LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2204, 19 March 1881, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE MYSTERY or LORD BRACKBNBURY: A NOVEL. BY AMELIAIk EDWABD9, Author of "Barbara’s History,” •‘Debenbam’a Vow,” &o. (Continued ,l To which Katchen and Brenda replied that the Herr Baron and Fraulein Winifred wished their engagement to be as private as possible ; that, in faot, the Herr Baron wes going back to England at the end of the week, _ It was strictly a family parly, and consisted of relations only. There was the Pastor’s only brother, who kept a school at Weilheim, and there was Frau Kreutzmann’a three married sisters with their husbands and families ; to say nothing of half a dozen maiden aunts, besides nephews, niece?, and cousins innumerable. Most of these good folks were farmers from the neighborhood of Fartaukirohe and the Wal-cheu-ee ; one or two were timber merchants ; but the most important personage of the family was a certain great uncle, who was a brewer and burgomaster of Starnberg. and who was reputed to be worth a hundred thousand florins. In short, there mnst have been nearly a hundred guests assembled that evening under Pastor Kreutzmann’s roof. The Cider women, with scarcely an exception, wore gowns of rich black silk or satin, with sleeves puffed at the top and narrow at the wrists, little shawls of colored silk or Isce, and caps and aprons trimmed with old yellow blonde ; while two very old ladies, who came all the way from the borders of the Bavarian Forest, appeared ia turban-like head dresses of dark moleskin. One or two of the yonnger damsels who lived in the town and aspired to be fashionable were dressed in white mnslin trimmed with gay ribbons; but the rest, like K ateben and Brenda, wore the picturesque short skirt and embroidered cap which now only survives in rural districts, and like most national costumes is rapidly becoming a thing of the past. The gnests amused themselves after the manner of middle-class Germans in general and Bavarians in particular. That ia to say the elder men congregated in a room apart, smoking and beer drinking. The young people danced in the best parlor, which was cleared for the occasion; and the marriad women aat round and looked on. A couple of violins, two clarionets and a flute made excellent music in the passage outside, while every now and then between the waltzes a part song would be smug by four or eight voices, or some skilled performer would 4 oblige the company ’ with a solo ou the zither.

A nation that dines at mid-day, goes to the theatre at fear, and comes home to sapper at eight, issnes its invitations naturally enough for evening parties at five. Fran Krentzmar.’a guests all arrived at the primitive hour. The business of the evening was inaugurated with coffee, cakes, and beer ; dancing began a little before six ; and, because on Christmas Eve late hours were excusable, the supper was put off till ten, But the great event of the evening, after all, was Prau Krentzmann’s Christmas Tree—that Christmas Tree which for the last three days had been looked up in a room by itself, unseen by any eyes save those of Eatohen and Brenda, who were deputed to decorate it. This Christmas Tree was the good Frau’s invariable ‘ coup de theatre ’; and her guests knew perfectly well that it was to be forthcoming. Nevertheless, it was *de rigour ’ to affect entire ignorance of the impending event. * We have a little surprise in store for yon, by and by,’ says Fran Kreutzmann, first to one and then to another, * Aha! you will see! Wait till half an hour before supper—you will see !’ Whereupon the nephew or cousin so addressed puts on a puzzled face, and professes all the wonder proper to the occasion. In the meanwhile dancing went on apace, each waltz ending in Bavarian fashion with a thunderous stamp, sometimes aooompanied by a loud 4 Hah!’ in which all the performers united. The Herr Baron, having done his devoir by his host’s two nieces, retired from the field, and became a spectator for the rest of the evening. It may be that he found these solid Bavarian damsels more interesting from an artistic point of view than light in hand to dance with. * Does this amuse you ?’ he asked, standing beside Winifred’s chair. The couples were just pairing off for something like the eleventh waltz of the evening. 4 Very macb. They dance so well j and the music is charming-’ * Doesn’t it make yon wish to take a turn also?’

4 I ?* she said, smiling. 4 1, who never learned to dance —who have never seen dancing till to night ? Yon forget what a barbarian I am.’

