Victorian Women Writers Project

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CHAPTER XI.

SOAP BUBBLES.

WITH this old nursery ditty grandmother, one warm afternoon in June, sang Lulu to sleep; while in the darkened room a large fly, drowsily buzzing, went knocking now against the window, and now against the ceiling as if tipsy with heat. A sunbeam slanting through a hole in the shutter, and alive with countless luminous motes, fell across the room just behind the woman's head.

Outside, the lavish sunlight lay fostering the grapevines and the plot of garden edged off from the vineyard by a border of lemon thyme and raspberry bushes.

There, growing in unpruned luxuriance, were all sorts of delicious flowers—sweetwilliam with its deep-hued, copious clusters; rough-leaved borage, larkspur, and the tall aromatic spikes of the lavender; spotted dragon's mouth, and white and purple poppies, whose drowsy fumes they say, even lull the usually hard-worked bees to sleep.

The noontide with its vibrating atmosphere lay over the simmering earth. A brooding stillness pervaded all things, only the bees glanced restlessly from flower to flower, and from one spot behind the hut came now and then explosions of laughter, or the sound of voices raised in mirth or anger.

For there, sitting astride on one of the boughs of the cherry-tree, Hans was gathering the fruit, and his brother Conrad, standing underneath, caught it and filled a large basket which they were to take to their mother. If one or the other ate more cherries than seemed his fair share there was a general protest, and whenever Conrad, with the dexterity of long practice, cleverly caught one of them between his lips as it fell, the children uttered a joyful shout. For they had all come to spend the day with their grandmother, it being the Frau Professorinn's half-yearly washing day, on which they were invariably packed off to granny's under the escort of their eldest sister.

Mina, who had herself been watching the gathering of the cherries with childish eagerness, suddenly remembered with dismay that she had promised her mother not to let Otto eat too many of them, as he had been ailing the last few days. And he must already have devoured at least a peck!

Yet how prevent his eating any more! If she could only divert his attention to some new interest. At last she hit upon a device. She went into the house and came back presently with a basin, water, soap, and a clay pipe. Lulu, who had woke up, followed her, with the cheek on which she had been lying much redder than the other.

Mina established herself in the garden, and Lulu clapping her hands ran to the back calling: "Otto, Otto, Mina's blowing bubbles!" The little fellow looked reluctantly at the cherries, then rushed round to the front, while the other boys, pocketing as many as they could, followed more leisurely.

If there was one thing their souls delighted in more than another it was soap-bubbles, especially as they were forbidden to blow them at home, Frau Lichtenfeld considering it a messy and extravagant amusement. "You use quite enough soap in scrubbing and washing," she averred, "leaving alone wasting it in baubles."

So the children gathered round their sister with their mouths unnaturally red, and of mask-like dimensions, and their fingers stained as a dyer's. Finding they could positively not manage any more cherries just now, they contented themselves in using the remaining clusters as ear-rings.

With breathless interest they watched Mina, who was an expert in the art of blowing bubbles. All tried their hands at it in turn, but she had the knack of producing the largest, and then a dexterous shake sent them floating right up in the air. Whenever an unusually magnificent one, iridescent with the hues of the page: 113 rainbow, drifted glistering in the sunlight awhile, and alighting in its descent, was shivered in the calix of a flower, or spluttered on one of their eagerly-lifted noses, they screamed with delight.

Grandmother, too, was looking on, standing under her doorway knitting, and benignly watching their happy faces.

As her eyes followed those airy resplendent bubbles floating so buoyantly in the summer air, her thoughts went drifting, drifting far away to her own childhood, that was like an old, dimly-remembered legend, and yet a thing of yesterday too.

For childhood and old age have much in common; theirs is the illimitable outlook, theirs the infinitely receding horizon. Standing aside from the strenuous, enthralling struggle, where in the noonday glare men and women are jostling and trampling each other in the thoroughfares of life, they gaze dreamily into a far beyond—future or past, what matter—essentially identical as these are.

From the old woman's ken the present had disappeared like a dream one awakes from with a sigh and a start.

Behold, she was a child again, a nimble, sportive child, running lightly to and fro, blowing her bubbles fast, her bright but evanescent bubbles of life.

