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diff --git a/8206-0.txt b/8206-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5f37f70 --- /dev/null +++ b/8206-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9769 @@ +Project Gutenberg’s The Pilgrims Of The Rhine, by Edward Bulwer-Lytton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Pilgrims Of The Rhine + +Author: Edward Bulwer-Lytton + +Release Date: March 17, 2009 [EBook #8206] +Last Updated: August 28, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger and Dagny + + + + + + + + + +THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE + +TO WHICH IS PREFIXED THE IDEAL WORLD + +By Edward Bulwer Lytton (Lord Lytton) + + + + +THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE + + + +TO HENRY LYTTON BULWER. + +ALLOW me, my dear Brother, to dedicate this Work to you. The greater +part of it (namely, the tales which vary and relieve the voyages of +Gertrude and Trevylyan) was written in the pleasant excursion we made +together some years ago. Among the associations--some sad and some +pleasing--connected with the general design, none are so agreeable to +me as those that remind me of the friendship subsisting between us, and +which, unlike that of near relations in general, has grown stronger +and more intimate as our footsteps have receded farther from the fields +where we played together in our childhood. I dedicate this Work to you +with the more pleasure, not only when I remember that it has always +been a favourite with yourself, but when I think that it is one of my +writings most liked in foreign countries; and I may possibly, therefore, +have found a record destined to endure the affectionate esteem which +this Dedication is intended to convey. + +Yours, etc. + +E. L. B. LONDON, April 23, 1840. + + + + +ADVERTISEMENT TO THE FIRST EDITION. + +COULD I prescribe to the critic and to the public, I would wish that +this work might be tried by the rules rather of poetry than prose, +for according to those rules have been both its conception and its +execution; and I feel that something of sympathy with the author’s +design is requisite to win indulgence for the superstitions he has +incorporated with his tale, for the floridity of his style, and the +redundance of his descriptions. Perhaps, indeed, it would be impossible, +in attempting to paint the scenery and embody some of the Legends of +the Rhine, not to give (it may be, too loosely) the reins to the +imagination, or to escape the influence of that wild German spirit which +I have sought to transfer to a colder tongue. + +I have made the experiment of selecting for the main interest of my +work the simplest materials, and weaving upon them the ornaments given +chiefly to subjects of a more fanciful nature. I know not how far I have +succeeded, but various reasons have conspired to make this the work, +above all others that I have written, which has given me the most +delight (though not unmixed with melancholy) in producing, and in which +my mind for the time has been the most completely absorbed. But the +ardour of composition is often disproportioned to the merit of the +work; and the public sometimes, nor unjustly, avenges itself for +that forgetfulness of its existence which makes the chief charm of an +author’s solitude,--and the happiest, if not the wisest, inspiration of +his dreams. + + + + +PREFACE. + +WITH the younger class of my readers this work has had the good fortune +to find especial favour; perhaps because it is in itself a collection of +the thoughts and sentiments that constitute the Romance of youth. It has +little to do with the positive truths of our actual life, and does not +pretend to deal with the larger passions and more stirring interests +of our kind. It is but an episode out of the graver epic of human +destinies. It requires no explanation of its purpose, and no analysis of +its story; the one is evident, the other simple,--the first seeks but +to illustrate visible nature through the poetry of the affections; the +other is but the narrative of the most real of mortal sorrows, which the +Author attempts to take out of the region of pain by various accessories +from the Ideal. The connecting tale itself is but the string that binds +into a garland the wild-flowers cast upon a grave. + +The descriptions of the Rhine have been considered by Germans +sufficiently faithful to render this tribute to their land and +their legends one of the popular guide-books along the course it +illustrates,--especially to such tourists as wish not only to take +in with the eye the inventory of the river, but to seize the peculiar +spirit which invests the wave and the bank with a beauty that can only +be made visible by reflection. He little comprehends the true charm of +the Rhine who gazes on the vines on the hill-tops without a thought of +the imaginary world with which their recesses have been peopled by the +graceful credulity of old; who surveys the steep ruins that overshadow +the water, untouched by one lesson from the pensive morality of Time. +Everywhere around us is the evidence of perished opinions and +departed races; everywhere around us, also, the rejoicing fertility of +unconquerable Nature, and the calm progress of Man himself through the +infinite cycles of decay. He who would judge adequately of a landscape +must regard it not only with the painter’s eye, but with the poet’s. +The feelings which the sight of any scene in Nature conveys to the +mind--more especially of any scene on which history or fiction has left +its trace--must depend upon our sympathy with those associations which +make up what may be called the spiritual character of the spot. If +indifferent to those associations, we should see only hedgerows and +ploughed land in the battle-field of Bannockburn; and the traveller +would but look on a dreary waste, whether he stood amidst the piles of +the Druid on Salisbury plain, or trod his bewildered way over the broad +expanse on which the Chaldaean first learned to number the stars. + +To the former editions of this tale was prefixed a poem on “The Ideal,” + which had all the worst faults of the author’s earliest compositions +in verse. The present poem (with the exception of a very few lines) has +been entirely rewritten, and has at least the comparative merit of being +less vague in the thought, and less unpolished in the diction, than that +which it replaces. + + + +CONTENTS. + + + + THE IDEAL WORLD + + + + THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE + + CHAPTER I. + In which the Reader is Introduced to Queen Nymphalin + + CHAPTER II. + The Lovers + + CHAPTER III. + Feelings + + CHAPTER IV. + The Maid of Malines + + CHAPTER V. + Rotterdam.--The Character of the Dutch.--Their Resemblance to the + Germans.--A Dispute between Vane and Trevylyan, after the manner of the + ancient Novelists, as to which is preferable, the Life of Action, or the + Life of Repose.--Trevylyan’s Contrast between Literary Ambition and the + Ambition of Public Life + + CHAPTER VI. + Gorcum.--The Tour of the Virtues: a Philosopher’s Tale + + CHAPTER VII. + Cologne.--The Traces of the Roman Yoke.--The Church of St. + Maria.--Trevylyan’s Reflections on the Monastic Life.--The Tomb of the + Three Kings.--An Evening Excursion on the Rhine + + CHAPTER VIII. + The Soul in Purgatory; or, Love Stronger than Death + + CHAPTER IX. + The Scenery of the Rhine analogous to the German Literary Genius.--The + Drachenfels + + CHAPTER X. + The Legend of Roland.--The Adventures of Nymphalin on the Island of + Nonnewerth.--Her Song.--The Decay of the Fairy-Faith in England + + CHAPTER XI. + Wherein the Reader is made Spectator with the English Fairies of the + Scenes and Beings that are beneath the Earth + + CHAPTER XII. + The Wooing of Master Fox + + CHAPTER XIII. + The Tomb of a Father of Many Children + + CHAPTER XIV. + The Fairy’s Cave, and the Fairy’s Wish + + CHAPTER XV. + The Banks of the Rhine.--From the Drachenfels to Brohl.--An Incident that + suffices in this Tale for an Epoch + + CHAPTER XVI. + Gertrude.--The Excursion to Hammerstein.--Thoughts + + CHAPTER XVII. + Letter from Trevylyan to ----- + + CHAPTER XVIII. + Coblentz.--Excursion to the Mountains of Taunus; Roman Tower in the + Valley of Ehrenbreitstein.--Travel, its Pleasures estimated differently + by the Young and the Old.--The Student of Heidelberg: his Criticisms on + German Literature + + CHAPTER XIX. + The Fallen Star; or, the History of a False Religion + + CHAPTER XX. + Glenhausen.--The Power of Love in Sanctified Places.--A Portrait of + Frederick Barbarossa.--The Ambition of Men finds no adequate Sympathy in + Women + + CHAPTER XXI. + View of Ehrenbreitstein.--A New Alarm in Gertrude’s Health.--Trarbach + + CHAPTER XXII. + The Double Life.--Trevylyan’s Fate.--Sorrow the Parent of + Fame.--Niederlahnstein.--Dreams + + CHAPTER XXIII. + The Life of Dreams + + CHAPTER XXIV. + The Brothers + + CHAPTER XXV. + The Immortality of the Soul.--A Common Incident not before Described. + --Trevylyan and Gertrude + + CHAPTER XXVI. + In which the Reader will learn how the Fairies were received by the + Sovereigns of the Mines.--The Complaint of the Last of the Fauns.--The + Red Huntsman.--The Storm.--Death + + CHAPTER XXVII. + Thurmberg.--A Storm upon the Rhine.--The Ruins of Rheinfels.--Peril + Unfelt by Love.--The Echo of the Lurlei-berg.--St. Goar.--Kaub, + Gutenfels, and Pfalzgrafenstein.--A certain Vastness of Mind in the First + Hermits.--The Scenery of the Rhine to Bacharach + + CHAPTER XXVIII. + The Voyage to Bingen.--The Simple Incidents in this Tale Excused.--The + Situation and Character of Gertrude.--The Conversation of the Lovers in + the Tempest.--A Fact Contradicted.--Thoughts occasioned by a Madhouse + amongst the most Beautiful Landscapes of the Rhine + + CHAPTER XXIX. + Ellfeld.--Mayence.--Heidelberg.--A Conversation between Vane and the + German Student.--The Ruins of the Castle of Heidelberg and its Solitary + Habitant + + CHAPTER XXX. + No Part of the Earth really Solitary.--The Song of the Fairies.--The + Sacred Spot.--The Witch of the Evil Winds.--The Spell and the Duty of the + Fairies + + CHAPTER XXXI. + Gertrude and Trevylyan, when the former is awakened to the Approach of + Death + + CHAPTER XXXII. + A Spot to be Buried in + + CHAPTER THE LAST + The Conclusion of this Tale + + + + +THE IDEAL WORLD + + + + + I. + + THE IDEAL WORLD,--ITS REALM IS EVERYWHERE AROUND US; ITS INHABITANTS ARE + THE IMMORTAL PERSONIFICATIONS OF ALL BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS; TO THAT WORLD WE + ATTAIN BY THE REPOSE OF THE SENSES. + + AROUND “this visible diurnal sphere” + There floats a World that girds us like the space; + On wandering clouds and gliding beams career + Its ever-moving murmurous Populace. + There, all the lovelier thoughts conceived below + Ascending live, and in celestial shapes. + To that bright World, O Mortal, wouldst thou go? + Bind but thy senses, and thy soul escapes: + To care, to sin, to passion close thine eyes; + Sleep in the flesh, and see the Dreamland rise! + Hark to the gush of golden waterfalls, + Or knightly tromps at Archimagian Walls! + In the green hush of Dorian Valleys mark + The River Maid her amber tresses knitting; + When glow-worms twinkle under coverts dark, + And silver clouds o’er summer stars are flitting, + With jocund elves invade “the Moone’s sphere, + Or hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear;” * + Or, list! what time the roseate urns of dawn + Scatter fresh dews, and the first skylark weaves + Joy into song, the blithe Arcadian Faun + Piping to wood-nymphs under Bromian leaves, + While slowly gleaming through the purple glade + Come Evian’s panther car, and the pale Naxian Maid. + + * “Midsummer Night’s Dream.” + + Such, O Ideal World, thy habitants! + All the fair children of creative creeds, + All the lost tribes of Fantasy are thine,-- + From antique Saturn in Dodonian haunts, + Or Pan’s first music waked from shepherd reeds, + To the last sprite when Heaven’s pale lamps decline, + Heard wailing soft along the solemn Rhine. + + + + II. + + OUR DREAMS BELONG TO THE IDEAL.--THE DIVINER LOVE FOR WHICH YOUTH SIGHS + NOT ATTAINABLE IN LIFE, BUT THE PURSUIT OF THAT LOVE BEYOND THE WORLD OF + THE SENSES PURIFIES THE SOUL AND AWAKES THE GENIUS.--PETRARCH.--DANTE. + + Thine are the Dreams that pass the Ivory Gates, + With prophet shadows haunting poet eyes! + Thine the belov’d illusions youth creates + From the dim haze of its own happy skies. + In vain we pine; we yearn on earth to win + The being of the heart, our boyhood’s dream. + The Psyche and the Eros ne’er have been, + Save in Olympus, wedded! As a stream + Glasses a star, so life the ideal love; + Restless the stream below, serene the orb above! + Ever the soul the senses shall deceive; + Here custom chill, there kinder fate bereave: + For mortal lips unmeet eternal vows! + And Eden’s flowers for Adam’s mournful brows! + We seek to make the moment’s angel guest + The household dweller at a human hearth; + We chase the bird of Paradise, whose nest + Was never found amid the bowers of earth.* + + * According to a belief in the East, which is associated with one + of the loveliest and most familiar of Oriental superstitions, + the bird of Paradise is never seen to rest upon the earth, and + its nest is never to be found. + + Yet loftier joys the vain pursuit may bring, + Than sate the senses with the boons of time; + The bird of Heaven hath still an upward wing, + The steps it lures are still the steps that climb; + And in the ascent although the soil be bare, + More clear the daylight and more pure the air. + Let Petrarch’s heart the human mistress lose, + He mourns the Laura but to win the Muse. + Could all the charms which Georgian maids combine + Delight the soul of the dark Florentine, + Like one chaste dream of childlike Beatrice + Awaiting Hell’s dark pilgrim in the skies, + Snatched from below to be the guide above, + And clothe Religion in the form of Love?* + + * It is supposed by many of the commentators on Dante, that in + the form of his lost Beatrice, who guides him in his Vision + of Heaven, he allegorizes Religious Faith. + + + + III. + + GENIUS, LIFTING ITS LIFE TO THE IDEAL, BECOMES ITSELF A PURE IDEA: IT + MUST COMPREHEND ALL EXISTENCE, ALL HUMAN SINS AND SUFFERINGS; BUT IN + COMPREHENDING, IT TRANSMUTES THEM.--THE POET IN HIS TWO-FOLD BEING,--THE + ACTUAL AND THE IDEAL.--THE INFLUENCE OF GENIUS OVER THE STERNEST + REALITIES OF EARTH; OVER OUR PASSIONS; WARS AND SUPERSTITIONS.--ITS + IDENTITY IS WITH HUMAN PROGRESS.--ITS AGENCY, EVEN WHERE UNACKNOWLEDGED, + IS UNIVERSAL. + + Oh, thou true Iris! sporting on thy bow + Of tears and smiles! Jove’s herald, Poetry, + Thou reflex image of all joy and woe, + _Both_ fused in light by thy dear fantasy! + Lo! from the clay how Genius lifts its life, + And grows one pure Idea, one calm soul! + True, its own clearness must reflect our strife; + True, its completeness must comprise our whole; + But as the sun transmutes the sullen hues + Of marsh-grown vapours into vermeil dyes, + And melts them later into twilight dews, + Shedding on flowers the baptism of the skies; + So glows the Ideal in the air we breathe, + So from the fumes of sorrow and of sin, + Doth its warm light in rosy colours wreathe + Its playful cloudland, storing balms within. + + Survey the Poet in his mortal mould, + Man, amongst men, descended from his throne! + The moth that chased the star now frets the fold, + Our cares, our faults, our follies are his own. + Passions as idle, and desires as vain, + Vex the wild heart, and dupe the erring brain. + From Freedom’s field the recreant Horace flies + To kiss the hand by which his country dies; + From Mary’s grave the mighty Peasant turns, + And hoarse with orgies rings the laugh of Burns. + While Rousseau’s lips a lackey’s vices own,-- + Lips that could draw the thunder on a throne! + But when from Life the Actual GENIUS springs, + When, self-transformed by its own magic rod, + It snaps the fetters and expands the wings, + And drops the fleshly garb that veiled the god, + How the mists vanish as the form ascends! + How in its aureole every sunbeam blends! + By the Arch-Brightener of Creation seen, + How dim the crowns on perishable brows! + The snows of Atlas melt beneath the sheen, + Through Thebaid caves the rushing splendour flows. + Cimmerian glooms with Asian beams are bright, + And Earth reposes in a belt of light. + Now stern as Vengeance shines the awful form, + Armed with the bolt and glowing through the storm; + Sets the great deeps of human passion free, + And whelms the bulwarks that would breast the sea. + Roused by its voice the ghastly Wars arise, + Mars reddens earth, the Valkyrs pale the skies; + Dim Superstition from her hell escapes, + With all her shadowy brood of monster shapes; + Here life itself the scowl of Typhon* takes; + There Conscience shudders at Alecto’s snakes; + From Gothic graves at midnight yawning wide, + In gory cerements gibbering spectres glide; + And where o’er blasted heaths the lightnings flame, + Black secret hags “do deeds without a name!” + Yet through its direst agencies of awe, + Light marks its presence and pervades its law, + And, like Orion when the storms are loud, + It links creation while it gilds a cloud. + By ruthless Thor, free Thought, frank Honour stand, + Fame’s grand desire, and zeal for Fatherland. + The grim Religion of Barbarian Fear + With some Hereafter still connects the Here, + Lifts the gross sense to some spiritual source, + And thrones some Jove above the Titan Force, + Till, love completing what in awe began, + From the rude savage dawns the thoughtful man. + + * The gloomy Typhon of Egypt assumes many of the mystic attributes + of the Principle of Life which, in the Grecian Apotheosis of the + Indian Bacchus, is represented in so genial a character of + exuberant joy and everlasting youth. + + Then, oh, behold the Glorious comforter! + Still bright’ning worlds but gladd’ning now the hearth, + Or like the lustre of our nearest star, + Fused in the common atmosphere of earth. + It sports like hope upon the captive’s chain; + Descends in dreams upon the couch of pain; + To wonder’s realm allures the earnest child; + To the chaste love refines the instinct wild; + And as in waters the reflected beam, + Still where we turn, glides with us up the stream, + And while in truth the whole expanse is bright, + Yields to each eye its own fond path of light,-- + So over life the rays of Genius fall, + Give each his track because illuming all. + + + + IV. + + FORGIVENESS TO THE ERRORS OF OUR BENEFACTORS. + + Hence is that secret pardon we bestow + In the true instinct of the grateful heart, + Upon the Sons of Song. The good they do + In the clear world of their Uranian art + Endures forever; while the evil done + In the poor drama of their mortal scene, + Is but a passing cloud before the sun; + Space hath no record where the mist hath been. + Boots it to us if Shakspeare erred like man? + Why idly question that most mystic life? + Eno’ the giver in his gifts to scan; + To bless the sheaves with which thy fields are rife, + Nor, blundering, guess through what obstructive clay + The glorious corn-seed struggled up to day. + + + + V. + + THE IDEAL IS NOT CONFINED TO POETS.--ALGERNON SIDNEY RECOGNIZES HIS IDEAL + IN LIBERTY, AND BELIEVES IN ITS TRIUMPH WHERE THE MERE PRACTICAL MAN + COULD BEHOLD BUT ITS RUINS; YET LIBERTY IN THIS WORLD MUST EVER BE AN + IDEAL, AND THE LAND THAT IT PROMISES CAN BE FOUND BUT IN DEATH. + + But not to you alone, O Sons Of Song, + The wings that float the loftier airs along. + Whoever lifts us from the dust we are, + Beyond the sensual to spiritual goals; + Who from the MOMENT and the SELF afar + By deathless deeds allures reluctant souls, + Gives the warm life to what the Limner draws,-- + Plato but thought what godlike Cato was.* + Recall the Wars of England’s giant-born, + Is Elyot’s voice, is Hampden’s death in vain? + Have all the meteors of the vernal morn + But wasted light upon a frozen main? + Where is that child of Carnage, Freedom, flown? + The Sybarite lolls upon the martyr’s throne. + Lewd, ribald jests succeed to solemn zeal; + And things of silk to Cromwell’s men of steel. + Cold are the hosts the tromps of Ireton thrilled, + And hushed the senates Vane’s large presence filled. + In what strong heart doth the old manhood dwell? + Where art thou, Freedom? Look! in Sidney’s cell! + There still as stately stands the living Truth, + Smiling on age as it had smiled on youth. + Her forts dismantled, and her shrines o’erthrown, + The headsman’s block her last dread altar-stone, + No sanction left to Reason’s vulgar hope, + Far from the wrecks expands her prophet’s scope. + Millennial morns the tombs of Kedron gild, + The hands of saints the glorious walls rebuild,-- + Till each foundation garnished with its gem, + High o’er Gehenna flames Jerusalem! + O thou blood-stained Ideal of the free, + Whose breath is heard in clarions,--Liberty! + Sublimer for thy grand illusions past, + Thou spring’st to Heaven,--Religion at the last. + Alike below, or commonwealths or thrones, + Where’er men gather some crushed victim groans; + Only in death thy real form we see, + All life is bondage,--souls alone are free. + Thus through the waste the wandering Hebrews went, + Fire on the march, but cloud upon the tent. + At last on Pisgah see the prophet stand, + Before his vision spreads the PROMISED LAND; + But where revealed the Canaan to his eye?-- + Upon the mountain he ascends to die. + + * What Plato thought, and godlike Cato was.--POPE. + + + + VI. + + YET ALL HAVE TWO ESCAPES INTO THE IDEAL WORLD; NAMELY, MEMORY AND + HOPE.--EXAMPLE OF HOPE IN YOUTH, HOWEVER EXCLUDED FROM ACTION AND + DESIRE.--NAPOLEON’S SON. + + Yet whatsoever be our bondage here, + All have two portals to the phantom sphere. + What hath not glided through those gates that ope + Beyond the Hour, to MEMORY or to HOPE! + Give Youth the Garden,--still it soars above, + Seeks some far glory, some diviner love. + Place Age amidst the Golgotha,--its eyes + Still quit the graves, to rest upon the skies; + And while the dust, unheeded, moulders there, + Track some lost angel through cerulean air. + + Lo! where the Austrian binds, with formal chain, + The crownless son of earth’s last Charlemagne,-- + Him, at whose birth laughed all the violet vales + (While yet unfallen stood thy sovereign star, + O Lucifer of nations). Hark, the gales + Swell with the shout from all the hosts, whose war + Rended the Alps, and crimsoned Memphian Nile,-- + “Way for the coming of the Conqueror’s Son: + Woe to the Merchant-Carthage of the Isle! + Woe to the Scythian ice-world of the Don! + O Thunder Lord, thy Lemnian bolts prepare, + The Eagle’s eyry hath its eagle heir!” + Hark, at that shout from north to south, gray Power + Quails on its weak, hereditary thrones; + And widowed mothers prophesy the hour + Of future carnage to their cradled sons. + What! shall our race to blood be thus consigned, + And Ate claim an heirloom in mankind? + Are these red lots unshaken in the urn? + Years pass; approach, pale Questioner, and learn + Chained to his rock, with brows that vainly frown, + The fallen Titan sinks in darkness down! + And sadly gazing through his gilded grate, + Behold the child whose birth was as a fate! + Far from the land in which his life began; + Walled from the healthful air of hardy man; + Reared by cold hearts, and watched by jealous eyes, + His guardians jailers, and his comrades spies. + Each trite convention courtly fears inspire + To stint experience and to dwarf desire; + Narrows the action to a puppet stage, + And trains the eaglet to the starling’s cage. + On the dejected brow and smileless cheek, + What weary thought the languid lines bespeak; + Till drop by drop, from jaded day to day, + The sickly life-streams ooze themselves away. + Yet oft in HOPE a boundless realm was thine, + That vaguest Infinite,--the Dream of Fame; + Son of the sword that first made kings divine, + Heir to man’s grandest royalty,--a Name! + Then didst thou burst upon the startled world, + And keep the glorious promise of thy birth; + Then were the wings that bear the bolt unfurled, + A monarch’s voice cried, “Place upon the earth!” + A new Philippi gained a second Rome, + And the Son’s sword avenged the greater Caesar’s doom. + + + + VII. + + EXAMPLE OF MEMORY AS LEADING TO THE IDEAL,--AMIDST LIFE HOWEVER HUMBLE, + AND IN A MIND HOWEVER IGNORANT.--THE VILLAGE WIDOW. + + But turn the eye to life’s sequestered vale + And lowly roofs remote in hamlets green. + Oft in my boyhood where the moss-grown pale + Fenced quiet graves, a female form was seen; + Each eve she sought the melancholy ground, + And lingering paused, and wistful looked around. + If yet some footstep rustled through the grass, + Timorous she shrunk, and watched the shadow pass; + Then, when the spot lay lone amidst the gloom, + Crept to one grave too humble for a tomb, + There silent bowed her face above the dead, + For, if in prayer, the prayer was inly said; + Still as the moonbeam, paused her quiet shade, + Still as the moonbeam, through the yews to fade. + Whose dust thus hallowed by so fond a care? + What the grave saith not, let the heart declare. + On yonder green two orphan children played; + By yonder rill two plighted lovers strayed; + In yonder shrine two lives were blent in one, + And joy-bells chimed beneath a summer sun. + Poor was their lot, their bread in labour found; + No parent blessed them, and no kindred owned; + They smiled to hear the wise their choice condemn; + They loved--they loved--and love was wealth to them! + Hark--one short week--again the holy bell! + Still shone the sun; but dirge like boomed the knell,-- + The icy hand had severed breast from breast; + Left life to toil, and summoned Death to rest. + Full fifty years since then have passed away, + Her cheek is furrowed, and her hair is gray. + Yet, when she speaks of _him_ (the times are rare), + Hear in her voice how youth still trembles there. + The very name of that young life that died + Still heaves the bosom, and recalls the bride. + Lone o’er the widow’s hearth those years have fled, + The daily toil still wins the daily bread; + No books deck sorrow with fantastic dyes; + Her fond romance her woman heart supplies; + And, haply in the few still moments given, + (Day’s taskwork done), to memory, death, and heaven, + To that unuttered poem may belong + Thoughts of such pathos as had beggared song. + + + + VIII. + + HENCE IN HOPE, MEMORY, AND PRAYER, ALL OF US ARE POETS. + + Yes, while thou hopest, music fills the air, + While thou rememberest, life reclothes the clod; + While thou canst feel the electric chain of prayer, + Breathe but a thought, and be a soul with God! + Let not these forms of matter bound thine eye. + He who the vanishing point of Human things + Lifts from the landscape, lost amidst the sky, + Has found the Ideal which the poet sings, + Has pierced the pall around the senses thrown, + And is himself a poet, though unknown. + + + + IX. + + APPLICATION OF THE POEM TO THE TALE TO WHICH IT IS PREFIXED.--THE + RHINE,--ITS IDEAL CHARACTER IN ITS HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY ASSOCIATIONS. + + Eno’!--my song is closing, and to thee, + Land of the North, I dedicate its lay; + As I have done the simple tale to be + The drama of this prelude! + Faraway + Rolls the swift Rhine beneath the starry ray; + But to my ear its haunted waters sigh; + Its moonlight mountains glimmer on my eye; + On wave, on marge, as on a wizard’s glass, + Imperial ghosts in dim procession pass; + Lords of the wild, the first great Father-men, + Their fane the hill-top, and their home the glen; + Frowning they fade; a bridge of steel appears + With frank-eyed Caesar smiling through the spears; + The march moves onwards, and the mirror brings + The Gothic crowns of Carlovingian kings + Vanished alike! The Hermit rears his Cross, + And barbs neigh shrill, and plumes in tumult toss, + While (knighthood’s sole sweet conquest from the Moor) + Sings to Arabian lutes the Tourbadour. + Not yet, not yet; still glide some lingering shades, + Still breathe some murmurs as the starlight fades, + Still from her rock I hear the Siren call, + And see the tender ghost in Roland’s mouldering hall! + + + + X. + + APPLICATION OF THE POEM CONTINUED.--THE IDEAL LENDS ITS AID TO THE MOST + FAMILIAR AND THE MOST ACTUAL SORROW OF LIFE.--FICTION COMPARED TO + SLEEP,--IT STRENGTHENS WHILE IT SOOTHES. + + Trite were the tale I tell of love and doom, + (Whose life hath loved not, whose not mourned a tomb?) + But fiction draws a poetry from grief, + As art its healing from the withered leaf. + Play thou, sweet Fancy, round the sombre truth, + Crown the sad Genius ere it lower the torch! + When death the altar and the victim youth, + Flutes fill the air, and garlands deck the porch. + As down the river drifts the Pilgrim sail, + Clothe the rude hill-tops, lull the Northern gale; + With childlike lore the fatal course beguile, + And brighten death with Love’s untiring smile. + Along the banks let fairy forms be seen + “By fountain clear, or spangled starlike sheen.” * + Let sound and shape to which the sense is dull + Haunt the soul opening on the Beautiful. + And when at length, the symbol voyage done, + Surviving Grief shrinks lonely from the sun, + By tender types show Grief what memories bloom + From lost delight, what fairies guard the tomb. + Scorn not the dream, O world-worn; pause a while, + New strength shall nerve thee as the dreams beguile, + Stung by the rest, less far shall seem the goal! + As sleep to life, so fiction to the soul. + + * “Midsummer Night’s Dream.” + + + + + +THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE + + + +CHAPTER I. IN WHICH THE READER IS INTRODUCED TO QUEEN NYMPHALIN. + +IN one of those green woods which belong so peculiarly to our island +(for the Continent has its forests, but England its woods) there lived, +a short time ago, a charming little fairy called Nymphalin. I believe +she is descended from a younger branch of the house of Mab; but perhaps +that may only be a genealogical fable, for your fairies are very +susceptible to the pride of ancestry, and it is impossible to deny that +they fall somewhat reluctantly into the liberal opinions so much in +vogue at the present day. + +However that may be, it is quite certain that all the courtiers in +Nymphalin’s domain (for she was a queen fairy) made a point of asserting +her right to this illustrious descent; and accordingly she quartered the +Mab arms with her own,--three acorns vert, with a grasshopper rampant. +It was as merry a little court as could possibly be conceived, and on +a fine midsummer night it would have been worth while attending the +queen’s balls; that is to say, if you could have got a ticket, a favour +not obtained without great interest. + +But, unhappily, until both men and fairies adopt Mr. Owen’s proposition, +and live in parallelograms, they will always be the victims of _ennui_. +And Nymphalin, who had been disappointed in love, and was still +unmarried, had for the last five or six months been exceedingly tired +even of giving balls. She yawned very frequently, and consequently +yawning became a fashion. + +“But why don’t we have some new dances, my Pipalee?” said Nymphalin to +her favourite maid of honour; “these waltzes are very old-fashioned.” + +“Very old-fashioned,” said Pipalee. + +The queen gaped, and Pipalee did the same. + +It was a gala night; the court was held in a lone and beautiful hollow, +with the wild brake closing round it on every side, so that no human +step could easily gain the spot. Wherever the shadows fell upon the +brake a glow-worm made a point of exhibiting itself, and the bright +August moon sailed slowly above, pleased to look down upon so charming +a scene of merriment; for they wrong the moon who assert that she has +an objection to mirth,--with the mirth of fairies she has all possible +sympathy. Here and there in the thicket the scarce honeysuckles--in +August honeysuckles are somewhat out of season--hung their rich +festoons, and at that moment they were crowded with the elderly fairies, +who had given up dancing and taken to scandal. Besides the honeysuckle +you might see the hawkweed and the white convolvulus, varying the soft +verdure of the thicket; and mushrooms in abundance had sprung up in +the circle, glittering in the silver moonlight, and acceptable beyond +measure to the dancers: every one knows how agreeable a thing tents are +in a _fete champetre_! I was mistaken in saying that the brake closed +the circle entirely round; for there was one gap, scarcely apparent to +mortals, through which a fairy at least might catch a view of a +brook that was close at hand, rippling in the stars, and checkered at +intervals by the rich weeds floating on the surface, interspersed +with the delicate arrowhead and the silver water-lily. Then the trees +themselves, in their prodigal variety of hues,--the blue, the purple, +the yellowing tint, the tender and silvery verdure, and the deep mass +of shade frowning into black; the willow, the elm, the ash, the fir, and +the lime, “and, best of all, Old England’s haunted oak;” these hues were +broken again into a thousand minor and subtler shades as the twinkling +stars pierced the foliage, or the moon slept with a richer light upon +some favoured glade. + +It was a gala night; the elderly fairies, as I said before, were +chatting among the honeysuckles; the young were flirting, and dancing, +and making love; the middle-aged talked politics under the mushrooms; +and the queen herself and half-a-dozen of her favourites were yawning +their pleasure from a little mound covered with the thickest moss. + +“It has been very dull, madam, ever since Prince Fayzenheim left us,” + said the fairy Nip. + +The queen sighed. + +“How handsome the prince is!” said Pipalee. + +The queen blushed. + +“He wore the prettiest dress in the world; and what a mustache!” cried +Pipalee, fanning herself with her left wing. + +“He was a coxcomb,” said the lord treasurer, sourly. The lord treasurer +was the honestest and most disagreeable fairy at court; he was an +admirable husband, brother, son, cousin, uncle, and godfather,--it was +these virtues that had made him a lord treasurer. Unfortunately they +had not made him a sensible fairy. He was like Charles the Second in +one respect, for he never did a wise thing; but he was not like him in +another, for he very often said a foolish one. + +The queen frowned. + +“A young prince is not the worse for that,” retorted Pipalee. “Heigho! +does your Majesty think his Highness likely to return?” + +“Don’t tease me,” said Nymphalin, pettishly. + +The lord treasurer, by way of giving the conversation an agreeable +turn, reminded her Majesty that there was a prodigious accumulation +of business to see to, especially that difficult affair about the +emmet-wasp loan. Her Majesty rose; and leaning on Pipalee’s arm, walked +down to the supper tent. + +“Pray,” said the fairy Trip to the fairy Nip, “what is all this talk +about Prince Fayzenheim? Excuse my ignorance; I am only just out, you +know.” + +“Why,” answered Nip, a young courtier, not a marrying fairy, but very +seductive, “the story runs thus: Last summer a foreigner visited us, +calling himself Prince Fayzenheim: one of your German fairies, I fancy; +no great things, but an excellent waltzer. He wore long spurs, made out +of the stings of the horse-flies in the Black Forest; his cap sat on one +side, and his mustachios curled like the lip of the dragon-flower. He +was on his travels, and amused himself by making love to the queen. You +can’t fancy, dear Trip, how fond she was of hearing him tell stories +about the strange creatures of Germany,--about wild huntsmen, +water-sprites, and a pack of such stuff,” added Nip, contemptuously, for +Nip was a freethinker. + +“In short?” said Trip. + +“In short, she loved,” cried Nip, with a theatrical air. + +“And the prince?” + +“Packed up his clothes, and sent on his travelling-carriage, in order +that he might go at his ease on the top of a stage-pigeon; in short--as +you say--in short, he deserted the queen, and ever since she has set the +fashion of yawning.” + +“It was very naughty in him,” said the gentle Trip. + +“Ah, my dear creature,” cried Nip, “if it had been you to whom he had +paid his addresses!” + +Trip simpered, and the old fairies from their seats in the honeysuckles +observed she was “sadly conducted;” but the Trips had never been too +respectable. + +Meanwhile the queen, leaning on Pipalee, said, after a short pause, “Do +you know I have formed a plan!” + +“How delightful!” cried Pipalee. “Another gala!” + +“Pooh, surely even you must be tired with such levities: the spirit of +the age is no longer frivolous; and I dare say as the march of gravity +proceeds, we shall get rid of galas altogether.” The queen said this +with an air of inconceivable wisdom, for the “Society for the Diffusion +of General Stupefaction” had been recently established among the +fairies, and its tracts had driven all the light reading out of the +market. “The Penny Proser” had contributed greatly to the increase of +knowledge and yawning, so visibly progressive among the courtiers. + +“No,” continued Nymphalin; “I have thought of something better than +galas. Let us travel!” + +Pipalee clasped her hands in ecstasy. + +“Where shall we travel?” + +“Let us go up the Rhine,” said the queen, turning away her head. “We +shall be amazingly welcomed; there are fairies without number all the +way by its banks, and various distant connections of ours whose nature +and properties will afford interest and instruction to a philosophical +mind.” + +“Number Nip, for instance,” cried the gay Pipalee. + +“The Red Man!” said the graver Nymphalin. + +“Oh, my queen, what an excellent scheme!” and Pipalee was so lively +during the rest of the night that the old fairies in the honeysuckle +insinuated that the lady of honour had drunk a buttercup too much of the +Maydew. + + + +CHAPTER II. THE LOVERS. + +I WISH only for such readers as give themselves heart and soul up to +me,--if they begin to cavil I have done with them; their fancy should +put itself entirely under my management; and, after all, ought they not +to be too glad to get out of this hackneyed and melancholy world, to be +run away with by an author who promises them something new? + +From the heights of Bruges, a Mortal and his betrothed gazed upon the +scene below. They saw the sun set slowly amongst purple masses of cloud, +and the lover turned to his mistress and sighed deeply; for her cheek +was delicate in its blended roses, beyond the beauty that belongs to +the hues of health; and when he saw the sun sinking from the world, the +thought came upon him that _she_ was his sun, and the glory that +she shed over his life might soon pass away into the bosom of the +“ever-during Dark.” But against the clouds rose one of the many spires +that characterize the town of Bruges; and on that spire, tapering into +heaven, rested the eyes of Gertrude Vane. The different objects that +caught the gaze of each was emblematic both of the different channel of +their thoughts and the different elements of their nature: he thought of +the sorrow, she of the consolation; his heart prophesied of the passing +away from earth, hers of the ascension into heaven. The lower part of +the landscape was wrapped in shade; but just where the bank curved round +in a mimic bay, the waters caught the sun’s parting smile, and rippled +against the herbage that clothed the shore, with a scarcely noticeable +wave. There are two of the numerous mills which are so picturesque a +feature of that country, standing at a distance from each other on the +rising banks, their sails perfectly still in the cool silence of the +evening, and adding to the rustic tranquillity which breathed around. +For to me there is something in the still sails of one of those +inventions of man’s industry peculiarly eloquent of repose: the rest +seems typical of the repose of our own passions, short and uncertain, +contrary to their natural ordination; and doubly impressive from the +feeling which admonishes us how precarious is the stillness, how utterly +dependent on every wind rising at any moment and from any quarter of +the heavens! They saw before them no living forms, save of one or two +peasants yet lingering by the water-side. + +Trevylyan drew closer to his Gertrude; for his love was inexpressibly +tender, and his vigilant anxiety for her made his stern frame feel the +first coolness of the evening even before she felt it herself. + +“Dearest, let me draw your mantle closer round you.” + +Gertrude smiled her thanks. + +“I feel better than I have done for weeks,” said she; “and when once we +get into the Rhine, you will see me grow so strong as to shock all your +interest for me.” + +“Ah, would to Heaven my interest for you may be put to such an ordeal!” + said Trevylyan; and they turned slowly to the inn, where Gertrude’s +father already awaited them. + +Trevylyan was of a wild, a resolute, and an active nature. Thrown on +the world at the age of sixteen, he had passed his youth in alternate +pleasure, travel, and solitary study. At the age in which manhood is +least susceptible to caprice, and most perhaps to passion, he fell in +love with the loveliest person that ever dawned upon a poet’s vision. +I say this without exaggeration, for Gertrude Vane’s was indeed +the beauty, but the perishable beauty, of a dream. It happened most +singularly to Trevylyan (but he was a singular man), that being +naturally one whose affections it was very difficult to excite, he +should have fallen in love at first sight with a person whose disease, +already declared, would have deterred any other heart from risking +its treasures on a bark so utterly unfitted for the voyage of life. +Consumption, but consumption in its most beautiful shape, had set its +seal upon Gertrude Vane, when Trevylyan first saw her, and at once +loved. He knew the danger of the disease; he did not, except at +intervals, deceive himself; he wrestled against the new passion: but, +stern as his nature was, he could not conquer it. He loved, he confessed +his love, and Gertrude returned it. + +In a love like this, there is something ineffably beautiful,--it is +essentially the poetry of passion. Desire grows hallowed by fear, +and, scarce permitted to indulge its vent in the common channel of +the senses, breaks forth into those vague yearnings, those lofty +aspirations, which pine for the Bright, the Far, the Unattained. It is +“the desire of the moth for the star;” it is the love of the soul! + +Gertrude was advised by the faculty to try a southern climate; but +Gertrude was the daughter of a German mother, and her young fancy had +been nursed in all the wild legends and the alluring visions that +belong to the children of the Rhine. Her imagination, more romantic than +classic, yearned for the vine-clad hills and haunted forests which are +so fertile in their spells to those who have once drunk, even sparingly, +of the Literature of the North. Her desire strongly expressed, her +declared conviction that if any change of scene could yet arrest the +progress of her malady it would be the shores of the river she had so +longed to visit, prevailed with her physicians and her father, and they +consented to that pilgrimage along the Rhine on which Gertrude, her +father, and her lover were now bound. + +It was by the green curve of the banks which the lovers saw from the +heights of Bruges that our fairy travellers met. They were reclining on +the water-side, playing at dominos with eye-bright and the black specks +of the trefoil; namely, Pipalee, Nip, Trip, and the lord treasurer +(for that was all the party selected by the queen for her travelling +_cortege_), and waiting for her Majesty, who, being a curious little +elf, had gone round the town to reconnoitre. + +“Bless me!” said the lord treasurer; “what a mad freak is this! Crossing +that immense pond of water! And was there ever such bad grass as this? +One may see that the fairies thrive ill here.” + +“You are always discontented, my lord,” said Pipalee; “but then you are +somewhat too old to travel,--at least, unless you go in your nutshell +and four.” + +The lord treasurer did not like this remark, so he muttered a peevish +pshaw, and took a pinch of honeysuckle dust to console himself for being +forced to put up with so much frivolity. + +At this moment, ere the moon was yet at her middest height, Nymphalin +joined her subjects. + +“I have just returned,” said she, with a melancholy expression on her +countenance, “from a scene that has almost renewed in me that +sympathy with human beings which of late years our race has well-nigh +relinquished. + +“I hurried through the town without noticing much food for adventure. +I paused for a moment on a fat citizen’s pillow, and bade him dream of +love. He woke in a fright, and ran down to see that his cheeses +were safe. I swept with a light wing over a politician’s eyes, and +straightway he dreamed of theatres and music. I caught an undertaker in +his first nap, and I have left him whirled into a waltz. For what would +be sleep if it did not contrast life? Then I came to a solitary chamber, +in which a girl, in her tenderest youth, knelt by the bedside in prayer, +and I saw that the death-spirit had passed over her, and the blight was +on the leaves of the rose. The room was still and hushed, the angel of +Purity kept watch there. Her heart was full of love, and yet of holy +thoughts, and I bade her dream of the long life denied to her,--of a +happy home, of the kisses of her young lover, of eternal faith, and +unwaning tenderness. Let her at least enjoy in dreams what Fate +has refused to Truth! And, passing from the room, I found her lover +stretched in his cloak beside the door; for he reads with a feverish and +desperate prophecy the doom that waits her; and so loves he the very +air she breathes, the very ground she treads, that when she has left +his sight he creeps, silently and unknown to her, to the nearest spot +hallowed by her presence, anxious that while yet she is on earth not an +hour, not a moment, should be wasted upon other thoughts than those that +belong to her; and feeling a security, a fearful joy, in lessening the +distance that _now_ only momentarily divides them. And that love seemed +to me not as the love of the common world, and I stayed my wings +and looked upon it as a thing that centuries might pass and bring no +parallel to, in its beauty and its melancholy truth. But I kept away the +sleep from the lover’s eyes, for well I knew that sleep was a tyrant, +that shortened the brief time of waking tenderness for the living, yet +spared him; and one sad, anxious thought of her was sweeter, in spite of +its sorrow, than the brightest of fairy dreams. So I left him awake, +and watching there through the long night, and felt that the children +of earth have still something that unites them to the spirits of a finer +race, so long as they retain amongst them the presence of real love!” + +And oh! is there not a truth also in our fictions of the Unseen World? +Are there not yet bright lingerers by the forest and the stream? Do the +moon and the soft stars look out on no delicate and winged forms bathing +in their light? Are the fairies and the invisible hosts but the children +of our dreams, and not their inspiration? Is that all a delusion which +speaks from the golden page? And is the world only given to harsh and +anxious travellers that walk to and fro in pursuit of no gentle shadows? +Are the chimeras of the passions the sole spirits of the universe? No! +while my remembrance treasures in its deepest cell the image of one no +more,--one who was “not of the earth, earthy;” one in whom love was the +essence of thoughts divine; one whose shape and mould, whose heart and +genius, would, had Poesy never before dreamed it, have called forth +the first notion of spirits resembling mortals, but not of them,--no, +Gertrude! while I remember you, the faith, the trust in brighter shapes +and fairer natures than the world knows of, comes clinging to my heart; +and still will I think that Fairies might have watched over your sleep +and Spirits have ministered to your dreams. + + + +CHAPTER III. FEELINGS. + +GERTRUDE and her companions proceeded by slow and, to her, delightful +stages to Rotterdam. Trevylyan sat by her side, and her hand was ever +in his; and when her delicate frame became sensible of fatigue, her head +drooped on his shoulder as its natural resting-place. Her father was +a man who had lived long enough to have encountered many reverses of +fortune, and they had left him, as I am apt to believe long adversity +usually does leave its prey, somewhat chilled and somewhat hardened to +affection; passive and quiet of hope, resigned to the worst as to +the common order of events, and expecting little from the best, as an +unlooked-for incident in the regularity of human afflictions. He was +insensible of his daughter’s danger, for he was not one whom the fear +of love endows with prophetic vision; and he lived tranquilly in the +present, without asking what new misfortune awaited him in the future. +Yet he loved his child, his only child, with whatever of affection +was left him by the many shocks his heart had received; and in her +approaching connection with one rich and noble as Trevylyan, he +felt even something bordering upon pleasure. Lapped in the apathetic +indifference of his nature, he leaned back in the carriage, enjoying the +bright weather that attended their journey, and sensible--for he was one +of fine and cultivated taste--of whatever beauties of nature or remains +of art varied their course. A companion of this sort was the most +agreeable that two persons never needing a third could desire; he left +them undisturbed to the intoxication of their mutual presence; he marked +not the interchange of glances; he listened not to the whisper, the low +delicious whisper, with which the heart speaks its sympathy to heart. He +broke not that charmed silence which falls over us when the thoughts are +full, and words leave nothing to explain; that repose of feeling; that +certainty that we are understood without the effort of words, which +makes the real luxury of intercourse and the true enchantment of travel. +What a memory hours like these bequeath, after we have settled down into +the calm occupation of common life! How beautiful, through the vista of +years, seems that brief moonlight track upon the waters of our youth! + +And Trevylyan’s nature, which, as I have said before, was naturally +hard and stern, which was hot, irritable, ambitious, and prematurely +tinctured with the policy and lessons of the world, seemed utterly +changed by the peculiarities of his love. Every hour, every moment was +full of incident to him; every look of Gertrude’s was entered in the +tablets of his heart; so that his love knew no languor, it required no +change: he was absorbed in it,--_it was himself_! And he was soft, and +watchful as the step of a mother by the couch of her sick child; +the lion within him was tamed by indomitable love; the sadness, the +presentiment, that was mixed with all his passion for Gertrude, filled +him too with that poetry of feeling which is the result of thoughts +weighing upon us, and not to be expressed by ordinary language. In this +part of their journey, as I find by the date, were the following lines +written; they are to be judged as the lines of one in whom emotion and +truth were the only inspiration:-- + + + + I. As leaves left darkling in the flush of day, + When glints the glad sun checkering o’er the tree, + I see the green earth brightening in the ray, + Which only casts a shadow upon me! + + + II. What are the beams, the flowers, the glory, all + Life’s glow and gloss, the music and the bloom, + When every sun but speeds the Eternal Pall, + And Time is Death that dallies with the Tomb? + + + III. And yet--oh yet, so young, so pure!