4 Put it the other way, and say I forgot you were so highly civilised. What is dancing bat a survival cf barbarism —like tattooing or the wesring of earrings ? Nay, 1 mean It You should see how they waltz at some of these village festivals up in the mountain valleys.’ 4 It must be very picturesque.’ ‘Picturesque?—well, they spin round for hours together, like teetotums; and when they get tired of spinning they extemporise the most amazing variations on the original figure. Sometimes the women will gather in a knot in the centre, linking arms and stamping, while the men leap and slap their thighs ; sometimes the men go to the centre, while the women hop round on one leg! It is as wild a piece of savagery as any Maori war-dance. For my own part 1 believe that a'l these popnlar dances are cf remote antiquity. The Albanian Greeks have a sword and musket danoe, which is undoubtedly a survival of the Pyrrhio dance. The Spanish Cachuoa came from Ancient Egypt, castanets and all. And as for the Neapolitan Tarantel'a and Saltarello, you have but to come with me to morrow morning to the Ktrusoan vase-rooms at the old Pinacethek to see them depicted as they were danced in Latinm and Campania two thousand years ago.’ * And that is what you call a survival of barbarism,* said Winifred, indignantly. 4 ts ow, to my thinking, it is we who are barbarians and degenerate. If I were an Albanian girl, how proud I should be to see my brother or my lover C ance that Pyrrhio dance I’ 4 Would you not rather go into a corner, and weep for the glory that had become a mere tradition ? Would you not ask. Where is the Pyrrhic Phalanx gone ? Give mo rather our Neapolitan Saltarello —a classic survival, if you like ; brit with nothing of fallen heroism about it.’ 4 What is it then ? What is it like ?’ 4 lt is a remnant of the old Bacchic jollities ; and the dunce, as I said a moment ago, is just like the wild group on the pointed vases—all wooing and projecting, flying and pursuing. There ia one figure in which the men pair off two and two, hooking their left legs one in the other, and hopping back to back; their partners mean while beating their tambourines and springing into the air like wild Bacchantes.’ 4 I should like to see that!’

• I have seen it hundreds of times when I was a boy. We had a villa, yon know, at Castellamare, where we spent onr winters ; and whenever there was a popular fe»ta some half-a-dozen couples of young men and girls—our own boatmen and their sweethearts generally—would come In costume, and dance for ns in the hall. It was a scene worth painting—my father and mother ■ tting apart, la two an‘ iiue carved chairs ; the s- r-ants peeping over the balustrades of the great staircase; four or five tall, barefooted fishermen In scarlet woollen ca, : s, standing round with lighted torches; and in the centre of the marble floor, the dancers whirling to the music of a couple of mandolines, How plainly I see It! How plainly I see the honse and all its surroundings—the loggia where my mother sat on sunny afternoons—the orange walk where Cnthbert used to carry mo to and fro, when I was a tiny little fellow—the old fashioned garden, terrace below terrace, with bods laid out in heraldic patterns, where yon looked down upon the family coat of arms emblazoned in living flowers.’ *lt must have been a beautiful place, said Winifred. ‘ What has become of it ?’ * I have no idea. It was sold soon after

my mother’s death, and I have never been near it since.’

‘Would you mind taking me to see II some day, Lancelot?’ she asked, htsi tatingly, A troubled look came into his face.

‘I hardly know,’ he said, ‘ln one way it would be a sad sort of pleasure ; but — ’ ‘ But the pain would be greater than the pleasure. I ought to have known that—l ought not to have asked yon. Forget that I said it, Lancelot.’ Their talk had become so earnest that they forgot all ahont the waltzers and the scene before their eyes. Now, however, they became aware of a general movement in the direction of the door. It was half past nine o’clock, and the great event of the evening was about to come off. ' Dear Franlein Winifred,’ whispered Fran Krentmann, with a beaming countenance, * will hie Excellency the Herr Baron condescend to oome and see our Christmas tree ?' Chapter XLVIII. THE KEY OF THE BLUE CLOSET, It was a Christmas Tree to be prond cf. So every one said ; and so, with modest pride, Fran Erentzmaun told herself, when her guests stood round applauding. It rose ten feet above the tab in which it was planted—a well - grown, sturdy sapling, whose wide-spreading boughs were gay from top to bottom with ribbons and gifts, and lighted tapers. Never was seen a Chris tm a Tree so rich in pretty things. Here were presents suited to the needs and tastes of both sexes and all ages, each labelled with the name of the person for whom it waa destined— purses, piper, oigar-oases, needlecases, pencil - cares, pen - knives, workbaskets, hymn - books, carved toys from Ober-Atnmergau ; staghorn brooches from the Black Forest; embroidered braces, slippers, and Bavarian caps; pen-holders, seals, paper-knives ; beer mags of painted porcelain and Bavarian glass; dolls and tops for such as had children at home; match-boxes, snuff-boxes, musical - boxes ; gloves, neckties, ribbons; and even such useful commonplaces as pocket - handkerchiefs and stockings ! In short, there was not only a gift for every gnest, bat there were even gifts for many not actually present. - • Great was the hsndoTapping, joyous were the exclamations, round ahont that Christmas Tree. It was ‘ Schone! It was ‘ Wander - schone 1’ It was tTnerhort 1’ Where ever gifts so well chosen 1 How useful 1 How pretty ! What a eaokful of florins it mast all have cost! Whose name is that on yonder silver spectacle ease 1 Pastor Erentzmann’s and from the Herr Baron, too—real silver, and engraved with a cypher 1 And those beautiful necklaces of amber and ivory, are they also from the Herr Baron, and do they bear the names of Katchen and Brenda 1 ‘ Ach Bimmel 1’ What it Is to have a mi-lord for one’s friend. And see !—that big Bible with the gilt clasp . . . that is also for the good Pastor, from his ni; ces. The ebony snuffbox, inlaid with mother-of pearl, is for the great uncle—he who is brewer and burgomaster at Starnberg. This powder flask ia for Bndolph Soherwin, who won the first prize at the shooting match last aatnmn ; Anachen Braun, who is going to be married, has a cuckoo clock ; and the two old ladies from the Bavarian Forest are provided with warm mittens and slippers for winter wear. Bat of ali the treasures that adorned that Christmas Tree there was not one that attracted fo much attention as a key that hnng on the very topmost twig, out of the reach of the tallest. It was a large, ordinary looking key with a paper tied to the handle. What key waa it ? What would it open ? For whom waa it intended P These were questions that no one seemed able to answer. At last one youth bolder than the rest ventured to ask Krau Krentzmann for what purpose the key was placed there. Katchen and Brenda looked at each other and smiled. Frau Kreutzmann rubbed her hands and nodded mysteriously, ‘ The key ? So I —if anyone ia carious about the key,’ said she, * let him take it down and tee what is written on the label,’