She was a maiden too, bright-eyed and elastic of step, and her heart beat again in that strange, tumultuous fashion as sitting sewing by the window, she caught the sound of a certain step on the pavement, and lifting her eyes demurely, met the eyes of somebody, who raising his hat passed slowly, oh! so very slowly. page: 114 Those were days bright as the soap-bubbles, and as fleeting too, alas!

And once more she was a young mother with children clinging round her, the little helpless hands of children whose touch felt sweeter than aught else on earth; and her whole frame thrilled again as the soft lisp, and broken, cooing tones of infancy came borne to her ear.

And that, too, was as a bursting bubble, that young sad-eyed woman, lying weak and wan on her pillows, spasmodically clasping the breathing atom in her arms, as though it could delay her being swept away by the tide of death.

And a second time all her motherhood yearned in her, and went out to her child's child, sweet to her widowed heart as a violet sprouting amidst fallen autumnal leaves. Sweet Elfrida, sweetest child of her old age; she sees her now with her soft, star-like eyes, and dreamy smile, coming home from school with a crown of field-flowers on her head, the little sweetheart had gathered for her. And she hears the coaxing, musical voice calling—"Granny dear, I've brought Emanuel to have bread and honey with me, because he's in disgrace at home." And there also is the boy carrying her girl's satchel, crushing his cap into a ball in his bashfulness, and whistling as though he didn't care a bit—not he!

Ah! was it yesterday or a lifetime since?

* * * * * * *

A grey shadow was projected on the garden plot, and a tall, thin, striking-looking man stood for an instant, looking at the merry group with a beaming countenance, then strode rapidly through the little garden, and page: 115 stretching out both his hands to the old woman, said with a certain heartfelt intonation in his voice—"You remember Emanuel, don't you, little mother?"

The old woman stared at him intently, her features worked convulsively. She suddenly leant her trembling head against the man's shoulder and wept, sobbing out: "Then it was you!"

The stranger, gently soothing and supporting the old lady, led her into the house, where she tottered into her easy chair. Mina, who had been looking on sympathetically, flung her arms round her grandmother's neck, and called her by a thousand names of endearment. When the latter had regained her composure, Mina, raising herself from her stooping posture, encountered Emanuel's eyes, who said, bowing to her—

"What an unexpected pleasure to find you here, Fräulein; and yet unexpected is not the word either. It seems as if I had been here with you before, and everything had been just so, even to the very words I am saying now. Does it seem strange to you?" he asked, in a low voice.

Mina, who had seemed on the point of answering something impulsively, suddenly changed colour, and instead of speaking bent again over her grandmother.

"Forgive me, children," said the old lady, drying her eyes and attempting a smile. "We old people move and have our being in the past, and when 'tis brought before us sudden like that, it quite takes our breath away. Dear heart alive!" she cried, looking scrutinizingly at Emanuel, and nodding and shaking her head by turns, "and is this my little Emanuel, my bonny lad that was? Ah, Emanuel," she went on, taking page: 116 his long bony hand in hers, "they tell me you have become a great musician, and that you can move people this way or that, just as it pleases you; but what have they done to you, my boy? you look that thin and tired it makes my heart ache to see you."

Emanuel had flung himself on the floor by the old lady, and as she looked at him with tender concern, he kissed the withered hand that still held his own—she was the nearest approach to a mother he had left.

"Give me my spectacles, Mina; I must look at the boy more closely," she said, suddenly.

"I am not so young as I once was, little mother," remarked Emanuel, smiling, "and the passing years are not so considerate to all of us," looking at her admiringly; "but when one lives in a little earthly Paradise one may well defy the passing years. Ah, 'tis well to be here!" he sighed; "and here's old Mugin, too, I declare, looking more wise and weird than of yore," and as in his schoolboy days, he began teazing that dignified bird, who seemed to resent the unwonted familiarity with disgust.

"Susan," called out the old lady to her servant, "make us some coffee directly; very strong, mind. That will refresh the boy," she added, in an aside; "he looks as if they didn't half feed himself enough; and Mina, my pet, go and get us the cherries they have gathered, I know he is very fond of them." Then she gave a little start, and cried, "I beg your pardon, Emanuel; I was quite forgetting that you are not a boy now, and that we have really nothing to offer that's fit for a great gentleman like you to eat."

"Let me still be a boy with you," he said, stroking page: 117 the old woman's hand, "and see if I can't eat cherries against the best of them."