--the while + Fresh laugh the rose-hues round youth’s morning sky, + That voice, those eyes, the deep love of that smile, + Are they not soul--_all_ soul--and _can_ they die? + + + IV. Are there the words “NO MORE” for thoughts like ours? + Must the bark sink upon so soft a wave? + Hath the short summer of thy life no flowers + But those which bloom above thine early grave? + + + V. O God! and what is life, that I should live? + (Hath not the world enow of common clay?) + And she--the Rose--whose life a soul could give + To the void desert, sigh its sweets away? + + + VI. And I that love thee thus, to whom the air, + Blest by thy breath, makes heaven where’er it be, + Watch thy cheek wane, and smile away despair, + Lest it should dim one hour yet left to Thee. + + + VII. Still let me conquer self; oh, still conceal + By the smooth brow the snake that coils below; + Break, break my heart! it comforts yet to feel + That _she_ dreams on, unwakened by my woe! + + + VIII. Hushed, where the Star’s soft angel loves to keep + Watch o’er their tide, the morning waters roll; + So glides my spirit,--darkness in the deep, + But o’er the wave the presence of thy soul! + + + +Gertrude had not as yet the presentiments that filled the soul of +Trevylyan. She thought too little of herself to know her danger, and +those hours to her were hours of unmingled sweetness. Sometimes, indeed, +the exhaustion of her disease tinged her spirits with a vague sadness, +an abstraction came over her, and a languor she vainly struggled +against. These fits of dejection and gloom touched Trevylyan to the +quick; his eye never ceased to watch them, nor his heart to soothe. +Often when he marked them, he sought to attract her attention from what +he fancied, though erringly, a sympathy with his own forebodings, and +to lead her young and romantic imagination through the temporary +beguilements of fiction; for Gertrude was yet in the first bloom of +youth, and all the dews of beautiful childhood sparkled freshly from the +virgin blossoms of her mind. And Trevylyan, who had passed some of his +early years among the students of Leipsic, and was deeply versed in the +various world of legendary lore, ransacked his memory for such tales +as seemed to him most likely to win her interest; and often with false +smiles entered into the playful tale, or oftener, with more faithful +interest, into the graver legend of trials that warned yet beguiled them +from their own. Of such tales I have selected but a few; I know not that +they are the least unworthy of repetition,--they are those which many +recollections induce me to repeat the most willingly. Gertrude loved +these stories, for she had not yet lost, by the coldness of the world, +one leaf from that soft and wild romance which belonged to her beautiful +mind; and, more than all, she loved the sound of a voice which every +day became more and more musical to her ear. “Shall I tell you,” said +Trevylyan, one morning, as he observed her gloomier mood stealing over +the face of Gertrude,--“shall I tell you, ere yet we pass into the dull +land of Holland, a story of Malines, whose spires we shall shortly +see?” Gertrude’s face brightened at once, and as she leaned back in the +carriage as it whirled rapidly along, and fixed her deep blue eyes on +Trevylyan, he began the following tale. + + + +CHAPTER IV. THE MAID OF MALINES. + +IT was noonday in the town of Malines, or Mechlin, as the English +usually term it; the Sabbath bell had summoned the inhabitants to +divine worship; and the crowd that had loitered round the Church of St. +Rembauld had gradually emptied itself within the spacious aisles of the +sacred edifice. + +A young man was standing in the street, with his eyes bent on the +ground, and apparently listening for some sound; for without raising his +looks from the rude pavement, he turned to every corner of it with an +intent and anxious expression of countenance. He held in one hand a +staff, in the other a long slender cord, the end of which trailed on +the ground; every now and then he called, with a plaintive voice, “Fido, +Fido, come back! Why hast thou deserted me?” Fido returned not; the dog, +wearied of confinement, had slipped from the string, and was at play +with his kind in a distant quarter of the town, leaving the blind man to +seek his way as he might to his solitary inn. + +By and by a light step passed through the street, and the young +stranger’s face brightened. + +“Pardon me,” said he, turning to the spot where his quick ear had +caught the sound, “and direct me, if you are not much pressed for a few +moments’ time, to the hotel ‘Mortier d’Or.’” + +It was a young woman, whose dress betokened that she belonged to the +middling class of life, whom he thus addressed. “It is some distance +hence, sir,” said she; “but if you continue your way straight on for +about a hundred yards, and then take the second turn to your right +hand--” + +“Alas!” interrupted the stranger, with a melancholy smile, “your +direction will avail me little; my dog has deserted me, and I am blind!” + +There was something in these words, and in the stranger’s voice, which +went irresistibly to the heart of the young woman. “Pray forgive me,” + she said, almost with tears in her eyes, “I did not perceive your--” + misfortune, she was about to say, but she checked herself with an +instinctive delicacy. “Lean upon me, I will conduct you to the door; +nay, sir,” observing that he hesitated, “I have time enough to spare, I +assure you.” + +The stranger placed his hand on the young woman’s arm; and though +Lucille was naturally so bashful that even her mother would laughingly +reproach her for the excess of a maiden virtue, she felt not the least +pang of shame, as she found herself thus suddenly walking through the +streets of Malines along with a young stranger, whose dress and air +betokened him of rank superior to her own. + +“Your voice is very gentle,” said he, after a pause; “and that,” he +added, with a slight sigh, “is the only criterion by which I know the +young and the beautiful!” Lucille now blushed, and with a slight mixture +of pain in the blush, for she knew well that to beauty she had no +pretension. “Are you a native of this town?” continued he. + +“Yes, sir; my father holds a small office in the customs, and my mother +and I eke out his salary by making lace. We are called poor, but we do +not feel it, sir.” + +“You are fortunate! there is no wealth like the heart’s +wealth,--content,” answered the blind man, mournfully. + +“And, monsieur,” said Lucille, feeling angry with herself that she had +awakened a natural envy in the stranger’s mind, and anxious to change +the subject--“and, monsieur, has he been long at Malines?” + +“But yesterday. I am passing through the Low Countries on a tour; +perhaps you smile at the tour of a blind man, but it is wearisome +even to the blind to rest always in the same place. I thought during +church-time, when the streets were empty, that I might, by the help of +my dog, enjoy safely at least the air, if not the sight of the town; +but there are some persons, methinks, who cannot have even a dog for a +friend!” + +The blind man spoke bitterly,--the desertion of his dog had touched +him to the core. Lucille wiped her eyes. “And does Monsieur travel then +alone?” said she; and looking at his face more attentively than she had +yet ventured to do, she saw that he was scarcely above two-and-twenty. +“His father, and his _mother_,” she added, with an emphasis on the last +word, “are they not with him?” + +“I am an orphan!” answered the stranger; “and I have neither brother nor +sister.” + +The desolate condition of the blind man quite melted Lucille; never had +she been so strongly affected. She felt a strange flutter at the heart, +a secret and earnest sympathy, that attracted her at once towards him. +She wished that Heaven had suffered her to be his sister! + +The contrast between the youth and the form of the stranger, and the +affliction which took hope from the one and activity from the other, +increased the compassion he excited. His features were remarkably +regular, and had a certain nobleness in their outline; and his frame +was gracefully and firmly knit, though he moved cautiously and with no +cheerful step. + +They had now passed into a narrow street leading towards the hotel, +when they heard behind them the clatter of hoofs; and Lucille, looking +hastily back, saw that a troop of the Belgian horse was passing through +the town. + +She drew her charge close by the wall, and trembling with fear for +him, she stationed herself by his side. The troop passed at a full trot +through the street; and at the sound of their clanging arms, and the +ringing hoofs of their heavy chargers, Lucille might have seen, had +she looked at the blind man’s face, that its sad features kindled +with enthusiasm, and his head was raised proudly from its wonted and +melancholy bend. “Thank Heaven!” she said, as the troop had nearly +passed them, “the danger is over!” Not so. One of the last two soldiers +who rode abreast was unfortunately mounted on a young and unmanageable +horse. The rider’s oaths and digging spur only increased the fire and +impatience of the charger; it plunged from side to side of the narrow +street. + +“Look to yourselves!” cried the horseman, as he was borne on to the +place where Lucille and the stranger stood against the wall. “Are ye +mad? Why do you not run?” + +“For Heaven’s sake, for mercy’s sake, he is blind!” cried Lucille, +clinging to the stranger’s side. + +“Save yourself, my kind guide!” said the stranger. But Lucille dreamed +not of such desertion. The trooper wrested the horse’s head from the +spot where they stood; with a snort, as it felt the spur, the enraged +animal lashed out with its hind-legs; and Lucille, unable to save +_both_, threw herself before the blind man, and received the shock +directed against him; her slight and delicate arm fell broken by her +side, the horseman was borne onward. “Thank God, _you_ are saved!” was +poor Lucille’s exclamation; and she fell, overcome with pain and terror, +into the arms which the stranger mechanically opened to receive her. + +“My guide! my friend!” cried he, “you are hurt, you--” + +“No, sir,” interrupted Lucille, faintly, “I am better, I am well. _This_ +arm, if you please,--we are not far from your hotel now.” + +But the stranger’s ear, tutored to every inflection of voice, told +him at once of the pain she suffered. He drew from her by degrees the +confession of the injury she had sustained; but the generous girl did +not tell him it had been incurred solely in his protection. He now +insisted on reversing their duties, and accompanying _her_ to her home; +and Lucille, almost fainting with pain, and hardly able to move, was +forced to consent. But a few steps down the next turning stood the +humble mansion of her father. They reached it; and Lucille scarcely +crossed the threshold, before she sank down, and for some minutes was +insensible to pain. It was left to the stranger to explain, and to +beseech them immediately to send for a surgeon, “the most skilful, the +most practised in the town,” said he. “See, I am rich, and this is the +least I can do to atone to your generous daughter, for not forsaking +even a stranger in peril.” + +He held out his purse as he spoke, but the father refused the offer; and +it saved the blind man some shame, that he could not see the blush of +honest resentment with which so poor a species of renumeration was put +aside. + +The young man stayed till the surgeon arrived, till the arm was set; nor +did he depart until he had obtained a promise from the mother that he +should learn the next morning how the sufferer had passed the night. + +The next morning, indeed, he had intended to quit a town that offers but +little temptation to the traveller; but he tarried day after day, until +Lucille herself accompanied her mother, to assure him of her recovery. + +You know, at least I do, dearest Gertrude, that there is such a thing as +love at the first meeting,--a secret, an unaccountable affinity between +persons (strangers before) which draws them irresistibly together,--as +if there were truth in Plato’s beautiful fantasy, that our souls were +a portion of the stars, and that spirits, thus attracted to each other, +have drawn their original light from the same orb, and yearn for a +renewal of their former union. Yet without recurring to such fanciful +solutions of a daily mystery, it was but natural that one in the forlorn +and desolate condition of Eugene St. Amand should have felt a certain +tenderness for a person who had so generously suffered for his sake. + +The darkness to which he was condemned did not shut from his mind’s eye +the haunting images of Ideal beauty; rather, on the contrary, in his +perpetual and unoccupied solitude, he fed the reveries of an imagination +naturally warm, and a heart eager for sympathy and commune. + +He had said rightly that his only test of beauty was in the melody of +voice; and never had a softer or more thrilling tone than that of the +young maiden touched upon his ear. Her exclamation, so beautifully +denying self, so devoted in its charity, “Thank God, _you_ are saved!” + uttered too in the moment of her own suffering, rang constantly upon his +soul, and he yielded, without precisely defining their nature, to vague +and delicious sentiments, that his youth had never awakened to till +then. And Lucille--the very accident that had happened to her on his +behalf only deepened the interest she had already conceived for one who, +in the first flush of youth, was thus cut off from the glad objects of +life, and left to a night of years desolate and alone. There is, to your +beautiful and kindly sex, a natural inclination to _protect_. This makes +them the angels of sickness, the comforters of age, the fosterers +of childhood; and this feeling, in Lucille peculiarly developed, had +already inexpressibly linked her compassionate nature to the lot of the +unfortunate traveller. With ardent affections, and with thoughts beyond +her station and her years, she was not without that modest vanity +which made her painfully susceptible to her own deficiencies in beauty. +Instinctively conscious of how deeply she herself could love, she +believed it impossible that she could ever be so loved in return. The +stranger, so superior in her eyes to all she had yet seen, was the first +who had ever addressed her in that voice which by tones, not words, +speaks that admiration most dear to a woman’s heart. To _him_ she was +beautiful, and her lovely mind spoke out, undimmed by the imperfections +of her face. Not, indeed, that Lucille was wholly without personal +attraction; her light step and graceful form were elastic with the +freshness of youth, and her mouth and smile had so gentle and tender +an expression, that there were moments when it would not have been +the blind only who would have mistaken her to be beautiful. Her early +childhood had indeed given the promise of attractions, which the +smallpox, that then fearful malady, had inexorably marred. It had not +only seared the smooth skin and brilliant hues, but utterly changed even +the character of the features. It so happened that Lucille’s family were +celebrated for beauty, and vain of that celebrity; and so bitterly had +her parents deplored the effects of the cruel malady, that poor Lucille +had been early taught to consider them far more grievous than they +really were, and to exaggerate the advantages of that beauty, the loss +of which was considered by her parents so heavy a misfortune. Lucille, +too, had a cousin named Julie, who was the wonder of all Malines for +her personal perfections; and as the cousins were much together, the +contrast was too striking not to occasion frequent mortification to +Lucille. But every misfortune has something of a counterpoise; and the +consciousness of personal inferiority had meekened, without souring, her +temper, had given gentleness to a spirit that otherwise might have been +too high, and humility to a mind that was naturally strong, impassioned, +and energetic. + +And yet Lucille had long conquered the one disadvantage she most dreaded +in the want of beauty. Lucille was never known but to be loved. +Wherever came her presence, her bright and soft mind diffused a certain +inexpressible charm; and where she was not, a something was absent from +the scene which not even Julie’s beauty could replace. + +“I propose,” said St. Amand to Madame le Tisseur, Lucille’s mother, +as he sat in her little salon,--for he had already contracted that +acquaintance with the family which permitted him to be led to their +house, to return the visits Madame le Tisseur had made him, and his dog, +once more returned a penitent to his master, always conducted his +steps to the humble abode, and stopped instinctively at the door,--“I +propose,” said St. Amand, after a pause, and with some embarrassment, +“to stay a little while longer at Malines; the air agrees with me, and +I like the quiet of the place; but you are aware, madam, that at a hotel +among strangers, I feel my situation somewhat cheerless. I have been +thinking”--St. Amand paused again--“I have been thinking that if I could +persuade some agreeable family to receive me as a lodger, I would fix +myself here for some weeks. I am easily pleased.” + +“Doubtless there are many in Malines who would be too happy to receive +such a lodger.” + +“Will you receive me?” asked St. Amand, abruptly. “It was of _your_ +family I thought.” + +“Of us? Monsieur is too flattering. But we have scarcely a room good +enough for you.” + +“What difference between one room and another can there be to me? That +is the best apartment to my choice in which the human voice sounds most +kindly.” + +The arrangement was made, and St. Amand came now to reside beneath the +same roof as Lucille. And was she not happy that _he_ wanted so constant +an attendance; was she not happy that she was ever of use? St. Amand was +passionately fond of music; he played himself with a skill that was +only surpassed by the exquisite melody of his voice, and was not Lucille +happy when she sat mute and listening to such sounds as in Malines +were never heard before? Was she not happy in gazing on a face to whose +melancholy aspect her voice instantly summoned the smile? Was she not +happy when the music ceased, and St. Amand called “Lucille”? Did not her +own name uttered by that voice seem to her even sweeter than the music? +Was she not happy when they walked out in the still evenings of summer, +and her arm thrilled beneath the light touch of one to whom she was +so necessary? Was she not proud in her happiness, and was there not +something like worship in the gratitude she felt to him for raising her +humble spirit to the luxury of feeling herself beloved? + +St. Amand’s parents were French. They had resided in the neighbourhood +of Amiens, where they had inherited a competent property, to which he +had succeeded about two years previous to the date of my story. + +He had been blind from the age of three years. “I know not,” said he, +as he related these particulars to Lucille one evening when they were +alone,--“I know not what the earth may be like, or the heaven, or the +rivers whose voice at least I can hear, for I have no recollection +beyond that of a confused but delicious blending of a thousand glorious +colours, a bright and quick sense of joy, A VISIBLE MUSIC. But it is +only since my childhood closed that I have mourned, as I now unceasingly +mourn, for the light of day. My boyhood passed in a quiet cheerfulness; +the least trifle then could please and occupy the vacancies of my mind; +but it was as I took delight in being read to, as I listened to the +vivid descriptions of Poetry, as I glowed at the recital of great deeds, +as I was made acquainted by books with the energy, the action, the heat, +the fervour, the pomp, the enthusiasm of life, that I gradually opened +to the sense of all I was forever denied. I felt that I existed, not +lived; and that, in the midst of the Universal Liberty, I was sentenced +to a prison, from whose blank walls there was no escape. Still, however, +while my parents lived, I had something of consolation; at least I was +not alone. They died, and a sudden and dread solitude, a vast and empty +dreariness, settled upon my dungeon. One old servant only, who had +attended me from my childhood, who had known me in my short privilege of +light, by whose recollections my mind could grope back its way through +the dark and narrow passages of memory to faint glimpses of the sun, +was all that remained to me of human sympathies. It did not suffice, +however, to content me with a home where my father and my mother’s kind +voice were _not_. A restless impatience, an anxiety to move, possessed +me, and I set out from my home, journeying whither I cared not, so that +at least I could change an air that weighed upon me like a palpable +burden. I took only this old attendant as my companion; he too died +three months since at Bruxelles, worn out with years. Alas! I had +forgotten that he was old, for I saw not his progress to decay; and now, +save my faithless dog, I was utterly alone, till I came hither and found +_thee_.” + +Lucille stooped down to caress the dog; she blessed the desertion that +had led him to a friend who never could desert. + +But however much, and however gratefully, St. Amand loved Lucille, +her power availed not to chase the melancholy from his brow, and to +reconcile him to his forlorn condition. + +“Ah, would that I could see thee! would that I could look upon a face +that my heart vainly endeavours to delineate!” + +“If thou couldst,” sighed Lucille, “thou wouldst cease to love me.” + +“Impossible!” cried St. Amand, passionately. “However the world may find +thee, _thou_ wouldst become my standard of beauty; and I should judge +not of thee by others, but of others by thee.” + +He loved to hear Lucille read to him, and mostly he loved the +descriptions of war, of travel, of wild adventure, and yet they +occasioned him the most pain. Often she paused from the page as she +heard him sigh, and felt that she would even have renounced the bliss of +being loved by him, if she could have restored to him that blessing, the +desire for which haunted him as a spectre. + +Lucille’s family were Catholic, and, like most in their station, they +possessed the superstitions, as well as the devotion of the faith. +Sometimes they amused themselves of an evening by the various legends +and imaginary miracles of their calendar; and once, as they were thus +conversing with two or three of their neighbours, “The Tomb of the Three +Kings of Cologne” became the main topic of their wondering recitals. +However strong was the sense of Lucille, she was, as you will readily +conceive, naturally influenced by the belief of those with whom she had +been brought up from her cradle, and she listened to tale after tale +of the miracles wrought at the consecrated tomb, as earnestly and +undoubtingly as the rest. + +And the Kings of the East were no ordinary saints; to the relics of +the Three Magi, who followed the Star of Bethlehem, and were the first +potentates of the earth who adored its Saviour, well might the pious +Catholic suppose that a peculiar power and a healing sanctity would +belong. Each of the circle (St. Amand, who had been more than usually +silent, and even gloomy during the day, had retired to his own +apartment, for there were some moments when, in the sadness of his +thoughts, he sought that solitude which he so impatiently fled from at +others)--each of the circle had some story to relate equally veracious +and indisputable, of an infirmity cured, or a prayer accorded, or a sin +atoned for at the foot of the holy tomb. One story peculiarly affected +Lucille; the narrator, a venerable old man with gray locks, solemnly +declared himself a witness of its truth. + +A woman at Anvers had given birth to a son, the offspring of an illicit +connection, who came into the world deaf and dumb. The unfortunate +mother believed the calamity a punishment for her own sin. “Ah, would,” + said she, “that the affliction had fallen only upon me! Wretch that I +am, my innocent child is punished for my offence!” This, idea haunted +her night and day; she pined and could not be comforted. As the child +grew up, and wound himself more and more round her heart, his caresses +added new pangs to her remorse; and at length (continued the narrator) +hearing perpetually of the holy fame of the Tomb of Cologne, she +resolved upon a pilgrimage barefoot to the shrine. “God is merciful,” + said she; “and He who called Magdalene his sister may take the mother’s +curse from the child.” She then went to Cologne; she poured her tears, +her penitence, and her prayers at the sacred tomb. When she returned to +her native town, what was her dismay as she approached her cottage to +behold it a heap of ruins! Its blackened rafters and yawning casements +betokened the ravages of fire. The poor woman sank upon the ground +utterly overpowered. Had her son perished? At that moment she heard +the cry of a child’s voice, and, lo! her child rushed to her arms, and +called her “mother!” + +He had been saved from the fire, which had broken out seven days before; +but in the terror he had suffered, the string that tied his tongue had +been loosened; he had uttered articulate sounds of distress; the curse +was removed, and one word at least the kind neighbours had already +taught him to welcome his mother’s return. What cared she now that +her substance was gone, that her roof was ashes? She bowed in grateful +submission to so mild a stroke; her prayer had been heard, and the sin +of the mother was visited no longer on the child. + +I have said, dear Gertrude, that this story made a deep impression upon +Lucille. A misfortune so nearly akin to that of St. Amand removed by the +prayer of another filled her with devoted thoughts and a beautiful hope. +“Is not the tomb still standing?” thought she. “Is not God still in +heaven?--He who heard the guilty, may He not hear the guiltless? Is He +not the God of love? Are not the affections the offerings that please +Him best? And what though the child’s mediator was his mother, can +even a mother love her child more tenderly than I love Eugene? But if, +Lucille, thy prayer be granted, if he recover his sight, _thy_ charm +is gone, he will love thee no longer. No matter! be it so,--I shall at +least have made him happy!” + +Such were the thoughts that filled the mind of Lucille; she cherished +them till they settled into resolution, and she secretly vowed to +perform her pilgrimage of love. She told neither St. Amand nor her +parents of her intention; she knew the obstacles such an announcement +would create. Fortunately she had an aunt settled at Bruxelles, to whom +she had been accustomed once in every year to pay a month’s visit, and +at that time she generally took with her the work of a twelvemonths’ +industry, which found a readier sale at Bruxelles than at Malines. +Lucille and St. Amand were already betrothed; their wedding was shortly +to take place; and the custom of the country leading parents, however +poor, to nourish the honourable ambition of giving some dowry with their +daughters, Lucille found it easy to hide the object of her departure, +under the pretence of taking the lace to Bruxelles, which had been the +year’s labour of her mother and herself,--it would sell for sufficient, +at least, to defray the preparations for the wedding. + +“Thou art ever right, child,” said Madame le Tisseur; “the richer St. +Amand is, why, the less oughtest thou to go a beggar to his house.” + +In fact, the honest ambition of the good people was excited; their pride +had been hurt by the envy of the town and the current congratulations on +so advantageous a marriage; and they employed themselves in counting +up the fortune they should be able to give to their only child, and +flattering their pardonable vanity with the notion that there would +be no such great disproportion in the connection after all. They were +right, but not in their own view of the estimate; the wealth that +Lucille brought was what fate could not lessen, reverse could not reach; +the ungracious seasons could not blight its sweet harvest; imprudence +could not dissipate, fraud could not steal, one grain from its abundant +coffers! Like the purse in the Fairy Tale, its use was hourly, its +treasure inexhaustible. + +St. Amand alone was not to be won to her departure; he chafed at the +notion of a dowry; he was not appeased even by Lucille’s representation +that it was only to gratify and not to impoverish her parents. “And +_thou_, too, canst leave me!” he said, in that plaintive voice which had +made his first charm to Lucille’s heart. “It is a double blindness!” + +“But for a few days; a fortnight at most, dearest Eugene.” + +“A fortnight! you do not reckon time as the blind do,” said St. Amand, +bitterly. + +“But listen, listen, dear Eugene,” said Lucille, weeping. + +The sound of her sobs restored him to a sense of his ingratitude. Alas, +he knew not how much he had to be grateful for! He held out his arms +to her. “Forgive me,” said he. “Those who can see Nature know not how +terrible it is to be alone.” + +“But my mother will not leave you.” + +“She is not you!” + +“And Julie,” said Lucille, hesitatingly. + +“What is Julie to me?” + +“Ah, you are the only one, save my parents, who could think of me in her +presence.” + +“And why, Lucille?” + +“Why! She is more beautiful than a dream.” + +“Say not so. Would I could see, that I might prove to the world how much +more beautiful thou art! There is no music in her voice.” + +The evening before Lucille departed she sat up late with St. Amand and +her mother. They conversed on the future; they made plans; in the wide +sterility of the world they laid out the garden of household love, and +filled it with flowers, forgetful of the wind that scatters and the +frost that kills. And when, leaning on Lucille’s arm, St. Amand sought +his chamber, and they parted at his door, which closed upon her, she +fell down on her knees at the threshold, and poured out the fulness of +her heart in a prayer for his safety and the fulfilment of her timid +hope. + +At daybreak she was consigned to the conveyance that performed the short +journey from Malines to Bruxelles. When she entered the town, instead +of seeking her aunt, she rested at an _auberge_ in the suburbs, and +confiding her little basket of lace to the care of its hostess, she +set out alone, and on foot, upon the errand of her heart’s lovely +superstition. And erring though it was, her faith redeemed its weakness, +her affection made it even sacred; and well may we believe that the Eye +which reads all secrets scarce looked reprovingly on that fanaticism +whose only infirmity was love. + +So fearful was she lest, by rendering the task too easy, she might +impair the effect, that she scarcely allowed herself rest or food. +Sometimes, in the heat of noon, she wandered a little from the roadside, +and under the spreading lime-tree surrendered her mind to its sweet and +bitter thoughts; but ever the restlessness of her enterprise urged +her on, and faint, weary, and with bleeding feet, she started up and +continued her way. At length she reached the ancient city, where a +holier age has scarce worn from the habits and aspects of men the Roman +trace. She prostrated herself at the tomb of the Magi; she proffered her +ardent but humble prayer to Him before whose Son those fleshless heads +(yet to faith at least preserved) had, eighteen centuries ago, bowed in +adoration. Twice every day, for a whole week, she sought the same spot, +and poured forth the same prayer. The last day an old priest, who, +hovering in the church, had observed her constantly at devotion, with +that fatherly interest which the better ministers of the Catholic sect +(that sect which has covered the earth with the mansions of charity) +feel for the unhappy, approached her as she was retiring with moist and +downcast eyes, and saluting her, assumed the privilege of his order to +inquire if there was aught in which his advice or aid could serve. +There was something in the venerable air of the old man which encouraged +Lucille; she opened her heart to him; she told him all. The good priest +was much moved by her simplicity and earnestness. He questioned her +minutely as to the peculiar species of blindness with which St. Amand +was afflicted; and after musing a little while, he said, “Daughter, +God is great and merciful; we must trust in His power, but we must +not forget that He mostly works by mortal agents. As you pass through +Louvain in your way home, fail not to see there a certain physician, +named Le Kain. He is celebrated through Flanders for the cures he has +wrought among the blind, and his advice is sought by all classes from +far and near. He lives hard by the Hotel de Ville, but any one will +inform you of his residence. Stay, my child, you shall take him a note +from me; he is a benevolent and kindly man, and you shall tell him +exactly the same story (and with the same voice) you have told to me.” + +So saying the priest made Lucille accompany him to his home, and forcing +her to refresh herself less sparingly than she had yet done since she +had left Malines, he gave her his blessing, and a letter to Le Kain, +which he rightly judged would insure her a patient hearing from the +physician. Well known among all men of science was the name of the +priest, and a word of recommendation from him went further, where virtue +and wisdom were honoured, than the longest letter from the haughtiest +sieur in Flanders. + +With a patient and hopeful spirit, the young pilgrim turned her back on +the Roman Cologne; and now about to rejoin St. Amand, she felt neither +the heat of the sun nor the weariness of the road. It was one day at +noon that she again passed through Louvain, and she soon found herself +by the noble edifice of the Hotel de Ville. Proud rose its spires +against the sky, and the sun shone bright on its rich tracery and +Gothic casements; the broad open street was crowded with persons of all +classes, and it was with some modest alarm that Lucille lowered her veil +and mingled with the throng. It was easy, as the priest had said, to +find the house of Le Kain; she bade the servant take the priest’s letter +to his master, and she was not long kept waiting before she was admitted +to the physician’s presence. He was a spare, tall man, with a bald +front, and a calm and friendly countenance. He was not less touched +than the priest had been by the manner in which she narrated her +story, described the affliction of her betrothed, and the hope that had +inspired the pilgrimage she had just made. + +“Well,” said he, encouragingly, “we must see our patient. You can bring +him hither to me.” + +“Ah, sir, I had hoped--” Lucille stopped suddenly. + +“What, my young friend?” + +“That I might have had the triumph of bringing you to Malines. I know, +sir, what you are about to say, and I know, sir, your time must be very +valuable; but I am not so poor as I seem, and Eugene, that is, M. St. +Amand, is very rich, and--and I have at Bruxelles what I am sure is +a large sum; it was to have provided for the wedding, but it is most +heartily at your service, sir.” + +Le Kain smiled; he was one of those men who love to read the human +heart when its leaves are fair and undefiled; and, in the benevolence +of science, he would have gone a longer journey than from Louvain to +Malines to give sight to the blind, even had St. Amand been a beggar. + +“Well, well,” said he, “but you forget that M. St. Amand is not the only +one in the world who wants me. I must look at my notebook, and see if I +can be spared for a day or two.” + +So saying, he glanced at his memoranda. Everything smiled on Lucille; he +had no engagements that his partner could not fulfil, for some days; he +consented to accompany Lucille to Malines. + +Meanwhile, cheerless and dull had passed the time to St. Amand. He was +perpetually asking Madame le Tisseur what hour it was,--it was almost +his only question. There seemed to him no sun in the heavens, no +freshness in the air, and he even forbore his favourite music; the +instrument had lost its sweetness since Lucille was not by to listen. + +It was natural that the gossips of Malines should feel some envy at the +marriage Lucille was about to make with one whose competence report had +exaggerated into prodigal wealth, whose birth had been elevated from the +respectable to the noble, and whose handsome person was clothed, by the +interest excited by his misfortune, with the beauty of Antinous. Even +that misfortune, which ought to have levelled all distinctions, was not +sufficient to check the general envy; perhaps to some of the damsels +of Malines blindness in a husband would not have seemed an unwelcome +infirmity! But there was one in whom this envy rankled with a peculiar +sting: it was the beautiful, the all-conquering Julie! That the humble, +the neglected Lucille should be preferred to her; that Lucille, whose +existence was well-nigh forgot beside Julie’s, should become thus +suddenly of importance; that there should be one person in the world, +and that person young, rich, handsome, to whom she was less than +nothing, when weighed in the balance with Lucille, mortified to the +quick a vanity that had never till then received a wound. “It is well,” + she would say with a bitter jest, “that Lucille’s lover is blind. To be +the one it is necessary to be the other!” + +During Lucille’s absence she had been constantly in Madame le Tisseur’s +house; indeed, Lucille had prayed her to be so. She had sought, with an +industry that astonished herself, to supply Lucille’s place; and among +the strange contradictions of human nature, she had learned during her +efforts to please, to love the object of those efforts,--as much at +least as she was capable of loving. + +She conceived a positive hatred to Lucille; she persisted in imagining +that nothing but the accident of first acquaintance had deprived her +of a conquest with which she persuaded herself her happiness had become +connected. Had St. Amand never loved Lucille and proposed to Julie, his +misfortune would have made her reject him, despite his wealth and his +youth; but to be Lucille’s lover, and a conquest to be won from Lucille, +raised him instantly to an importance not his own. Safe, however, in his +affliction, the arts and beauty of Julie fell harmless on the fidelity +of St. Amand. Nay, he liked her less than ever, for it seemed an +impertinence in any one to counterfeit the anxiety and watchfulness of +Lucille. + +“It is time, surely it is time, Madame le Tisseur, that Lucille should +return? She might have sold all the lace in Malines by this time,” said +St. Amand, one day, peevishly. + +“Patience, my dear friend, patience; perhaps she may return to-morrow.” + +“To-morrow! let me see, it is only six o’clock,--only six, you are +sure?” + +“Just five, dear Eugene. Shall I read to you? This is a new book from +Paris; it has made a great noise,” said Julie. + +“You are very kind, but I will not trouble you.” + +“It is anything but trouble.” + +“In a word, then, I would rather not.” + +“Oh, that he could see!” thought Julie; “would I not punish him for +this!” + +“I hear carriage wheels; who can be passing this way? Surely it is the +_voiturier_ from Bruxelles,” said St. Amand, starting up; “it is his +day,--his hour, too. No, no, it is a lighter vehicle,” and he sank down +listlessly on his seat. + +Nearer and nearer rolled the wheels; they turned the corner; they +stopped at the lowly door; and, overcome, overjoyed, Lucille was clasped +to the bosom of St. Amand. + +“Stay,” said she, blushing, as she recovered her self-possession, and +turned to Le Kain; “pray pardon me, sir. Dear Eugene, I have brought +with me one who, by God’s blessing, may yet restore you to sight.” + +“We must not be sanguine, my child,” said Le Kain; “anything is better +than disappointment.” + + + +To close this part of my story, dear Gertrude, Le Kain examined St. +Amand, and the result of the examination was a confident belief in the +probability of a cure. St. Amand gladly consented to the experiment of +an operation; it succeeded, the blind man saw! Oh, what were Lucille’s +feelings, what her emotion, what her joy, when she found the object of +her pilgrimage, of her prayers, fulfilled! That joy was so intense that +in the eternal alternations of human life she might have foretold from +its excess how bitter the sorrows fated to ensue. + +As soon as by degrees the patient’s new sense became reconciled to the +light, his first, his only demand was for Lucille. “No, let me not see +her alone; let me see her in the midst of you all, that I may convince +you that the heart never is mistaken in its instincts.” With a fearful, +a sinking presentiment, Lucille yielded to the request, to which the +impetuous St. Amand would hear indeed no denial. The father, the +mother, Julie, Lucille, Julie’s younger sisters, assembled in the +little parlour; the door opened, and St. Amand stood hesitating on the +threshold. One look around sufficed to him; his face brightened, he +uttered a cry of joy. “Lucille! Lucille!” he exclaimed, “it is you, I +know it, _you_ only!” He sprang forward _and fell at the feet of Julie_! + +Flushed, elated, triumphant, Julie bent upon him her sparkling eyes; +_she_ did not undeceive him. + +“You are wrong, you mistake,” said Madame le Tisseur, in confusion; +“that is her cousin Julie,--this is your Lucille.” + +St. Amand rose, turned, saw Lucille, and at that moment she wished +herself in her grave. Surprise, mortification, disappointment, almost +dismay, were depicted in his gaze. He had been haunting his prison-house +with dreams, and now, set free, he felt how unlike they were to the +truth. Too new to observation to read the woe, the despair, the lapse +and shrinking of the whole frame, that his look occasioned Lucille, he +yet felt, when the first shock of his surprise was over, that it was not +thus he should thank her who had restored him to sight. He hastened to +redeem his error--ah! how could it be redeemed? + +From that hour all Lucille’s happiness was at an end; her fairy palace +was shattered in the dust; the magician’s wand was broken up; the +Ariel was given to the winds; and the bright enchantment no longer +distinguished the land she lived in from the rest of the barren +world. It is true that St. Amand’s words were kind; it is true that he +remembered with the deepest gratitude all she had done in his behalf; +it is true that he forced himself again and again to say, “She is my +betrothed, my benefactress!” and he cursed himself to think that the +feelings he had entertained for her were fled. Where was the passion of +his words; where the ardour of his tone; where that play and light of +countenance which her step, her voice, could formerly call forth? When +they were alone he was embarrassed and constrained, and almost cold; +his hand no longer sought hers, his soul no longer missed her if she was +absent a moment from his side. When in their household circle he seemed +visibly more at ease; but did his eyes fasten upon her who had opened +them to the day; did they not wander at every interval with a too +eloquent admiration to the blushing and radiant face of the exulting +Julie? This was not, you will believe, suddenly perceptible in one +day or one week, but every day it was perceptible more and more. Yet +still--bewitched, ensnared, as St. Amand was he never perhaps would have +been guilty of an infidelity that he strove with the keenest remorse to +wrestle against, had it not been for the fatal contrast, at the first +moment of his gushing enthusiasm, which Julie had presented to Lucille; +but for that he would have formed no previous idea of real and living +beauty to aid the disappointment of his imaginings and his dreams. +He would have seen Lucille young and graceful, and with eyes beaming +affection, contrasted only by the wrinkled countenance and bended frame +of her parents, and she would have completed her conquest over him +before he had discovered that she was less beautiful than others; nay, +more,--that infidelity never could have lasted above the first few days, +if the vain and heartless object of it had not exerted every art, all +the power and witchery of her beauty, to cement and continue it. The +unfortunate Lucille--so susceptible to the slightest change in those +she loved, so diffident of herself, so proud too in that diffidence--no +longer necessary, no longer missed, no longer loved, could not bear to +endure the galling comparison between the past and the present. She +fled uncomplainingly to her chamber to indulge her tears, and thus, +unhappily, absent as her father generally was during the day, and busied +as her mother was either at work or in household matters, she left Julie +a thousand opportunities to complete the power she had begun to wield +over--no, not the heart!