun. ‘ Well,’ remarked Emile, as they stood on the little platform at the end of their carriage and smoked, ‘ we shall have a good view of the country, at any rate. Why, one could walk almost as fast as this ! No more luggage trains for me ! 5 -‘Rather slow work,’ certainly,’ assented his friend; ‘but after all it doesn't much matter so long as we get to Freiburg before dark. By the bye, if it is not an impertinent question, where did you manage to acquire such an excellent knowledge of English ? ’ ‘ In London. I was four years there when I was young. But 1 am afraid that it can hardly be called excellent.’ ‘I don’t know—its as good as ray own, ’ returned the other. ‘ If it were not for the name on your portmanteau,’ couthiued he, pointing with a smile at the place where that handy article was to be seen peeping from beneath the seat, ‘I should almost have taken you for a fellow-countryman. Not a

bad plan to have your name on your luggave. in case of accidents. As for me, I and my knapsack are so seldom parted that the precaution is unnecessary. But my name is Gordon, if it interests you to know it. f?o now we start fair. ’ ‘Ah,’ replied Emile, ‘I always admire that way of travelling with the knapsack. One cannot well lose one’s luggage, and it is hardly worth while to try to steal it. Now there is little of value in that portmanteau of mine, and yet it presents quite an im posing appearance with those brass bands, does it not ? Some day perhaps it will prove too much for the honesty of one of those worthies who are always hanging about. And all of these German-Swiss hotels a> e not particularly celebrated as the abode of probity and virtue. However,’ he concluded with a cheerful laugh, ‘both portmanteau and owner have been companions for no little time, so I daresay it will serve my turn.’ And he turned to the guard, who had come round to examine the tickets, and inquired of him how long it would be before they arrived at Freiburg. ‘The other half of an hour—always the same story ! We shall not get to Freiburg till sevi-n o’clock—see if we do ! ’ Slowly the sun sank behind the snowy peaks of the distant mountains, the faintlycawing rooks wended their way to the far-off plantations, and the buttons of the solitary guard glittered no longer. Chapter 11, It was getting dusk when the two men, pushing their way through the crowd of touts so inseparable from the continental railway station, proceeded down the quaint old street of Freiburg in search of an hotel. Rejecting several whose appearance did not take their fancy, they at length found themselves before a rambling wooden building, apparently of considerable antiquity. Over the porch, in rusty ironwork, was fixed the title ‘ Zum Lowin,’ ‘ To the Lion,’ and a carved representation of that noble animal, considerably the worse for wear, graced the rugged parapet. But what far more impressed the gay Emile than rusty ironwork or rampant lion was the charming appearance presented by a damsel of bewitchingly quaint attire, who stood smiling in the doorway, ‘Just the very place that they wanted,’ said he ; so in they went without more ado, the damsel receiving them with a blush and dimpled smile that went far to convince Gordon of the correctness of his friend’s choice. Standing just within the porch was the host, rejoicing in a brass buttoned waistcoat of the richest crimson, which he wore, no doubt, so that he might always be seen, no matter how dense the smoke from the long Weichsel-holz pipe at which he pulled so lustily. As it was, he forcibly reminded Gordon of the appearance presented by a chemist’s lamp in a November fog. ‘ The gentlemen wish to sleep here V said he, regarding them attentively through the smoke. ‘Two bedrooms, or one? And do the gentlemen dine at once, or will they first hear the organ P Of couise they will hear the organ ?’ Finding that it was then nearly eight o’clock, at which hour the celebrated cathedral organ would perform, they decided to postpone the all important meal until after that event; so, handing their luggage to the beaming host, and taking a parting glance at the bright-eyed madchen, they set out for the cathedral. Not, indeed, that it required much looking for, as its ancient weathex’worn tower could be plainly seen above the steep roofs and fantastic gables with which the lower or German part of the town is embellished. To an Englishman there is ever an indescribable something about an old German town which is rarely to be felt in any other place. The paved streets, the grass peeping out between the stones; the latticed windows; the steep x-oofs surmounted with curiously shaped chimneys, and crowned with grim looking weathercock, from which the gilt has long ago disappeared, squeaking mysteriously on its rusty pivot,—all seem to carry the traveler far back into the dim past. And as he looks upwards at the gurgoyles high on the lofty cathedral, they appear to mock him with their grotesque faces and hooked faces ; faces upon which the howling winds and beating rain of perchance eight centuries have failed to make an impression. With some such thoughts as these revolving in his mind, Gordon, Emile at his side, arrived at the entrance of the cathedral, over which could just just be distinguished in the gray twilight a curious carved desigu representing divers more or less cheerful incidents of the day referred to. Amongst them was particularly noticeable a hideously ugly inhabitant of another-but not, to judge from his appearance, a better or more cheerful—world, bearing in his hands a pair of scales. In one side of the scale were represented some little boys—good little boys, be it understood, who had never told any naughty stories or pinched their little sisters’ legs. This scale completely outweighed the opposite cup, that contained other little boys whose visage was of a gruesome and repentant cast. Contained, also, as many hobgoblins as there was room for, and in addition about half a load of bricks and heavy odds and ends. But, strange to behold, the united weight of this novel and delightful combination was all too light when balanced against the other cup in which simple virtue abounded. Too light, though a goblin graced with a most ineffable ugliness clung to the outside of the vessel with tooth and with nail, and vainly endeavored to drag it down with a perverted energy which must have brought tears of pity into the eyes of all who could behold them. So affected was the impressible Gaul by this soothing design, that he straightway dropped two sons into the box invitingly placed to received ‘ Offerings for the Souls in Purgatory,’ or ‘ Feg-feuer,’ as the German inscription preferred to describe that ancient institution. This box, supplementing what had already been so charmingly hinted at over the porch, represented some of the souls in question, consisting principally of heads and wings and perplcxingJy outstretched arms uncomfortably writhing in a sea of Manxes, compared with which the fiery furnace of the Babylonish king must surely have been a trifle. Above this spirited design, with their wings in dangerous proximity to the Manxes, hovered what was the artist’s idea of angels preparing to dash into the fire in order to bear off some of the heads aforesaid—wings, and outstretched arms and all. Which, con sidering what is the effect of putting feathers into a lire of even moderate beat, must certainly be taken to show a great kindliness of disposition, ‘ I suppose you do not believe in purga-

tory V said Emile, when he had relieved his mind by depositing the two sous. ‘O, yes, I think I do, returned Gordon. ‘Perhaps not exactly that sort of institution; but I believe that the idea is founded on fact. But stop ! Is not that a coffiin?’ The cathedral was lighted only by one small oil lamp, which glimmered faintly in a distant corner. By its light could just be distinguished a darkly shrouded object placed upon trestles, and surrounded with tall tapers, all of which, however, were now extinguished. In truth it did bear a strong resemblance to the last resting place of one who had at length learnt the great secret; and, with the mourner who knelt so quietly by its side, added solemnity to a scene already highly impressive. ‘I don’t half like it,’ whispered Gordon, ‘ coffin or no coffin. Let us move a little further off.’ ‘By all means, if you wish it,’ replied Emile, in the same tone; ‘but I think we had better remain, as the other seats appear to be all occupied. Besides, I daresay it will not interfere with us.’ But the owner of the knapsack was not to be appeased. He was about to follow out his own suggestion, when an overwhelming burst of music from the organ drove all other thoughts from his mind. Truly it was an organ! Every bench and worm-eaten rafter trembled in its mighty voice, and the ancient windows quivered in their frames. (To be continued.)