Mina, who had taken an earthenware dish from one of the cupboards, now left the room; and she had scarcely done so before Emanuel said, "Little mother, how like, how very like she is—you know who I'm thinking of?"

"Yes, more like than I could wish," she answered, with a nervous shake of her head. "Old age breeds more care than need be, perhaps; but it makes me fear sometimes——"

Mina's return, however, at this moment put a stop to her sentence.

They all gathered round the table now, and the coffee, cream, and appetising bread and butter, not forgetting the cherries, were done justice to by the musician. In this homely circle he regained the inexhaustible spirits of his youth; and among the children seemed, indeed, to have become a child again.

Presently they all adjourned to the garden, Emanuel exclaiming, "And here are the identical old bee-hives, too, just the same as ever—only that they have multiplied according to the Biblical command;" and he watched the bees at their work with lively curiosity, old Frau Lichtenfeld leaning on his arm.

"Why, little mother," he said, "to judge from the marvellous activity of these small creatures, and the incessant flux and reflux of life, there's as much business doing as in some of the streets of London or Paris, only that they manage their musical accompaniment better here. How much honey would one of these communities manage to make per day, on an average?"

"Well, that's according to the time of year, and the condition they're in, you see," replied Frau Lichtenfeld. "Sometimes we've what's called a 'hunch-back' brood, and there's next to no honey to be got from them; then, again, if the queen should be taken sick, the whole state is thrown into disorder, and wasps, moths, and thieves of that sort, break through the gates and do no end of damage. But as a rule, bless them, they are far more hard-working and orderly in their proceedings than most of us. But if you really care to know, Emanuel, I'll tell you how much honey each hive makes a day; for I weigh them myself every evening, and put down on my slate how many pounds' worth of honey has been added by each during the day. Ah," she said, fumbling at her side where she usually carried a little slate tied round her waist; "let's see, Mina dear, didn't I leave it on the table at the back, where I was shelling the peas in the morning?"

"Yes, granny; I'll go and fetch it directly," said Mina, running off.

"Oh, granny, will you weigh the bees now, while we're here?" cried Conrad and Otto, with sparkling eyes.

"No, no, let me weigh them," cried Hans. "I'll do it tip-top, just see whether I won't."

"No, me, me," cried Lulu's childish voice, impatiently pulling her grandmother's skirts to enforce her request.

"Why, children, they might sting you as like as not; they don't know you as well as me, you see, who watch over and care for them as if they were little children almost; and they're very grateful when you show them kindness, more so than many a Christian, bless you. page: 119 But what's that?" she said, lowering her head and listening for an instant. "Why, surely the hive must be going to swarm a day sooner than I expected—dear, dear, I must go and get the basket from the house, and my bee-cap and gloves. Out of their way, children!" she cried, seizing Lulu and pushing the others back into the doorway; "Keep quiet here, you'll see them directly. Stay where you are, Hans, they are dreadfully excited now and I wouldn't guarantee that they mightn't sting you if you got in their way."

She had scarcely finished speaking before there was a rushing noise of wings, and many thousand bees, as though propelled by some invisible force, precipitated themselves from the narrow aperture in the space of a few minutes.

"Herr Jesu! O Lord, have mercy upon us!" gasped the old woman, in a voice almost inarticulate with terror, clutching hold of Emanuel and trembling from head to foot as she leaned forward with straining eyes.

For just then, Mina, turning quickly round an angle in the path, was suddenly enveloped by the tumultous host. On her hair, on her cheeks, on her delicate sloping shoulders, protected by nothing more solid than a thin cambric chemisette, they settled by hundreds; while thousands more, hovering round, hid her in a winged, murmuring cloud. Dumb with horror the girl stood rooted to the spot. Indeed, she had sufficient presence of mind to remember that her only chance of safety was to remain as quiescent under the circumstances as a tree or a flower.

Emanuel had no sooner realised what had happened than he was going to dash forward at all risks, but felt page: 120 his arm spasmodically clutched by the terrified old woman, who whispered in a quavering voice—

"Be quiet, for God's sake! If you irritate them now they may sting her to death as sure as I live!"

But Emanuel, wrenching himself almost roughly from her grasp, said hoarsely—

"Let me be, I know them of old," and darted forward before she had time to answer or remonstrate.