--the _senses_ of St. Amand! Yet, still not +suspecting, in the open generosity of her mind, the whole extent of her +affliction, poor Lucille buoyed herself at times with the hope that when +once married, when, once in that intimacy of friendship, the unspeakable +love she felt for him could disclose itself with less restraint than at +present,--she would perhaps regain a heart which had been so devotedly +hers, that she could not think that without a fault it was irrevocably +gone: on that hope she anchored all the little happiness that remained +to her. And still St. Amand pressed their marriage, but in what +different tones! In fact, he wished to preclude from himself the +possibility of a deeper ingratitude than that which he had incurred +already. He vainly thought that the broken reed of love might be bound +up and strengthened by the ties of duty; and at least he was anxious +that his hand, his fortune, his esteem, his gratitude, should give +to Lucille the only recompense it was now in his power to bestow. +Meanwhile, left alone so often with Julie, and Julie bent on achieving +the last triumph over his heart, St. Amand was gradually preparing a +far different reward, a far different return, for her to whom he owed so +incalculable a debt. + +There was a garden, behind the house, in which there was a small +arbour, where often in the summer evenings Eugene and Lucille had +sat together,--hours never to return! One day she heard from her own +chamber, where she sat mourning, the sound of St. Amand’s flute swelling +gently from that beloved and consecrated bower. She wept as she heard +it, and the memories that the music bore softening and endearing his +image, she began to reproach herself that she had yielded so often to +the impulse of her wounded feelings; that chilled by _his_ coldness, she +had left him so often to himself, and had not sufficiently dared to +tell him of that affection which, in her modest self-depreciation, +constituted her only pretension to his love. “Perhaps he is alone now,” + she thought; “the air too is one which he knows that I love;” and with +her heart in her step, she stole from the house and sought the arbour. +She had scarce turned from her chamber when the flute ceased; as she +neared the arbour she heard voices,--Julie’s voice in grief, St. Amand’s +in consolation. A dread foreboding seized her; her feet clung rooted to +the earth. + +“Yes, marry her, forget me,” said Julie; “in a few days you will +be another’s, and I--I--forgive me, Eugene, forgive me that I have +disturbed your happiness. I am punished sufficiently; my heart will +break, but it will break in loving you.” Sobs choked Julie’s voice. + +“Oh, speak not thus,” said St. Amand. “I, _I_ only am to blame,--I, +false to both, to both ungrateful. Oh, from the hour that these eyes +opened upon you I drank in a new life; the sun itself to me was less +wonderful than your beauty. But--but--let me forget that hour. What do I +not owe to Lucille? I shall be wretched,--I shall deserve to be so; +for shall I not think, Julie, that I have embittered your life with our +ill-fated love? But all that I can give--my hand, my home, my plighted +faith--must be hers. Nay, Julie, nay--why that look? Could I act +otherwise? Can I dream otherwise? Whatever the sacrifice, _must_ I not +render it? Ah, what do I owe to Lucille, were it only for the thought +that but for her I might never have seen thee!” + +Lucille stayed to hear no more; with the same soft step as that which +had borne her within hearing of these fatal words, she turned back once +more to her desolate chamber. + +That evening, as St. Amand was sitting alone in his apartment, he heard +a gentle knock at the door. “Come in,” he said, and Lucille entered. He +started in some confusion, and would have taken her hand, but she gently +repulsed him. She took a seat opposite to him, and looking down, thus +addressed him:-- + +“My dear Eugene, that is, Monsieur St. Amand, I have something on my +mind that I think it better to speak at once; and if I do not exactly +express what I would wish to say, you must not be offended with Lucille: +it is not an easy matter to put into words what one feels deeply.” + Colouring, and suspecting something of the truth, St. Amand would have +broken in upon her here; but she with a gentle impatience motioned him +to be silent, and continued:-- + +“You know that when you once loved me, I used to tell you that you would +cease to do so could you see how undeserving I was of your attachment. I +did not deceive myself, Eugene; I always felt assured that such would be +the case, that your love for me necessarily rested on your affliction. +But for all that I never at least had a dream or a desire but for your +happiness; and God knows, that if again, by walking barefooted, not to +Cologne, but to Rome--to the end of the world--I could save you from a +much less misfortune than that of blindness, I would cheerfully do it; +yes, even though I might foretell all the while that, on my return, you +would speak to me coldly, think of me lightly, and that the penalty to +me would--would be--what it has been!” Here Lucille wiped a few natural +tears from her eyes. St. Amand, struck to the heart, covered his +face with his hands, without the courage to interrupt her. Lucille +continued:-- + +“That which I foresaw has come to pass; I am no longer to you what I +once was, when you could clothe this poor form and this homely face with +a beauty they did not possess. You would wed me still, it is true; but I +am proud, Eugene, and cannot stoop to gratitude where I once had love. +I am not so unjust as to blame you; the change was natural, was +inevitable. I should have steeled myself more against it; but I am now +resigned. We must part; you love Julie--that too is natural--and _she_ +loves you; ah! what also more in the probable course of events? Julie +loves you, not yet, perhaps, so much as I did; but then she has not +known you as I have, and she whose whole life has been triumph cannot +feel the gratitude that I felt at fancying myself loved; but this will +come--God grant it! Farewell, then, forever, dear Eugene; I leave you +when you no longer want me; you are now independent of Lucille; wherever +you go, a thousand hereafter can supply my place. Farewell!” + +She rose, as she said this, to leave the room; but St. Amand seizing her +hand, which she in vain endeavoured to withdraw from his clasp, poured +forth incoherently, passionately, his reproaches on himself, his +eloquent persuasion against her resolution. + +“I confess,” said he, “that I have been allured for a moment; I confess +that Julie’s beauty made me less sensible to your stronger, your holier, +oh! far, far holier title to my love! But forgive me, dearest Lucille; +already I return to you, to all I once felt for you; make me not curse +the blessing of sight that I owe to you. You must not leave me; never +can we two part. Try me, only try me, and if ever hereafter my heart +wander from you, _then_, Lucille, leave me to my remorse!” + +Even at that moment Lucille did not yield; she felt that his prayer was +but the enthusiasm of the hour; she felt that there was a virtue in her +pride,--that to leave him was a duty to herself. In vain he pleaded; in +vain were his embraces, his prayers; in vain he reminded her of their +plighted troth, of her aged parents, whose happiness had become wrapped +in her union with him: “How,--even were it as you wrongly believe,--how, +in honour to them, can I desert you, can I wed another?” + +“Trust that, trust all, to me,” answered Lucille; “your honour shall +be my care, none shall blame _you_; only do not let your marriage with +Julie be celebrated here before their eyes: that is all I ask, all they +can expect. God bless you! do not fancy I shall be unhappy, for whatever +happiness the world gives you, shall I not have contributed to bestow +it? and with that thought I am above compassion.” + +She glided from his arms, and left him to a solitude more bitter even +than that of blindness. That very night Lucille sought her mother; to +her she confided all. I pass over the reasons she urged, the arguments +she overcame; she conquered rather than convinced, and leaving to Madame +le Tisseur the painful task of breaking to her father her unalterable +resolution, she quitted Malines the next morning, and with a heart too +honest to be utterly without comfort, paid that visit to her aunt which +had been so long deferred. + +The pride of Lucille’s parents prevented them from reproaching St. +Amand. He could not bear, however, their cold and altered looks; he left +their house; and though for several days he would not even see Julie, +yet her beauty and her art gradually resumed their empire over him. They +were married at Courtroi, and to the joy of the vain Julie departed to +the gay metropolis of France. But, before their departure, before his +marriage, St. Amand endeavoured to appease his conscience by obtaining +for M. le Tisseur a much more lucrative and honourable office than that +he now held. Rightly judging that Malines could no longer be a pleasant +residence for them, and much less for Lucille, the duties of the post +were to be fulfilled in another town; and knowing that M. le Tisseur’s +delicacy would revolt at receiving such a favour from his hands, he kept +the nature of his negotiation a close secret, and suffered the honest +citizen to believe that his own merits alone had entitled him to so +unexpected a promotion. + + + +Time went on. This quiet and simple history of humble affections took +its date in a stormy epoch of the world,--the dawning Revolution of +France. The family of Lucille had been little more than a year settled +in their new residence when Dumouriez led his army into the Netherlands. +But how meanwhile had that year passed for Lucille? I have said that her +spirit was naturally high; that though so tender, she was not weak. Her +very pilgrimage to Cologne alone, and at the timid age of seventeen, +proved that there was a strength in her nature no less than a devotion +in her love. The sacrifice she had made brought its own reward. +She believed St. Amand was happy, and she would not give way to the +selfishness of grief; she had still duties to perform; she could still +comfort her parents and cheer their age; she could still be all the +world to them: she felt this, and was consoled. Only once during the +year had she heard of Julie; she had been seen by a mutual friend at +Paris, gay, brilliant, courted, and admired; of St. Amand she heard +nothing. + +My tale, dear Gertrude, does not lead me through the harsh scenes of +war. I do not tell you of the slaughter and the siege, and the blood +that inundated those fair lands,--the great battlefield of Europe. The +people of the Netherlands in general were with the cause of Dumouriez, +but the town in which Le Tisseur dwelt offered some faint resistance to +his arms. Le Tisseur himself, despite his age, girded on his sword; the +town was carried, and the fierce and licentious troops of the conqueror +poured, flushed with their easy victory, through its streets. Le +Tisseur’s house was filled with drunken and rude troopers; Lucille +herself trembled in the fierce gripe of one of those dissolute soldiers, +more bandit than soldier, whom the subtle Dumouriez had united to his +army, and by whose blood he so often saved that of his nobler band. Her +shrieks, her cries, were vain, when suddenly the troopers gave way. “The +Captain! brave Captain!” was shouted forth; the insolent soldier, felled +by a powerful arm, sank senseless at the feet of Lucille, and a glorious +form, towering above its fellows,--even through its glittering garb, +even in that dreadful hour, remembered at a glance by Lucille,--stood +at her side; her protector, her guardian! Thus once more she beheld St. +Amand! + +The house was cleared in an instant, the door barred. Shouts, groans, +wild snatches of exulting song, the clang of arms, the tramp of horses, +the hurrying footsteps, the deep music sounded loud, and blended +terribly without. Lucille heard them not,--she was on that breast which +never should have deserted her. + +Effectually to protect his friends, St. Amand took up his quarters at +their house; and for two days he was once more under the same roof as +Lucille. He never recurred voluntarily to Julie; he answered Lucille’s +timid inquiry after her health briefly, and with coldness, but he spoke +with all the enthusiasm of a long-pent and ardent spirit of the new +profession he had embraced. Glory seemed now to be his only mistress; +and the vivid delusion of the first bright dreams of the Revolution +filled his mind, broke from his tongue, and lighted up those dark eyes +which Lucille had redeemed to day. + +She saw him depart at the head of his troops; she saw his proud crest +glancing in the sun; she saw his steed winding through the narrow +street; she saw that his last glance reverted to her, where she stood at +the door; and, as he waved his adieu, she fancied that there was on his +face that look of deep and grateful tenderness which reminded her of the +one bright epoch of her life. + +She was right; St. Amand had long since in bitterness repented of a +transient infatuation, had long since distinguished the true Florimel +from the false, and felt that, in Julie, Lucille’s wrongs were avenged. +But in the hurry and heat of war he plunged that regret--the keenest of +all--which embodies the bitter words, “TOO LATE!” + +Years passed away, and in the resumed tranquillity of Lucille’s life the +brilliant apparition of St. Amand appeared as something dreamed of, not +seen. The star of Napoleon had risen above the horizon; the romance of +his early career had commenced; and the campaign of Egypt had been the +herald of those brilliant and meteoric successes which flashed forth +from the gloom of the Revolution of France. + +You are aware, dear Gertrude, how many in the French as well as the +English troops returned home from Egypt blinded with the ophthalmia of +that arid soil. Some of the young men in Lucille’s town, who had joined +Napoleon’s army, came back darkened by that fearful affliction, and +Lucille’s alms and Lucille’s aid and Lucille’s sweet voice were ever +at hand for those poor sufferers, whose common misfortune touched so +thrilling a chord of her heart. + +Her father was now dead, and she had only her mother to cheer amidst the +ills of age. As one evening they sat at work together, Madame le Tisseur +said, after a pause,-- + +“I wish, dear Lucille, thou couldst be persuaded to marry Justin; he +loves thee well, and now that thou art yet young, and hast many years +before thee, thou shouldst remember that when I die thou wilt be alone.” + +“Ah, cease, dearest mother, I never can marry now; and as for love--once +taught in the bitter school in which I have learned the knowledge of +myself--I cannot be deceived again.” + +“My Lucille, you do not know yourself. Never was woman loved if Justin +does not love you; and never did lover feel with more real warmth how +worthily he loved.” + +And this was true; and not of Justin alone, for Lucille’s modest +virtues, her kindly temper, and a certain undulating and feminine grace, +which accompanied all her movements, had secured her as many conquests +as if she had been beautiful. She had rejected all offers of marriage +with a shudder; without even the throb of a flattered vanity. One +memory, sadder, was also dearer to her than all things; and something +sacred in its recollections made her deem it even a crime to think of +effacing the past by a new affection. + +“I believe,” continued Madame le Tisseur, angrily, “that thou still +thinkest fondly of him from whom only in the world thou couldst have +experienced ingratitude.” + +“Nay, Mother,” said Lucille, with a blush and a slight sigh, “Eugene is +married to another.” + +While thus conversing, they heard a gentle and timid knock at the door; +the latch was lifted. “This,” said the rough voice of a _commissionaire_ +of the town, “this, monsieur, is the house of Madame le Tisseur, and +_voila mademoiselle_!” A tall figure, with a shade over his eyes, and +wrapped in a long military cloak, stood in the room. A thrill shot +across Lucille’s heart. He stretched out his arms. “Lucille,” said that +melancholy voice, which had made the music of her first youth, “where +art thou, Lucille? Alas! she does not recognize St. Amand.” + +Thus was it indeed. By a singular fatality, the burning suns and the +sharp dust of the plains of Egypt had smitten the young soldier, in +the flush of his career, with a second--and this time with an +irremediable--blindness! He had returned to France to find his hearth +lonely. Julie was no more,--a sudden fever had cut her off in the midst +of youth; and he had sought his way to Lucille’s house, to see if one +hope yet remained to him in the world! + +And when, days afterwards, humbly and sadly he re-urged a former suit, +did Lucille shut her heart to its prayer? Did her pride remember its +wound; did she revert to his desertion; did she reply to the whisper of +her yearning love, “_Thou hast been before forsaken_”? That voice and +those darkened eyes pleaded to her with a pathos not to be resisted. “I +am once more necessary to him,” was all her thought; “if I reject him +who will tend him?” In that thought was the motive of her conduct; in +that thought gushed back upon her soul all the springs of checked but +unconquered, unconquerable love! In that thought, she stood beside him +at the altar, and pledged, with a yet holier devotion than she might +have felt of yore, the vow of her imperishable truth. + +And Lucille found, in the future, a reward, which the common world could +never comprehend. With his blindness returned all the feelings she had +first awakened in St. Amand’s solitary heart; again he yearned for her +step, again he missed even a moment’s absence from his side, again her +voice chased the shadow from his brow, and in her presence was a sense +of shelter and of sunshine. He no longer sighed for the blessing he had +lost; he reconciled himself to fate, and entered into that serenity of +mood which mostly characterizes the blind. + +Perhaps after we have seen the actual world, and experienced its hollow +pleasures, we can resign ourselves the better to its exclusion; and +as the cloister, which repels the ardour of our hope, is sweet to +our remembrance, so the darkness loses its terror when experience has +wearied us with the glare and travail of the day. It was something, too, +as they advanced in life, to feel the chains that bound him to Lucille +strengthening daily, and to cherish in his overflowing heart the +sweetness of increasing gratitude; it was something that he could not +see years wrinkle that open brow, or dim the tenderness of that touching +smile; it was something that to him she was beyond the reach of time, +and preserved to the verge of a grave (which received them both within +a few days of each other) in all the bloom of her unwithering affection, +in all the freshness of a heart that never could grow old! + + + +Gertrude, who had broken in upon Trevylyan’s story by a thousand anxious +interruptions, and a thousand pretty apologies for interrupting, was +charmed with a tale in which true love was made happy at last, although +she did not forgive St. Amand his ingratitude, and although she +declared, with a critical shake of the head, that “it was very unnatural +that the mere beauty of Julie, or the mere want of it in Lucille, should +have produced such an effect upon him, if he had ever _really_ loved +Lucille in his blindness.” + +As they passed through Malines, the town assumed an interest in +Gertrude’s eyes to which it scarcely of itself was entitled. She looked +wistfully at the broad market-place, at a corner of which was one of +those out-of-door groups of quiet and noiseless revellers, which Dutch +art has raised from the Familiar to the Picturesque; and then glancing +to the tower of St. Rembauld, she fancied, amidst the silence of noon, +that she yet heard the plaintive cry of the blind orphan, “Fido, Fido, +why hast thou deserted me?” + + + +CHAPTER V. ROTTERDAM.--THE CHARACTER OF THE DUTCH.--THEIR RESEMBLANCE TO +THE GERMANS.--A DISPUTE BETWEEN VANE AND TREVYLYAN, AFTER THE MANNER OF +THE ANCIENT NOVELISTS, AS TO WHICH IS PREFERABLE, THE LIFE OF ACTION OR +THE LIFE OF REPOSE.--TREVYLYAN’S CONTRAST BETWEEN LITERARY AMBITION AND +THE AMBITION OF PUBLIC LIFE. + +OUR travellers arrived at Rotterdam on a bright and sunny day. There is +a cheerfulness about the operations of Commerce,--a life, a bustle, +an action which always exhilarate the spirits at the first glance. +Afterwards they fatigue us; we get too soon behind the scenes, and find +the base and troublous passions which move the puppets and conduct the +drama. + +But Gertrude, in whom ill health had not destroyed the vividness of +impression that belongs to the inexperienced, was delighted at the +cheeriness of all around her. As she leaned lightly on Trevylyan’s arm, +he listened with a forgetful joy to her questions and exclamations +at the stir and liveliness of a city from which was to commence their +pilgrimage along the Rhine. And indeed the scene was rife with the +spirit of that people at once so active and so patient, so daring on +the sea, so cautious on the land. Industry was visible everywhere; the +vessels in the harbour, the crowded boat putting off to land, the +throng on the quay,--all looked bustling and spoke of commerce. The city +itself, on which the skies shone fairly through light and fleecy clouds, +wore a cheerful aspect. The church of St. Lawrence rising above the +clean, neat houses, and on one side trees thickly grouped, gayly +contrasted at once the waters and the city. + +“I like this place,” said Gertrude’s father, quietly; “it has an air of +comfort.” + +“And an absence of grandeur,” said Trevylyan. + +“A commercial people are one great middle-class in their habits and +train of mind,” replied Vane; “and grandeur belongs to the extremes,--an +impoverished population and a wealthy despot.” + +They went to see the statue of Erasmus, and the house in which he was +born. Vane had a certain admiration for Erasmus which his companions did +not share; he liked the quiet irony of the sage, and his knowledge of +the world; and, besides, Vane was at that time of life when philosophers +become objects of interest. At first they are teachers; secondly, +friends; and it is only a few who arrive at the third stage, and find +them deceivers. The Dutch are a singular people. Their literature +is neglected, but it has some of the German vein in its strata,--the +patience, the learning, the homely delineation, and even some traces of +the mixture of the humorous and the terrible which form that genius for +the grotesque so especially German--you find this in their legends and +ghost-stories. But in Holland activity destroys, in Germany indolence +nourishes, romance. + +They stayed a day or two at Rotterdam, and then proceeded up the Rhine +to Gorcum. The banks were flat and tame, and nothing could be less +impressive of its native majesty than this part of the course of the +great river. + +“I never felt before,” whispered Gertrude, tenderly, “how much there +was of consolation in your presence; for here I am at last on the +Rhine,--the blue Rhine, and how disappointed I should be if you were not +by my side!” + +“But, my Gertrude, you must wait till we have passed Cologne, before the +_glories_ of the Rhine burst upon you.” + +“It reverses life, my child,” said the moralizing Vane; “and the +stream flows through dulness at first, reserving its poetry for our +perseverance.” + +“I will not allow your doctrine,” said Trevylyan, as the ambitious +ardour of his native disposition stirred within him. “Life has +always action; it is our own fault if it ever be dull: youth has its +enterprise, manhood its schemes; and even if infirmity creep upon age, +the mind, the mind still triumphs over the mortal clay, and in the quiet +hermitage, among books, and from thoughts, keeps the great wheel within +everlastingly in motion. No, the better class of spirits have always an +antidote to the insipidity of a common career, they have ever energy at +will--” + +“And never happiness!” answered Vane, after a pause, as he gazed on the +proud countenance of Trevylyan, with that kind of calm, half-pitying +interest which belonged to a character deeply imbued with the philosophy +of a sad experience acting upon an unimpassioned heart. “And in truth, +Trevylyan, it would please me if I could but teach you the folly of +preferring the exercise of that energy of which you speak to the golden +luxuries of REST. What ambition can ever bring an adequate reward? Not, +surely, the ambition of letters, the desire of intellectual renown!” + +“True,” said Trevylyan, quietly; “that dream I have long renounced; +there is nothing palpable in literary fame,--it scarcely perhaps soothes +the vain, it assuredly chafes the proud. In my earlier years I attempted +some works which gained what the world, perhaps rightly, deemed a +sufficient need of reputation; yet it was not sufficient to recompense +myself for the fresh hours I had consumed, for the sacrifices of +pleasure I had made. The subtle aims that had inspired me were not +perceived; the thoughts that had seemed new and beautiful to me fell +flat and lustreless on the soul of others. If I was approved, it +was often for what I condemned myself; and I found that the trite +commonplace and the false wit charmed, while the truth fatigued, and +the enthusiasm revolted. For men of that genius to which I make no +pretension, who have dwelt apart in the obscurity of their own thoughts, +gazing upon stars that shine not for the dull sleepers of the world, it +must be a keen sting to find the product of their labour confounded +with a class, and to be mingled up in men’s judgment with the faults +or merits of a tribe. Every great genius must deem himself original +and alone in his conceptions. It is not enough for him that these +conceptions should be approved as good, unless they are admitted as +inventive, if they mix him with the herd he has shunned, not separate +him in fame as he has been separated in soul. Some Frenchman, the oracle +of his circle, said of the poet of the ‘Phedre,’ ‘Racine and the other +imitators of Corneille;’ and Racine, in his wrath, nearly forswore +tragedy forever. It is in vain to tell the author that the public is the +judge of his works. The author believes himself above the public, or he +would never have written; and,” continued Trevylyan, with enthusiasm, +“he _is_ above them; their fiat may crush his glory, but never his +self-esteem. He stands alone and haughty amidst the wrecks of the temple +he imagined he had raised ‘To THE FUTURE,’ and retaliates neglect with +scorn. But is this, the life of scorn, a pleasurable state of existence? +Is it one to be cherished? Does even the moment of fame counterbalance +the years of mortification? And what is there in literary fame itself +present and palpable to its heir? His work is a pebble thrown into +the deep; the stir lasts for a moment, and the wave closes up, to be +susceptible no more to the same impression. The circle may widen to +other lands and other ages, but around _him_ it is weak and faint. The +trifles of the day, the low politics, the base intrigues, occupy the +tongue, and fill the thought of his contemporaries. He is less known +than a mountebank, or a new dancer; his glory comes not home to him; it +brings no present, no perpetual reward, like the applauses that wait the +actor, or the actor-like murmur of the senate; and this, which vexes, +also lowers him; his noble nature begins to nourish the base vices of +jealousy, and the unwillingness to admire. Goldsmith is forgotten in the +presence of a puppet; he feels it, and is mean; he expresses it, and +is ludicrous. It is well to say that great minds will not stoop to +jealousy; in the greatest minds, it is most frequent.* Few authors are +ever so aware of the admiration they excite as to afford to be generous; +and this melancholy truth revolts us with our own ambition. Shall we be +demigods in our closets at the price of sinking below mortality in the +world? No! it was from this deep sentiment of the unrealness of literary +fame, of dissatisfaction at the fruits it produced, of fear for the +meanness it engendered, that I resigned betimes all love for its career; +and if, by the restless desire that haunts men who think much to write +ever, I should be urged hereafter to literature, I will sternly teach +myself to persevere in the indifference to its fame.” + + * See the long list of names furnished by Disraeli, in that most + exquisite work, “The Literary Character,” vol. ii. p. 75. Plato, + Xenophon, Chaucer, Corneille, Voltaire, Dryden, the Caracci, + Domenico Venetiano, murdered by his envious friend, and the gentle + Castillo fainting away at the genius of Murillo. + +“You say as I would say,” answered Vane, with his tranquil smile; “and +your experience corroborates my theory. Ambition, then, is not the root +of happiness. Why more in action than in letters?” + +“Because,” said Trevylyan, “in action we commonly gain in our life all +the honour we deserve: the public judge of men better and more rapidly +than of books. And he who takes to himself in action a high and pure +ambition, associates it with so many objects, that, unlike literature, +the failure of one is balanced by the success of the other. He, the +creator of deeds, not resembling the creator of books, stands not alone; +he is eminently social; he has many comrades, and without their aid +he could not accomplish his designs. This divides and mitigates the +impatient jealousy against others. He works for a cause, and knows early +that he cannot monopolize its whole glory; he shares what he is aware +it is impossible to engross. Besides, action leaves him no time for +brooding over disappointment. The author has consumed his youth in a +work,--it fails in glory. Can he write another work? Bid him call back +another youth! But in action, the labour of the mind is from day to day. +A week replaces what a week has lost, and all the aspirant’s fame is of +the present. It is lipped by the Babel of the living world; he is +ever on the stage, and the spectators are ever ready to applaud. Thus +perpetually in the service of others self ceases to be his world; he has +no leisure to brood over real or imaginary wrongs; the excitement whirls +on the machine till it is worn out--” + +“And kicked aside,” said Vane, “with the broken lumber of men’s other +tools, in the chamber of their son’s forgetfulness. Your man of action +lasts but for an hour; the man of letters lasts for ages.” + +“We live not for ages,” answered Trevylyan; “our life is on earth, and +not in the grave.” + +“But even grant,” continued Vane--“and I for one will concede the +point--that posthumous fame is not worth the living agonies that obtain +it, how are you better off in your poor and vulgar career of action? +Would you assist the rulers?--servility! The people?--folly! If you take +the great philosophical view which the worshippers of the past rarely +take, but which, unknown to them, is their sole excuse,--namely, that +the changes which _may_ benefit the future unsettle the present; and +that it is not the wisdom of practical legislation to risk the peace +of our contemporaries in the hope of obtaining happiness for their +posterity,--to what suspicions, to what charges are you exposed! You are +deemed the foe of all liberal opinion, and you read your curses in the +eyes of a nation. But take the side of the people. What caprice, what +ingratitude! You have professed so much in theory, that you can never +accomplish sufficient in practice. Moderation becomes a crime; to be +prudent is to be perfidious. New demagogues, without temperance, because +without principle, outstrip you in the moment of your greatest services. +The public is the grave of a great man’s deeds; it is never sated; its +maw is eternally open; it perpetually craves for more. Where, in the +history of the world, do you find the gratitude of a people? You find +fervour, it is true, but not gratitude,--the fervour that exaggerates a +benefit at one moment, but not the gratitude that remembers it the next +year. Once disappoint them, and all your actions, all your sacrifices, +are swept from their remembrance forever; they break the windows of the +very house they have given you, and melt down their medals into bullets. +Who serves man, ruler or peasant, serves the ungrateful; and all the +ambitious are but types of a Wolsey or a De Witt.” + +“And what,” said Trevylyan, “consoles a man in the ills that flesh is +heir to, in that state of obscure repose, that serene inactivity to +which you would confine him? Is it not his conscience? Is it not his +self-acquittal, or his self-approval?” + +“Doubtless,” replied Vane. + +“Be it so,” answered the high-souled Trevylyan; “the same consolation +awaits us in action as in repose. We sedulously pursue what we deem to +be true glory. We are maligned; but our soul acquits us. Could it do +more in the scandal and the prejudice that assail us in private life? +You are silent; but note how much deeper should be the comfort, how much +loftier the self-esteem; for if calumny attack us in a wilful obscurity, +what have we done to refute the calumny? How have we served our species? +Have we ‘scorned delight and loved laborious days’? Have we made the +utmost of the ‘talent’ confided to our care? Have we done those +good deeds to our race upon which we can retire,--an ‘Estate of +Beneficence,’--from the malice of the world, and feel that our deeds +are our defenders? This is the consolation of virtuous actions; is it so +of--even a virtuous--indolence?” + +“You speak as a preacher,” said Vane,--“I merely as a calculator; you of +virtue in affliction, I of a life in ease.” + +“Well, then, if the consciousness of perpetual endeavour to advance our +race be not alone happier than the life of ease, let us see what this +vaunted ease really is. Tell me, is it not another name for _ennui_? +This state of quiescence, this objectless, dreamless torpor, this +transition _du lit a la table, de la table au lit_,--what more dreary +and monotonous existence can you devise? Is it pleasure in this +inglorious existence to think that you are serving pleasure? Is it +freedom to be the slave to self? For I hold,” continued Trevylyan, +“that this jargon of ‘consulting happiness,’ this cant of living for +ourselves, is but a mean as well as a false philosophy. Why this eternal +reference to self? Is self alone to be consulted? Is even our happiness, +did it truly consist in repose, really the great end of life? I doubt if +we cannot ascend higher. I doubt if we cannot say with a great moralist, +‘If virtue be not estimable in itself, we can see nothing estimable in +following it for the sake of a bargain.’ But, in fact, repose is the +poorest of all delusions; the very act of recurring to self brings about +us all those ills of self from which, in the turmoil of the world, we +can escape. We become hypochondriacs. Our very health grows an object +of painful possession. We are so desirous to be well (for what is +retirement without health?) that we are ever fancying ourselves ill; +and, like the man in the ‘Spectator,’ we weigh ourselves daily, and live +but by grains and scruples. Retirement is happy only for the poet, for +to him it is _not_ retirement. He secedes from one world but to gain +another, and he finds not _ennui_ in seclusion: why? Not because +seclusion hath _repose_, but because it hath _occupation_. In one word, +then, I say of action and of indolence, grant the same ills to both, and +to action there is the readier escape or the nobler consolation.” + +Vane shrugged his shoulders. “Ah, my dear friend,” said he, tapping his +snuff-box with benevolent superiority, “you are much younger than I am!” + +But these conversations, which Trevylyan and Vane often held +together, dull as I fear this specimen must seem to the reader, had an +inexpressible charm for Gertrude. She loved the lofty and generous vein +of philosophy which Trevylyan embraced, and which, while it suited his +ardent nature, contrasted a demeanour commonly hard and cold to all +but herself. And young and tender as she was, his ambition infused its +spirit into her fine imagination, and that passion for enterprise which +belongs inseparably to romance. She loved to muse over his future lot, +and in fancy to share its toils and to exult in its triumphs. And +if sometimes she asked herself whether a career of action might not +estrange him from her, she had but to turn her gaze upon his watchful +eye,--and lo, he was by her side or at her feet! + + + +CHAPTER VI. GORCUM.--THE TOUR OF THE VIRTUES: A PHILOSOPHER’S TALE. + +IT was a bright and cheery morning as they glided by Gorcum. The boats +pulling to the shore full of fishermen and peasants in their national +costume; the breeze freshly rippling the waters; the lightness of the +blue sky; the loud and laughing voices from the boats,--all contributed +to raise the spirit, and fill it with that indescribable gladness which +is the physical sense of life. + +The tower of the church, with its long windows and its round dial, rose +against the clear sky; and on a bench under a green bush facing the +water sat a jolly Hollander, refreshing the breezes with the fumes of +his national weed. + + + +“How little it requires to make a journey pleasant, when the companions +are our friends!” said Gertrude, as they sailed along. “Nothing can be +duller than these banks, nothing more delightful than this voyage.” + +“Yet what tries the affections of people for each other so severely as +a journey together?” said Vane. “That perpetual companionship from which +there is no escaping; that confinement, in all our moments of ill-humour +and listlessness, with persons who want us to look amused--ah, it is a +severe ordeal for friendship to pass through! A post-chaise must have +jolted many an intimacy to death.” + +“You speak feelingly, dear father,” said Gertrude, laughing; “and, I +suspect, with a slight desire to be sarcastic upon us. Yet, seriously, +I should think that travel must be like life, and that good persons must +be always agreeable companions to each other.” + +“Good persons, my Gertrude!” answered Vane, with a smile. “Alas! I +fear the good weary each other quite as much as the bad. What say +you, Trevylyan,--would Virtue be a pleasant companion from Paris +to Petersburg? Ah, I see you intend to be on Gertrude’s side of the +question. Well now, if I tell you a story, since stories are so much the +fashion with you, in which you shall find that the Virtues themselves +actually made the experiment of a tour, will you promise to attend to +the moral?” + +“Oh, dear father, anything for a story,” cried Gertrude; “especially +from you, who have not told us one all the way. Come, listen, Albert; +nay, listen to your new rival.” + +And, pleased to see the vivacity of the invalid, Vane began as +follows:-- + + + + THE TOUR OF THE VIRTUES: + + A PHILOSOPHER’S TALE. + +ONCE upon a time, several of the Virtues, weary of living forever with +the Bishop of Norwich, resolved to make a little excursion; accordingly, +though they knew everything on earth was very ill prepared to receive +them, they thought they might safely venture on a tour from Westminster +Bridge to Richmond. The day was fine, the wind in their favour, and as +to entertainment,--why, there seemed, according to Gertrude, to be no +possibility of any disagreement among the Virtues. + +They took a boat at Westminster stairs; and just as they were about to +push off, a poor woman, all in rags, with a child in her arms, implored +their compassion. Charity put her hand into her reticule and took out +a shilling. Justice, turning round to look after the luggage, saw the +folly which Charity was about to commit. “Heavens!” cried Justice, +seizing poor Charity by the arm, “what are you doing? Have you never +read Political Economy? Don’t you know that indiscriminate almsgiving +is only the encouragement to Idleness, the mother of Vice? You a Virtue, +indeed! I’m ashamed of you. Get along with you, good woman;--yet stay, +there is a ticket for soup at the Mendicity Society; they’ll see if +you’re a proper object of compassion.” But Charity is quicker than +Justice, and slipping her hand behind her, the poor woman got the +shilling and the ticket for soup too. Economy and Generosity saw the +double gift. “What waste!” cried Economy, frowning; “what! a ticket and +a shilling? _either_ would have sufficed.” + +“Either!” said Generosity, “fie! Charity should have given the poor +creature half-a-crown, and Justice a dozen tickets!” So the next ten +minutes were consumed in a quarrel between the four Virtues, which would +have lasted all the way to Richmond, if Courage had not advised them to +get on shore and fight it out. Upon this, the Virtues suddenly perceived +they had a little forgotten themselves, and Generosity offering the +first apology, they made it up, and went on very agreeably for the next +mile or two. + +The day now grew a little overcast, and a shower seemed at hand. +Prudence, who had on a new bonnet, suggested the propriety of putting to +shore for half an hour; Courage was for braving the rain; but, as most +of the Virtues are ladies, Prudence carried it. Just as they were about +to land, another boat cut in before them very uncivilly, and gave theirs +such a shake that Charity was all but overboard. The company on board +the uncivil boat, who evidently thought the Virtues extremely low +persons, for they had nothing very fashionable about their exterior, +burst out laughing at Charity’s discomposure, especially as a +large basket full of buns, which Charity carried with her for any +hungry-looking children she might encounter at Richmond, fell pounce +into the water. Courage was all on fire; he twisted his mustache, and +would have made an onset on the enemy, if, to his great indignation, +Meekness had not forestalled him, by stepping mildly into the hostile +boat and offering both cheeks to the foe. This was too much even for the +incivility of the boatmen; they made their excuses to the Virtues, and +Courage, who is no bully, thought himself bound discontentedly to accept +them. But oh! if you had seen how Courage used Meekness afterwards, you +could not have believed it possible that one Virtue could be so enraged +with another. This quarrel between the two threw a damp on the party; +and they proceeded on their voyage, when the shower was over, with +anything but cordiality. I spare you the little squabbles that took +place in the general conversation,--how Economy found fault with all the +villas by the way, and Temperance expressed becoming indignation at the +luxuries of the City barge. They arrived at Richmond, and Temperance +was appointed to order the dinner; meanwhile Hospitality, walking in the +garden, fell in with a large party of Irishmen, and asked them to join +the repast. + +Imagine the long faces of Economy and Prudence, when they saw the +addition to the company! Hospitality was all spirits; he rubbed his +hands and called for champagne with the tone of a younger brother. +Temperance soon grew scandalized, and Modesty herself coloured at some +of the jokes; but Hospitality, who was now half seas over, called the +one a milksop, and swore at the other as a prude. Away went the hours; +it was time to return, and they made down to the water-side, thoroughly +out of temper with one another, Economy and Generosity quarrelling all +the way about the bill and the waiters. To make up the sum of their +mortification, they passed a boat where all the company were in the best +possible spirits, laughing and whooping like mad; and discovered +these jolly companions to be two or three agreeable Vices, who had put +themselves under the management of Good Temper. + +“So you see, Gertrude, that even the Virtues may fall at loggerheads +with each other, and pass a very sad time of it, if they happen to be +of opposite dispositions, and have forgotten to take Good Temper with +them.” + +“Ah,” said Gertrude, “but you have overloaded your boat; too many +Virtues might contradict one another, but not a few.” + +“Voila ce que veux dire,” said Vane; “but listen to the sequel of my +tale, which now takes a new moral.” + +At the end of the voyage, and after a long, sulky silence, Prudence +said, with a thoughtful air, “My dear friends, I have been thinking that +as long as we keep so entirely together, never mixing with the rest of +the world, we shall waste our lives in quarrelling amongst ourselves and +run the risk of being still less liked and sought after than we already +are. You know that we are none of us popular; every one is quite +contented to see us represented in a vaudeville, or described in an +essay. Charity, indeed, has her name often taken in vain at a bazaar +or a subscription; and the miser as often talks of the duty he owes to +_me_, when he sends the stranger from his door or his grandson to jail: +but still we only resemble so many wild beasts, whom everybody likes +to see but nobody cares to possess. Now, I propose that we should all +separate and take up our abode with some mortal or other for a year, +with the power of changing at the end of that time should we not feel +ourselves comfortable,--that is, should we not find that we do all the +good we intend; let us try the experiment, and on this day twelvemonths +let us all meet under the largest oak in Windsor Forest, and recount +what has befallen us.” Prudence ceased, as she always does when she has +said enough; and, delighted at the project, the Virtues agreed to +adopt it on the spot. They were enchanted at the idea of setting up for +themselves, and each not doubting his or her success,--for Economy in +her heart thought Generosity no Virtue at all, and Meekness looked on +Courage as little better than a heathen. + +Generosity, being the most eager and active of all the Virtues, set off +first on his journey. Justice followed, and kept up with him, though at +a more even pace. Charity never heard a sigh, or saw a squalid face, but +she stayed to cheer and console the sufferer,--a kindness which somewhat +retarded her progress. + +Courage espied a travelling carriage, with a man and his wife in it +quarrelling most conjugally, and he civilly begged he might be permitted +to occupy the vacant seat opposite the lady. Economy still lingered, +inquiring for the cheapest inns. Poor Modesty looked round and sighed, +on finding herself so near to London, where she was almost wholly +unknown; but resolved to bend her course thither for two reasons: +first, for the novelty of the thing; and, secondly, not liking to expose +herself to any risks by a journey on the Continent. Prudence, though +the first to project, was the last to execute; and therefore resolved to +remain where she was for that night, and take daylight for her travels. + +The year rolled on, and the Virtues, punctual to the appointment, met +under the oak-tree; they all came nearly at the same time, excepting +Economy, who had got into a return post-chaise, the horses to which, +having been forty miles in the course of the morning, had foundered by +the way, and retarded her journey till night set in. The Virtues looked +sad and sorrowful, as people are wont to do after a long and fruitless +journey; and, somehow or other, such was the wearing effect of their +intercourse with the world, that they appeared wonderfully diminished in +size. + +“Ah, my dear Generosity,” said Prudence, with a sigh, “as you were +the first to set out on your travels, pray let us hear your adventures +first.” + +“You must know, my dear sisters,” said Generosity, “that I had not gone +many miles from you before I came to a small country town, in which a +marching regiment was quartered, and at an open window I beheld, leaning +over a gentleman’s chair, the most beautiful creature imagination ever +pictured; her eyes shone out like two suns of perfect happiness, and she +was almost cheerful enough to have passed for Good Temper herself. The +gentleman over whose chair she leaned was her husband; they had been +married six weeks; he was a lieutenant with one hundred pounds a +year besides his pay. Greatly affected by their poverty, I instantly +determined, without a second thought, to ensconce myself in the heart +of this charming girl. During the first hour in my new residence I made +many wise reflections such as--that Love never was so perfect as when +accompanied by Poverty; what a vulgar error it was to call the unmarried +state ‘Single _Blessedness_;’ how wrong it was of us Virtues never to +have tried the marriage bond; and what a falsehood it was to say that +husbands neglected their wives, for never was there anything in nature +so devoted as the love of a husband--six weeks married! + +“The next morning, before breakfast, as the charming Fanny was +waiting for her husband, who had not yet finished his toilet, a poor, +wretched-looking object appeared at the window, tearing her hair and +wringing her hands; her husband had that morning been dragged to prison, +and her seven children had fought for the last mouldy crust. Prompted +by me, Fanny, without inquiring further into the matter, drew from her +silken purse a five-pound note, and gave it to the beggar, who departed +more amazed than grateful. Soon after, the lieutenant appeared. ‘What +the devil, another bill!’ muttered he, as he tore the yellow wafer from +a large, square, folded, bluish piece of paper. ‘Oh, ah! confound the +fellow, _he_ must be paid. I must trouble you, Fanny, for fifteen pounds +to pay this saddler’s bill.’ + +“‘Fifteen pounds, love?’ stammered Fanny, blushing. + +“‘Yes, dearest, the fifteen pounds I gave you yesterday.’ + +“‘I have only ten pounds,’ said Fanny, hesitatingly; ‘for such a poor, +wretched-looking creature was here just now, that I was obliged to give +her five pounds.’ + +“‘Five pounds? good Heavens!’ exclaimed the astonished husband; ‘I shall +have no more money this three weeks.’ He frowned, he bit his lips, nay, +he even wrung his hands, and walked up and down the room; worse still, +he broke forth with--‘Surely, madam, you did not suppose, when you +married a lieutenant in a marching regiment, that he could afford to +indulge in the whim of giving five pounds to every mendicant who held +out her hand to you? You did not, I say, madam, imagine’--but the +bridegroom was interrupted by the convulsive sobs of his wife: it was +their first quarrel, they were but six weeks married; he looked at +her for one moment sternly, the next he was at her feet. ‘Forgive me, +dearest Fanny,--forgive me, for I cannot forgive myself. I was too great +a wretch to say what I did; and do believe, my own Fanny, that while +I may be too poor to indulge you in it, I do from my heart admire so +noble, so disinterested, a generosity.’ Not a little proud did I feel +to have been the cause of this exemplary husband’s admiration for his +amiable wife, and sincerely did I rejoice at having taken up my abode +with these _poor_ people. But not to tire you, my dear sisters, with the +minutiae of detail, I shall briefly say that things did not long remain +in this delightful position; for before many months had elapsed, poor +Fanny had to bear with her husband’s increased and more frequent +storms of passion, unfollowed by any halcyon and honeymoon suings for +forgiveness: for at my instigation every shilling went; and when there +were no more to go, her trinkets and even her clothes followed. The +lieutenant became a complete brute, and even allowed his unbridled +tongue to call me--me, sisters, _me_!--‘heartless Extravagance.’ His +despicable brother-officers and their gossiping wives were no better; +for they did nothing but animadvert upon my Fanny’s ostentation and +absurdity, for by such names had they the impertinence to call _me_. +Thus grieved to the soul to find myself the cause of all poor Fanny’s +misfortunes, I resolved at the end of the year to leave her, being +thoroughly convinced that, however amiable and praiseworthy I might be +in myself, I was totally unfit to be bosom friend and adviser to the +wife of a lieutenant in a marching regiment, with only one hundred +pounds a year besides his pay.” + +The Virtues groaned their sympathy with the unfortunate Fanny; and +Prudence, turning to Justice, said, “I long to hear what you have been +doing, for I am certain you cannot have occasioned harm to any one.” + +Justice shook her head and said: “Alas! I find that there are times and +places when even I do better not to appear, as a short account of my +adventures will prove to you. No sooner had I left you than I instantly +repaired to India, and took up my abode with a Brahmin. I was much +shocked by the dreadful inequalities of condition that reigned in +the several castes, and I longed to relieve the poor Pariah from his +ignominious destiny; accordingly I set seriously to work on reform. +I insisted upon the iniquity of abandoning men from their birth to an +irremediable state of contempt, from which no virtue could exalt them. +The Brahmins looked upon my Brahmin with ineffable horror. They called +_me_ the most wicked of vices; they saw no distinction between Justice +and Atheism. I uprooted their society--that was sufficient crime. But +the worst was, that the Pariahs themselves regarded me with suspicion; +they thought it unnatural in a Brahmin to care for a Pariah! And one +called me ‘Madness,’ another, ‘Ambition,’ and a third, ‘The Desire to +innovate.’ My poor Brahmin led a miserable life of it; when one day, +after observing, at my dictation, that he thought a Pariah’s life as +much entitled to respect as a cow’s, he was hurried away by the priests +and secretly broiled on the altar as a fitting reward for his sacrilege. +I fled hither in great tribulation, persuaded that in some countries +even Justice may do harm.” + +“As for me,” said Charity, not waiting to be asked, “I grieve to say +that I was silly enough to take up my abode with an old lady in Dublin, +who never knew what discretion was, and always acted from impulse; +my instigation was irresistible, and the money she gave in her drives +through the suburbs of Dublin was so lavishly spent that it kept all +the rascals of the city in idleness and whiskey. I found, to my great +horror, that I was a main cause of a terrible epidemic, and that to give +alms without discretion was to spread poverty without help. I left the +city when my year was out, and as ill-luck would have it, just at the +time when I was most wanted.” + +“And oh,” cried Hospitality, “I went to Ireland also. I fixed my abode +with a squireen; I ruined him in a year, and only left him because he +had no longer a hovel to keep me in.” + +“As for myself,” said Temperance, “I entered the breast of an English +legislator, and he brought in a bill against ale-houses; the consequence +was, that the labourers took to gin; and I have been forced to confess +that Temperance may be too zealous when she dictates too vehemently to +others.” + +“Well,” said Courage, keeping more in the background than he had ever +done before, and looking rather ashamed of himself, “that travelling +carriage I got into belonged to a German general and his wife, who were +returning to their own country. Growing very cold as we proceeded, she +wrapped me up in a polonaise; but the cold increasing, I inadvertently +crept into her bosom. Once there I could not get out, and from +thenceforward the poor general had considerably the worst of it. +She became so provoking that I wondered how he could refrain from an +explosion. To do him justice, he did at last threaten to get out of the +carriage; upon which, roused by me, she collared him--and conquered. +When he got to his own district, things grew worse, for if any +_aide-de-camp_ offended her she insisted that he might be publicly +reprimanded; and should the poor general refuse she would with her own +hands confer a caning upon the delinquent. The additional force she had +gained in me was too much odds against the poor general, and he died of +a broken heart, six months after my _liaison_ with his wife. She after +this became so dreaded and detested, that a conspiracy was formed to +poison her; this daunted even me, so I left her without delay,--_et me +voici_!” + +“Humph,” said Meekness, with an air of triumph, “I, at least, have been +more successful than you. On seeing much in the papers of the cruelties +practised by the Turks on the Greeks, I thought my presence would enable +the poor sufferers to bear their misfortunes calmly. I went to Greece, +then, at a moment when a well-planned and practicable scheme of +emancipating themselves from the Turkish yoke was arousing their youth. +Without confining myself to one individual, I flitted from breast +to breast; I meekened the whole nation; my remonstrances against the +insurrection succeeded, and I had the satisfaction of leaving a +whole people ready to be killed or strangled with the most Christian +resignation in the world.” + +The Virtues, who had been a little cheered by the opening +self-complacence of Meekness, would not, to her great astonishment, +allow that she had succeeded a whit more happily than her sisters, and +called next upon Modesty for her confession. + +“You know,” said that amiable young lady, “that I went to London in +search of a situation. I spent three months of the twelve in going from +house to house, but I could not get a single person to receive me. +The ladies declared that they never saw so old-fashioned a gawkey, and +civilly recommended me to their abigails; the abigails turned me +round with a stare, and then pushed me down to the kitchen and the fat +scullion-maids, who assured me that, ‘in the respectable families they +had the honour to live in, they had never even heard of my name.’ One +young housemaid, just from the country, did indeed receive me with some +sort of civility; but she very soon lost me in the servants’ hall. I +now took refuge with the other sex, as the least uncourteous. I was +fortunate enough to find a young gentleman of remarkable talents, who +welcomed me with open arms. He was full of learning, gentleness, and +honesty. I had only one rival,--Ambition. We both contended for an +absolute empire over him. Whatever Ambition suggested, I damped. Did +Ambition urge him to begin a book, I persuaded him it was not worth +publication. Did he get up, full of knowledge, and instigated by my +rival, to make a speech (for he was in parliament), I shocked him with +the sense of his assurance, I made his voice droop and his accents +falter. At last, with an indignant sigh, my rival left him; he retired +into the country, took orders, and renounced a career he had fondly +hoped would be serviceable to others; but finding I did not suffice for +his happiness, and piqued at his melancholy, I left him before the end +of the year, and he has since taken to drinking!” + +The eyes of the Virtues were all turned to Prudence. She was their last +hope. “I am just where I set out,” said that discreet Virtue; “I have +done neither good nor harm. To avoid temptation I went and lived with a +hermit to whom I soon found that I could be of no use beyond warning him +not to overboil his peas and lentils, not to leave his door open when +a storm threatened, and not to fill his pitcher too full at the +neighbouring spring. I am thus the only one of you that never did harm; +but only because I am the only one of you that never had an opportunity +of doing it! In a word,” continued Prudence, thoughtfully,--“in a word, +my friends, circumstances are necessary to the Virtues themselves. Had, +for instance, Economy changed with Generosity, and gone to the poor +lieutenant’s wife, and had I lodged with the Irish squireen instead of +Hospitality, what misfortunes would have been saved to both! Alas! I +perceive we lose all our efficacy when we are misplaced; and _then_, +though in reality Virtues, we operate as Vices. Circumstances must be +favourable to our exertions, and harmonious with our nature; and we +lose our very divinity unless Wisdom direct our footsteps to the home we +should inhabit and the dispositions we should govern.” + +The story was ended, and the travellers began to dispute about its +moral. Here let us leave them. + + + +CHAPTER VII. COLOGNE.--THE TRACES OF THE ROMAN YOKE.--THE CHURCH OF ST. +MARIA.--TREVYLYAN’S REFLECTIONS ON THE MONASTIC LIFE.--THE TOMB OF THE +THREE KINGS.--AN EVENING EXCURSION ON THE RHINE. + +ROME--magnificent Rome! wherever the pilgrim wends, the traces of thy +dominion greet his eyes. Still in the heart of the bold German race is +graven the print of the eagle’s claws; and amidst the haunted regions of +the Rhine we pause to wonder at the great monuments of the Italian yoke. + +At Cologne our travellers rested for some days. They were in the city +to which the camp of Marcus Agrippa had given birth; that spot had +resounded with the armed tread of the legions of Trajan. In that city, +Vitellius, Sylvanus, were proclaimed emperors. By that church did the +latter receive his death. + +As they passed round the door they saw some peasants loitering on the +sacred ground; and when they noted the delicate cheek of Gertrude they +uttered their salutations with more than common respect. Where they then +were the building swept round in a circular form; and at its base it is +supposed by tradition to retain something of the ancient Roman masonry. +Just before them rose the spire of a plain and unadorned church, +singularly contrasting the pomp of the old with the simplicity of the +innovating creed. + +The church of St. Maria occupies the site of the Roman Capitol, and the +place retains the Roman name; and still something in the aspect of the +people betrays the hereditary blood. + +Gertrude, whose nature was strongly impressed with _the venerating +character_, was fond of visiting the old Gothic churches, which, with so +eloquent a moral, unite the living with the dead. + +“Pause for a moment,” said Trevylyan, before they entered the church of +St. Maria. “What recollections crowd upon us! On the site of the Roman +Capitol a Christian church and a convent are erected! By whom? The +mother of Charles Martel,--the Conqueror of the Saracen, the arch-hero +of Christendom itself! And to these scenes and calm retreats, to the +cloisters of the convent once belonging to this church, fled the bruised +spirit of a royal sufferer,-the victim of Richelieu,--the unfortunate +and ambitious Mary de Medicis. Alas! the cell and the convent are but a +vain emblem of that desire to fly to God which belongs to Distress; the +solitude soothes, but the monotony recalls, regret. And for my own part +in my frequent tours through Catholic countries, I never saw the still +walls in which monastic vanity hoped to shut out the world, but a +melancholy came over me! What hearts at war with themselves! what +unceasing regrets! what pinings after the past! what long and beautiful +years devoted to a moral grave, by a momentary rashness, an impulse, a +disappointment! But in these churches the lesson is more impressive and +less sad. The weary heart has ceased to ache; the burning pulses are +still; the troubled spirit has flown to the only rest which is not a +deceit. Power and love, hope and fear, avarice, ambition,--they are +quenched at last! Death is the only monastery, the tomb is the only +cell.” + +“Your passion is ever for active life,” said Gertrude. “You allow no +charm to solitude, and contemplation to you seems torture. If any great +sorrow ever come upon you, you will never retire to seclusion as its +balm. You will plunge into the world, and lose your individual existence +in the universal rush of life.” + +“Ah, talk not of sorrow!” said Trevylyan, wildly. “Let us enter the +church.” + +They went afterwards to the celebrated cathedral, which is considered +one of the noblest of the architectural triumphs of Germany; but it is +yet more worthy of notice from the Pilgrim of Romance than the searcher +after antiquity, for here, behind the grand altar, is the Tomb of the +Three Kings of Cologne,--the three worshippers whom tradition humbled to +our Saviour. Legend is rife with a thousand tales of the relics of this +tomb. The Three Kings of Cologne are the tutelary names of that golden +superstition which has often more votaries than the religion itself from +which it springs and to Gertrude the simple story of Lucille sufficed +to make her for the moment credulous of the sanctity of the spot. Behind +the tomb three Gothic windows cast their “dim, religious light” over the +tessellated pavement and along the Ionic pillars. They found some of +the more credulous believers in the authenticity of the relics kneeling +before the tomb, and they arrested their steps, fearful to disturb the +superstition which is never without something of sanctity when contented +with prayer and forgetful of persecution. The bones of the Magi are +still supposed to consecrate the tomb, and on the higher part of +the monument the artist has delineated their adoration to the infant +Saviour. + +That evening came on with a still and tranquil beauty, and as the sun +hastened to its close they launched their boat for an hour or two’s +excursion upon the Rhine. Gertrude was in that happy mood when the quiet +of nature is enjoyed like a bath for the soul, and the presence of +him she so idolized deepened that stillness into a more delicious and +subduing calm. Little did she dream as the boat glided over the water, +and the towers of Cologne rose in the blue air of evening, how few were +those hours that divided her from the tomb! But, in looking back to the +life of one we have loved, how dear is the thought that the latter days +were the days of light, that the cloud never chilled the beauty of the +setting sun, and that if the years of existence were brief, all that +existence has most tender, most sacred, was crowded into that space! +Nothing dark, then, or bitter, rests with our remembrance of the lost: +_we_ are the mourners, but pity is not for the mourned,--our grief is +purely selfish; when we turn to its object, the hues of happiness are +round it, and that very love which is the parent of our woe was the +consolation, the triumph, of the departed! + +The majestic Rhine was calm as a lake; the splashing of the oar only +broke the stillness, and after a long pause in their conversation, +Gertrude, putting her hand on Trevylyan’s arm, reminded him of a +promised story: for he too had moods of abstraction, from which, in her +turn, she loved to lure him; and his voice to her had become a sort of +want. + +“Let it be,” said she, “a tale suited to the hour; no fierce +tradition,--nay, no grotesque fable, but of the tenderer dye of +superstition. Let it be of love, of woman’s love,--of the love that +defies the grave: for surely even after death it lives; and heaven would +scarcely be heaven if memory were banished from its blessings.” + +“I recollect,” said Trevylyan, after a slight pause, “a short German +legend, the simplicity of which touched me much when I heard it; but,” + added he, with a slight smile, “so much more faithful appears in the +legend the love of the woman than that of the man, that _I_ at least +ought scarcely to recite it.” + +“Nay,” said Gertrude, tenderly, “the fault of the inconstant only +heightens our gratitude to the faithful.” + + + +CHAPTER VIII. THE SOUL IN PURGATORY; OR LOVE STRONGER THAN DEATH. + +THE angels strung their harps in heaven, and their music went up like +a stream of odours to the pavilions of the Most High; but the harp +of Seralim was sweeter than that of his fellows, and the Voice of +the Invisible One (for the angels themselves know not the glories of +Jehovah--only far in the depths of heaven they see one Unsleeping Eye +watching forever over Creation) was heard saying,-- + +“Ask a gift for the love that burns in thy song, and it shall be given +thee.” And Seralim answered,-- + +“There is in that place which men call Purgatory, and which is the +escape from hell, but the painful porch of heaven, many souls that adore +Thee, and yet are punished justly for their sins; grant me the boon to +visit them at times, and solace their suffering by the hymns of the harp +that is consecrated to Thee!” + +And the Voice answered,-- + +“Thy prayer is heard, O gentlest of the angels! and it seems good to Him +who chastises but from love. Go! Thou hast thy will.” + +Then the angel sang the praises of God; and when the song was done he +rose from his azure throne at the right hand of Gabriel, and, spreading +his rainbow wings, he flew to that melancholy orb which, nearest to +earth, echoes with the shrieks of souls that by torture become pure. +There the unhappy ones see from afar the bright courts they are +hereafter to obtain, and the shapes of glorious beings, who, fresh from +these Fountains of Immortality, walk amidst the gardens of Paradise, +and feel that their happiness hath no morrow; and this thought consoles +amidst their torments, and makes the true difference between Purgatory +and Hell. + +Then the angel folded his wings, and entering the crystal gates, sat +down upon a blasted rock and struck his divine lyre, and a peace fell +over the wretched; the demon ceased to torture and the victim to wail. +As sleep to the mourners of earth was the song of the angel to the +souls of the purifying star: one only voice amidst the general stillness +seemed not lulled by the angel; it was the voice of a woman, and it +continued to cry out with a sharp cry,-- + +“Oh, Adenheim, Adenheim! mourn not for the lost!” + +The angel struck chord after chord, till his most skilful melodies were +exhausted; but still the solitary voice, unheeding--unconscious of--the +sweetest harp of the angel choir, cried out,-- + +“Oh, Adenheim, Adenheim! mourn not for the lost!” + +Then Seralim’s interest was aroused, and approaching the spot whence the +voice came, he saw the spirit of a young and beautiful girl chained to +a rock, and the demons lying idly by. And Seralim said to the demons, +“Doth the song lull ye thus to rest?” + +And they answered, “Her care for another is bitterer than all our +torments; therefore are we idle.” + +Then the angel approached the spirit, and said in a voice which stilled +her cry--for in what state do we outlive sympathy?--“Wherefore, O +daughter of earth, wherefore wailest thou with the same plaintive wail; +and why doth the harp that soothes the most guilty of thy companions +fail in its melody with thee?” + +“O radiant stranger,” answered the poor spirit, “thou speakest to one +who on earth loved God’s creature more than God; therefore is she thus +justly sentenced. But I know that my poor Adenheim mourns ceaselessly +for me, and the thought of his sorrow is more intolerable to me than all +that the demons can inflict.” + +“And how knowest thou that he laments thee?” asked the angel. + +“Because I know with what agony I should have mourned for _him_,” + replied the spirit, simply. + +The divine nature of the angel was touched; for love is the nature of +the sons of heaven. “And how,” said he, “can I minister to thy sorrow?” + +A transport seemed to agitate the spirit, and she lifted up her mistlike +and impalpable arms, and cried,-- + +“Give me--oh, give me to return to earth, but for one little hour, +that I may visit my Adenheim; and that, concealing from him my present +sufferings, I may comfort him in his own.” + +“Alas!” said the angel, turning away his eyes,--for angels may not weep +in the sight of others,--“I could, indeed, grant thee this boon, but +thou knowest not the penalty. For the souls in Purgatory may return to +Earth, but heavy is the sentence that awaits their return. In a word, +for one hour on earth thou must add a thousand years to the torture of +thy confinement here!” + +“Is that all?” cried the spirit. “Willingly then will I brave the doom. +Ah, surely they love not in heaven, or thou wouldst know, O Celestial +Visitant; that one hour of consolation to the one we love is worth a +thousand ages of torture to ourselves! Let me comfort and convince my +Adenheim; no matter what becomes of me.” + +Then the angel looked on high, and he saw in far distant regions, which +in that orb none else could discern, the rays that parted from the +all-guarding Eye; and heard the VOICE of the Eternal One bidding him +act as his pity whispered. He looked on the spirit, and her shadowy arms +stretched pleadingly towards him; he uttered the word that loosens the +bars of the gate of Purgatory; and lo, the spirit had re-entered the +human world. + +It was night in the halls of the lord of Adenheim, and he sat at the +head of his glittering board. Loud and long was the laugh, and merry +the jest that echoed round; and the laugh and the jest of the lord of +Adenheim were louder and merrier than all. And by his right side sat a +beautiful lady; and ever and anon he turned from others to whisper soft +vows in her ear. + +“And oh,” said the bright dame of Falkenberg, “thy words what ladye can +believe? Didst thou not utter the same oaths, and promise the same love, +to Ida, the fair daughter of Loden, and now but three little months have +closed upon her grave?” + +“By my halidom,” quoth the young lord of Adenheim, “thou dost thy beauty +marvellous injustice. Ida! Nay, thou mockest me; _I_ love the daughter +of Loden! Why, how then should I be worthy thee? A few gay words, a few +passing smiles,--behold all the love Adenheim ever bore to Ida. Was +it my fault if the poor fool misconstrued such common courtesy? Nay, +dearest lady, this heart is virgin to thee.” + +“And what!” said the lady of Falkenberg, as she suffered the arm of +Adenheim to encircle her slender waist, “didst thou not grieve for her +loss?” + +“Why, verily, yes, for the first week; but in thy bright eyes I found +ready consolation.” + +At this moment, the lord of Adenheim thought he heard a deep sigh behind +him; he turned, but saw nothing, save a slight mist that gradually faded +away, and vanished in the distance. Where was the necessity for Ida to +reveal herself? + +....... + +“And thou didst not, then, do thine errand to thy lover?” said Seralim, +as the spirit of the wronged Ida returned to Purgatory. + +“Bid the demons recommence their torture,” was poor Ida’s answer. + +“And was it for this that thou added a thousand years to thy doom?” + +“Alas!” answered Ida, “after the single hour I have endured on Earth, +there seems to be but little terrible in a thousand fresh years of +Purgatory!”* + + * This story is principally borrowed from a foreign soil. It + seemed to the author worthy of being transferred to an English + one, although he fears that much of its singular beauty in the + original has been lost by the way. + + + +“What! is the story ended?” asked Gertrude. + +“Yes.” + +“Nay, surely the thousand years were not added to poor Ida’s doom; and +Seralim bore her back with him to Heaven?” + +“The legend saith no more. The writer was contented to show us the +perpetuity of woman’s love--” + +“And its reward,” added Vane. + +“It was not _I_ who drew that last conclusion, Albert,” whispered +Gertrude. + + + +CHAPTER IX. THE SCENERY OF THE RHINE ANALOGOUS TO THE GERMAN LITERARY +GENIUS.--THE DRACHENFELS. + +ON leaving Cologne, the stream winds round among banks that do not yet +fulfil the promise of the Rhine; but they increase in interest as you +leave Surdt and Godorf. The peculiar character of the river does not, +however, really appear, until by degrees the Seven Mountains, and “THE +CASTLED CRAG OF DRACHENFELS” above them all, break upon the eye. Around +Nieder Cassel and Rheidt the vines lie thick and clustering; and, by the +shore, you see from place to place the islands stretching their green +length along, and breaking the exulting tide. Village rises upon +village, and viewed from the distance as you sail, the pastoral errors +that enamoured us of the village life crowd thick and fast upon us. +So still do these hamlets seem, so sheltered from the passions of the +world,--as if the passions were not like winds, only felt where they +breathe, and invisible save by their effects! Leaping into the broad +bosom of the Rhine come many a stream and rivulet upon either side. +Spire upon spire rises and sinks as you sail on. Mountain and city, +the solitary island, the castled steep, like the dreams of ambition, +suddenly appear, proudly swell, and dimly fade away. + +“You begin now,” said Trevylyan, “to understand the character of +the German literature. The Rhine is an emblem of its luxuriance, its +fertility, its romance. The best commentary to the German genius is a +visit to the German scenery. The mighty gloom of the Hartz, the feudal +towers that look over vines and deep valleys on the legendary Rhine; +the gigantic remains of antique power, profusely scattered over plain, +mount, and forest; the thousand mixed recollections that hallow the +ground; the stately Roman, the stalwart Goth, the chivalry of the feudal +age, and the dim brotherhood of the ideal world, have here alike their +record and their remembrance. And over such scenes wanders the young +German student. Instead of the pomp and luxury of the English traveller, +the thousand devices to cheat the way, he has but his volume in his +hand, his knapsack at his back. From such scenes he draws and hives +all that various store which after years ripen to invention. Hence +the florid mixture of the German muse,--the classic, the romantic, the +contemplative, the philosophic, and the superstitious; each the result +of actual meditation over different scenes; each the produce of separate +but confused recollections. As the Rhine flows, so flows the national +genius, by mountain and valley, the wildest solitude, the sudden spires +of ancient cities, the mouldered castle, the stately monastery, the +humble cot,--grandeur and homeliness, history and superstition, truth +and fable, succeeding one another so as to blend into a whole. + +“But,” added Trevylyan, a moment afterwards, “the Ideal is passing +slowly away from the German mind; a spirit for the more active and the +more material literature is springing up amongst them. The revolution +of mind gathers on, preceding stormy events; and the memories that +led their grandsires to contemplate will urge the youth of the next +generation to dare and to act.” * + + * Is not this prediction already fulfilled?--1849. + +Thus conversing, they continued their voyage, with a fair wave and +beneath a lucid sky. + +The vessel now glided beside the Seven Mountains and the Drachenfels. + +The sun, slowly setting, cast his yellow beams over the smooth waters. +At the foot of the mountains lay a village deeply sequestered in shade; +and above, the Ruin of the Drachenfels caught the richest beams of the +sun. Yet thus alone, though lofty, the ray cheered not the gloom that +hung over the giant rock: it stood on high, like some great name on +which the light of glory may shine, but which is associated with a +certain melancholy, from the solitude to which its very height above the +level of the herd condemned its owner! + + + +CHAPTER X. THE LEGEND OF ROLAND.--THE ADVENTURES OF NYMPHALIN ON THE +ISLAND OF NONNEWERTH.--HER SONG.--THE DECAY OF THE FAIRY-FAITH IN +ENGLAND. + +ON the shore opposite the Drachenfels stand the Ruins of +Rolandseck,--they are the shattered crown of a lofty and perpendicular +mountain, consecrated to the memory of the brave Roland; below, the +trees of an island to which the lady of Roland retired, rise thick and +verdant from the smooth tide. + +Nothing can exceed the eloquent and wild grandeur of the whole scene. +That spot is the pride and beauty of the Rhine. + +The legend that consecrates the tower and the island is briefly told; it +belongs to a class so common to the Romaunts of Germany. Roland goes to +the wars. A false report of his death reaches his betrothed. She retires +to the convent in the isle of Nonnewerth, and takes the irrevocable +veil. Roland returns home, flushed with glory and hope, to find that +the very fidelity of his affianced had placed an eternal barrier between +them. He built the castle that bears his name, and which overlooks the +monastery, and dwelt there till his death,--happy in the power at least +to gaze, even to the last, upon those walls which held the treasure he +had lost. + +The willows droop in mournful luxuriance along the island, and harmonize +with the memory that, through the desert of a thousand years, love still +keeps green and fresh. Nor hath it permitted even those additions of +fiction which, like mosses, gather by time over the truth that they +adorn, yet adorning conceal, to mar the simple tenderness of the legend. + +All was still in the island of Nonnewerth; the lights shone through the +trees from the house that contained our travellers. On one smooth spot +where the islet shelves into the Rhine met the wandering fairies. + +“Oh, Pipalee! how beautiful!” cried Nymphalin, as she stood enraptured +by the wave, a star-beam shining on her, with her yellow hair “dancing +its ringlets in the whistling wind.” “For the first time since our +departure I do not miss the green fields of England.” + +“Hist!” said Pipalee, under her breath; “I hear fairy steps,--they must +be the steps of strangers.” + +“Let us retreat into this thicket of weeds,” said Nymphalin, somewhat +alarmed; “the good lord treasurer is already asleep there.” They whisked +into what to them was a forest, for the reeds were two feet high, and +there sure enough they found the lord treasurer stretched beneath a +bulrush, with his pipe beside him, for since he had been in Germany he +had taken to smoking; and indeed wild thyme, properly dried, makes very +good tobacco for a fairy. They also found Nip and Trip sitting very +close together, Nip playing with her hair, which was exceedingly +beautiful. + +“What do you do here?” said Pipalee, shortly; for she was rather an old +maid, and did not like fairies to be too close to each other. + +“Watching my lord’s slumber,” said Nip. + +“Pshaw!” said Pipalee. + +“Nay,” quoth Trip, blushing like a sea-shell; “there is no harm in +_that_, I’m sure.” + +“Hush!” said the queen, peeping through the reeds. + +And now forth from the green bosom of the earth came a tiny train; +slowly, two by two, hand in hand, they swept from a small aperture, +shadowed with fragrant herbs, and formed themselves into a ring: then +came other fairies, laden with dainties, and presently two beautiful +white mushrooms sprang up, on which the viands were placed, and lo, +there was a banquet! Oh, how merry they were! what gentle peals of +laughter, loud as a virgin’s sigh! what jests! what songs! Happy race! +if mortals could see you as often as I do, in the soft nights of summer, +they would never be at a loss for entertainment. But as our English +fairies looked on, they saw that these foreign elves were of a different +race from themselves: they were taller and less handsome, their hair was +darker, they wore mustaches, and had something of a fiercer air. Poor +Nymphalin was a little frightened; but presently soft music was heard +floating along, something like the sound we suddenly hear of a still +night when a light breeze steals through rushes, or wakes a ripple in +some shallow brook dancing over pebbles. And lo, from the aperture of +the earth came forth a fay, superbly dressed, and of a noble presence. +The queen started back, Pipalee rubbed her eyes, Trip looked over +Pipalee’s shoulder, and Nip, pinching her arm, cried out amazed, “By the +last new star, that is Prince von Fayzenheim!” + +Poor Nymphalin gazed again, and her little heart beat under her +bee’s-wing bodice as if it would break. The prince had a melancholy air, +and he sat apart from the banquet, gazing abstractedly on the Rhine. + +“Ah!” whispered Nymphalin to herself, “does he think of me?” + +Presently the prince drew forth a little flute hollowed from a small +reed, and began to play a mournful air. Nymphalin listened with delight; +it was one he had learned in her dominions. + +When the air was over, the prince rose, and approaching the banqueters, +despatched them on different errands; one to visit the dwarf of the +Drachenfels, another to look after the grave of Musaeus, and a whole +detachment to puzzle the students of Heidelberg. A few launched +themselves upon willow leaves on the Rhine to cruise about in the +starlight, and an other band set out a hunting after the gray-legged +moth. The prince was left alone; and now Nymphalin, seeing the coast +clear, wrapped herself up in a cloak made out of a withered leaf; and +only letting her eyes glow out from the hood, she glided from the reeds, +and the prince turning round, saw a dark fairy figure by his side. He +drew back, a little startled, and placed his hand on his sword, when +Nymphalin circling round him, sang the following words:-- + + + +THE FAIRY’S REPROACH. + + + I. By the glow-worm’s lamp in the dewy brake; + By the gossamer’s airy net; + By the shifting skin of the faithless snake, + Oh, teach me to forget: + For none, ah none + Can teach so well that human spell + As thou, false one! + + + II. By the fairy dance on the greensward smooth; + By the winds of the gentle west; + By the loving stars, when their soft looks soothe + The waves on their mother’s breast, + Teach me thy lore! + By which, like withered flowers, + The leaves of buried Hours + Blossom no more! + + + III. By the tent in the violet’s bell; + By the may on the scented bough; + By the lone green isle where my sisters dwell; + And thine own forgotten vow, + Teach me to live, + Nor feed on thoughts that pine + For love so false as thine! + Teach me thy lore, + And one thou lov’st no more + Will bless thee and forgive! + + + +“Surely,” said Fayzenheim, faltering, “surely I know that voice!” + +And Nymphalin’s cloak dropped off her shoulder. “My English fairy!” and +Fayzenheim knelt beside her. + +I wish you had seen the fay kneel, for you would have sworn it was so +like a human lover that you would never have sneered at love afterwards. +Love is so fairy-like a part of us, that even a fairy cannot make it +differently from us,--that is to say, when we love truly. + +There was great joy in the island that night among the elves. They +conducted Nymphalin to their palace within the earth, and feasted her +sumptuously; and Nip told their adventures with so much spirit that +he enchanted the merry foreigners. But Fayzenheim talked apart to +Nymphalin, and told her how he was lord of that island, and how he had +been obliged to return to his dominions by the law of his tribe, which +allowed him to be absent only a certain time in every year. “But, my +queen, I always intended to revisit thee next spring.” + +“Thou need’st not have left us so abruptly,” said Nymphalin, blushing. + +“But do _thou_ never leave me!” said the ardent fairy; “be mine, and let +our nuptials be celebrated on these shores. Wouldst thou sigh for thy +green island? No! for _there_ the fairy altars are deserted, the faith +is gone from the land; thou art among the last of an unhonoured and +expiring race. Thy mortal poets are dumb, and Fancy, which was thy +priestess, sleeps hushed in her last repose. New and hard creeds have +succeeded to the fairy lore. Who steals through the starlit boughs on +the nights of June to watch the roundels of thy tribe? The wheels of +commerce, the din of trade, have silenced to mortal ear the music of thy +subjects’ harps! And the noisy habitations of men, harsher than their +dreaming sires, are gathering round the dell and vale where thy co-mates +linger: a few years, and where will be the green solitudes of England?” + +The queen sighed, and the prince, perceiving that he was listened to, +continued,-- + +“Who, in thy native shores, among the children of men, now claims the +fairy’s care? What cradle wouldst thou tend? On what maid wouldst thou +shower thy rosy gifts? What barb wouldst thou haunt in his dreams? Poesy +is fled the island, why shouldst thou linger behind? Time hath brought +dull customs, that laugh at thy gentle being. Puck is buried in the +harebell, he hath left no offspring, and none mourn for his loss; for +night, which is the fairy season, is busy and garish as the day. What +hearth is desolate after the curfew? What house bathed in stillness +at the hour in which thy revels commence? Thine empire among men hath +passed from thee, and thy race are vanishing from the crowded soil; for, +despite our diviner nature, our existence is linked with man’s. Their +neglect is our disease, their forgetfulness our death. Leave then those +dull, yet troubled scenes, that are closing round the fairy rings of thy +native isle. These mountains, this herbage, these gliding waves, these +mouldering ruins, these starred rivulets, be they, O beautiful fairy! +thy new domain. Yet in these lands our worship lingers; still can we +fill the thought of the young bard, and mingle with his yearnings +after the Beautiful, the Unseen. Hither come the pilgrims of the world, +anxious only to gather from these scenes the legends of Us; ages will +pass away ere the Rhine shall be desecrated of our haunting presence. +Come then, my queen, let this palace be thine own, and the moon that +glances over the shattered towers of the Dragon Rock witness our +nuptials and our vows!” + +In such words the fairy prince courted the young queen, and while she +sighed at their truth she yielded to their charm. Oh, still may there be +one spot on the earth where the fairy feet may press the legendary soil! +still be there one land where the faith of The Bright Invisible hallows +and inspires! Still glide thou, O majestic and solemn Rhine, among +shades and valleys, from which the wisdom of belief can call the +creations of the younger world! + + + +CHAPTER XI. WHEREIN THE READER IS MADE SPECTATOR WITH THE ENGLISH +FAIRIES OF THE SCENES AND BEINGS THAT ARE BENEATH THE EARTH. + +DURING the heat of next day’s noon, Fayzenheim took the English visitors +through the cool caverns that wind amidst the mountains of the Rhine. +There, a thousand wonders awaited the eyes of the fairy queen. I speak +not of the Gothic arch and aisle into which the hollow earth forms +itself, or the stream that rushes with a mighty voice through the dark +chasm, or the silver columns that shoot aloft, worked by the gnomes from +the mines of the mountains of Taunus; but of the strange inhabitants +that from time to time they came upon. They found in one solitary +cell, lined with dried moss, two misshapen elves, of a larger size than +common, with a plebeian working-day aspect, who were chatting noisily +together, and making a pair of boots: these were the Hausmannen or +domestic elves, that dance into tradesmen’s houses of a night, and play +all sorts of undignified tricks. They were very civil to the queen, +for they are good-natured creatures on the whole, and once had many +relations in Scotland. They then, following the course of a noisy +rivulet, came to a hole from which the sharp head of a fox peeped out. +The queen was frightened. “Oh, come on,” said the fox, encouragingly, “I +am one of the fairy race, and many are the gambols we of the brute-elves +play in the German world of romance.” “Indeed, Mr. Fox,” said the +prince, “you only speak the truth; and how is Mr. Bruin?” “Quite well, +my prince, but tired of his seclusion; for indeed our race can do +little or nothing now in the world; and lie here in our old age, +telling stories of the past, and recalling the exploits we did in our +youth,--which, madam, you may see in all the fairy histories in the +prince’s library.” + +“Your own love adventures, for instance, Master Fox,” said the prince. + +The fox snarled angrily, and drew in his head. + +“You have displeased your friend,” said Nymphalin. + +“Yes; he likes no allusions to the amorous follies of his youth. Did you +ever hear of his rivalry with the dog for the cat’s good graces?” + +“No; that must be very amusing.” + +“Well, my queen, when we rest by and by, I will relate to you the +history of the fox’s wooing.” + +The next place they came to was a vast Runic cavern, covered with dark +inscriptions of a forgotten tongue; and sitting on a huge stone they +found a dwarf with long yellow hair, his head leaning on his breast, and +absorbed in meditation. “This is a spirit of a wise and powerful race,” + whispered Fayzenheim, “that has often battled with the fairies; but he +is of the kindly tribe.” + +Then the dwarf lifted his head with a mournful air; and gazed upon the +bright shapes before him, lighted by the pine torches that the prince’s +attendants carried. + +“And what dost thou muse upon, O descendant of the race of Laurin?” said +the prince. + +“Upon TIME!” answered the dwarf, gloomily. “I see a River, and its waves +are black, flowing from the clouds, and none knoweth its source. It +rolls deeply on, aye and evermore, through a green valley, which it +slowly swallows up, washing away tower and town, and vanquishing all +things; and the name of the River is TIME.” + +Then the dwarf’s head sank on his bosom, and he spoke no more. + +The fairies proceeded. “Above us,” said the prince, “rises one of the +loftiest mountains of the Rhine; for mountains are the Dwarf’s home. +When the Great Spirit of all made earth, he saw that the hollows of the +rocks and hills were tenantless, and yet that a mighty kingdom and great +palaces were hid within them,--a dread and dark solitude, but lighted at +times from the starry eyes of many jewels; and there was the treasure of +the human world--gold and silver--and great heaps of gems, and a soil +of metals. So God made a race for this vast empire, and gifted them with +the power of thought, and the soul of exceeding wisdom, so that they +want not the merriment and enterprise of the outer world; but musing +in these dark caves is their delight. Their existence rolls away in the +luxury of thought; only from time to time they appear in the world, and +betoken woe or weal to men,--according to their nature, for they are +divided into two tribes, the benevolent and the wrathful.” While the +prince spoke, they saw glaring upon them from a ledge in the upper rock +a grisly face with a long matted beard. The prince gathered himself up, +and frowned at the evil dwarf, for such it was; but with a wild laugh +the face abruptly disappeared, and the echo of the laugh rang with a +ghastly sound through the long hollows of the earth. + +The queen clung to Fayzenheim’s arm. “Fear not, my queen,” said he. “The +evil race have no power over our light and aerial nature; with men only +they war; and he whom we have seen was, in the old ages of the world, +one of the deadliest visitors to mankind.” + +But now they came winding by a passage to a beautiful recess in the +mountain empire; it was of a circular shape of amazing height; in the +midst of it played a natural fountain of sparkling waters, and around it +were columns of massive granite, rising in countless vistas, till lost +in the distant shade. Jewels were scattered round, and brightly played +the fairy torches on the gem, the fountain, and the pale silver, that +gleamed at frequent intervals from the rocks. “Here let us rest,” said +the gallant fairy, clapping his hands; “what, ho! music and the feast.” + +So the feast was spread by the fountain’s side; and the courtiers +scattered rose-leaves, which they had brought with them, for the prince +and his visitor; and amidst the dark kingdom of the dwarfs broke +the delicate sound of fairy lutes. “We have not these evil beings in +England,” said the queen, as low as she could speak; “they rouse my +fear, but my interest also. Tell me, dear prince, of what nature was the +intercourse of the evil dwarf with man?” + +“You know,” answered the prince, “that to every species of living thing +there is something in common; the vast chain of sympathy runs through +all creation. By that which they have in common with the beast of the +field or the bird of the air, men govern the inferior tribes; they +appeal to the common passions of fear and emulation when they tame the +wild steed, to the common desire of greed and gain when they snare +the fishes of the stream, or allure the wolves to the pitfall by the +bleating of the lamb. In their turn, in the older ages of the world, it +was by the passions which men had in common with the demon race that the +fiends commanded or allured them. The dwarf whom you saw, being of that +race which is characterized by the ambition of power and the desire +of hoarding, appealed then in his intercourse with men to the same +characteristics in their own bosoms,--to ambition or to avarice. And +thus were his victims made! But, not now, dearest Nymphalin,” continued +the prince, with a more lively air,--“not now will we speak of those +gloomy beings. Ho, there! cease the music, and come hither all of ye, +to listen to a faithful and homely history of the Dog, the Cat, the +Griffin, and the Fox.” + + + +CHAPTER XII. THE WOOING OF MASTER FOX.