Thus empowered, the youth fetched an alpenstock with a chamois horn tip, and hooked the key off in triumph. A dozen hands were immediately held up. ‘ Nein, nein * said he, *1 have taken it down, and I will be first to read it.* Still mounted on his chair, he unfolded the label, turned it this way and that, looked blank and tossed it to the nearest bystander. 4 Make what you can of it!’ said he. * It’s Oieek to me.’

• ‘ What is it ? Latin—French —English ?’ ‘ Let me look at it V •Ask uncle Erentzmann.’ ‘ I think It is in English—and that it is for Fraulein Winifred,’ said the Pastor, And so it was. A common iron key—not without a touch of rust on the handle—a key some three or four inches long, and addressed In Lancelot’s handwring, 'To Miss Savage, for what it may be worth.’ ‘For me I —"for what it may be worth !” What does it mean?’ she asked, confusedly; for all eyes were turned upon her. * I promised you a Christmas box,’ said Lancelot; 1 and here it is,’ ‘ But what am 1 to do with it 7 Does it open anything V ‘ It is the key of the Blue Closet.’ ‘The Blue Closet?’ • Which, unlike Bluebeard, I give yon leave to open.’ ' I am very grateful; but where is the Blue Closet, and what am I to do with your •ix headless wives when I have opened ItP’

‘ They are yours to deal with as you may think fit. You can sketch them, model them, annihilate them, or bury them. You have but to find the door, turn the key, and take possession.’ Smiling and puzzled, Winifred looked from one to another. There was some playful mystery here, and the Krentzmanns were in the secret. - ' Eatchen will tell me,’ she said. But Eatchen refused, and no one would enlighten her. She must search the castle, find the Blue Closet, and solve the riddle herself. Supper being announced, there was now a rush to the dining-room, where a mighty meal was provided. For though wont themselves to fare with primitive simplicity, the Ereutzmanns knew when and how to be profusely hospitable. At Christmas time especially, when the good pastor’s kinsfolk were met beneath his roof and the poor thronged about his door, it might with truth be said that— It snewed in hys house of meats and drinke. And now the feast was Homeric In its plenty, the appetites of the revellers wer no less herolo. Mountains of cold veal and sliced ' vorst ’ perished at the first onslaught ; Westphalia hams melted like snow before the sun; cakes of marvellous device vanished like the baseless fabric Of a vision ; and Bairische beer flowed as freely as methegliu in the halls of Odin. A t length when yonng and old had alike performed prodigies of valour, the party broke up ; those who lived in Munich and its environs dispersing to their homes, while those who came from afar off were accommodated, some with beds in the house and others with lodgings in the town, {To be continued en Tuesday.)

He stood twirling his hat in his hand in the hallway. It was about time for the morning stars to begin their songs together. “ Well,” and he moved one step nearer the door, “ Well,” she replied, as she stopped to the door also. “Well, I—l must be going. If—” “That’s right, John, if,” and she leaned her head on hia shoulder. “ If—yon have any conundrums —to—ask—ask—them—now.” He was measured for a new hat and a pair of kid gloves that same day, ■Jhe Lion Queen —young, beautiful, beloved —on the morning of her intended marriage with a French nobleman, unknown to her future husband and the invited guests, entered the cage of the Koyal brute. It is supposed, on account of the great contrast of her bridal attire, as compared with her performing costume; or, possibly, nol speaking Immediately upon entering tte cage, that the animal failed to recognise bar. Her cries brought immediate a-sistanoo, but alas, too late to ssve 1 Beautiful though in death, she can'be seen at Hays Free Fine Art txhibilion, Market S J laoe, near Victoria bridge, Christchurch. Four hundred prizes. Tickets, only 2a 6d. llemomher I admission free. More Agents wanted. All Agents specially invited to see prizes. (See favorable notices in “Star,” Globb, and " Telegraph.”)—[Aim', j