In a moment he had reached the spot where the girl stood with the bees surging round her in palpitating multitudes; walking unmoved through the formidable swarm, he said—

"Trust me," in a low voice, as he looked at Mina with infinite solicitude.

There was no need for the injunction, indeed. The moment he had approached Mina, her painful apprehension was replaced by a sense of security. Emanuel, watching the bees for an instant, suddenly put his hand in her hair, and with his dexterous fingers extracted one of the bees from amidst its luxuriant wavy mass. He had not been mistaken—it was the queen he captured and now carried back to the old hive. No sooner had he done so than all her subjects, as though they had but one soul between them, wheeled round, and leaving Mina perfectly unhurt, rushed with incredible haste into the basket after their queen.

"My child! my child!" gasped the grandmother, examining Mina all over with her trembling hands, and kissing her and sobbing over her. "You're safe, quite safe! Not one of them has stung her, not one, God bless them! Oh," she cried, pressing the girl to her heart, "I am a faithless old woman. I ought to page: 121 have had more confidence in my bees. You showed you knew them better than I did, Emanuel; but I was quite beside myself at the moment; ah, Emanuel," she continued; but on looking round found he had left her side.

For Emanuel had no sooner seen that the girl was unharmed than he walked rapidly down the garden path, and once or twice an irrepressible shudder seemed to pass over him. On hearing himself called he joined the others in the room, looking very white and like one who has recovered his self-control with an effort.

"I thank you from my heart, Emanuel. Next to the Lord I owe the child's safety to you," cried Frau Lichtenfeld, holding out her hand to him.

"Oh, I don't think she was in any danger, little mother," said Emanuel, lightly; "the creatures' instinct told them that she is a protectress of their kind, indeed I think they clung to her for pure love, only we were too obtuse to understand their peculiar way of manifesting it. You alone showed some kind of trust," said Emanuel, softly, bringing Mina a chair and sitting down beside her; "would you always be so trustful, I wonder?"

"Why should I not," said Mina, looking straight at him for a moment with her sweet frank eyes, but immediately dropping them again.

"Trust comes easy to the pure in heart," Emanuel murmured, half inaudibly, while an expression of sorrow swept over his features, which though lasting but an instant unconsciously disturbed Mina.

"If I had reflected a little," he said, after a moment's abstraction and as if making an effort over himself, "I page: 122 should not have been so disturbed when I saw the swarm surrounding you; neither bird, beast, nor insect would ever hurt a hair of your head, I am certain."

"Do you mean because I love them so?" asked Mina, in perfect seriousness.

"Well, yes," said Emanuel, smiling, "and because you are such a child of nature that all her beneficent powers must watch over you."

"It is true I have never been stung or bitten by anything, not even by the gnats that torment the others so much—only once," she said, in a ruminating manner, and then with a brightening look, "the very day you rescued that nest for me. I had a dream—oh, you can't think what a vivid dream it was: I was chasing the most wonderful butterfly, and when I thought I had caught it, it changed to a horrible monstrous spider, which stung me quite real like—oh, what is the matter?"

For Emanuel, who had at first listened to her with evident delight, suddenly showed signs of inexplicable agitation, and seizing her hand pressed it violently, exclaiming, "And you too, my child; you too?"

Mina's query, and her startled, bewildered look, recalled the musician to his senses; he let go her hand abruptly, as though it burned him, and said with a forced laugh, "I beg your pardon, Fräulein; I had quite forgotten that you were only telling me a dream, and that in the fatherland here there are no——" (he apparently checked the word that was trembling on his tongue) "snakes or poisonous spiders to speak of."

"Well, Mimchen," said her grandmother, who had only just succeeded in pacifying Lulu's sobs and cries, coming up and laying her hand on Mina's head, "have page: 123 you quite recovered from your fright? Is there anything I can do for you?"

"No, granny," said Mina, with a certain preoccupation in her manner, which, however, escaped her grandmother's notice; "but do sit down and rest yourself in your chair, now. It is you who must be frightened. I had no time for it."

"I remember your bees since I can remember anything. What made you first think of keeping them?" asked Emanuel.

"It was my husband who was so fond of them—they helped to ruin him, in fact; but when he died broken-hearted, I found them a livelihood. It's a long story, and some day maybe I'll tell it you."