* + + * In the excursions of the fairies, it is the object of the author + to bring before the reader a rapid phantasmagoria of the various + beings that belong to the German superstitions, so that the work + may thus describe the outer and the inner world of the land of + the Rhine. The tale of the Fox’s Wooing has been composed to + give the English reader an idea of a species of novel not + naturalized amongst us, though frequent among the legends of our + Irish neighbours; in which the brutes are the only characters + drawn,--drawn too with shades of distinction as nice and subtle + as if they were the creatures of the civilized world. + +You are aware, my dear Nymphalin, that in the time of which I am about +to speak there was no particular enmity between the various species of +brutes; the dog and the hare chatted very agreeably together, and +all the world knows that the wolf, unacquainted with mutton, had +a particular affection for the lamb. In these happy days, two most +respectable cats, of very old family, had an only daughter. Never was +kitten more amiable or more seducing; as she grew up she manifested so +many charms, that in a little while she became noted as the greatest +beauty in the neighbourhood. Need I to you, dearest Nymphalin, describe +her perfection? Suffice it to say that her skin was of the most delicate +tortoiseshell, that her paws were smoother than velvet, that her +whiskers were twelve inches long at the least, and that her eyes had a +gentleness altogether astonishing in a cat. But if the young beauty +had suitors in plenty during the lives of monsieur and madame, you may +suppose the number was not diminished when, at the age of two years and +a half, she was left an orphan, and sole heiress to all the hereditary +property. In fine, she was the richest marriage in the whole country. +Without troubling you, dearest queen, with the adventures of the rest of +her lovers, with their suit and their rejection, I come at once to the +two rivals most sanguine of success,--the dog and the fox. + +Now the dog was a handsome, honest, straightforward, affectionate +fellow. “For my part,” said he, “I don’t wonder at my cousin’s refusing +Bruin the bear, and Gauntgrim the wolf: to be sure they give themselves +great airs, and call themselves ‘_noble_,’ but what then? Bruin is +always in the sulks, and Gauntgrim always in a passion; a cat of any +sensibility would lead a miserable life with them. As for me, I am very +good-tempered when I’m not put out, and I have no fault except that of +being angry if disturbed at my meals. I am young and good-looking, fond +of play and amusement, and altogether as agreeable a husband as a cat +could find in a summer’s day. If she marries me, well and good; she +may have her property settled on herself: if not, I shall bear her no +malice; and I hope I sha’n’t be too much in love to forget that there +are other cats in the world.” + +With that the dog threw his tail over his back, and set off to his +mistress with a gay face on the matter. + +Now the fox heard the dog talking thus to himself, for the fox was +always peeping about, in holes and corners, and he burst out a laughing +when the dog was out of sight. + +“Ho, ho, my fine fellow!” said he; “not so fast, if you please: you’ve +got the fox for a rival, let me tell you.” + +The fox, as you very well know, is a beast that can never do anything +without a manoeuvre; and as, from his cunning, he was generally very +lucky in anything he undertook, he did not doubt for a moment that he +should put the dog’s nose out of joint. Reynard was aware that in +love one should always, if possible, be the first in the field; and he +therefore resolved to get the start of the dog and arrive before him +at the cat’s residence. But this was no easy matter; for though Reynard +could run faster than the dog for a little way, he was no match for +him in a journey of some distance. “However,” said Reynard, “those +good-natured creatures are never very wise; and I think I know already +what will make him bait on his way.” + +With that, the fox trotted pretty fast by a short cut in the woods, and +getting before the dog, laid himself down by a hole in the earth, and +began to howl most piteously. + +The dog, hearing the noise, was very much alarmed. “See now,” said he, +“if the poor fox has not got himself into some scrape! Those cunning +creatures are always in mischief; thank Heaven, it never comes into my +head to be cunning!” And the good-natured animal ran off as hard as he +could to see what was the matter with the fox. + +“Oh, dear!” cried Reynard; “what shall I do? What shall I do? My poor +little sister has fallen into this hole, and I can’t get her out; she’ll +certainly be smothered.” And the fox burst out a howling more piteously +than before. + +“But, my dear Reynard,” quoth the dog, very simply, “why don’t you go in +after your sister?” + +“Ah, you may well ask that,” said the fox; “but, in trying to get in, +don’t you perceive that I have sprained my back and can’t stir? Oh, +dear! what shall I do if my poor little sister is smothered!” + +“Pray don’t vex yourself,” said the dog; “I’ll get her out in an +instant.” And with that he forced himself with great difficulty into the +hole. + +Now, no sooner did the fox see that the dog was fairly in, than he +rolled a great stone to the mouth of the hole and fitted it so tight, +that the dog, not being able to turn round and scratch against it with +his forepaws, was made a close prisoner. + +“Ha, ha!” cried Reynard, laughing outside; “amuse yourself with my poor +little sister, while I go and make your compliments to Mademoiselle the +Cat.” + +With that Reynard set off at an easy pace, never troubling his head +what became of the poor dog. When he arrived in the neighbourhood of the +beautiful cat’s mansion, he resolved to pay a visit to a friend of his, +an old magpie that lived in a tree and was well acquainted with all the +news of the place. “For,” thought Reynard, “I may as well know the blind +side of my mistress that is to be, and get round it at once.” + +The magpie received the fox with great cordiality, and inquired what +brought him so great a distance from home. + +“Upon my word,” said the fox, “nothing so much as the pleasure of seeing +your ladyship and hearing those agreeable anecdotes you tell with so +charming a grace; but to let you into a secret--be sure it don’t go +further--” + +“On the word of a magpie,” interrupted the bird. + +“Pardon me for doubting you,” continued the fox; “I should have +recollected that a pie was a proverb for discretion. But, as I was +saying, you know her Majesty the lioness?” + +“Surely,” said the magpie, bridling. + +“Well; she was pleased to fall in--that is to say--to--to--take a +caprice to your humble servant, and the lion grew so jealous that I +thought it prudent to decamp. A jealous lion is no joke, let me assure +your ladyship. But mum’s the word.” + +So great a piece of news delighted the magpie. She could not but repay +it in kind, by all the news in her budget. She told the fox all the +scandal about Bruin and Gauntgrim, and she then fell to work on the poor +young cat. She did not spare her foibles, you may be quite sure. The +fox listened with great attention, and he learned enough to convince +him that however much the magpie might exaggerate, the cat was very +susceptible to flattery, and had a great deal of imagination. + +When the magpie had finished she said, “But it must be very unfortunate +for you to be banished from so magnificent a court as that of the lion?” + +“As to that,” answered the fox, “I console myself for my exile with a +present his Majesty made me on parting, as a reward for my anxiety for +his honour and domestic tranquillity; namely, three hairs from the fifth +leg of the amoronthologosphorus. Only think of that, ma’am!” + +“The what?” cried the pie, cocking down her left ear. + +“The amoronthologosphorus.” + +“La!” said the magpie; “and what is that very long word, my dear +Reynard?” + +“The amoronthologosphorus is a beast that lives on the other side of +the river Cylinx; it has five legs, and on the fifth leg there are three +hairs, and whoever has those three hairs can be young and beautiful +forever.” + +“Bless me! I wish you would let me see them,” said the pie, holding out +her claw. + +“Would that I could oblige you, ma’am; but it’s as much as my life’s +worth to show them to any but the lady I marry. In fact, they only have +an effect on the fair sex, as you may see by myself, whose poor person +they utterly fail to improve: they are, therefore, intended for a +marriage present, and his Majesty the lion thus generously atoned to +me for relinquishing the tenderness of his queen. One must confess that +there was a great deal of delicacy in the gift. But you’ll be sure not +to mention it.” + +“A magpie gossip indeed!” quoth the old blab. + +The fox then wished the magpie good night, and retired to a hole to +sleep off the fatigues of the day, before he presented himself to the +beautiful young cat. + +The next morning, Heaven knows how! it was all over the place that +Reynard the fox had been banished from court for the favour shown him by +her Majesty, and that the lion had bribed his departure with three +hairs that would make any lady whom the fox married young and beautiful +forever. + +The cat was the first to learn the news, and she became all curiosity to +see so interesting a stranger, possessed of “qualifications” which, in +the language of the day, “would render any animal happy!” She was not +long without obtaining her wish. As she was taking a walk in the wood +the fox contrived to encounter her. You may be sure that he made her his +best bow; and he flattered the poor cat with so courtly an air that she +saw nothing surprising in the love of the lioness. + +Meanwhile let us see what became of his rival, the dog. + +“Ah, the poor creature!” said Nymphalin; “it is easy to guess that he +need not be buried alive to lose all chance of marrying the heiress.” + +“Wait till the end,” answered Fayzenheim. + +When the dog found that he was thus entrapped, he gave himself up for +lost. In vain he kicked with his hind-legs against the stone,--he only +succeeded in bruising his paws; and at length he was forced to lie down, +with his tongue out of his mouth, and quite exhausted. “However,” said +he, after he had taken breath, “it won’t do to be starved here, without +doing my best to escape; and if I can’t get out one way, let me see if +there is not a hole at the other end.” Thus saying, his courage, which +stood him in lieu of cunning, returned, and he proceeded on in the same +straightforward way in which he always conducted himself. At first the +path was exceedingly narrow, and he hurt his sides very much against +the rough stones that projected from the earth; but by degrees the way +became broader, and he now went on with considerable ease to himself, +till he arrived in a large cavern, where he saw an immense griffin +sitting on his tail, and smoking a huge pipe. + +The dog was by no means pleased at meeting so suddenly a creature that +had only to open his mouth to swallow him up at a morsel; however, +he put a bold face on the danger, and walking respectfully up to the +griffin, said, “Sir, I should be very much obliged to you if you would +inform me the way out of these holes into the upper world.” + +The griffin took the pipe out of his mouth, and looked at the dog very +sternly. + +“Ho, wretch!” said he, “how comest thou hither? I suppose thou wantest +to steal my treasure; but I know how to treat such vagabonds as you, and +I shall certainly eat you up. + +“You can do that if you choose,” said the dog; “but it would be very +unhandsome conduct in an animal so much bigger than myself. For my own +part, I never attack any dog that is not of equal size,--I should be +ashamed of myself if I did. And as to your treasure, the character I +bear for honesty is too well known to merit such a suspicion.” + +“Upon my word,” said the griffin, who could not help smiling for the +life of him, “you have a singularly free mode of expressing yourself. +And how, I say, came you hither?” + +Then the dog, who did not know what a lie was, told the griffin his +whole history,--how he had set off to pay his court to the cat, and how +Reynard the fox had entrapped him into the hole. + +When he had finished, the griffin said to him, “I see, my friend, that +you know how to speak the truth; I am in want of just such a servant as +you will make me, therefore stay with me and keep watch over my treasure +when I sleep.” + +“Two words to that,” said the dog. “You have hurt my feelings very much +by suspecting my honesty, and I would much sooner go back into the wood +and be avenged on that scoundrel the fox, than serve a master who has so +ill an opinion of me. I pray you, therefore, to dismiss me, and to put +me in the right way to my cousin the cat.” + +“I am not a griffin of many words,” answered the master of the cavern, +“and I give you your choice,--be my servant or be my breakfast; it is +just the same to me. I give you time to decide till I have smoked out my +pipe.” + +The poor dog did not take so long to consider. “It is true,” thought he, +“that it is a great misfortune to live in a cave with a griffin of +so unpleasant a countenance; but, probably, if I serve him well and +faithfully, he’ll take pity on me some day, and let me go back to earth, +and prove to my cousin what a rogue the fox is; and as to the rest, +though I would sell my life as dear as I could, it is impossible to +fight a griffin with a mouth of so monstrous a size.” In short, he +decided to stay with the griffin. + +“Shake a paw on it,” quoth the grim smoker; and the dog shook paws. + +“And now,” said the griffin, “I will tell you what you are to do. Look +here,” and moving his tail, he showed the dog a great heap of gold and +silver, in a hole in the ground, that he had covered with the folds of +his tail; and also, what the dog thought more valuable, a great heap of +bones of very tempting appearance. “Now,” said the griffin, “during the +day I can take very good care of these myself; but at night it is very +necessary that I should go to sleep, so when I sleep you must watch over +them instead of me.” + +“Very well,” said the dog. “As to the gold and silver, I have no +objection; but I would much rather that you would lock up the bones, for +I’m often hungry of a night, and--” + +“Hold your tongue,” said the griffin. + +“But, sir,” said the dog, after a short silence, “surely nobody ever +comes into so retired a situation! Who are the thieves, if I may make +bold to ask?” + +“Know,” answered the griffin, “that there are a great many serpents in +this neighbourhood. They are always trying to steal my treasure; and if +they catch me napping, they, not contented with theft, would do their +best to sting me to death. So that I am almost worn out for want of +sleep.” + +“Ah,” quoth the dog, who was fond of a good night’s rest, “I don’t envy +you your treasure, sir.” + +At night, the griffin, who had a great deal of penetration, and saw that +he might depend on the dog, lay down to sleep in another corner of the +cave; and the dog, shaking himself well, so as to be quite awake, took +watch over the treasure. His mouth watered exceedingly at the bones, and +he could not help smelling them now and then; but he said to himself, “A +bargain’s a bargain, and since I have promised to serve the griffin, I +must serve him as an honest dog ought to serve.” + +In the middle of the night he saw a great snake creeping in by the side +of the cave; but the dog set up so loud a bark that the griffin awoke, +and the snake crept away as fast as he could. Then the griffin was very +much pleased, and he gave the dog one of the bones to amuse himself +with; and every night the dog watched the treasure, and acquitted +himself so well that not a snake, at last, dared to make its +appearance,--so the griffin enjoyed an excellent night’s rest. + +The dog now found himself much more comfortable than he expected. The +griffin regularly gave him one of the bones for supper; and, pleased +with his fidelity, made himself as agreeable a master as a griffin +could be. Still, however, the dog was secretly very anxious to return +to earth; for having nothing to do during the day but to doze on the +ground, he dreamed perpetually of his cousin the cat’s charms, and, in +fancy, he gave the rascal Reynard as hearty a worry as a fox may well +have the honour of receiving from a dog’s paws. He awoke panting; alas! +he could not realize his dreams. + +One night, as he was watching as usual over the treasure, he was greatly +surprised to see a beautiful little black and white dog enter the +cave; and it came fawning to our honest friend, wagging its tail with +pleasure. + +“Ah, little one,” said our dog, whom, to distinguish, I will call the +watch-dog, “you had better make the best of your way back again. See, +there is a great griffin asleep in the other corner of the cave, and if +he wakes, he will either eat you up or make you his servant, as he has +made me.” + +“I know what you would tell me,” says the little dog; “and I have come +down here to deliver you. The stone is now gone from the mouth of the +cave, and you have nothing to do but to go back with me. Come, brother, +come.” + +The dog was very much excited by this address. “Don’t ask me, my dear +little friend,” said he; “you must be aware that I should be too happy +to escape out of this cold cave, and roll on the soft turf once more: +but if I leave my master, the griffin, those cursed serpents, who are +always on the watch, will come in and steal his treasure,--nay, perhaps, +sting him to death.” Then the little dog came up to the watch-dog, and +remonstrated with him greatly, and licked him caressingly on both sides +of his face; and, taking him by the ear, endeavoured to draw him from +the treasure: but the dog would not stir a step, though his heart sorely +pressed him. At length the little dog, finding it all in vain, said, +“Well, then, if I must leave, good-by; but I have become so hungry in +coming down all this way after you, that I wish you would give me one +of those bones; they smell very pleasantly, and one out of so many could +never be missed.” + +“Alas!” said the watchdog, with tears in his eyes, “how unlucky I am to +have eaten up the bone my master gave me, otherwise you should have had +it and welcome. But I can’t give you one of these, because my master has +made me promise to watch over them all, and I have given him my paw +on it. I am sure a dog of your respectable appearance will say nothing +further on the subject.” + +Then the little dog answered pettishly, “Pooh, what nonsense you +talk! surely a great griffin can’t miss a little bone fit for me?” and +nestling his nose under the watch-dog, he tried forthwith to bring up +one of the bones. + +On this the watch-dog grew angry, and, though with much reluctance, he +seized the little dog by the nape of the neck and threw him off, but +without hurting him. Suddenly the little dog changed into a monstrous +serpent, bigger even than the griffin himself, and the watch-dog barked +with all his might. The griffin rose in a great hurry, and the serpent +sprang upon him ere he was well awake. I wish, dearest Nymphalin, you +could have seen the battle between the griffin and the serpent,--how +they coiled and twisted, and bit and darted their fiery tongues at each +other. At length the serpent got uppermost, and was about to plunge his +tongue into that part of the griffin which is unprotected by his scales, +when the dog, seizing him by the tail, bit him so sharply that he could +not help turning round to kill his new assailant, and the griffin, +taking advantage of the opportunity, caught the serpent by the throat +with both claws, and fairly strangled him. As soon as the griffin had +recovered from the nervousness of the conflict, he heaped all manner +of caresses on the dog for saving his life. The dog told him the whole +story, and the griffin then explained that the dead snake was the king +of the serpents, who had the power to change himself into any shape he +pleased. “If he had tempted you,” said he, “to leave the treasure but +for one moment, or to have given him any part of it, ay, but a single +bone, he would have crushed you in an instant, and stung me to death +ere I could have waked; but none, no, not the most venomous thing in +creation, has power to hurt the honest!” + +“That has always been my belief,” answered the dog; “and now, sir, you +had better go to sleep again and leave the rest to me.” + +“Nay,” answered the griffin, “I have no longer need of a servant; for +now that the king of the serpents is dead, the rest will never molest +me. It was only to satisfy his avarice that his subjects dared to brave +the den of the griffin.” + +Upon hearing this the dog was exceedingly delighted; and raising himself +on his hind paws, he begged the griffin most movingly to let him return +to earth, to visit his mistress the cat, and worry his rival the fox. + +“You do not serve an ungrateful master,” answered the griffin. “You +shall return, and I will teach you all the craft of our race, which is +much craftier than the race of that pettifogger the fox, so that you may +be able to cope with your rival.” + +“Ah, excuse me,” said the dog, hastily, “I am equally obliged to you; +but I fancy honesty is a match for cunning any day, and I think myself a +great deal safer in being a dog of honour than if I knew all the tricks +in the world.” + +“Well,” said the griffin, a little piqued at the dog’s bluntness, “do as +you please; I wish you all possible success.” + +Then the griffin opened a secret door in the side of the cabin, and +the dog saw a broad path that led at once into the wood. He thanked +the griffin with all his heart, and ran wagging his tail into the open +moonlight. “Ah, ah, master fox,” said he, “there’s no trap for an honest +dog that has not two doors to it, cunning as you think yourself.” + +With that he curled his tail gallantly over his left leg, and set off +on a long trot to the cat’s house. When he was within sight of it, he +stopped to refresh himself by a pool of water, and who should be there +but our friend the magpie. + +“And what do _you_ want, friend?” said she, rather disdainfully, for the +dog looked somewhat out of case after his journey. + +“I am going to see my cousin the cat,” answered he. + +“_Your cousin_! marry come up,” said the magpie; “don’t you know she is +going to be married to Reynard the fox? This is not a time for her to +receive the visits of a brute like you.” + +These words put the dog in such a passion that he very nearly bit the +magpie for her uncivil mode of communicating such bad news. However, he +curbed his temper, and, without answering her, went at once to the cat’s +residence. + +The cat was sitting at the window, and no sooner did the dog see her +than he fairly lost his heart; never had he seen so charming a cat +before. He advanced, wagging his tail, and with his most insinuating +air, when the cat, getting up, clapped the window in his face, and lo! +Reynard the fox appeared in her stead. + +“Come out, thou rascal!” said the dog, showing his teeth; “come out, +I challenge thee to single combat; I have not forgiven thy malice, and +thou seest that I am no longer shut up in the cave, and unable to punish +thee for thy wickedness.” + +“Go home, silly one!” answered the fox, sneering; “thou hast no business +here, and as for fighting thee--bah!” Then the fox left the window and +disappeared. But the dog, thoroughly enraged, scratched lustily at the +door, and made such a noise, that presently the cat herself came to the +window. + +“How now!” said she, angrily; “what means all this rudeness? Who are +you, and what do you want at my house?” + +“Oh, my dear cousin,” said the dog, “do not speak so severely. Know that +I have come here on purpose to pay you a visit; and, whatever you do, +let me beseech you not to listen to that villain Reynard,--you have no +conception what a rogue he is!” + +“What!” said the cat, blushing; “do you dare to abuse your betters in +this fashion? I see you have a design on me. Go, this instant, or--” + +“Enough, madam,” said the dog, proudly; “you need not speak twice to +me,--farewell.” + +And he turned away very slowly, and went under a tree, where he took up +his lodgings for the night. But the next morning there was an amazing +commotion in the neighbourhood; a stranger, of a very different style of +travelling from that of the dog, had arrived at the dead of the night, +and fixed his abode in a large cavern hollowed out of a steep rock. The +noise he had made in flying through the air was so great that it had +awakened every bird and beast in the parish; and Reynard, whose bad +conscience never suffered him to sleep very soundly, putting his head +out of the window, perceived, to his great alarm, that the stranger was +nothing less than a monstrous griffin. + +Now the griffins are the richest beasts in the world; and that’s the +reason they keep so close under ground. Whenever it does happen that +they pay a visit above, it is not a thing to be easily forgotten. + +The magpie was all agitation. What could the griffin possibly want +there? She resolved to take a peep at the cavern, and accordingly she +hopped timorously up the rock, and pretended to be picking up sticks for +her nest. + +“Holla, ma’am!” cried a very rough voice, and she saw the griffin +putting his head out of the cavern. “Holla! you are the very lady I want +to see; you know all the people about here, eh?” + +“All the best company, your lordship, I certainly do,” answered the +magpie, dropping a courtesy. + +Upon this the griffin walked out; and smoking his pipe leisurely in the +open air, in order to set the pie at her ease, continued,-- + +“Are there any respectable beasts of good families settled in this +neighbourhood?” + +“Oh, most elegant society, I assure your lordship,” cried the pie. “I +have lived here myself these ten years, and the great heiress, the cat +yonder, attracts a vast number of strangers.” + +“Humph! heiress, indeed! much you know about heiresses!” said the +griffin. “There is only one heiress in the world, and that’s my +daughter.” + +“Bless me! has your lordship a family? I beg you a thousand pardons; but +I only saw your lordship’s own equipage last night, and did not know you +brought any one with you.” + +“My daughter went first, and was safely lodged before I arrived. She did +not disturb you, I dare say, as I did; for she sails along like a swan: +but I have got the gout in my left claw, and that’s the reason I puff +and groan so in taking a journey.” + +“Shall I drop in upon Miss Griffin, and see how she is after her +journey?” said the pie, advancing. + +“I thank you, no. I don’t intend her to be seen while I stay here,--it +unsettles her; and I’m afraid of the young beasts running away with her +if they once heard how handsome she was: she’s the living picture of me, +but she’s monstrous giddy! Not that I should care much if she did go off +with a beast of degree, were I not obliged to pay her portion, which is +prodigious; and I don’t like parting with money, ma’am, when I’ve once +got it. Ho, ho, ho!” + +“You are too witty, my lord. But if you refused your consent?” said the +pie, anxious to know the whole family history of so grand a seigneur. + +“I should have to pay the dowry all the same. It was left her by her +uncle the dragon. But don’t let this go any further.” + +“Your lordship may depend on my secrecy. I wish your lordship a very +good morning.” + +Away flew the pie, and she did not stop till she got to the cat’s house. +The cat and the fox were at breakfast, and the fox had his paw on his +heart. “Beautiful scene!” cried the pie; the cat coloured, and bade the +pie take a seat. + +Then off went the pie’s tongue, glib, glib, glib, chatter, chatter, +chatter. She related to them the whole story of the griffin and his +daughter, and a great deal more besides, that the griffin had never told +her. + +The cat listened attentively. Another young heiress in the neighbourhood +might be a formidable rival. “But is this griffiness handsome?” said +she. + +“Handsome!” cried the pie; “oh, if you could have seen the father!--such +a mouth, such eyes, such a complexion; and he declares she’s the living +picture of himself! But what do you say, Mr. Reynard,--you, who have +been so much in the world, have, perhaps, seen the young lady?” + +“Why, I can’t say I have,” answered the fox, waking from a revery; +“but she must be wonderfully rich. I dare say that fool the dog will be +making up to her.” + +“Ah, by the way,” said the pie, “what a fuss he made at your door +yesterday; why would you not admit him, my dear?” + +“Oh,” said the cat, demurely, “Mr. Reynard says that he is a dog of very +bad character, quite a fortune-hunter; and hiding the most dangerous +disposition to bite under an appearance of good nature. I hope he won’t +be quarrelsome with you, dear Reynard!” + +“With me? Oh, the poor wretch, no!--he might bluster a little; but he +knows that if I’m once angry I’m a devil at biting;--one should not +boast of oneself.” + +In the evening Reynard felt a strange desire to go and see the griffin +smoking his pipe; but what could he do? There was the dog under the +opposite tree evidently watching for him, and Reynard had no wish to +prove himself that devil at biting which he declared he was. At last he +resolved to have recourse to stratagem to get rid of the dog. + +A young buck of a rabbit, a sort of provincial fop, had looked in upon +his cousin the cat, to pay her his respects, and Reynard, taking him +aside, said, “You see that shabby-looking dog under the tree? He has +behaved very ill to your cousin the cat, and you certainly ought +to challenge him. Forgive my boldness, nothing but respect for your +character induces me to take so great a liberty; you know I would +chastise the rascal myself, but what a scandal it would make! If I were +already married to your cousin, it would be a different thing. But you +know what a story that cursed magpie would hatch out of it!” + +The rabbit looked very foolish; he assured the fox he was no match for +the dog; that he was very fond of his cousin, to be sure! but he saw +no necessity to interfere with her domestic affairs; and, in short, he +tried all he possibly could to get out of the scrape; but the fox so +artfully played on his vanity, so earnestly assured him that the dog was +the biggest coward in the world and would make a humble apology, and so +eloquently represented to him the glory he would obtain for manifesting +so much spirit, that at length the rabbit was persuaded to go out and +deliver the challenge. + +“I’ll be your second,” said the fox; “and the great field on the other +side the wood, two miles hence, shall be the place of battle: there we +shall be out of observation. You go first, I’ll follow in half an hour; +and I say, hark!--in case he does accept the challenge, and you feel the +least afraid, I’ll be in the field, and take it off your paws with the +utmost pleasure; rely on _me_, my dear sir!” + +Away went the rabbit. The dog was a little astonished at the temerity +of the poor creature; but on hearing that the fox was to be present, +willingly consented to repair to the place of conflict. This readiness +the rabbit did not at all relish; he went very slowly to the field, +and seeing no fox there, his heart misgave him; and while the dog was +putting his nose to the ground to try if he could track the coming of +the fox, the rabbit slipped into a burrow, and left the dog to walk back +again. + +Meanwhile the fox was already at the rock; he walked very soft-footedly, +and looked about with extreme caution, for he had a vague notion that a +griffin-papa would not be very civil to foxes. + +Now there were two holes in the rock,--one below, one above, an upper +story and an under; and while the fox was peering about, he saw a great +claw from the upper rock beckoning to him. + +“Ah, ah!” said the fox, “that’s the wanton young griffiness, I’ll +swear.” + +He approached, and a voice said,-- + +“Charming Mr. Reynard, do you not think you could deliver an unfortunate +griffiness from a barbarous confinement in this rock?” + +“Oh, heavens!” cried the fox, tenderly, “what a beautiful voice! and, +ah, my poor heart, what a lovely claw! Is it possible that I hear the +daughter of my lord, the great griffin?” + +“Hush, flatterer! not so loud, if you please. My father is taking an +evening stroll, and is very quick of hearing. He has tied me up by +my poor wings in the cavern, for he is mightily afraid of some beast +running away with me. You know I have all my fortune settled on myself.” + +“Talk not of fortune,” said the fox; “but how can I deliver you? Shall I +enter and gnaw the cord?” + +“Alas!” answered the griffiness, “it is an immense chain I am bound +with. However, you may come in and talk more at your ease.” + +The fox peeped cautiously all round, and seeing no sign of the griffin, +he entered the lower cave and stole upstairs to the upper story; but as +he went on, he saw immense piles of jewels and gold, and all sorts of +treasure, so that the old griffin might well have laughed at the +poor cat being called an heiress. The fox was greatly pleased at such +indisputable signs of wealth, and he entered the upper cave, resolved to +be transported with the charms of the griffiness. + +There was, however, a great chasm between the landing-place and the spot +where the young lady was chained, and he found it impossible to pass; +the cavern was very dark, but he saw enough of the figure of the +griffiness to perceive, in spite of her petticoat, that she was the +image of her father, and the most hideous heiress that the earth ever +saw! + +However, he swallowed his disgust, and poured forth such a heap of +compliments that the griffiness appeared entirely won. + +He implored her to fly with him the first moment she was unchained. + +“That is impossible,” said she; “for my father never unchains me except +in his presence, and then I cannot stir out of his sight.” + +“The wretch!” cried Reynard, “what is to be done?” + +“Why, there is only one thing I know of,” answered the griffiness, +“which is this: I always make his soup for him, and if I could mix +something in it that would put him fast to sleep before he had time to +chain me up again I might slip down and carry off all the treasure below +on my back.” + +“Charming!” exclaimed Reynard; “what invention! what wit! I will go and +get some poppies directly.” + +“Alas!” said the griffiness, “poppies have no effect upon griffins. The +only thing that can ever put my father fast to sleep is a nice young cat +boiled up in his soup; it is astonishing what a charm that has upon him! +But where to get a cat?--it must be a maiden cat too!” + +Reynard was a little startled at so singular an opiate. “But,” thought +he, “griffins are not like the rest of the world, and so rich an heiress +is not to be won by ordinary means.” + +“I do know a cat,--a maiden cat,” said he, after a short pause; “but +I feel a little repugnance at the thought of having her boiled in the +griffin’s soup. Would not a dog do as well?” + +“Ah, base thing!” said the griffiness, appearing to weep; “you are in +love with the cat, I see it; go and marry her, poor dwarf that she is, +and leave me to die of grief.” + +In vain the fox protested that he did not care a straw for the cat; +nothing could now appease the griffiness but his positive assurance that +come what would poor puss should be brought to the cave and boiled for +the griffin’s soup. + +“But how will you get her here?” said the griffiness. + +“Ah, leave that to me,” said Reynard. “Only put a basket out of the +window and draw it up by a cord; the moment it arrives at the window, be +sure to clap your claw on the cat at once, for she is terribly active.” + +“Tush!” answered the heiress; “a pretty griffiness I should be if I did +not know how to catch a cat!” + +“But this must be when your father is out?” said Reynard. + +“Certainly; he takes a stroll every evening at sunset.” + +“Let it be to-morrow, then,” said Reynard, impatient for the treasure. + +This being arranged, Reynard thought it time to decamp. He stole down +the stairs again, and tried to filch some of the treasure by the way; +but it was too heavy for him to carry, and he was forced to acknowledge +to himself that it was impossible to get the treasure without taking the +griffiness (whose back seemed prodigiously strong) into the bargain. + +He returned home to the cat, and when he entered her house, and saw how +ordinary everything looked after the jewels in the griffin’s cave, he +quite wondered how he had ever thought the cat had the least pretensions +to good looks. However, he concealed his wicked design, and his mistress +thought he had never appeared so amiable. + +“Only guess,” said he, “where I have been!--to our new neighbour the +griffin; a most charming person, thoroughly affable, and quite the air +of the court. As for that silly magpie, the griffin saw her character at +once; and it was all a hoax about his daughter,--he has no daughter at +all. You know, my dear, hoaxing is a fashionable amusement among the +great. He says he has heard of nothing but your beauty, and on my +telling him we were going to be married, he has insisted upon giving a +great ball and supper in honour of the event. In fact, he is a gallant +old fellow, and dying to see you. Of course, I was obliged to accept the +invitation.” + +“You could not do otherwise,” said the unsuspecting young creature, who, +as I before said, was very susceptible to flattery. + +“And only think how delicate his attentions are,” said the fox. “As he +is very badly lodged for a beast of his rank, and his treasure takes up +the whole of the ground floor, he is forced to give the _fete_ in the +upper story, so he hangs out a basket for his guests, and draws them up +with his own claw. How condescending! But the great _are_ so amiable!” + +The cat, brought up in seclusion, was all delight at the idea of seeing +such high life, and the lovers talked of nothing else all the next +day,--when Reynard, towards evening, putting his head out of the window, +saw his old friend the dog lying as usual and watching him very grimly. +“Ah, that cursed creature! I had quite forgotten him; what is to be +done now? He would make no bones of me if he once saw me set foot out of +doors.” + +With that, the fox began to cast in his head how he should get rid +of his rival, and at length he resolved on a very notable project; he +desired the cat to set out first, and wait for him at a turn in the road +a little way off. “For,” said he, “if we go together we shall certainly +be insulted by the dog; and he will know that in the presence of a lady, +the custom of a beast of my fashion will not suffer me to avenge the +affront. But when I am alone, the creature is such a coward that he will +not dare say his soul’s his own; leave the door open and I’ll follow +immediately.” + +The cat’s mind was so completely poisoned against her cousin that she +implicitly believed this account of his character; and accordingly, with +many recommendations to her lover not to sully his dignity by getting +into any sort of quarrel with the dog, she set off first. + +The dog went up to her very humbly, and begged her to allow him to say a +few words to her; but she received him so haughtily, that his spirit was +up; and he walked back to the tree more than ever enraged against his +rival. But what was his joy when he saw that the cat had left the door +open! “Now, wretch,” thought he, “you cannot escape me!” So he walked +briskly in at the back door. He was greatly surprised to find Reynard +lying down in the straw, panting as if his heart would break, and +rolling his eyes in the pangs of death. + +“Ah, friend,” said the fox, with a faltering voice, “you are avenged, +my hour is come; I am just going to give up the ghost: put your paw upon +mine, and say you forgive me.” + +Despite his anger, the generous dog could not set tooth on a dying foe. + +“You have served me a shabby trick,” said he; “you have left me to +starve in a hole, and you have evidently maligned me with my cousin: +certainly I meant to be avenged on you; but if you are really dying, +that alters the affair.” + +“Oh, oh!” groaned the fox, very bitterly; “I am past help; the poor cat +is gone for Doctor Ape, but he’ll never come in time. What a thing it +is to have a bad conscience on one’s death-bed! But wait till the cat +returns, and I’ll do you full justice with her before I die.” + +The good-natured dog was much moved at seeing his mortal enemy in such a +state, and endeavoured as well as he could to console him. + +“Oh, oh!” said the fox; “I am so parched in the throat, I am burning;” + and he hung his tongue out of his mouth, and rolled his eyes more +fearfully than ever. + +“Is there no water here?” said the dog, looking round. + +“Alas, no!--yet stay! yes, now I think of it, there is some in that +little hole in the wall; but how to get at it! It is so high that I +can’t, in my poor weak state, climb up to it; and I dare not ask such a +favour of one I have injured so much.” + +“Don’t talk of it,” said the dog: “but the hole’s very small, I could +not put my nose through it.” + +“No; but if you just climb up on that stone, and thrust your paw into +the hole, you can dip it into the water, and so cool my poor parched +mouth. Oh, what a thing it is to have a bad conscience!” + +The dog sprang upon the stone, and, getting on his hind legs, thrust his +front paw into the hole; when suddenly Reynard pulled a string that he +had concealed under the straw, and the dog found his paw caught tight to +the wall in a running noose. + +“Ah, rascal!” said he, turning round; but the fox leaped up gayly from +the straw, and fastening the string with his teeth to a nail in the +other end of the wall, walked out, crying, “Good-by, my dear friend; +have a care how you believe hereafter in sudden conversions!” So he left +the dog on his hind legs to take care of the house. + +Reynard found the cat waiting for him where he had appointed, and they +walked lovingly together till they came to the cave. It was now dark, +and they saw the basket waiting below; the fox assisted the poor cat +into it. “There is only room for one,” said he, “you must go first!” Up +rose the basket; the fox heard a piteous mew, and no more. + +“So much for the griffin’s soup!” thought he. + +He waited patiently for some time, when the griffiness, waving her claw +from the window, said cheerfully, “All’s right, my dear Reynard; my papa +has finished his soup, and sleeps as sound as a rock! All the noise in +the world would not wake him now, till he has slept off the boiled cat, +which won’t be these twelve hours. Come and assist me in packing up the +treasure; I should be sorry to leave a single diamond behind.” + +“So should I,” quoth the fox. “Stay, I’ll come round by the lower +hole: why, the door’s shut! pray, beautiful griffiness, open it to thy +impatient adorer.” + +“Alas, my father has hid the key! I never know where he places it. You +must come up by the basket; see, I will lower it for you.” + +The fox was a little loth to trust himself in the same conveyance that +had taken his mistress to be boiled; but the most cautious grow rash +when money’s to be gained, and avarice can trap even a fox. So he put +himself as comfortably as he could into the basket, and up he went in an +instant. It rested, however, just before it reached the window, and the +fox felt, with a slight shudder, the claw of the griffiness stroking his +back. + +“Oh, what a beautiful coat!” quoth she, caressingly. + +“You are too kind,” said the fox; “but you can feel it more at your +leisure when I am once up. Make haste, I beseech you.” + +“Oh, what a beautiful bushy tail! Never did I feel such a tail.” + +“It is entirely at your service, sweet griffiness,” said the fox; “but +pray let me in. Why lose an instant?” + +“No, never did I feel such a tail! No wonder you are so successful with +the ladies.” + +“Ah, beloved griffiness, my tail is yours to eternity, but you pinch it +a little too hard.” + +Scarcely had he said this, when down dropped the basket, but not with +the fox in it; he found himself caught by the tail, and dangling half +way down the rock, by the help of the very same sort of pulley wherewith +he had snared the dog. I leave you to guess his consternation; he yelped +out as loud as he could,--for it hurts a fox exceedingly to be hanged by +his tail with his head downwards,--when the door of the rock opened, and +out stalked the griffin himself, smoking his pipe, with a vast crowd of +all the fashionable beasts in the neighbourhood. + +“Oho, brother,” said the bear, laughing fit to kill himself; “who ever +saw a fox hanged by the tail before?” + +“You’ll have need of a physician,” quoth Doctor Ape. + +“A pretty match, indeed; a griffiness for such a creature as you!” said +the goat, strutting by him. + +The fox grinned with pain, and said nothing. But that which hurt him +most was the compassion of a dull fool of a donkey, who assured him with +great gravity that he saw nothing at all to laugh at in his situation! + +“At all events,” said the fox, at last, “cheated, gulled, betrayed as +I am, I have played the same trick to the dog. Go and laugh at him, +gentlemen; he deserves it as much as I can, I assure you.” + +“Pardon me,” said the griffin, taking the pipe out of his mouth; “one +never laughs at the honest.” + +“And see,” said the bear, “here he is.” + +And indeed the dog had, after much effort, gnawed the string in two, and +extricated his paw; the scent of the fox had enabled him to track +his footsteps, and here he arrived, burning for vengeance and finding +himself already avenged. + +But his first thought was for his dear cousin. “Ah, where is she?” he +cried movingly; “without doubt that villain Reynard has served her some +scurvy trick.” + +“I fear so indeed, my old friend,” answered the griffin; “but don’t +grieve,--after all, she was nothing particular. You shall marry my +daughter the griffiness, and succeed to all the treasure; ay, and all +the bones that you once guarded so faithfully.” + +“Talk not to me,” said the faithful dog. “I want none of your treasure; +and, though I don’t mean to be rude, your griffiness may go to the +devil. I will run over the world, but I will find my dear cousin.” + +“See her then,” said the griffin; and the beautiful cat, more beautiful +than ever, rushed out of the cavern, and threw herself into the dog’s +paws. + +A pleasant scene this for the fox! He had skill enough in the female +heart to know that it may excuse many little infidelities, but to be +boiled alive for a griffin’s soup--no, the offence was inexpiable. + +“You understand me, Mr. Reynard,” said the griffin, “I have no daughter, +and it was me you made love to. Knowing what sort of a creature a magpie +is, I amused myself with hoaxing her,--the fashionable amusement at +court, you know.” + +The fox made a mighty struggle, and leaped on the ground, leaving his +tail behind him. It did not grow again in a hurry. + +“See,” said the griffin, as the beasts all laughed at the figure Reynard +made running into the wood, “the dog beats the fox with the ladies, +after all; and cunning as he is in everything else, the fox is the last +creature that should ever think of making love!” + + + +“Charming!” cried Nymphalin, clasping her hands; “it is just the sort of +story I like.” + +“And I suppose, sir,” said Nip, pertly, “that the dog and the cat lived +very happily ever afterwards? Indeed the nuptial felicity of a dog and +cat is proverbial!” + +“I dare say they lived much the same as any other married couple,” + answered the prince. + + + +CHAPTER XIII. THE TOMB OF A FATHER OF MANY CHILDREN. + +THE feast being now ended, as well as the story, the fairies wound their +way homeward by a different path, till at length a red steady light +glowed through the long basaltic arches upon them, like the Demon +Hunters’ fires in the Forest of Pines. + +The prince sobered in his pace. “You approach,” said he, in a grave +tone, “the greatest of our temples; you will witness the tomb of a +mighty founder of our race!” An awe crept over the queen, in spite of +herself. Tracking the fires in silence, they came to a vast space, in +the midst of which was a long gray block of stone, such as the traveller +finds amidst the dread silence of Egyptian Thebes. + +And on this stone lay the gigantic figure of a man,--dead, but not +death-like, for invisible spells had preserved the flesh and the long +hair for untold ages; and beside him lay a rude instrument of music, and +at his feet was a sword and a hunter’s spear; and above, the rock wound, +hollowed and roofless, to the upper air, and daylight came through, +sickened and pale, beneath red fires that burned everlastingly around +him, on such simple altars as belong to a savage race. But the place was +not solitary, for many motionless but not lifeless shapes sat on large +blocks of stone beside the tomb. There was the wizard, wrapped in his +long black mantle, and his face covered with his hands; there was +the uncouth and deformed dwarf, gibbering to himself; there sat the +household elf; there glowered from a gloomy rent in the wall, with +glittering eyes and shining scale, the enormous dragon of the North. An +aged crone in rags, leaning on a staff, and gazing malignantly on the +visitors, with bleared but fiery eyes, stood opposite the tomb of the +gigantic dead. And now the fairies themselves completed the group! But +all was dumb and unutterably silent,--the silence that floats over +some antique city of the desert, when, for the first time for a hundred +centuries, a living foot enters its desolate remains; the silence that +belongs to the dust of eld,--deep, solemn, palpable, and sinking into +the heart with a leaden and death-like weight. Even the English fairy +spoke not; she held her breath, and gazing on the tomb, she saw, in rude +vast characters,-- + + THE TEUTON. + +“_We_ are all that remain of his religion!” said the prince, as they +turned from the dread temple. + + + +CHAPTER XIV. THE FAIRY’S CAVE, AND THE FAIRY’S WISH. + +IT was evening; and the fairies were dancing beneath the twilight star. + +“And why art thou sad, my violet?” said the prince; “for thine eyes seek +the ground!” + +“Now that I have found thee,” answered the queen, “and now that I feel +what happy love is to a fairy, I sigh over that love which I have lately +witnessed among mortals, but the bud of whose happiness already conceals +the worm. For well didst thou say, my prince, that we are linked with a +mysterious affinity to mankind, and whatever is pure and gentle amongst +them speaks at once to our sympathy, and commands our vigils.” + +“And most of all,” said the German fairy, “are they who love under our +watch; for love is the golden chain that binds all in the universe: love +lights up alike the star and the glow-worm; and wherever there is +love in men’s lot, lies the secret affinity with men, and with things +divine.” + +“But with the human race,” said Nymphalin, “there is no love that +outlasts the hour, for either death ends, or custom alters. When the +blossom comes to fruit, it is plucked and seen no more; and therefore, +when I behold true love sentenced to an early grave, I comfort myself +that I shall not at least behold the beauty dimmed, and the softness of +the heart hardened into stone. Yet, my prince, while still the pulse +can beat, and the warm blood flow, in that beautiful form which I have +watched over of late, let me not desert her; still let my influence keep +the sky fair, and the breezes pure; still let me drive the vapour from +the moon, and the clouds from the faces of the stars; still let me fill +her dreams with tender and brilliant images, and glass in the mirror +of sleep the happiest visions of fairy-land; still let me pour over her +eyes that magic, which suffers them to see no fault in one in whom she +has garnered up her soul! And as death comes slowly on, still let me +rob the spectre of its terror, and the grave of its sting; so that, all +gently and unconscious to herself, life may glide into the Great Ocean +where the shadows lie, and the spirit without guile may be severed from +its mansion without pain!” + +The wish of the fairy was fulfilled. + + + +CHAPTER XV. THE BANKS OF THE RHINE.--FROM THE DRACHENFELS TO BROHL.--AN +INCIDENT THAT SUFFICES IN THIS TALE FOR AN EPOCH. + +FROM the Drachenfels commences the true glory of the Rhine; and once +more Gertrude’s eyes conquered the languor that crept gradually over +them as she gazed on the banks around. + +Fair blew the breeze, and freshly curled the waters; and Gertrude did +not feel the vulture that had fixed its talons within her breast. The +Rhine widens, like a broad lake, between the Drachenfels and Unkel; +villages are scattered over the extended plain on the left; on the right +is the Isle of Werth and the houses of Oberwinter; the hills are covered +with vines; and still Gertrude turned back with a lingering gaze to the +lofty crest of the Seven Hills. + +On, on--and the spires of Unkel rose above a curve in the banks, and +on the opposite shore stretched those wondrous basaltic columns which +extend to the middle of the river, and when the Rhine runs low, you +may see them like an engulfed city beneath the waves. You then view the +ruins of Okkenfels, and hear the voice of the pastoral Gasbach pouring +its waters into the Rhine. From amidst the clefts of the rocks the vine +peeps luxuriantly forth, and gives a richness and colouring to what +Nature, left to herself, intended for the stern. + +“But turn your eye backward to the right,” said Trevylyan; “those banks +were formerly the special haunt of the bold robbers of the Rhine, and +from amidst the entangled brakes that then covered the ragged cliffs +they rushed upon their prey. In the gloomy canvas of those feudal days +what vigorous and mighty images were crowded! A robber’s life amidst +these mountains, and beside this mountain stream, must have been the +very poetry of the spot carried into action.” + +They rested at Brohl, a small town between two mountains. On the summit +of one you see the gray remains of Rheinech. There is something weird +and preternatural about the aspect of this place; its soil betrays signs +that in the former ages (from which even tradition is fast fading away) +some volcano here exhausted its fires. The stratum of the earth is black +and pitchy, and the springs beneath it are of a dark and graveolent +water. Here the stream of the Brohlbach falls into the Rhine, and in +a valley rich with oak and pine, and full of caverns, which are not +without their traditionary inmates, stands the castle of Schweppenbourg, +which our party failed not to visit. + +Gertrude felt fatigued on their return, and Trevylyan sat by her in the +little inn, while Vane went forth, with the curiosity of science, to +examine the strata of the soil. + +They conversed in the frankness of their plighted troth upon those +topics which are only for lovers: upon the bright chapter in the history +of their love; their first meeting; their first impressions; the little +incidents in their present journey,--incidents noticed by themselves +alone; that life _within_ life which two persons know together,--which +one knows not without the other, which ceases to both the instant they +are divided. + +“I know not what the love of others may be,” said Gertrude, “but +ours seems different from all of which I have read. Books tell us of +jealousies and misconstructions, and the necessity of an absence, the +sweetness of a quarrel; but we, dearest Albert, have had no experience +of these passages in love. _We_ have never misunderstood each other; +_we_ have no reconciliation to look back to. When was there ever +occasion for me to ask forgiveness from you? Our love is made up only of +one memory,--unceasing kindness! A harsh word, a wronging thought, never +broke in upon the happiness we have felt and feel.” + +“Dearest Gertrude,” said Trevylyan, “that character of our love is +caught from you; you, the soft, the gentle, have been its pervading +genius; and the well has been smooth and pure, for you were the spirit +that lived within its depths.” + +And to such talk succeeded silence still more sweet,--the silence of +the hushed and overflowing heart. The last voices of the birds, the sun +slowly sinking in the west, the fragrance of descending dews, filled +them with that deep and mysterious sympathy which exists between Love +and Nature. + +It was after such a silence--a long silence, that seemed but as a +moment--that Trevylyan spoke, but Gertrude answered not; and, yearning +once more for her sweet voice, he turned and saw that she had fainted +away. + +This was the first indication of the point to which her increasing +debility had arrived. Trevylyan’s heart stood still, and then beat +violently; a thousand fears crept over him; he clasped her in his +arms, and bore her to the open window. The setting sun fell upon her +countenance, from which the play of the young heart and warm fancy +had fled, and in its deep and still repose the ravages of disease were +darkly visible. What were then his emotions! His heart was like stone; +but he felt a rush as of a torrent to his temples: his eyes grew +dizzy,--he was stunned by the greatness of his despair. For the last +week he had taken hope for his companion; Gertrude had seemed so much +stronger, for her happiness had given her a false support. And though +there had been moments when, watching the bright hectic come and go, +and her step linger, and the breath heave short, he had felt the hope +suddenly cease, yet never had he known till now that fulness of anguish, +that dread certainty of the worst, which the calm, fair face before him +struck into his soul; and mixed with this agony as he gazed was all +the passion of the most ardent love. For there she lay in his arms, +the gentle breath rising from lips where the rose yet lingered, and +the long, rich hair, soft and silken as an infant’s, stealing from +its confinement: everything that belonged to Gertrude’s beauty was so +inexpressibly soft and pure and youthful! Scarcely seventeen, she seemed +much younger than she was; her figure had sunken from its roundness, but +still how light, how lovely were its wrecks! the neck whiter than snow, +the fair small hand! Her weight was scarcely felt in the arms of her +lover; and he--what a contrast!--was in all the pride and flower of +glorious manhood! His was the lofty brow, the wreathing hair, the +haughty eye, the elastic form; and upon this frail, perishable thing +had he fixed all his heart, all the hopes of his youth, the pride of his +manhood, his schemes, his energies, his ambition! + +“Oh, Gertrude!” cried he, “is it--is it thus--is there indeed no hope?” + +And Gertrude now slowly recovering, and opening her eyes upon +Trevylyan’s face, the revulsion was so great, his emotions so +overpowering, that, clasping her to his bosom, as if even death should +not tear her away from him, he wept over her in an agony of tears; not +those tears that relieve the heart, but the fiery rain of the internal +storm, a sign of the fierce tumult that shook the very core of his +existence, not a relief. + +Awakened to herself, Gertrude, in amazement and alarm, threw her arms +around his neck, and, looking wistfully into his face, implored him to +speak to her. + +“Was it my illness, love?” said she; and the music of her voice only +conveyed to him the thought of how soon it would be dumb to him forever. +“Nay,” she continued winningly, “it was but the heat of the day; I am +better now,--I am well; there is no cause to be alarmed for me!” and +with all the innocent fondness of extreme youth, she kissed the burning +tears from his eyes. + +There was a playfulness, an innocence in this poor girl, so unconscious +as yet of her destiny, which rendered her fate doubly touching, +and which to the stern Trevylyan, hackneyed by the world, made her +irresistible charm; and now as she put aside her hair, and looked up +gratefully, yet pleadingly, into his face, he could scarce refrain from +pouring out to her the confession of his anguish and despair. But the +necessity of self-control, the necessity of concealing from _her_ a +knowledge which might only, by impressing her imagination, expedite her +doom, while it would embitter to her mind the unconscious enjoyment of +the hour, nerved and manned him. He checked by those violent efforts +which only men can make, the evidence of his emotions; and endeavoured, +by a rapid torrent of words, to divert her attention from a weakness, +the causes of which he could not explain. Fortunately Vane soon +returned, and Trevylyan, consigning Gertrude to his care, hastily left +the room. + +Gertrude sank into a revery. + +“Ah, dear father!” said she, suddenly, and after a pause, “if I indeed +were worse than I have thought myself of late, if I were to die now, +what would Trevylyan feel? Pray God I may live for his sake!” + +“My child, do not talk thus; you are better, much better than you were. +Ere the autumn ends, Trevylyan’s happiness will be your lawful care. Do +not think so despondently of yourself.” + +“I thought not of myself,” sighed Gertrude, “but of _him_!” + + + +CHAPTER XVI. GERTRUDE.--THE EXCURSION TO HAMMERSTEIN.--THOUGHTS. + +THE next day they visited the environs of Brohl. Gertrude was unusually +silent; for her temper, naturally sunny and enthusiastic, was accustomed +to light up everything she saw. Ah, once how bounding was that step! how +undulating the young graces of that form! how playfully once danced the +ringlets on that laughing cheek! But she clung to Trevylyan’s proud form +with a yet more endearing tenderness than was her wont, and hung yet +more eagerly on his words; her hand sought his, and she often pressed it +to her lips, and sighed as she did so. Something that she would not tell +seemed passing within her, and sobered her playful mood. But there +was this noticeable in Gertrude: whatever took away from her gayety +increased her tenderness. The infirmities of her frame never touched her +temper. She was kind, gentle, loving to the last. + +They had crossed to the opposite banks, to visit the Castle of +Hammerstein. The evening was transparently serene and clear; and the +warmth of the sun yet lingered upon the air, even though the twilight +had passed and the moon risen, as their boat returned by a lengthened +passage to the village. Broad and straight flows the Rhine in this part +of its career. On one side lay the wooded village of Namedy, the hamlet +of Fornech, backed by the blue rock of Kruezborner Ley, the mountains +that shield the mysterious Brohl; and on the opposite shore they saw the +mighty rock of Hammerstein, with the green and livid ruins sleeping +in the melancholy moonlight. Two towers rose haughtily above the more +dismantled wrecks. How changed since the alternate banners of the +Spaniard and the Swede waved from their ramparts, in that great war in +which the gorgeous Wallenstein won his laurels! And in its mighty +calm flowed on the ancestral Rhine, the vessel reflected on its smooth +expanse; and above, girded by thin and shadowy clouds, the moon cast her +shadows upon rocks covered with verdure, and brought into a dim light +the twin spires of Andernach, tranquil in the distance. + +“How beautiful is this hour!” said Gertrude, with a low voice, “surely +we do not live enough in the night; one half the beauty of the world is +slept away. What in the day can equal the holy calm, the loveliness, +and the stillness which the moon now casts over the earth? These,” + she continued, pressing Trevylyan’s hand, “are hours to remember; and +_you_--will you ever forget them?” + +Something there is in recollections of such times and scenes that seem +not to belong to real life, but are rather an episode in its history; +they are like some wandering into a more ideal world; they refuse to +blend with our ruder associations; they live in us, apart and alone, to +be treasured ever, but not lightly to be recalled. There are none living +to whom we can confide them,--who can sympathize with what then we +felt? It is this that makes poetry, and that page which we create as a +confidant to ourselves, necessary to the thoughts that weigh upon the +breast. We write, for our writing is our friend, the inanimate paper is +our confessional; we pour forth on it the thoughts that we could tell +to no private ear, and are relieved, are consoled. And if genius has +one prerogative dearer than the rest, it is that which enables it to do +honour to the dead,--to revive the beauty, the virtue that are no more; +to wreathe chaplets that outlive the day around the urn which were else +forgotten by the world! + +When the poet mourns, in his immortal verse, for the dead, tell me not +that fame is in his mind! It is filled by thoughts, by emotions that +shut out the living. He is breathing to his genius--to that sole and +constant friend which has grown up with him from his cradle--the sorrows +too delicate for human sympathy! and when afterwards he consigns the +confession to the crowd, it is indeed from the hope of honour--, honour +not for himself, but for the being that is no more. + + + +CHAPTER XVII. LETTER FROM TREVYLYAN TO -----. + + + COBLENTZ. + +I AM obliged to you, my dear friend, for your letter; which, indeed, I +have not, in the course of our rapid journey, had the leisure, perhaps +the heart, to answer before. But we are staying in this town for some +days, and I write now in the early morning, ere any one else in our +hotel is awake. Do not tell me of adventure, of politics, of intrigues; +my nature is altered. I threw down your letter, animated and brilliant +as it was, with a sick and revolted heart. But I am now in somewhat less +dejected spirits. Gertrude is better,--yes, really better; there is a +physician here who gives me hope; my care is perpetually to amuse, +and never to fatigue her,--never to permit her thoughts to rest upon +herself. For I have imagined that illness cannot, at least in the +unexhausted vigour of our years, fasten upon us irremediably unless we +feed it with our own belief in its existence. You see men of the +most delicate frames engaged in active and professional pursuits, who +literally have no time for illness. Let them become idle, let them take +care of themselves, let them think of their health--and they die! The +rust rots the steel which use preserves; and, thank Heaven, although +Gertrude, once during our voyage, seemed roused, by an inexcusable +imprudence of emotion on my part, into some suspicion of her state, +yet it passed away; for she thinks rarely of herself,--I am ever in her +thoughts and seldom from her side, and you know, too, the sanguine and +credulous nature of her disease. But, indeed, I now hope more than I +have done since I knew her. + +When, after an excited and adventurous life which had comprised so +many changes in so few years, I found myself at rest in the bosom of a +retired and remote part of the country, and Gertrude and her father were +my only neighbours, I was in that state of mind in which the passions, +recruited by solitude, are accessible to the purer and more divine +emotions. I was struck by Gertrude’s beauty, I was charmed by +her simplicity. Worn in the usages and fashions of the world, the +inexperience, the trustfulness, the exceeding youth of her mind, charmed +and touched me; but when I saw the stamp of our national disease in +her bright eye and transparent cheek, I felt my love chilled while my +interest was increased. I fancied myself safe, and I went daily into the +danger; I imagined so pure a light could not burn, and I was consumed. +Not till my anxiety grew into pain, my interest into terror, did I know +the secret of my own heart; and at the moment that I discovered this +secret, I discovered also that Gertrude loved me! What a destiny was +mine! what happiness, yet what misery! Gertrude was my own--but for what +period? I might touch that soft hand, I might listen to the tenderest +confession from that silver voice; but all the while my heart spoke of +passion, my reason whispered of death. You know that I am considered +of a cold and almost callous nature, that I am not easily moved into +affection; but my very pride bowed me here into weakness. There was so +soft a demand upon my protection, so constant an appeal to my anxiety. +You know that my father’s quick temper burns within me, that I am hot, +and stern, and exacting; but one hasty word, one thought of myself, +here were inexcusable. So brief a time might be left for her earthly +happiness,--could I embitter one moment? All that feeling of uncertainty +which should in prudence have prevented my love, increased it almost to +a preternatural excess. That which it is said mothers feel for an only +child in sickness, I feel for Gertrude. _My_ existence is not!--I exist +in her! + +Her illness increased upon her at home; they have recommended travel. +She chose the course we were to pursue, and, fortunately, it was so +familiar to me, that I have been enabled to brighten the way. I am ever +on the watch that she shall not know a weary hour; you would almost +smile to see how I have roused myself from my habitual silence, and to +find me--me, the scheming and worldly actor of real life--plunged back +into the early romance of my boyhood, and charming the childish delight +of Gertrude with the invention of fables and the traditions of the +Rhine. + +But I believe that I have succeeded in my object; if not, what is left +to me? _Gertrude is better!_--In that sentence what visions of hope dawn +upon me! I wish you could have seen Gertrude before we left England; you +might then have understood my love for her. Not that we have not, in +the gay capitals of Europe, paid our brief vows to forms more richly +beautiful; not that we have not been charmed by a more brilliant genius, +by a more tutored grace. But there is that in Gertrude which I never +saw before,--the union of the childish and the intellectual, an ethereal +simplicity, a temper that is never dimmed, a tenderness--O God! let me +not speak of her virtues, for they only tell me how little she is suited +to the earth. + +You will direct to me at Mayence, whither our course now leads us, and +your friendship will find indulgence for a letter that is so little a +reply to yours. + + Your sincere friend, + + A. G. TREVYLYAN. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. COBLENTZ.--EXCURSION TO THE MOUNTAINS OF TAUNUS; ROMAN +TOWER IN THE VALLEY OF EHRENBREITSTEIN.--TRAVEL, ITS PLEASURES ESTIMATED +DIFFERENTLY BY THE YOUNG AND THE OLD.--THE STUDENT OF HEIDELBERG; HIS +CRITICISMS ON GERMAN LITERATURE. + +GERTRUDE had, indeed, apparently rallied during their stay at Coblentz; +and a French physician established in the town (who adopted a peculiar +treatment for consumption, which had been attended with no ordinary +success) gave her father and Trevylyan a sanguine assurance of her +ultimate recovery. The time they passed within the white walls of +Coblentz was, therefore, the happiest and most cheerful part of their +pilgrimage. They visited the various places in its vicinity; but the +excursion which most delighted Gertrude was one to the mountains of +Taunus. + +They took advantage of a beautiful September day; and, crossing the +river, commenced their tour from the Thal, or valley of Ehrenbreitstein. +They stopped on their way to view the remains of a Roman tower in the +valley; for the whole of that district bears frequent witness of the +ancient conquerors of the world. The mountains of Taunus are still +intersected with the roads which the Romans cut to the mines that +supplied them with silver. Roman urns and inscribed stones are often +found in these ancient places. The stones, inscribed with names utterly +unknown,--a type of the uncertainty of fame! the urns, from which the +dust is gone, a very satire upon life! + +Lone, gray, and mouldering, this tower stands aloft in the valley; and +the quiet Vane smiled to see the uniform of a modern Prussian, with his +white belt and lifted bayonet, by the spot which had once echoed to the +clang of the Roman arms. The soldier was paying a momentary court to +a country damsel, whose straw hat and rustic dress did not stifle the +vanity of the sex; and this rude and humble gallantry, in that spot, was +another moral in the history of human passions. Above, the ramparts of +a modern rule frowned down upon the solitary tower, as if in the vain +insolence with which present power looks upon past decay,--the living +race upon ancestral greatness. And indeed, in this respect, rightly! +for modern times have no parallel to that degradation of human dignity +stamped upon the ancient world by the long sway of the Imperial Harlot, +all slavery herself, yet all tyranny to earth; and, like her own +Messalina, at once a prostitute and an empress! + +They continued their course by the ancient baths of Ems, and keeping by +the banks of the romantic Lahn, arrived at Holzapfel. + +“Ah,” said Gertrude, one day, as they proceeded to the springs of the +Carlovingian Wiesbaden, “surely perpetual travel with those we love must +be the happiest state of existence! If home has its comforts, it also +has its cares; but here we are at home with Nature, and the minor evils +vanish almost before they are felt.” + +“True,” said Trevylyan, “we escape from ‘THE LITTLE,’ which is the curse +of life; the small cares that devour us up, the grievances of the +day. We are feeding the divinest part of our nature,--the appetite to +admire.” + +“But of all things wearisome,” said Vane, “a succession of changes is +the most. There can be a monotony in variety itself. As the eye aches in +gazing long at the new shapes of the kaleidoscope, the mind aches at the +fatigue of a constant alternation of objects; and we delightedly return +to ‘REST,’ which is to life what green is to the earth.” + +In the course of their sojourn among the various baths of Taunus, they +fell in, by accident, with a German student of Heidelberg, who was +pursuing the pedestrian excursions so peculiarly favoured by his tribe. +He was tamer and gentler than the general herd of those young wanderers, +and our party were much pleased with his enthusiasm, because it was +unaffected. He had been in England, and spoke its language almost as a +native. + +“Our literature,” said he, one day, conversing with Vane, “has two +faults,--we are too subtle and too homely. We do not speak enough to the +broad comprehension of mankind; we are forever making abstract qualities +of flesh and blood. Our critics have turned your ‘Hamlet’ into an +allegory; they will not even allow Shakspeare to paint mankind, but +insist on his embodying qualities. They turn poetry into metaphysics, +and truth seems to them shallow, unless an allegory, which is false, can +be seen at the bottom. Again, too, with our most imaginative works +we mix a homeliness that we fancy touching, but which in reality is +ludicrous. We eternally step from the sublime to the ridiculous; we want +taste.” + +“But not, I hope, French taste. Do not govern a Goethe, or even a +Richter, by a Boileau!” said Trevylyan. + +“No; but Boileau’s taste was false. Men who have the reputation for good +taste often acquire it solely because of the want of genius. By taste I +mean a quick tact into the harmony of composition, the art of making the +whole consistent with its parts, the _concinnitas_. Schiller alone of +our authors has it. But we are fast mending; and by following shadows so +long we have been led at last to the substance. Our past literature +is to us what astrology was to science,--false but ennobling, and +conducting us to the true language of the intellectual heaven.” + +Another time the scenes they passed, interspersed with the ruins of +frequent monasteries, leading them to converse on the monastic life, and +the various additions time makes to religion, the German said: “Perhaps +one of the works most wanted in the world is the history of Religion. We +have several books, it is true, on the subject, but none that supply the +want I allude to. A German ought to write it; for it is, probably, only +a German that would have the requisite learning. A German only, too, +is likely to treat the mighty subject with boldness, and yet with +veneration; without the shallow flippancy of the Frenchman, without the +timid sectarianism of the English. It would be a noble task, to +trace the winding mazes of antique falsehood; to clear up the first +glimmerings of divine truth; to separate Jehovah’s word from man’s +invention; to vindicate the All-merciful from the dread creeds of +bloodshed and of fear: and, watching in the great Heaven of Truth the +dawning of the True Star, follow it--like the Magi of the East--till +it rested above the real God. Not indeed presuming to such a task,” + continued the German, with a slight blush, “I have about me a humble +essay, which treats only of one part of that august subject; which, +leaving to a loftier genius the history of the true religion, may +be considered as the history of a false one,--of such a creed as +Christianity supplanted in the North; or such as may perhaps be found +among the fiercest of the savage tribes. It is a fiction--as you may +conceive; but yet, by a constant reference to the early records of human +learning, I have studied to weave it up from truths. If you would like +to hear it,--it is very short--” + +“Above all things,” said Vane; and the German drew a manuscript neatly +bound from his pocket. + +“After having myself criticised so insolently the faults of our national +literature,” said he, smiling, “you will have a right to criticise the +faults that belong to so humble a disciple of it; but you will see that, +though I have commenced with the allegorical or the supernatural, I +have endeavoured to avoid the subtlety of conceit, and the obscurity of +design, which I blame in the wilder of our authors. As to the style, I +wished to suit it to the subject; it ought to be, unless I err, rugged +and massive,--hewn, as it were, out of the rock of primeval language. +But you, madam--doubtless you do not understand German?” + +“Her mother was an Austrian,” said Vane; “and she knows at least enough +of the tongue to understand you; so pray begin.” + +Without further preface, the German then commenced the story, which the +reader will find translated* in the next chapter. + + * Nevertheless I beg to state seriously, that the German student + is an impostor; and that he has no right to wrest the parentage + of the fiction from the true author. + + + +CHAPTER XIX. THE FALLEN STAR; OR THE HISTORY OF A FALSE RELIGION. + +AND the STARS sat, each on his ruby throne, and watched with sleepless +eyes upon the world. It was the night ushering in the new year, a night +on which every star receives from the archangel that then visits the +universal galaxy its peculiar charge. The destinies of men and empires +are then portioned forth for the coming year, and, unconsciously to +ourselves, our fates become minioned to the stars. A hushed and solemn +night is that in which the dark gates of time open to receive the ghost +of the Dead Year, and the young and radiant Stranger rushes forth from +the clouded chasms of Eternity. On that night, it is said that there are +given to the spirits that we see not a privilege and a power; the dead +are troubled in their forgotten graves, and men feast and laugh, while +demon and angel are contending for their doom. + +It was night in heaven; all was unutterably silent; the music of the +spheres had paused, and not a sound came from the angels of the stars; +and they who sat upon those shining thrones were three thousand and ten, +each resembling each. Eternal youth clothed their radiant limbs +with celestial beauty, and on their faces was written the dread of +calm,--that fearful stillness which feels not, sympathizes not with the +doom over which it broods. War, tempest, pestilence, the rise of +empires and their fall, they ordain, they compass, unexultant and +uncompassionate. The fell and thrilling crimes that stalk abroad when +the world sleeps,--the parricide with his stealthy step and horrent brow +and lifted knife; the unwifed mother that glides out and looks behind, +and behind, and shudders, and casts her babe upon the river, and hears +the wail, and pities not--the splash, and does not tremble,--these the +starred kings behold, to these they lead the unconscious step; but +the guilt blanches not their lustre, neither doth remorse wither their +unwrinkled youth. Each star wore a kingly diadem; round the loins of +each was a graven belt, graven with many and mighty signs; and the foot +of each was on a burning ball, and the right arm drooped over the knee +as they bent down from their thrones. They moved not a limb or feature, +save the finger of the right hand, which ever and anon moved slowly +pointing, and regulated the fates of men as the hand of the dial speaks +the career of time. + +One only of the three thousand and ten wore not the same aspect as his +crowned brethren,--a star smaller than the rest, and less luminous; the +countenance of this star was not impressed with the awful calmness of +the others, but there were sullenness and discontent upon his mighty +brow. + +And this star said to himself, “Behold! I am created less glorious +than my fellows, and the archangel apportions not to me the same lordly +destinies. Not for me are the dooms of kings and bards, the rulers of +empires, or, yet nobler, the swayers and harmonists of souls. Sluggish +are the spirits and base the lot of the men I am ordained to lead +through a dull life to a fameless grave. And wherefore? Is it mine own +fault, or is it the fault which is not mine, that I was woven of beams +less glorious than my brethren? Lo! when the archangel comes, I will +bow not my crowned head to his decrees. I will speak, as the ancestral +Lucifer before me: _he_ rebelled because of his glory, _I_ because of +my obscurity; _he_ from the ambition of pride, and _I_ from its +discontent.” + +And while the star was thus communing with himself, the upward heavens +were parted as by a long river of light, and adown that stream swiftly, +and without sound, sped the archangel visitor of the stars. His vast +limbs floated in the liquid lustre, and his outspread wings, each plume +the glory of a sun, bore him noiselessly along; but thick clouds veiled +his lustre from the eyes of mortals, and while above all was bathed in +the serenity of his splendour, tempest and storm broke below over the +children of the earth: “He bowed the heavens and came down, and darkness +was under his feet.” + +And the stillness on the faces of the stars became yet more still, and +the awfulness was humbled into awe. Right above their thrones paused +the course of the archangel; and his wings stretched from east to west, +overshadowing with the shadow of light the immensity of space. Then +forth, in the shining stillness, rolled the dread music of his voice: +and, fulfilling the heraldry of God, to each star he appointed the duty +and the charge; and each star bowed his head yet lower as he heard the +fiat, while his throne rocked and trembled at the Majesty of the +Word. But at last, when each of the brighter stars had, in succession, +received the mandate, and the viceroyalty over the nations of the earth, +the purple and diadems of kings, the archangel addressed the lesser star +as he sat apart from his fellows. + +“Behold,” said the archangel, “the rude tribes of the North, the +fishermen of the river that flows beneath, and the hunters of the +forests that darken the mountain tops with verdure! these be thy charge, +and their destinies thy care. Nor deem thou, O Star of the sullen beams, +that thy duties are less glorious than the duties of thy brethren; for +the peasant is not less to thy master and mine than the monarch; nor +doth the doom of empires rest more upon the sovereign than on the herd. +The passions and the heart are the dominion of the stars,--a mighty +realm; nor less mighty beneath the hide that garbs the shepherd than +under the jewelled robes of the eastern kings.” + +Then the star lifted his pale front from his breast, and answered the +archangel. + +“Lo!” he said, “ages have passed, and each year thou hast appointed me +to the same ignoble charge. Release me, I pray thee, from the duties +that I scorn; or, if thou wilt that the lowlier race of men be my +charge, give unto me the charge not of many, but of one, and suffer +me to breathe into him the desire that spurns the valleys of life, and +ascends its steeps. If the humble are given to me, let there be amongst +them one whom I may lead on the mission that shall abase the proud; for, +behold, O Appointer of the Stars, as I have sat for uncounted years upon +my solitary throne, brooding over the things beneath, my spirit hath +gathered wisdom from the changes that shift below. Looking upon the +tribes of earth, I have seen how the multitude are swayed, and tracked +the steps that lead weakness into power; and fain would I be the ruler +of one who, if abased, shall aspire to rule.” + +As a sudden cloud over the face of noon was the change on the brow of +the archangel. + +“Proud and melancholy star,” said the herald, “thy wish would war with +the courses of the invisible DESTINY, that, throned far above, sways +and harmonizes all,--the source from which the lesser rivers of fate are +eternally gushing through the heart of the universe of things. Thinkest +thou that thy wisdom, of itself, can lead the peasant to become a king?” + +And the crowned star gazed undauntedly on the face of the archangel, and +answered,-- + +“Yea! Grant me but one trial!” + +Ere the archangel could reply, the farthest centre of the Heaven was +rent as by a thunderbolt; and the divine herald covered his face with +his hands, and a voice low and sweet and mild, with the consciousness of +unquestionable power, spoke forth to the repining star. + +“The time has arrived when thou mayest have thy wish. Below thee, upon +yon solitary plain, sits a mortal, gloomy as thyself, who, born under +thy influence, may be moulded to thy will.” + +The voice ceased as the voice of a dream. Silence was over the seas of +space, and the archangel, once more borne aloft, slowly soared away into +the farther heaven, to promulgate the divine bidding to the stars of +far-distant worlds. But the soul of the discontented star exulted within +itself; and it said, “I will call forth a king from the valley of the +herdsman that shall trample on the kings subject to my fellows, and +render the charge of the contemned star more glorious than the minions +of its favoured brethren; thus shall I revenge neglect! thus shall I +prove my claim hereafter to the heritage of the great of earth!” + +....... + +At that time, though the world had rolled on for ages, and the +pilgrimage of man had passed through various states of existence, which +our dim traditionary knowledge has not preserved, yet the condition of +our race in the northern hemisphere was then what we, in our imperfect +lore, have conceived to be among the earliest. + +....... + +By a rude and vast pile of stones, the masonry of arts forgotten, a +lonely man sat at midnight, gazing upon the heavens. A storm had just +passed from the earth; the clouds had rolled away, and the high stars +looked down upon the rapid waters of the Rhine; and no sound save the +roar of the waves, and the dripping of the rain from the mighty trees, +was heard around the ruined pile. The white sheep lay scattered on the +plain, and slumber with them. He sat watching over the herd, lest the +foes of a neighbouring tribe seized them unawares, and thus he communed +with himself: “The king sits upon his throne, and is honoured by a +warrior race, and the warrior exults in the trophies he has won; the +step of the huntsman is bold upon the mountain-top, and his name is +sung at night round the pine-fires by the lips of the bard; and the bard +himself hath honour in the hall. But I, who belong not to the race of +kings, and whose limbs can bound not to the rapture of war, nor scale +the eyries of the eagle and the haunts of the swift stag; whose hand +cannot string the harp, and whose voice is harsh in the song,--_I_ have +neither honour nor command, and men bow not the head as I pass along; +yet do I feel within me the consciousness of a great power that should +rule my species--not obey. My eye pierces the secret hearts of men. I +see their thoughts ere their lips proclaim them; and I scorn, while I +see, the weakness and the vices which I never shared. I laugh at the +madness of the warrior; I mock within my soul at the tyranny of kings. +Surely there is something in man’s nature more fitted to command, more +worthy of renown, than the sinews of the arm, or the swiftness of the +feet, or the accident of birth!” + +As Morven, the son of Osslah, thus mused within himself, still looking +at the heavens, the solitary man beheld a star suddenly shooting from +its place, and speeding through the silent air, till it suddenly paused +right over the midnight river, and facing the inmate of the pile of +stones. + +As he gazed upon the star, strange thoughts grew slowly over him. He +drank, as it were, from its solemn aspect the spirit of a great design. +A dark cloud rapidly passing over the earth snatched the star from his +sight, but left to his awakened mind the thoughts and the dim scheme +that had come to him as he gazed. + +When the sun arose, one of his brethren relieved him of his charge over +the herd, and he went away, but not to his father’s home. Musingly he +plunged into the dark and leafless recesses of the winter forest; and +shaped out of his wild thoughts, more palpably and clearly, the outline +of his daring hope. While thus absorbed he heard a great noise in the +forest, and, fearful lest the hostile tribe of the Alrich might pierce +that way, he ascended one of the loftiest pine-trees, to whose perpetual +verdure the winter had not denied the shelter he sought; and, concealed +by its branches, he looked anxiously forth in the direction whence the +noise had proceeded. And IT came,--it came with a tramp and a crash, and +a crushing tread upon the crunched boughs and matted leaves that strewed +the soil; it came, it came,--the monster that the world now holds +no more,--the mighty Mammoth of the North! Slowly it moved its huge +strength along, and its burning eyes glittered through the gloomy shade; +its jaws, falling apart, showed the grinders with which it snapped +asunder the young oaks of the forest; and the vast tusks, which, curved +downward to the midst of its massive limbs, glistened white and ghastly, +curdling the blood of one destined hereafter to be the dreadest ruler of +the men of that distant age. + +The livid eyes of the monster fastened on the form of the herdsman, even +amidst the thick darkness of the pine. It paused, it glared upon him; +its jaws opened, and a low deep sound, as of gathering thunder, seemed +to the son of Osslah as the knell of a dreadful grave. But after glaring +on him for some moments, it again, and calmly, pursued its terrible +way, crashing the boughs as it marched along, till the last sound of its +heavy tread died away upon his ear.* + + * _The Critic_ will perceive that this sketch of the beast, whose + race has perished, is mainly intended to designate the remote + period of the world in which the tale is cast. + +Ere yet, however, Morven summoned the courage to descend the tree, +he saw the shining of arms through the bare branches of the wood, and +presently a small band of the hostile Alrich came into sight. He was +perfectly hidden from them; and, listening as they passed him, he heard +one say to another,-- + +“The night covers all things; why attack them by day?” + +And he who seemed the chief of the band, answered,-- + +“Right. To-night, when they sleep in their city, we will upon them. Lo! +they will be drenched in wine, and fall like sheep into our hands.” + +“But where, O chief,” said a third of the band, “shall our men hide +during the day? for there are many hunters among the youth of the +Oestrich tribe, and they might see us in the forest unawares, and arm +their race against our coming.” + +“I have prepared for that,” answered the chief. “Is not the dark +cavern of Oderlin at hand? Will it not shelter us from the eyes of the +victims?” + +Then the men laughed, and, shouting, they went their way adown the +forest. + +When they were gone, Morven cautiously descended, and, striking into a +broad path, hastened to a vale that lay between the forest and the river +in which was the city where the chief of his country dwelt. As he passed +by the warlike men, giants in that day, who thronged the streets (if +streets they might be called), their half garments parting from their +huge limbs, the quiver at their backs, and the hunting spear in their +hand, they laughed and shouted out, and, pointing to him, cried, “Morven +the woman! Morven the cripple! what dost thou among men?” + +For the son of Osslah was small in stature and of slender strength, and +his step had halted from his birth; but he passed through the warriors +unheedingly. At the outskirts of the city he came upon a tall pile in +which some old men dwelt by themselves, and counselled the king when +times of danger, or when the failure of the season, the famine or the +drought, perplexed the ruler, and clouded the savage fronts of his +warrior tribe. + +They gave the counsels of experience, and when experience failed, they +drew, in their believing ignorance, assurances and omens from the winds +of heaven, the changes of the moon, and the flights of the wandering +birds. Filled--by the voices of the elements, and the variety of +mysteries, which ever shift along the face of things, unsolved by the +wonder which pauses not, the fear which believes, and that eternal +reasoning of all experience, which assigns causes to effect--with +the notion of superior powers, they assisted their ignorance by the +conjectures of their superstition. But as yet they knew no craft +and practised no _voluntary_ delusion; they trembled too much at the +mysteries which had created their faith to seek to belie them. They +counselled as they believed, and the bold dream of governing their +warriors and their kings by the wisdom of deceit had never dared to +cross men thus worn and gray with age. + +The son of Osslah entered the vast pile with a fearless step, and +approached the place at the upper end of the hall where the old men sat +in conclave. + +“How, base-born and craven-limbed!” cried the eldest, who had been +a noted warrior in his day, “darest thou enter unsummoned amidst the +secret councils of the wise men? Knowest thou not, scatterling! that the +penalty is death?” + +“Slay me, if thou wilt,” answered Morven, “but hear! As I sat last night +in the ruined palace of our ancient kings, tending, as my father bade +me, the sheep that grazed around, lest the fierce tribe of Alrich should +descend unseen from the mountains upon the herd, a storm came darkly on; +and when the storm had ceased, and I looked above on the sky, I saw a +star descend from its height towards me, and a voice from the star said: +‘Son of Osslah, leave thy herd and seek the council of the wise men +and say unto them, that they take thee as one of their number, or that +sudden will be the destruction of them and theirs.’ But I had courage +to answer the voice, and I said, ‘Mock not the poor son of the herdsman. +Behold, they will kill me if I utter so rash a word, for I am poor and +valueless in the eyes of the tribe of Oestrich, and the great in deeds +and the gray of hair alone sit in the council of the wise men.’ + +“Then the voice said: ‘Do my bidding, and I will give thee a token that +thou comest from the Powers that sway the seasons and sail upon the +eagles of the winds. Say unto the wise men this very night if they +refuse to receive thee of their band, evil shall fall upon them, and the +morrow shall dawn in blood.’ + +“Then the voice ceased, and the cloud passed over the star; and I +communed with myself, and came, O dread father, mournfully unto you; for +I feared that ye would smite me because of my bold tongue, and that ye +would sentence me to the death, in that I asked what may scarce be given +even to the sons of kings.” + +Then the grim elders looked one at the other, and marvelled much, nor +knew they what answer they should make to the herdsman’s son. + +At length one of the wise men said, “Surely there must be truth in the +son of Osslah, for he would not dare to falsify the great lights of +Heaven. If he had given unto men the words of the star, verily we +might doubt the truth. But who would brave the vengeance of the gods of +night?” + +Then the elders shook their heads approvingly; but one answered and +said,-- + +“Shall we take the herdsman’s son as our equal? No!” The name of the man +who thus answered was Darvan, and his words were pleasing to the elders. + +But Morven spoke out: “Of a truth, O councillors of kings, I look not to +be an equal with yourselves. Enough if I tend the gates of your palace, +and serve you as the son of Osslah may serve;” and he bowed his head +humbly as he spoke. + +Then said the chief of the elders, for he was wiser than the others, +“But how wilt thou deliver us from the evil that is to come? Doubtless +the star has informed thee of the service thou canst render to us if we +take thee into our palace, as well as the ill that will fall on us if we +refuse.” + +Morven answered meekly, “Surely, if thou acceptest thy servant, the star +will teach him that which may requite thee; but as yet he knows only +what he has uttered.” + +Then the sages bade him withdraw, and they communed with themselves, and +they differed much; but though fierce men, and bold at the war-cry of a +human foe, they shuddered at the prophecy of a star. So they resolved +to take the son of Osslah, and suffer him to keep the gate of the +council-hall. + +He heard their decree and bowed his head, and went to the gate, and sat +down by it in silence. + +And the sun went down in the west, and the first stars of the twilight +began to glimmer, when Morven started from his seat, and a trembling +appeared to seize his limbs. His lips foamed; an agony and a fear +possessed him; he writhed as a man whom the spear of a foeman has +pierced with a mortal wound, and suddenly fell upon his face on the +stony earth. + +The elders approached him; wondering, they lifted him up. He slowly +recovered as from a swoon; his eyes rolled wildly. + +“Heard ye not the voice of the star?” he said. + +And the chief of the elders answered, “Nay, we heard no sound.” + +Then Morven sighed heavily. + +“To me only the word was given. Summon instantly, O councillors of the +king, summon the armed men, and all the youth of the tribe, and let them +take the sword and the spear, and follow thy servant! For lo! the star +hath announced to him that the foe shall fall into our hands as the wild +beasts of the forests.” + +The son of Osslah spoke with the voice of command, and the elders were +amazed. “Why pause ye?” he cried. “Do the gods of the night lie? On my +head rest the peril if I deceive ye.” + +Then the elders communed together; and they went forth and summoned the +men of arms, and all the young of the tribe; and each man took the sword +and the spear, and Morven also. And the son of Osslah walked first, +still looking up at the star, and he motioned them to be silent, and +moved with a stealthy step. + +So they went through the thickest of the forest, till they came to the +mouth of a great cave, overgrown with aged and matted trees, and it was +called the Cave of Oberlin; and he bade the leaders place the armed men +on either side the cave, to the right and to the left, among the bushes. + +So they watched silently till the night deepened, when they heard a +noise in the cave and the sound of feet, and forth came an armed man; +and the spear of Morven pierced him, and he fell dead at the mouth of +the cave. Another and another, and both fell! Then loud and long was +heard the war-cry of Alrich, and forth poured, as a stream over a narrow +bed, the river of armed men. And the sons of Oestrich fell upon them, +and the foe were sorely perplexed and terrified by the suddenness of the +battle and the darkness of the night; and there was a great slaughter. + +And when the morning came, the children of Oestrich counted the slain, +and found the leader of Alrich and the chief men of the tribe amongst +them; and great was the joy thereof. So they went back in triumph to the +city, and they carried the brave son of Osslah on their shoulders, and +shouted forth, “Glory to the servant of the star.” + +And Morven dwelt in the council of the wise men. + +Now the king of the tribe had one daughter, and she was stately amongst +the women of the tribe, and fair to look upon. And Morven gazed upon her +with the eyes of love, but he did not dare to speak. + +Now the son of Osslah laughed secretly at the foolishness of men; he +loved them not, for they had mocked him; he honoured them not, for he +had blinded the wisest of their leaders. He shunned their feasts and +merriment, and lived apart and solitary. The austerity of his life +increased the mysterious homage which his commune with the stars had won +him, and the boldest of the warriors bowed his head to the favourite of +the gods. + +One day he was wandering by the side of the river, and he saw a large +bird of prey rise from the waters, and give chase to a hawk that had not +yet gained the full strength of its wings. From his youth the solitary +Morven had loved to watch, in the great forests and by the banks of the +mighty stream, the habits of the things which nature has submitted to +man; and looking now on the birds, he said to himself, “Thus is it ever; +by cunning or by strength each thing wishes to master its kind.” While +thus moralizing, the larger bird had stricken down the hawk, and it fell +terrified and panting at his feet. Morven took the hawk in his hands, +and the vulture shrieked above him, wheeling nearer and nearer to its +protected prey; but Morven scared away the vulture, and placing the hawk +in his bosom he carried it home, and tended it carefully, and fed it +from his hand until it had regained its strength; and the hawk knew him, +and followed him as a dog. And Morven said, smiling to himself, “Behold, +the credulous fools around me put faith in the flight and motion of +birds. I will teach this poor hawk to minister to my ends.” So he tamed +the bird, and tutored it according to its nature; but he concealed it +carefully from others, and cherished it in secret. + +The king of the country was old, and like to die, and the eyes of the +tribe were turned to his two sons, nor knew they which was the worthier +to reign. And Morven, passing through the forest one evening, saw the +younger of the two, who was a great hunter, sitting mournfully under an +oak, and looking with musing eyes upon the ground. + +“Wherefore musest thou, O swift-footed Siror?” said the son of Osslah; +“and wherefore art thou sad?” + +“Thou canst not assist me,” answered the prince, sternly; “take thy +way.” + +“Nay,” answered Morven, “thou knowest not what thou sayest; am I not the +favourite of the stars?” + +“Away, I am no graybeard whom the approach of death makes doting: talk +not to me of the stars; I know only the things that my eye sees and my +ear drinks in.” + +“Hush,” said Morven, solemnly, and covering his face; “hush! lest the +heavens avenge thy rashness. But, behold, the stars have given unto me +to pierce the secret hearts of others; and I can tell thee the thoughts +of thine.” + +“Speak out, base-born!” + +“Thou art the younger of two, and thy name is less known in war than the +name of thy brother: yet wouldst thou desire to be set over his head, +and to sit on the high seat of thy father?” + +The young man turned pale. “Thou hast truth in thy lips,” said he, with +a faltering voice. + +“Not from me, but from the stars, descends the truth.” + +“Can the stars grant my wish?” + +“They can: let us meet to-morrow.” Thus saying, Morven passed into the +forest. + +The next day, at noon, they met again. + +“I have consulted the gods of night, and they have given me the power +that I prayed for, but on one condition.” + +“Name it.” + +“That thou sacrifice thy sister on their altars; thou must build up a +heap of stones, and take thy sister into the wood, and lay her on the +pile, and plunge thy sword into her heart; so only shalt thou reign.” + +The prince shuddered, and started to his feet, and shook his spear at +the pale front of Morven. + +“Tremble,” said the son of Osslah, with a loud voice. “Hark to the gods +who threaten thee with death, that thou hast dared to lift thine arm +against their servant!” + +As he spoke, the thunder rolled above; for one of the frequent storms of +the early summer was about to break. The spear dropped from the prince’s +hand; he sat down, and cast his eyes on the ground. + +“Wilt thou do the bidding of the stars, and reign?” said Morven. + +“I will!” cried Siror, with a desperate voice. + +“This evening, then, when the sun sets, thou wilt lead her hither, +alone; I may not attend thee. Now, let us pile the stones.” + +Silently the huntsman bent his vast strength to the fragments of rock +that Morven pointed to him, and they built the altar, and went their +way. + +And beautiful is the dying of the great sun, when the last song of the +birds fades into the lap of silence; when the islands of the cloud are +bathed in light, and the first star springs up over the grave of day! + +“Whither leadest thou my steps, my brother?” said Orna; “and why doth +thy lip quiver; and why dost thou turn away thy face?” + +“Is not the forest beautiful; does it not tempt us forth, my sister?” + +“And wherefore are those heaps of stone piled together?” + +“Let others answer; I piled them not.” + +“Thou tremblest, brother: we will return.” + +“Not so; by these stones is a bird that my shaft pierced today,--a bird +of beautiful plumage that I slew for thee.” + +“We are by the pile; where hast thou laid the bird?” + +“Here!” cried Siror; and he seized the maiden in his arms, and, casting +her on the rude altar, he drew forth his sword to smite her to the +heart. + +Right over the stones rose a giant oak, the growth of immemorial ages; +and from the oak, or from the heavens, broke forth a loud and solemn +voice, “Strike not, son of kings! the stars forbear their own: the +maiden thou shalt not slay; yet shalt thou reign over the race of +Oestrich; and thou shalt give Orna as a bride to the favourite of the +stars. Arise, and go thy way!” + +The voice ceased: the terror of Orna had overpowered for a time the +springs of life; and Siror bore her home through the wood in his strong +arms. + +“Alas!” said Morven, when, at the next day, he again met the aspiring +prince; “alas! the stars have ordained me a lot which my heart desires +not: for I, lonely of life, and crippled of shape, am insensible to the +fires of love; and ever, as thou and thy tribe know, I have shunned the +eyes of women, for the maidens laughed at my halting step and my sullen +features; and so in my youth I learned betimes to banish all thoughts +of love. But since they told me (as they declared to _thee_), that only +through that marriage, thou, O beloved prince! canst obtain thy father’s +plumed crown, I yield me to their will.” + +“But,” said the prince, “not until I am king can I give thee my sister +in marriage; for thou knowest that my sire would smite me to the dust +if I asked him to give the flower of our race to the son of the herdsman +Osslah.” + +“Thou speakest the words of truth. Go home and fear not; but, when thou +art king, the sacrifice must be made, and Orna mine. Alas! how can I +dare to lift mine eyes to her! But so ordain the dread kings of the +night!--who shall gainsay their word?” + +“The day that sees me king sees Orna thine,” answered the prince. + +Morven walked forth, as was his wont, alone; and he said to himself, +“The king is old, yet may he live long between me and mine hope!” and he +began to cast in his mind how he might shorten the time. Thus absorbed, +he wandered on so unheedingly that night advanced, and he had lost his +path among the thick woods and knew not how to regain his home. So he +lay down quietly beneath a tree, and rested till day dawned; then hunger +came upon him, and he searched among the bushes for such simple roots +as those with which, for he was ever careless of food, he was used to +appease the cravings of nature. + +He found, among other more familiar herbs and roots, a red berry of +a sweetish taste, which he had never observed before. He ate of it +sparingly, and had not proceeded far in the wood before he found his +eyes swim, and a deadly sickness came over him. For several hours he lay +convulsed on the ground, expecting death; but the gaunt spareness of his +frame, and his unvarying abstinence, prevailed over the poison, and he +recovered slowly, and after great anguish. But he went with feeble steps +back to the spot where the berries grew, and, plucking several, hid them +in his bosom, and by nightfall regained the city. + +The next day he went forth among his father’s herds, and seizing a lamb, +forced some of the berries into his stomach, and the lamb, escaping, ran +away, and fell down dead. Then Morven took some more of the berries and +boiled them down, and mixed the juice with wine, and he gave the wine in +secret to one of his father’s servants, and the servant died. + +Then Morven sought the king, and coming into his presence, alone, he +said unto him, “How fares my lord?” + +The king sat on a couch made of the skins of wolves, and his eye was +glassy and dim; but vast were his aged limbs, and huge was his stature, +and he had been taller by a head than the children of men, and none +living could bend the bow he had bent in youth; gray, gaunt, and +worn, as some mighty bones that are dug at times from the bosom of the +earth,--a relic of the strength of old. + +And the king said faintly, and with a ghastly laugh, “The men of my +years fare ill. What avails my strength? Better had I been born a +cripple like thee, so should I have had nothing to lament in growing +old.” + +The red flush passed over Morven’s brow; but he bent humbly,-- + +“O king, what if I could give thee back thy youth? What if I could +restore to thee the vigour which distinguished thee above the sons of +men, when the warriors of Alrich fell like grass before thy sword?” + +Then the king uplifted his dull eyes, and he said,-- + +“What meanest thou, son of Osslah? Surely I hear much of thy great +wisdom, and how thou speakest nightly with the stars. Can the gods of +the night give unto thee the secret to make the old young?” + +“Tempt them not by doubt,” said Morven, reverently. “All things are +possible to the rulers of the dark hour; and, lo! the star that loves +thy servant spake to him at the dead of night, and said, ‘Arise, and go +unto the king; and tell him that the stars honour the tribe of Oestrich, +and remember how the king bent his bow against the sons of Alrich; +wherefore, look thou under the stone that lies to the right of thy +dwelling, even beside the pine tree, and thou shalt see a vessel of +clay, and in the vessel thou wilt find a sweet liquid, that shall make +the king thy master forget his age forever.’ Therefore, my lord, when +the morning rose I went forth, and looked under the stone, and behold +the vessel of clay; and I have brought it hither to my lord the king.” + +“Quick, slave, quick! that I may drink and regain my youth!” + +“Nay, listen, O king! further said the star to me,-- + +“‘It is only at night, when the stars have power, that this their gift +will avail; wherefore the king must wait till the hush of the midnight, +when the moon is high, and then may he mingle the liquid with his wine. +And he must reveal to none that he hath received the gift from the hand +of the servant of the stars. For THEY do their work in secret, and when +men sleep; therefore they love not the babble of mouths, and he who +reveals their benefits shall surely die.” + +“Fear not,” said the king, grasping the vessel; “none shall know: and, +behold, I will rise on the morrow; and my two sons, wrangling for my +crown--verily I shall be younger than they!” + +Then the king laughed loud; and he scarcely thanked the servant of the +stars, neither did he promise him reward; for the kings in those days +had little thought save for themselves. + +And Morven said to him, “Shall I not attend my lord?--for without me, +perchance, the drug might fail of its effect.” + +“Ay,” said the king, “rest here.” + +“Nay,” replied Morven; “thy servants will marvel and talk much, if they +see the son of Osslah sojourning in thy palace. So would the displeasure +of the gods of night perchance be incurred. Suffer that the lesser door +of the palace be unbarred, so that at the night hour, when the moon is +midway in the heavens, I may steal unseen into thy chamber, and mix the +liquid with thy wine.” + +“So be it,” said the king. “Thou art wise, though thy limbs are crooked +and curt; and the stars might have chosen a taller man.” Then the king +laughed again; and Morven laughed too, but there was danger in the mirth +of the son of Osslah. + +The night had begun to wane, and the inhabitants of Oestrich were buried +in deep sleep, when, hark! a sharp voice was heard crying out in the +streets, “Woe, woe! Awake, ye sons of Oestrich! woe!” Then forth, wild, +haggard, alarmed, spear in hand, rushed the giant sons of the rugged +tribe, and they saw a man on a height in the middle of the city, +shrieking “Woe!” and it was Morven, the son of Osslah! And he said unto +them, as they gathered round him, “Men and warriors, tremble as ye hear. +The star of the west hath spoken to me, and thus said the star: ‘Evil +shall fall upon the kingly house of Oestrich,--yea, ere the morning +dawn; wherefore, go thou mourning into the streets, and wake the +inhabitants to woe!’ So I rose and did the bidding of the star.” And +while Morven was yet speaking, a servant of the king’s house ran up +to the crowd, crying loudly, “The king is dead!” So they went into the +palace and found the king stark upon his couch, and his huge limbs all +cramped and crippled by the pangs of death, and his hands clenched as if +in menace of a foe,--the Foe of all living flesh! Then fear came on the +gazers, and they looked on Morven with a deeper awe than the boldest +warrior would have called forth; and they bore him back to the +council-hall of the wise men, wailing and clashing their arms in woe, +and shouting, ever and anon, “Honour to Morven the prophet!” And that +was the first time the word PROPHET was ever used in those countries. + +At noon, on the third day from the king’s death, Siror sought Morven, +and he said, “Lo, my father is no more, and the people meet this evening +at sunset to elect his successor, and the warriors and the young men +will surely choose my brother, for he is more known in war. Fail me not +therefore.” + +“Peace, boy!” said Morven, sternly; “nor dare to question the truth of +the gods of night.” + +For Morven now began to presume on his power among the people, and to +speak as rulers speak, even to the sons of kings; and the voice silenced +the fiery Siror, nor dared he to reply. + +“Behold,” said Morven, taking up a chaplet of coloured plumes, “wear +this on thy head, and put on a brave face, for the people like a hopeful +spirit, and go down with thy brother to the place where the new king is +to be chosen, and leave the rest to the stars. But, above all things, +forget not that chaplet; it has been blessed by the gods of night.” + +The prince took the chaplet and returned home. + +It was evening, and the warriors and chiefs of the tribe were assembled +in the place where the new king was to be elected. And the voices of +the many favoured Prince Voltoch, the brother of Siror, for he had slain +twelve foemen with his spear; and verily, in those days, that was a +great virtue in a king. + +Suddenly there was a shout in the streets, and the people cried out, +“Way for Morven the prophet, the prophet!” For the people held the son +of Osslah in even greater respect than did the chiefs. Now, since he had +become of note, Morven had assumed a majesty of air which the son of the +herdsman knew not in his earlier days; and albeit his stature was short, +and his limbs halted, yet his countenance was grave and high. He only +of the tribe wore a garment that swept the ground, and his head was bare +and his long black hair descended to his girdle, and rarely was change +or human passion seen in his calm aspect. He feasted not, nor drank +wine, nor was his presence frequent in the streets. He laughed not, +neither did he smile, save when alone in the forest,--and then he +laughed at the follies of his tribe. + +So he walked slowly through the crowd, neither turning to the left nor +to the right, as the crowd gave way; and he supported his steps with a +staff of the knotted pine. + +And when he came to the place where the chiefs were met, and the two +princes stood in the centre, he bade the people around him proclaim +silence; then mounting on a huge fragment of rock, he thus spake to the +multitude:-- + +“Princes, Warriors, and Bards! ye, O council of the wise men! and ye, O +hunters of the forests and snarers of the fishes of the streams! hearken +to Morven, the son of Osslah. Ye know that I am lowly of race and weak +of limb; but did I not give into your hands the tribe of Alrich, and did +ye not slay them in the dead of night with a great slaughter? Surely, ye +must know this of himself did not the herdsman’s son; surely he was but +the agent of the bright gods that love the children of Oestrich! Three +nights since when slumber was on the earth, was not my voice heard in +the streets? Did I not proclaim woe to the kingly house of Oestrich? and +verily the dark arm had fallen on the bosom of the mighty, that is no +more. Could I have dreamed this thing merely in a dream, or was I not +as the voice of the bright gods that watch over the tribes of Oestrich? +Wherefore, O men and chiefs! scorn not the son of Osslah, but listen to +his words; for are they not the wisdom of the stars? Behold, last night, +I sat alone in the valley, and the trees were hushed around, and not +a breath stirred; and I looked upon the star that counsels the son of +Osslah; and I said, ‘Dread conqueror of the cloud! thou that bathest thy +beauty in the streams and piercest the pine-boughs with thy presence; +behold thy servant grieved because the mighty one hath passed away, and +many foes surround the houses of my brethren; and it is well that they +should have a king valiant and prosperous in war, the cherished of the +stars. Wherefore, O star! as thou gavest into our hands the warriors of +Alrich, and didst warn us of the fall of the oak of our tribe, wherefore +I pray thee give unto the people a token that they may choose that king +whom the gods of the night prefer!’ Then a low voice, sweeter than the +music of the bard, stole along the silence. ‘Thy love for thy race is +grateful to the stars of night: go, then, son of Osslah, and seek the +meeting of the chiefs and the people to choose a king, and tell them not +to scorn thee because thou art slow to the chase, and little known in +war; for the stars give thee wisdom as a recompense for all. Say unto +the people that as the wise men of the council shape their lessons by +the flight of birds, so by the flight of birds shall a token be given +unto them, and they shall choose their kings. For, saith the star of +night, the birds are the children of the winds, they pass to and fro +along the ocean of the air, and visit the clouds that are the war-ships +of the gods; and their music is but broken melodies which they glean +from the harps above. Are they not the messengers of the storm? Ere the +stream chafes against the bank, and the rain descends, know ye not, by +the wail of birds and their low circle over the earth, that the tempest +is at hand? Wherefore, wisely do ye deem that the children of the air +are the fit interpreters between the sons of men and the lords of the +world above. Say then to the people and the chiefs that they shall take, +from among the doves that build their nests in the roof of the palace, a +white dove, and they shall let it loose in the air, and verily the gods +of the night shall deem the dove as a prayer coming from the people, and +they shall send a messenger to grant the prayer and give to the tribes +of Oestrich a king worthy of themselves.’ + +“With that the star spoke no more.” + + + +Then the friends of Voltoch murmured among themselves, and they said, +“Shall this man dictate to us who shall be king?” But the people and +the warriors shouted, “Listen to the star; do we not give or deny battle +according as the bird flies,--shall we not by the same token choose him +by whom the battle should be led?” And the thing seemed natural to them, +for it was after the custom of the tribe. Then they took one of the +doves that built in the roof of the palace, and they brought it to the +spot where Morven stood, and he, looking up to the stars and muttering +to himself, released the bird. + +There was a copse of trees at a little distance from the spot, and as +the dove ascended, a hawk suddenly rose from the copse and pursued the +dove; and the dove was terrified, and soared circling high above the +crowd, when lo, the hawk, poising itself one moment on its wings, +swooped with a sudden swoop, and, abandoning its prey, alighted on the +plumed head of Siror. + +“Behold,” cried Morven in a loud voice, “behold your king!” + +“Hail, all hail the king!” shouted the people. “All hail the chosen of +the stars!” + +Then Morven lifted his right hand and the hawk left the prince and +alighted on Morven’s shoulder. “Bird of the gods!” said he, reverently, +“hast thou not a secret message for my ear?” Then the hawk put its beak +to Morven’s ear, and Morven bowed his head submissively; and the hawk +rested with Morven from that moment and would not be scared away. And +Morven said, “The stars have sent me this bird, that in the day-time +when I see them not, we may never be without a councillor in distress.” + +So Siror was made king and Morven the son of Osslah was constrained by +the king’s will to take Orna for his wife; and the people and the chiefs +honoured Morven the prophet above all the elders of the tribe. + +One day Morven said unto himself, musing, “Am I not already equal with +the king,--nay, is not the king my servant? Did I not place him over the +heads of his brothers? Am I not, therefore, more fit to reign than he +is; shall I not push him from his seat? It is a troublesome and stormy +office to reign over the wild men of Oestrich, to feast in the crowded +hall, and to lead the warriors to the fray. Surely if I feasted not, +neither went out to war, they might say, ‘This is no king, but the +cripple Morven;’ and some of the race of Siror might slay me secretly. +But can I not be greater far than kings, and continue to choose and +govern them, living as now at mine own ease? Verily the stars shall give +me a new palace, and many subjects.” + +Among the wise men was Darvan; and Morven feared him, for his eye often +sought the movements of the son of Osslah. + +And Morven said, “It were better to _trust_ this man than to _blind_, +for surely I want a helpmate and a friend.” So he said to the wise man +as he sat alone watching the setting sun,-- + +“It seemeth to me, O Darvan! that we ought to build a great pile in +honour of the stars, and the pile should be more glorious than all the +palaces of the chiefs and the palace of the king; for are not the stars +our masters? And thou and I should be the chief dwellers in this new +palace, and we would serve the gods of night and fatten their altars +with the choicest of the herd and the freshest of the fruits of the +earth.” + +And Darvan said, “Thou speakest as becomes the servant of the stars. But +will the people help to build the pile? For they are a warlike race and +they love not toil.” + +And Morven answered, “Doubtless the stars will ordain the work to be +done. Fear not.” + +“In truth thou art a wondrous man; thy words ever come to pass,” + answered Darvan; “and I wish thou wouldest teach me, friend, the +language of the stars.” + +“Assuredly if thou servest me, thou shalt know,” answered the proud +Morven; and Darvan was secretly wroth that the son of the herdsman +should command the service of an elder and a chief. + +And when Morven returned to his wife he found her weeping much. Now she +loved the son of Osslah with an exceeding love, for he was not savage +and fierce as the men she had known, and she was proud of his fame among +the tribe; and he took her in his arms and kissed her, and asked her why +she wept. Then she told him that her brother the king had visited her, +and had spoken bitter words of Morven: “He taketh from me the affection +of my people,” said Siror, “and blindeth them with lies. And since he +hath made me king, what if he take my kingdom from me? Verily a new tale +of the stars might undo the old.” And the king had ordered her to keep +watch on Morven’s secrecy, and to see whether truth was in him when he +boasted of his commune with the Powers of night. + +But Orna loved Morven better than Siror, therefore she told her husband +all. + +And Morven resented the king’s ingratitude, and was troubled much, for +a king is a powerful foe; but he comforted Orna, and bade her dissemble, +and complain also of him to her brother, so that he might confide to her +unsuspectingly whatsoever he might design against Morven. + +There was a cave by Morven’s house in which he kept the sacred hawk, +and wherein he secretly trained and nurtured other birds against future +need; and the door of the cave was always barred. And one day he was +thus engaged when he beheld a chink in the wall that he had never noted +before, and the sun came playfully in; and while he looked he perceived +the sunbeam was darkened, and presently he saw a human face peering in +through the chink. And Morven trembled, for he knew he had been watched. +He ran hastily from the cave; but the spy had disappeared among the +trees, and Morven went straight to the chamber of Darvan and sat himself +down. And Darvan did not return home till late, and he started and +turned pale when he saw Morven. But Morven greeted him as a brother, and +bade him to a feast, which, for the first time, he purposed giving at +the full of the moon, in honour of the stars. And going out of Darvan’s +chamber he returned to his wife, and bade her rend her hair, and go +at the dawn of day to the king her brother, and complain bitterly of +Morven’s treatment, and pluck the black plans from the breast of the +king. “For surely,” said he, “Darvan hath lied to thy brother, and some +evil waits me that I would fain know.” + +So the next morning Orna sought the king, and she said, “The herdsman’s +son hath reviled me, and spoken harsh words to me; shall I not be +avenged?” + +Then the king stamped his feet and shook his mighty sword. “Surely thou +shalt be avenged; for I have learned from one of the elders that which +convinceth me that the man hath lied to the people, and the base-born +shall surely die. Yea, the first time that he goeth alone into the +forest my brother and I will fall upon him and smite him to the death.” + And with this comfort Siror dismissed Orna. + +And Orna flung herself at the feet of her husband. “Fly now, O my +beloved!--fly into the forests afar from my brethren, or surely the +sword of Siror will end thy days.” + +Then the son of Osslah folded his arms, and seemed buried in black +thoughts; nor did he heed the voice of Orna, until again and again she +had implored him to fly. + +“Fly!” he said at length. “Nay, I was doubting what punishment the stars +should pour down upon our foe. Let warriors fly. Morven the prophet +conquers by arms mightier than the sword.” + +Nevertheless Morven was perplexed in his mind, and knew not how to +save himself from the vengeance of the king. Now, while he was musing +hopelessly he heard a roar of waters; and behold, the river, for it was +now the end of autumn, had burst its bounds, and was rushing along the +valley to the houses of the city. And now the men of the tribe, and the +women, and the children, came running, and with shrieks, to Morven’s +house, crying, “Behold, the river has burst upon us! Save us, O ruler of +the stars!” + +Then the sudden thought broke upon Morven, and he resolved to risk his +fate upon one desperate scheme. + +And he came out from the house calm and sad, and he said, “Ye know not +what ye ask; I cannot save ye from this peril: ye have brought it on +yourselves.” And they cried, “How? O son of Osslah! We are ignorant of +our crime.” + +And he answered, “Go down to the king’s palace and wait before it, and +surely I will follow ye, and ye shall learn wherefore ye have incurred +this punishment from the gods.” Then the crowd rolled murmuring back, as +a receding sea; and when it was gone from the place, Morven went alone +to the house of Darvan, which was next his own. And Darvan was greatly +terrified; for he was of a great age, and had no children, neither +friends, and he feared that he could not of himself escape the waters. + +And Morven said to him soothingly, “Lo, the people love me, and I will +see that thou art saved; for verily thou hast been friendly to me, and +done me much service with the king.” + +And as he thus spake, Morven opened the door of the house and looked +forth, and saw that they were quite alone. Then he seized the old man by +the throat and ceased not his gripe till he was quite dead; and leaving +the body of the elder on the floor, Morven stole from the house and shut +the gate. And as he was going to his cave he mused a little while, when, +hearing the mighty roar of the waves advancing, and far off the shrieks +of women, he lifted up his head and said proudly, “No, in this hour +terror alone shall be my slave; I will use no art save the power of my +soul.” So, leaning on his pine-staff, he strode down to the palace. And +it was now evening, and many of the men held torches, that they might +see each other’s faces in the universal fear. Red flashed the quivering +flames on the dark robes and pale front of Morven; and he seemed +mightier than the rest, because his face alone was calm amidst the +tumult. And louder and hoarser became the roar of the waters; and swift +rushed the shades of night over the hastening tide. + +And Morven said in a stern voice, “Where is the king; and wherefore is +he absent from his people in the hour of dread?” Then the gate of the +palace opened, and, behold, Siror was sitting in the hall by the vast +pine-fire, and his brother by his side, and his chiefs around him: for +they would not deign to come amongst the crowd at the bidding of the +herdsman’s son. + +Then Morven, standing upon a rock above the heads of the people (the +same rock whereon he had proclaimed the king), thus spake:-- + +“Ye desired to know, O sons of Oestrich! wherefore the river hath burst +its bounds, and the peril hath come upon you. Learn, then, that the +stars resent as the foulest of human crimes an insult to their servants +and delegates below. Ye are all aware of the manner of life of Morven, +whom ye have surnamed the Prophet! He harms not man nor beast; he lives +alone; and, far from the wild joys of the warrior tribe, he worships +in awe and fear the Powers of Night. So is he able to advise ye of the +coming danger,--so is he able to save ye from the foe. Thus are your +huntsmen swift and your warriors bold; and thus do your cattle bring +forth their young, and the earth its fruits. What think ye, and what do +ye ask to hear? Listen, men of Oestrich!--they have laid snares for my +life; and there are amongst you those who have whetted the sword against +the bosom that is only filled with love for you all. Therefore have the +stern lords of heaven loosened the chains of the river; therefore doth +this evil menace ye. Neither will it pass away until they who dug the +pit for the servant of the stars are buried in the same.” + +Then, by the red torches, the faces of the men looked fierce and +threatening; and ten thousand voices shouted forth, “Name them who +conspired against thy life, O holy prophet, and surely they shall be +torn limb from limb.” + +And Morven turned aside, and they saw that he wept bitterly; and he +said,-- + +“Ye have asked me, and I have answered: but now scarce will ye believe +the foe that I have provoked against me; and by the heavens themselves +I swear, that if my death would satisfy their fury, nor bring down upon +yourselves and your children’s children the anger of the throned stars, +gladly would I give my bosom to the knife. Yes,” he cried, lifting up +his voice, and pointing his shadowy arm towards the hall where the king +sat by the pine-fire,--“yes, thou whom by my voice the stars chose +above thy brother; yes, Siror, the guilty one! take thy sword, and come +hither; strike, if thou hast the heart to strike, the Prophet of the +Gods!” + +The king started to his feet, and the crowd were hushed in a shuddering +silence. + +Morven resumed:-- + +“Know then, O men of Oestrich, that Siror and Voltoch his brother, and +Darvan the elder of the wise men, have purposed to slay your prophet, +even at such hour as when alone he seeks the shade of the forest to +devise new benefits for you. Let the king deny it, if he can!” + +Then Voltoch, of the giant limbs, strode forth from the hall, and his +spear quivered in his hand. + +“Rightly hast thou spoken, base son of my father’s herdsman! and for +thy sins shalt thou surely die; for thou liest when thou speakest of thy +power with the stars, and thou laughest at the folly of them who hear +thee: wherefore put him to death.” + +Then the chiefs in the hall clashed their arms, and rushed forth to slay +the son of Osslah. + +But he, stretching his unarmed hands on high, exclaimed, “Hear him, O +dread ones of the night! Hark how he blasphemeth!” + +Then the crowd took up the word, and cried, “He blasphemeth! he +blasphemeth against the prophet!” + +But the king and the chiefs, who hated Morven because of his power with +the people, rushed into the crowd; and the crowd were irresolute, nor +knew they how to act, for never yet had they rebelled against their +chiefs, and they feared alike the prophet and the king. + +And Siror cried, “Summon Darvan to us, for he hath watched the steps of +Morven, and he shall lift the veil from my people’s eyes.” Then three of +the swift of foot started forth to the house of Darvan. + +And Morven cried out with a loud voice, “Hark! thus saith the star, who, +now riding through yonder cloud, breaks forth upon my eyes, ‘For the lie +that the elder hath uttered against my servant, the curse of the stars +shall fall upon him.’ Seek, and as ye find him so may ye find ever the +foes of Morven and the gods!” + +A chill and an icy fear fell over the crowd, and even the cheek of Siror +grew pale; and Morven, erect and dark above the waving torches, stood +motionless with folded arms. And hark!--far and fast came on the +war-steeds of the wave; the people heard them marching to the land, and +tossing their white manes in the roaring wind. + +“Lo, as ye listen,” said Morven, calmly, “the river sweeps on. Haste, +for the gods will have a victim, be it your prophet or your king.” + +“Slave!” shouted Siror, and his spear left his hand, and far above the +heads of the crowd sped hissing beside the dark form of Morven, and rent +the trunk of the oak behind. Then the people, wroth at the danger of +their beloved seer, uttered a wild yell, and gathered round him with +brandished swords, facing their chieftains and their king. But at +that instant, ere the war had broken forth among the tribe, the three +warriors returned, and they bore Darvan on their shoulders, and laid him +at the feet of the king, and they said tremblingly, “Thus found we the +elder in the centre of his own hall.” And the people saw that Darvan +was a corpse, and that the prediction of Morven was thus verified. “So +perish the enemies of Morven and the stars!” cried the son of Osslah. +And the people echoed the cry. Then the fury of Siror was at its height, +and waving his sword above his head he plunged into the crowd, “Thy +blood, baseborn, or mine!” + +“So be it!” answered Morven, quailing not. “People, smite the +blasphemer! Hark how the river pours down upon your children and your +hearths! On, on, or ye perish!” + +And Siror fell, pierced by five hundred spears. + +“Smite! smite!” cried Morven, as the chiefs of the royal house gathered +round the king. And the clash of swords, and the gleam of spears, and +the cries of the dying, and the yell of the trampling people mingled +with the roar of the elements, and the voices of the rushing wave. + +Three hundred of the chiefs perished that night by the swords of their +own tribe; and the last cry of the victors was, “Morven the prophet! +_Morven the king!_” + +And the son of Osslah, seeing the waves now spreading over the valley, +led Orna his wife, and the men of Oestrich, their women, and their +children, to a high mount, where they waited the dawning sun. But Orna +sat apart and wept bitterly, for her brothers were no more, and her race +had perished from the earth. And Morven sought to comfort her in vain. + +When the morning rose, they saw that the river had overspread the +greater part of the city, and now stayed its course among the hollows of +the vale. Then Morven said to the people, “The star-kings are avenged, +and their wrath appeased. Tarry only here until the waters have melted +into the crevices of the soil.” And on the fourth day they returned to +the city, and no man dared to name another, save Morven, as the king. + +But Morven retired into his cave and mused deeply; and then assembling +the people, he gave them new laws; and he made them build a mighty +temple in honour of the stars, and made them heap within it all that the +tribe held most precious. And he took unto him fifty children from the +most famous of the tribe; and he took also ten from among the men who +had served him best, and he ordained that they should serve the stars in +the great temple: and Morven was their chief. And he put away the crown +they pressed upon him, and he chose from among the elders a new king. +And he ordained that henceforth the servants only of the stars in the +great temple should elect the king and the rulers, and hold council, +and proclaim war; but he suffered the king to feast, and to hunt, and to +make merry in the banquet-halls. And Morven built altars in the temple, +and was the first who, in the North, sacrificed the beast and the bird, +and afterwards human flesh, upon the altars. And he drew auguries from +the entrails of the victim, and made schools for the science of the +prophet; and Morven’s piety was the wonder of the tribe, in that he +refused to be a king. And Morven the high priest was ten thousand times +mightier than the king. He taught the people to till the ground and +to sow the herb; and by his wisdom, and the valour that his prophecies +instilled into men, he conquered all the neighbouring tribes. And the +sons of Oestrich spread themselves over a mighty empire, and with them +spread the name and the laws of Morven. And in every province which he +conquered, he ordered them to build a temple to the stars. + +But a heavy sorrow fell upon the fears of Morven. The sister of Siror +bowed down her head, and survived not long the slaughter of her race. +And she left Morven childless. And he mourned bitterly and as one +distraught, for her only in the world had his heart the power to love. +And he sat down and covered his face, saying:-- + +“Lo! I have toiled and travailed; and never before in the world did man +conquer what I have conquered. Verily the empire of the iron thews and +the giant limbs is no more! I have founded a new power, that henceforth +shall sway the lands,--the empire of a plotting brain and a commanding +mind. But, behold! my fate is barren, and I feel already that it will +grow neither fruit nor tree as a shelter to mine old age. Desolate and +lonely shall I pass unto my grave. O Orna! my beautiful! my loved! none +were like unto thee, and to thy love do I owe my glory and my life! +Would for thy sake, O sweet bird! that nestled in the dark cavern of my +heart,--would for thy sake that thy brethren had been spared, for verily +with my life would I have purchased thine. Alas! only when I lost thee +did I find that thy love was dearer to me than the fear of others!” And +Morven mourned night and day, and none might comfort him. + +But from that time forth he gave himself solely up to the cares of his +calling; and his nature and his affections, and whatever there was yet +left soft in him, grew hard like stone; and he was a man without love, +and he forbade love and marriage to the priest. + +Now, in his latter years, there arose _other_ prophets; for the +world had grown wiser even by Morven’s wisdom, and some did say unto +themselves, “Behold Morven, the herdsman’s son, is a king of kings: this +did the stars for their servant; shall we not also be servants to the +star?” + +And they wore black garments like Morven, and went about prophesying of +what the stars foretold them. And Morven was exceeding wroth; for he, +more than other men, knew that the prophets lied. Wherefore he went +forth against them with the ministers of the temple, and he took them, +and burned them by a slow fire; for thus said Morven to the people: “A +true prophet hath honour, but _I_ only am a true prophet; to all false +prophets there shall be surely death.” + +And the people applauded the piety of the son of Osslah. + +And Morven educated the wisest of the children in the mysteries of the +temple, so that they grew up to succeed him worthily. + +And he died full of years and honour; and they carved his effigy on a +mighty stone before the temple, and the effigy endured for a thousand +ages, and whoso looked on it trembled; for the face was calm with the +calmness of unspeakable awe! + +And Morven was the first mortal of the North that made Religion the +stepping-stone to Power. Of a surety Morven was a great man! + + + +It was the last night of the old year, and the stars sat, each upon his +ruby throne, and watched with sleepless eyes upon the world. The +night was dark and troubled, the dread winds were abroad, and fast and +frequent hurried the clouds beneath the thrones of the kings of night. +And ever and anon fiery meteors flashed along the depths of heaven, +and were again swallowed up in the grave of darkness. But far below his +brethren, and with a lurid haze around his orb, sat the discontented +star that had watched over the hunters of the North. + +And on the lowest abyss of space there was spread a thick and mighty +gloom, from which, as from a caldron, rose columns of wreathing smoke; +and still, when the great winds rested for an instant on their paths, +voices of woe and laughter, mingled with shrieks, were heard booming +from the abyss to the upper air. + +And now, in the middest night, a vast figure rose slowly from the abyss, +and its wings threw blackness over the world. High upward to the throne +of the discontented star sailed the fearful shape, and the star trembled +on his throne when the form stood before him face to face. + +And the shape said, “Hail, brother! all hail!” + +“I know thee not,” answered the star; “thou art not the archangel that +visitest the kings of night.” + +And the shape laughed loud. “I am the fallen star of the morning! I am +Lucifer, thy brother! Hast thou not, O sullen king, served me and mine; +and hast thou not wrested the earth from thy Lord who sittest above, and +given it to me, by darkening the souls of men with the religion of fear? +Wherefore come, brother, come; thou hast a throne prepared beside my own +in the fiery gloom. Come! The heavens are no more for thee!” + +Then the star rose from his throne, and descended to the side of +Lucifer; for ever hath the spirit of discontent had sympathy with the +soul of pride. And they sank slowly down to the gulf of gloom. + +It was the first night of the new year, and the stars sat each on his +ruby throne, and watched with sleepless eyes upon the world. But sorrow +dimmed the bright faces of the kings of night, for they mourned in +silence and in fear for a fallen brother. + +And the gates of the heaven of heavens flew open with a golden sound, +and the swift archangel fled down on his silent wings; and the archangel +gave to each of the stars, as before, the message of his Lord, and to +each star was his appointed charge. And when the heraldry seemed done +there came a laugh from the abyss of gloom, and half-way from the gulf +rose the lurid shape of Lucifer the fiend! + +“Thou countest thy flock ill, O radiant shepherd! Behold! one star is +missing from the three thousand and ten!” + +“Back to thy gulf, false Lucifer!--the throne of thy brother hath been +filled.” + +And, lo! as the archangel spake, the stars beheld a young and +all-lustrous stranger on the throne of the erring star; and his face +was so soft to look upon that the dimmest of human eyes might have gazed +upon its splendour unabashed: but the dark fiend alone was dazzled +by its lustre, and, with a yell that shook the flaming pillars of the +universe, he plunged backward into the gloom. + +Then, far and sweet from the arch unseen, came forth the voice of God,-- + +“Behold! on the throne of the discontented star sits the star of Hope; +and he that breathed into mankind the religion of Fear hath a successor +in him who shall teach earth the religion of Love!” + +And evermore the star of Fear dwells with Lucifer, and the star of Love +keeps vigil in heaven! + + + +CHAPTER XX. GLENHAUSEN.--THE POWER OF LOVE IN SANCTIFIED PLACES.--A +PORTRAIT OF FREDERICK BARBAROSSA.--THE AMBITION OF MEN FINDS NO ADEQUATE +SYMPATHY IN WOMEN. + +“YOU made me tremble for you more than once,” said Gertrude to the +student; “I feared you were about to touch upon ground really sacred, +but your end redeemed all.” + +“The false religion always tries to counterfeit the garb, the language, +the aspect of the true,” answered the German; “for that reason, I +purposely suffered my tale to occasion that very fear and anxiety you +speak of, conscious that the most scrupulous would be contented when the +whole was finished.” + +This German was one of a new school, of which England as yet knows +nothing. We shall see hereafter what it will produce. + +The student left them at Friedberg, and our travellers proceeded to +Glenhausen,--a spot interesting to lovers; for here Frederick the First +was won by the beauty of Gela, and, in the midst of an island vale, he +built the Imperial Palace, in honour of the lady of his love. This spot +is, indeed, well chosen of itself; the mountains of the Rhinegeburg +close it in with the green gloom of woods and the glancing waters of the +Kinz. + +“Still, wherever we go,” said Trevylyan, “we find all tradition is +connected with love; and history, for that reason, hallows less than +romance.” + +“It is singular,” said Vane, moralizing, “that love makes but a small +part of our actual lives, but is yet the master-key to our sympathies. +The hardest of us, who laugh at the passion when they see it palpably +before them, are arrested by some dim tradition of its existence in the +past. It is as if life had few opportunities of bringing out certain +qualities within us, so that they always remain untold and dormant, +susceptible to thought, but deaf to action.” + +“You refine and mystify too much,” said Trevylyan, smiling; “none of +us have any faculty, any passion, uncalled forth, if we have _really_ +loved, though but for a day.” + +Gertrude smiled, and drawing her arm within his, Trevylyan left Vane to +philosophize on passion,--a fit occupation for one who had never felt +it. + +“Here let us pause,” said Trevylyan, afterwards, as they visited the +remains of the ancient palace, and the sun glittered on the scene, “to +recall the old chivalric day of the gallant Barbarossa; let us suppose +him commencing the last great action of his life; let us picture him as +setting out for the Holy Land. Imagine him issuing from those walls on +his white charger,--his fiery eye somewhat dimmed by years, and his +hair blanched; but nobler from the impress of time itself,--the clang of +arms; the tramp of steeds; banners on high; music pealing from hill to +hill; the red cross and the nodding plume; the sun, as now glancing +on yonder trees; and thence reflected from the burnished arms of the +Crusaders. But, Gela--” + +“Ah,” said Gertrude, “_she_ must be no more; for she would have outlived +her beauty, and have found that glory had now no rival in his breast. +Glory consoles men for the death of the loved; but glory is infidelity +to the living.” + +“Nay, not so, dearest Gertrude,” said Trevylyan, quickly; “for my +darling dream of Fame is the hope of laying its honours at your feet! +And if ever, in future years, I should rise above the herd, I should +only ask if _your_ step were proud and _your_ heart elated.” + +“I was wrong,” said Gertrude, with tears in her eyes; “and for your sake +I can be ambitious.” + +Perhaps there, too, she was mistaken; for one of the common +disappointments of the heart is, that women have so rarely a sympathy in +our better and higher aspirings. Their ambition is not for great things; +they cannot understand that desire “which scorns delight, and loves +laborious days.” If they love us, they usually exact too much. They +are jealous of the ambition to which we sacrifice so largely, and which +divides us from them; and they leave the stern passion of great minds +to the only solitude which affection cannot share. To aspire is to be +alone! + + + +CHAPTER XXI. VIEW OF EHRENBREITSTEIN.--A NEW ALARM IN GERTRUDE’S +HEALTH.--TRARBACH. + +ANOTHER time our travellers proceeded from Coblentz to Treves, following +the course of the Moselle. They stopped on the opposite bank below the +bridge that unites Coblentz with the Petersberg, to linger over the +superb view of Ehrenbreitstein which you may there behold. + +It was one of those calm noonday scenes which impress upon us their own +bright and voluptuous tranquillity. There stood the old herdsman leaning +on his staff, and the quiet cattle knee-deep in the gliding waters. +Never did stream more smooth and sheen than was at that hour the surface +of the Moselle mirror the images of the pastoral life. Beyond, the +darker shadows of the bridge and of the walls of Coblentz fell deep over +the waves, checkered by the tall sails of the craft that were moored +around the harbour. But clear against the sun rose the spires and roofs +of Coblentz, backed by many a hill sloping away to the horizon. High, +dark, and massive, on the opposite bank, swelled the towers and rock of +Ehrenbreitstein,--a type of that great chivalric spirit--the HONOUR that +the rock arrogates for its name--which demands so many sacrifices of +blood and tears, but which ever creates in the restless heart of man a +far deeper interest than the more peaceful scenes of life by which it is +contrasted. There, still--from the calm waters, and the abodes of common +toil and ordinary pleasure--turns the aspiring mind! Still as we gaze on +that lofty and immemorial rock we recall the famine and the siege; +and own that the more daring crimes of men have a strange privilege in +hallowing the very spot which they devastate. + +Below, in green curves and mimic bays covered with herbage, the gradual +banks mingled with the water; and just where the bridge closed, a +solitary group of trees, standing dark in the thickest shadow, gave that +melancholy feature to the scene which resembles the one dark thought +that often forces itself into our sunniest hours. Their boughs stirred +not; no voice of birds broke the stillness of their gloomy verdure: the +eye turned from them, as from the sad moral that belongs to existence. + +In proceeding to Trarbach, Gertrude was seized with another of those +fainting fits which had so terrified Trevylyan before; they stopped an +hour or two at a little village, but Gertrude rallied with such apparent +rapidity, and so strongly insisted on proceeding, that they reluctantly +continued their way. This event would have thrown a gloom over their +journey, if Gertrude had not exerted herself to dispel the impression +she had occasioned; and so light, so cheerful, were her spirits, that +for the time at least she succeeded. + +They arrived at Trarbach late at noon. This now small and humble town +is said to have been the Thronus Bacchi of the ancients. From the spot +where the travellers halted to take, as it were, their impression of the +town, they saw before them the little hostelry, a poor pretender to the +Thronus Bacchi, with the rude sign of the Holy Mother over the door. The +peaked roof, the sunk window, the gray walls, checkered with the rude +beams of wood so common to the meaner houses on the Continent, bore +something of a melancholy and prepossessing aspect. Right above, with +its Gothic windows and venerable spire, rose the church of the town; +and, crowning the summit of a green and almost perpendicular mountain, +scowled the remains of one of those mighty castles which make the +never-failing frown on a German landscape. + +The scene was one of quiet and of gloom: the exceeding serenity of the +day contrasted, with an almost unpleasing brightness, the poverty of +the town, the thinness of the population, and the dreary grandeur of the +ruins that overhung the capital of the perished race of the bold Counts +of Spanheim. + +They passed the night at Trarbach, and continued their journey next +day. At Treves, Gertrude was for some days seriously ill; and when they +returned to Coblentz, her disease had evidently received a rapid and +alarming increase. + + + +CHAPTER XXII. THE DOUBLE LIFE.--TREVYLYAN’S FATE.--SORROW THE PARENT OF +FAME.--NIEDERLAHNSTEIN.--DREAMS. + +THERE are two lives to each of us, gliding on at the same time, scarcely +connected with each other,--the life of our actions, the life of our +minds; the external and the inward history; the movements of the frame, +the deep and ever-restless workings of the heart! They who have loved +know that there is a diary of the affections, which we might keep for +years without having occasion even to touch upon the exterior surface +of life, our busy occupations, the mechanical progress of our existence; +yet by the last are we judged, the first is never known. History reveals +men’s deeds, men’s outward character, but _not themselves_. There is a +secret self that hath its own life “rounded by a dream,” unpenetrated, +unguessed. What passed within Trevylyan, hour after hour, as he watched +over the declining health of the only being in the world whom his proud +heart had been ever destined to love? His real record of the time +was marked by every cloud upon Gertrude’s brow, every smile of her +countenance, every--the faintest--alteration in her disease; yet, to the +outward seeming, all this vast current of varying eventful emotion +lay dark and unconjectured. He filled up with wonted regularity the +colourings of existence, and smiled and moved as other men. For still, +in the heroism with which devotion conquers self, he sought only to +cheer and gladden the young heart on which he had embarked his all; and +he kept the dark tempest of his anguish for the solitude of night. + +That was a peculiar doom which Fate had reserved for him; and casting +him, in after years, on the great sea of public strife, it seemed as if +she were resolved to tear from his heart all yearnings for the land. +For him there was to be no green or sequestered spot in the valley of +household peace. His bark was to know no haven, and his soul not even +the desire of rest. For action is that Lethe in which alone we forget +our former dreams, and the mind that, too stern not to wrestle with its +emotions, seeks to conquer regret, must leave itself no leisure to look +behind. Who knows what benefits to the world may have sprung from the +sorrows of the benefactor? As the harvest that gladdens mankind in the +suns of autumn was called forth by the rains of spring, so the griefs of +youth may make the fame of maturity. + +Gertrude, charmed by the beauties of the river, desired to continue the +voyage to Mayence. The rich Trevylyan persuaded the physician who had +attended her to accompany them, and they once more pursued their way +along the banks of the feudal Rhine. For what the Tiber is to the +classic, the Rhine is to the chivalric age. The steep rock and the gray +dismantled tower, the massive and rude picturesque of the feudal days, +constitute the great features of the scene; and you might almost fancy, +as you glide along, that you are sailing back adown the river of Time, +and the monuments of the pomp and power of old, rising, one after one, +upon its shores! + +Vane and Du-----e, the physician, at the farther end of the vessel, +conversed upon stones and strata, in that singular pedantry of science +which strips nature to a skeleton, and prowls among the dead bones of +the world, unconscious of its living beauty. + +They left Gertrude and Trevylyan to themselves; and, “bending o’er the +vessel’s laving side,” they indulged in silence the melancholy with +which each was imbued. For Gertrude began to waken, though doubtingly +and at intervals, to a sense of the short span that was granted to her +life; and over the loveliness around her there floated that sad and +ineffable interest which springs from the presentiment of our own death. +They passed the rich island of Oberwerth, and Hochheim, famous for its +ruby grape, and saw, from his mountain bed, the Lahn bear his tribute of +fruits and corn into the treasury of the Rhine. Proudly rose the tower +of Niederlahnstein, and deeply lay its shadow along the stream. It was +late noon; the cattle had sought the shade from the slanting sun, and, +far beyond, the holy castle of Marksburg raised its battlements above +mountains covered with the vine. On the water two boats had been drawn +alongside each other; and from one, now moving to the land, the splash +of oars broke the general stillness of the tide. Fast by an old tower +the fishermen were busied in their craft, but the sound of their voices +did not reach the ear. It was life, but a silent life, suited to the +tranquillity of noon. + +“There is something in travel,” said Gertrude, “which constantly, even +amidst the most retired spots, impresses us with the exuberance of life. +We come to those quiet nooks and find a race whose existence we never +dreamed of. In their humble path they know the same passions and tread +the same career as ourselves. The mountains shut them out from the great +world, but their village is a world in itself. And they know and heed no +more of the turbulent scenes of remote cities than our own planet of +the inhabitants of the distant stars. What then is death, but the +forgetfulness of some few hearts added to the general unconsciousness of +our existence that pervades the universe? The bubble breaks in the vast +desert of the air without a sound.” + +“Why talk of death?” said Trevylyan, with a writhing smile. “These sunny +scenes should not call forth such melancholy images.” + +“Melancholy,” repeated Gertrude, mechanically. “Yes, death is indeed +melancholy when we are loved!” + +They stayed a short time at Niederlahnstein, for Vane was anxious to +examine the minerals that the Lahn brings into the Rhine; and the sun +was waning towards its close as they renewed their voyage. As they +sailed slowly on, Gertrude said, “How like a dream is this sentiment +of existence, when, without labour or motion, every change of scene is +brought before us; and if I am with you, dearest, I do not feel it less +resembling a dream, for I have dreamed of you lately more than ever; and +dreams have become a part of my life itself.” + +“Speaking of dreams,” said Trevylyan, as they pursued that mysterious +subject, “I once during my former residence in Germany fell in with a +singular enthusiast, who had taught himself what he termed ‘A System of +Dreaming.’ When he first spoke to me upon it I asked him to explain what +he meant, which he did somewhat in the following words.” + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. THE LIFE OF DREAMS. + +“I WAS born,” said he, “with many of the sentiments of the poet, but +without the language to express them; my feelings were constantly +chilled by the intercourse of the actual world. My family, mere Germans, +dull and unimpassioned, had nothing in common with me; nor did I out of +my family find those with whom I could better sympathize. I was revolted +by friendships,--for they were susceptible to every change; I was +disappointed in love,--for the truth never approached to my ideal. +Nursed early in the lap of Romance, enamoured of the wild and the +adventurous, the commonplaces of life were to me inexpressibly tame and +joyless. And yet indolence, which belongs to the poetical character, was +more inviting than that eager and uncontemplative action which can alone +wring enterprise from life. Meditation was my natural element. I loved +to spend the noon reclined by some shady stream, and in a half sleep +to shape images from the glancing sunbeams. A dim and unreal order of +philosophy, that belongs to our nation, was my favourite intellectual +pursuit; and I sought amongst the Obscure and the Recondite the variety +and emotion I could not find in the Familiar. Thus constantly watching +the operations of the inner mind, it occurred to me at last that sleep +having its own world, but as yet a rude and fragmentary one, it might +be possible to shape from its chaos all those combinations of beauty, +of power, of glory, and of love, which were denied to me in the world in +which my frame walked and had its being. So soon as this idea came upon +me, I nursed and cherished and mused over it, till I found that the +imagination began to effect the miracle I desired. By brooding ardently, +intensely, before I retired to rest, over any especial train of +thought, over any ideal creations; by keeping the body utterly still and +quiescent during the whole day; by shutting out all living adventure, +the memory of which might perplex and interfere with the stream +of events that I desired to pour forth into the wilds of sleep, I +discovered at last that I could lead in dreams a life solely their own, +and utterly distinct from the life of day. Towers and palaces, all +my heritage and seigneury, rose before me from the depths of night; I +quaffed from jewelled cups the Falernian of imperial vaults; music from +harps of celestial tone filled up the crevices of air; and the smiles of +immortal beauty flushed like sunlight over all. Thus the adventure and +the glory that I could not for my waking life obtain, was obtained for +me in sleep. I wandered with the gryphon and the gnome; I sounded the +horn at enchanted portals; I conquered in the knightly lists; I planted +my standard over battlements huge as the painter’s birth of Babylon +itself. + +“But I was afraid to call forth one shape on whose loveliness to pour +all the hidden passion of my soul. I trembled lest my sleep should +present me some image which it could never restore, and, waking from +which, even the new world I had created might be left desolate forever. +I shuddered lest I should adore a vision which the first ray of morning +could smite to the grave. + +“In this train of mind I began to wonder whether it might not be +possible to connect dreams together; to supply the thread that was +wanting; to make one night continue the history of the other, so as +to bring together the same shapes and the same scenes, and thus lead a +connected and harmonious life, not only in the one half of existence, +but in the other, the richer and more glorious half. No sooner did this +idea present itself to me, than I burned to accomplish it. I had before +taught myself that Faith is the great creator; that to believe fervently +is to make belief true. So I would not suffer my mind to doubt the +practicability of its scheme. I shut myself up then entirely by day, +refused books, and hated the very sun, and compelled all my thoughts +(and sleep is the mirror of thought) to glide in one direction,--the +direction of my dreams,--so that from night to night the imagination +might keep up the thread of action, and I might thus lie down full of +the past dream and confident of the sequel. Not for one day only, or for +one month, did I pursue this system, but I continued it zealously and +sternly till at length it began to succeed. Who shall tell,” cried the +enthusiast,--I see him now with his deep, bright, sunken eyes, and his +wild hair thrown backward from his brow,--“the rapture I experienced, +when first, faintly and half distinct, I perceived the harmony I had +invoked dawn upon my dreams? At first there was only a partial and +desultory connection between them; my eye recognized certain shapes, my +ear certain tones common to each; by degrees these augmented in number, +and were more defined in outline. At length one fair face broke forth +from among the ruder forms, and night after night appeared mixing with +them for a moment and then vanishing, just as the mariner watches, in +a clouded sky, the moon shining through the drifting rack, and quickly +gone. My curiosity was now vividly excited; the face, with its lustrous +eyes and seraph features, roused all the emotions that no living shape +had called forth. I became enamoured of a dream, and as the statue to +the Cyprian was my creation to me; so from this intent and unceasing +passion I at length worked out my reward. My dream became more palpable; +I spoke with it; I knelt to it; my lips were pressed to its own; we +exchanged the vows of love, and morning only separated us with the +certainty that at night we should meet again. Thus then,” continued my +visionary, “I commenced a history utterly separate from the history of +the world, and it went on alternately with my harsh and chilling history +of the day, equally regular and equally continuous. And what, you ask, +was that history? Methought I was a prince in some Eastern island that +had no features in common with the colder north of my native home. By +day I looked upon the dull walls of a German town, and saw homely or +squalid forms passing before me; the sky was dim and the sun cheerless. +Night came on with her thousand stars, and brought me the dews of sleep. +Then suddenly there was a new world; the richest fruits hung from the +trees in clusters of gold and purple. Palaces of the quaint fashion of +the sunnier climes, with spiral minarets and glittering cupolas, were +mirrored upon vast lakes sheltered by the palm-tree and banana. The sun +seemed a different orb, so mellow and gorgeous were his beams; birds and +winged things of all hues fluttered in the shining air; the faces and +garments of men were not of the northern regions of the world, and their +voices spoke a tongue which, strange at first, by degrees I interpreted. +Sometimes I made war upon neighbouring kings; sometimes I chased the +spotted pard through the vast gloom of immemorial forests; my life +was at once a life of enterprise and pomp. But above all there was the +history of my love! I thought there were a thousand difficulties in the +way of attaining its possession. Many were the rocks I had to scale, and +the battles to wage, and the fortresses to storm, in order to win her as +my bride. But at last” (continued the enthusiast), “she _is_ won, she +is my own! Time in that wild world, which I visit nightly, passes not +so slowly as in this, and yet an hour may be the same as a year. This +continuity of existence, this successive series of dreams, so different +from the broken incoherence of other men’s sleep, at times bewilders me +with strange and suspicious thoughts. What if this glorious sleep be a +real life, and this dull waking the true repose? Why not? What is there +more faithful in the one than in the other? And there have I garnered +and collected all of pleasure that I am capable of feeling. I seek +no joy in this world; I form no ties, I feast not, nor love, nor make +merry; I am only impatient till the hour when I may re-enter my royal +realms and pour my renewed delight into the bosom of my bright Ideal. +There then have I found all that the world denied me; there have I +realized the yearning and the aspiration within me; there have I coined +the untold poetry into the Felt, the Seen!” + +I found, continued Trevylyan, that this tale was corroborated by inquiry +into the visionary’s habits. He shunned society; avoided all unnecessary +movement or excitement. He fared with rigid abstemiousness, and only +appeared to feel pleasure as the day departed, and the hour of return to +his imaginary kingdom approached. He always retired to rest punctually +at a certain hour, and would sleep so soundly that a cannon fired under +his window would not arouse him. He never, which may seem singular, +spoke or moved much in his sleep, but was peculiarly calm, almost to +the appearance of lifelessness; but, discovering once that he had been +watched in sleep, he was wont afterwards carefully to secure the chamber +from intrusion. His victory over the natural incoherence of sleep had, +when I first knew him, lasted for some years; possibly what imagination +first produced was afterwards continued by habit. + +I saw him again a few months subsequent to this confession, and he +seemed to me much changed. His health was broken, and his abstraction +had deepened into gloom. + +I questioned him of the cause of the alteration, and he answered me with +great reluctance,-- + +“She is dead,” said he; “my realms are desolate! A serpent stung her, +and she died in these very arms. Vainly, when I started from my sleep in +horror and despair, vainly did I say to myself,--This is but a dream. I +shall see her again. A vision cannot die! Hath it flesh that decays; is +it not a spirit,--bodiless, indissoluble? With what terrible anxiety +I awaited the night! Again I slept, and the DREAM lay again before me, +dead and withered. Even the ideal can vanish. I assisted in the burial; +I laid her in the earth; I heaped the monumental mockery over her form. +And never since hath she, or ought like her, revisited my dreams. I see +her only when I wake; thus to wake is indeed to dream! But,” continued +the visionary in a solemn voice, “I feel myself departing from this +world, and with a fearful joy; for I think there may be a land beyond +even the land of sleep where I shall see her again,--a land in which a +vision itself may be restored.” + +And in truth, concluded Trevylyan, the dreamer died shortly afterwards, +suddenly, and in his sleep. And never before, perhaps, had Fate so +literally made of a living man (with his passions and his powers, his +ambition and his love) the plaything and puppet of a dream! + +“Ah,” said Vane, who had heard the latter part of Trevylyan’s story, +“could the German have bequeathed to us his secret, what a refuge should +we possess from the ills of earth! The dungeon and disease, poverty, +affliction, shame, would cease to be the tyrants of our lot; and to +Sleep we should confine our history and transfer our emotions.” + +“Gertrude,” whispered the lover, “what his kingdom and his bride were to +the Dreamer art thou to me!” + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. THE BROTHERS. + +THE banks of the Rhine now shelved away into sweeping plains, and on +their right rose the once imperial city of Boppart. In no journey +of similar length do you meet with such striking instances of the +mutability and shifts of power. To find, as in the Memphian Egypt, a +city sunk into a heap of desolate ruins; the hum, the roar, the mart of +nations, hushed into the silence of ancestral tombs, is less humbling +to our human vanity than to mark, as along the Rhine, the kingly city +dwindled into the humble town or the dreary village,--decay without its +grandeur, change without the awe of its solitude! On the site on +which Drusus raised his Roman tower, and the kings of the Franks their +palaces, trade now dribbles in tobacco-pipes, and transforms into an +excellent cotton factory the antique nunnery of Konigsberg! So be it; it +is the progressive order of things,--the world itself will soon be one +excellent cotton factory! + +“Look,” said Trevylyan, as they sailed on, “at yonder mountain, with its +two traditionary Castles of Liebenstein and Sternfels.” + +Massive and huge the ruins swelled above the green rock, at the foot +of which lay, in happier security from time and change, the clustered +cottages of the peasant, with a single spire rising above the quiet +village. + +“Is there not, Albert, a celebrated legend attached to those castles?” + said Gertrude. “I think I remember to have heard their names in +connection with your profession of taleteller.” + +“Yes,” said Trevylyan, “the story relates to the last lords of those +shattered towers, and--” + +“You will sit here, nearer to me, and begin,” interrupted Gertrude, in +her tone of childlike command. “Come.” + + + + THE BROTHERS. + + A TALE.* + + * This tale is, in reality, founded on the beautiful tradition + which belongs to Liebenstein and Sternfels. + +You must imagine then, dear Gertrude (said Trevylyan), a beautiful +summer day, and by the same faculty that none possess so richly as +yourself, for it is you who can kindle something of that divine spark +even in me, you must rebuild those shattered towers in the pomp of old; +raise the gallery and the hall; man the battlements with warders, and +give the proud banners of ancestral chivalry to wave upon the walls. But +above, sloping half down the rock, you must fancy the hanging gardens of +Liebenstein, fragrant with flowers, and basking in the noonday sun. + +On the greenest turf, underneath an oak, there sat three persons, in the +bloom of youth. Two of the three were brothers; the third was an orphan +girl, whom the lord of the opposite tower of Sternfels had bequeathed +to the protection of his brother, the chief of Liebenstein. The castle +itself and the demesne that belonged to it passed away from the female +line, and became the heritage of Otho, the orphan’s cousin, and the +younger of the two brothers now seated on the turf. + +“And oh,” said the elder, whose name was Warbeck, “you have twined a +chaplet for my brother; have you not, dearest Leoline, a simple flower +for me?” + +The beautiful orphan (for beautiful she was, Gertrude, as the heroine of +the tale you bid me tell ought to be,--should she not have to the dreams +of my fancy your lustrous hair, and your sweet smile, and your eyes +of blue, that are never, never silent? Ah, pardon me, that in a former +tale, I denied the heroine the beauty of your face, and remember that to +atone for it, I endowed her with the beauty of your mind)--the beautiful +orphan blushed to her temples, and culling from the flowers in her lap +the freshest of the roses, began weaving them into a wreath for Warbeck. + +“It would be better,” said the gay Otho, “to make my sober brother a +chaplet of the rue and cypress; the rose is much too bright a flower for +so serious a knight.” + +Leoline held up her hand reprovingly. + +“Let him laugh, dearest cousin,” said Warbeck, gazing passionately on +her changing cheek; “and thou, Leoline, believe that the silent stream +runs the deepest.” + +At this moment, they heard the voice of the old chief, their father, +calling aloud for Leoline; for ever when he returned from the chase +he wanted her gentle presence; and the hall was solitary to him if the +light sound of her step and the music of her voice were not heard in +welcome. + +Leoline hastened to her guardian, and the brothers were left alone. + +Nothing could be more dissimilar than the features and the respective +characters of Otho and Warbeck. Otho’s countenance was flushed with the +brown hues of health; his eyes were of the brightest hazel: his dark +hair wreathed in short curls round his open and fearless brow; the jest +ever echoed on his lips, and his step was bounding as the foot of +the hunter of the Alps. Bold and light was his spirit; if at times he +betrayed the haughty insolence of youth, he felt generously, and though +not ever ready to confess sorrow for a fault, he was at least ready to +brave peril for a friend. + +But Warbeck’s frame, though of equal strength, was more slender in +its proportions than that of his brother; the fair long hair that +characterized his northern race hung on either side of a countenance +calm and pale, and deeply impressed with thought, even to sadness. His +features, more majestic and regular than Otho’s, rarely varied in their +expression. More resolute even than Otho, he was less impetuous; more +impassioned, he was also less capricious. + +The brothers remained silent after Leoline had left them. Otho +carelessly braced on his sword, that he had laid aside on the grass; but +Warbeck gathered up the flowers that had been touched by the soft hand +of Leoline, and placed them in his bosom. + +The action disturbed Otho; he bit his lip, and changed colour; at length +he said, with a forced laugh,-- + +“It must be confessed, brother, that you carry your affection for +our fair cousin to a degree that even relationship seems scarcely to +warrant.” + +“It is true,” said Warbeck, calmly; “I love her with a love surpassing +that of blood.” + +“How!” said Otho, fiercely: “do you dare to think of Leoline as a +bride?” + +“Dare!” repeated Warbeck, turning yet paler than his wonted hue. + +“Yes, I have said the word! Know, Warbeck, that I, too, love Leoline; I, +too, claim her as my bride; and never, while I can wield a sword, never, +while I wear the spurs of knighthood, will I render my claim to a living +rival,--even,” he added, sinking his voice, “though that rival be my +brother!” + +Warbeck answered not; his very soul seemed stunned; he gazed long and +wistfully on his brother, and then, turning his face away, ascended the +rock without uttering a single word. + +This silence startled Otho. Accustomed to vent every emotion of his own, +he could not comprehend the forbearance of his brother; he knew his high +and brave nature too well to imagine that it arose from fear. Might it +not be contempt, or might he not, at this moment, intend to seek their +father; and, the first to proclaim his love for the orphan, advance, +also, the privilege of the elder born? As these suspicions flashed +across him, the haughty Otho strode to his brother’s side, and laying +his hand on his arm, said,-- + +“Whither goest thou; and dost thou consent to surrender Leoline?” + +“Does she love thee, Otho?” answered Warbeck, breaking silence at last; +and his voice spoke so deep an anguish, that it arrested the passions of +Otho even at their height. + +“It is thou who art now silent,” continued Warbeck; “speak. Doth she +love thee, and has her lip confessed it?” + +“I have believed that she loved me,” faltered Otho; “but she is of +maiden bearing, and her lip, at least, has never told it.” + +“Enough,” said Warbeck; “release your hold.” + +“Stay,” said Otho, his suspicions returning; “stay,--yet one word; dost +thou seek my father? He ever honoured thee more than me: wilt thou own +to him thy love, and insist on thy right of birth? By my soul and my +hope of heaven, do it, and one of us two must fall!” + +“Poor boy!” answered Warbeck, bitterly; “how little thou canst read the +heart of one who loves truly! Thinkest thou I would wed her if she loved +thee? Thinkest thou I could, even to be blessed myself, give her one +moment’s pain? Out on the thought! away!” + +“Then wilt not thou seek our father?” said Otho, abashed. + +“Our father!--has our father the keeping of Leoline’s affection?” + answered Warbeck; and shaking off his brother’s grasp, he sought the way +to the castle. + +As he entered the hall, he heard the voice of Leoline; she was singing +to the old chief one of the simple ballads of the time that the warrior +and the hunter loved to hear. He paused lest he should break the spell +(a spell stronger than a sorcerer’s to him), and gazing upon Leoline’s +beautiful form, his heart sank within him. His brother and himself +had each that day, as they sat in the gardens, given her a flower; his +flower was the fresher and the rarer; his he saw not, but she wore his +brother’s in her bosom! + +The chief, lulled by the music and wearied with the toils of the chase, +sank into sleep as the song ended, and Warbeck, coming forward, motioned +to Leoline to follow him. He passed into a retired and solitary walk, +and when they were a little distance from the castle, Warbeck turned +round, and taking Leoline’s hand gently, said,-- + +“Let us rest here for one moment, dearest cousin; I have much on my +heart to say to thee.” + +“And what is there,” answered Leoline, as they sat on a mossy bank, +with the broad Rhine glancing below, “what is there that my kind Warbeck +would ask of me? Ah, would it might be some favour, something in poor +Leoline’s power to grant; for ever from my birth you have been to me +most tender, most kind. You, I have often heard them say; taught my +first steps to walk; you formed my infant lips into language, and, in +after years, when my wild cousin was far away in the forests at the +chase, you would brave his gay jest and remain at home, lest Leoline +should be weary in the solitude. Ah, would I could repay you!” + +Warbeck turned away his cheek; his heart was very full, and it was some +moments before he summoned courage to reply. + +“My fair cousin,” said he, “those were happy days; but they were the +days of childhood. New cares and new thoughts have now come on us; but +I am still thy friend, Leoline, and still thou wilt confide in me thy +young sorrows and thy young hopes, as thou ever didst. Wilt thou not, +Leoline?” + +“Canst thou ask me?” said Leoline; and Warbeck, gazing on her face, saw +that though her eyes were full of tears, they yet looked steadily upon +his; and he knew that she loved him only as a sister. + +He sighed, and paused again ere he resumed. “Enough,” said he; “now to +my task. Once on a time, dear cousin, there lived among these mountains +a certain chief who had two sons, and an orphan like thyself dwelt also +in his halls. And the elder son--but no matter, let us not waste words +on _him_!--the younger son, then, loved the orphan dearly,--more dearly +than cousins love; and fearful of refusal, he prayed the elder one to +urge his suit to the orphan. Leoline, my tale is done. Canst thou not +love Otho as he loves thee?” + +And now lifting his eyes to Leoline, he saw that she trembled violently, +and her cheek was covered with blushes. + +“Say,” continued he, mastering himself, “is not that flower +his--present--a token that he is chiefly in thy thoughts?” + +“Ah, Warbeck! do not deem me ungrateful that I wear not yours also; +but--” + +“Hush!” said Warbeck, hastily; “I am but as thy brother; is not Otho +more? He is young, brave, and beautiful. God grant that he may deserve +thee, if thou givest him so rich a gift as thy affections!” + +“I saw less of Otho in my childhood,” said Leoline, evasively; +“therefore, his kindness of late years seemed stranger to me than +thine.” + +“And thou wilt not then reject him? Thou wilt be his bride?” + +“And _thy_ sister,” answered Leoline. + +“Bless thee, mine own dear cousin! one brother’s kiss then, and +farewell! Otho shall thank thee for himself.” + +He kissed her forehead calmly, and, turning away, plunged into the +thicket; then, nor till then, he gave vent to such emotions as, had +Leoline seen them, Otho’s suit had been lost forever; for passionately, +deeply as in her fond and innocent heart she loved Otho, the _happiness_ +of Warbeck was not less dear to her. + +When the young knight had recovered his self-possession he went in +search of Otho. He found him alone in the wood, leaning with folded arms +against a tree, and gazing moodily on the ground. Warbeck’s noble heart +was touched at his brother’s dejection. + +“Cheer thee, Otho,” said he; “I bring thee no bad tidings; I have seen +Leoline, I have conversed with her--nay, start not,--she loves thee! she +is thine!” + +“Generous, generous Warbeck!” exclaimed Otho; and he threw himself on +his brother’s neck. “No, no,” said he, “this must not be; thou hast the +elder claim,--I resign her to thee. Forgive me my waywardness, brother, +forgive me!” + +“Think of the past no more,” said Warbeck; “the love of Leoline is an +excuse for greater offences than thine. And now, be kind to her; her +nature is soft and keen. _I_ know her well; for _I_ have studied her +faintest wish. Thou art hasty and quick of ire; but remember that a word +wounds where love is deep. For my sake, as for hers, think more of her +happiness than thine own; now seek her,--she waits to hear from thy lips +the tale that sounded cold upon mine.” + +With that he left his brother, and, once more re-entering the castle, he +went into the hall of his ancestors. His father still slept; he put his +hand on his gray hair, and blessed him; then stealing up to his chamber, +he braced on his helm and armour, and thrice kissing the hilt of his +sword, said, with a flushed cheek,-- + +“Henceforth be _thou_ my bride!” Then passing from the castle, he sped +by the most solitary paths down the rock, gained the Rhine, and hailing +one of the numerous fishermen of the river, won the opposite shore; and +alone, but not sad, for his high heart supported him, and Leoline at +least was happy, he hastened to Frankfort. + +The town was all gayety and life, arms clanged at every corner, the +sounds of martial music, the wave of banners, the glittering of plumed +casques, the neighing of war-steeds, all united to stir the blood and +inflame the sense. Saint Bertrand had lifted the sacred cross along the +shores of the Rhine, and the streets of Frankfort witnessed with what +success! + +On that same day Warbeck assumed the sacred badge, and was enlisted +among the knights of the Emperor Conrad. + +We must suppose some time to have elapsed, and Otho and Leoline were not +yet wedded; for, in the first fervour of his gratitude to his brother, +Otho had proclaimed to his father and to Leoline the conquest Warbeck +had obtained over himself; and Leoline, touched to the heart, would not +consent that the wedding should take place immediately. “Let him, at +least,” said she, “not be insulted by a premature festivity; and give +him time, amongst the lofty beauties he will gaze upon in a far country, +to forget, Otho, that he once loved her who is the beloved of thee.” + +The old chief applauded this delicacy; and even Otho, in the first flush +of his feelings towards his brother, did not venture to oppose it. They +settled, then, that the marriage should take place at the end of a year. + +Months rolled away, and an absent and moody gloom settled upon Otho’s +brow. In his excursions with his gay companions among the neighbouring +towns, he heard of nothing but the glory of the Crusaders, of the homage +paid to the heroes of the Cross at the courts they visited, of the +adventures of their life, and the exciting spirit that animated their +war. In fact, neither minstrel nor priest suffered the theme to grow +cold; and the fame of those who had gone forth to the holy strife gave +at once emulation and discontent to the youths who remained behind. + +“And my brother enjoys this ardent and glorious life,” said the +impatient Otho; “while I, whose arm is as strong, and whose heart is as +bold, languish here listening to the dull tales of a hoary sire and +the silly songs of an orphan girl.” His heart smote him at the last +sentence, but he had already begun to weary of the gentle love of +Leoline. Perhaps when he had no longer to gain a triumph over a rival +the excitement palled; or perhaps his proud spirit secretly chafed at +being conquered by his brother in generosity, even when outshining him +in the success of love. + +But poor Leoline, once taught that she was to consider Otho her +betrothed, surrendered her heart entirely to his control. His wild +spirit, his dark beauty, his daring valour, won while they awed her; and +in the fitfulness of his nature were those perpetual springs of hope +and fear that are the fountains of ever-agitated love. She saw with +increasing grief the change that was growing over Otho’s mind; nor did +she divine the cause. “Surely I have not offended him?” thought she. + +Among the companions of Otho was one who possessed a singular sway +over him. He was a knight of that mysterious Order of the Temple, which +exercised at one time so great a command over the minds of men. + +A severe and dangerous wound in a brawl with an English knight had +confined the Templar at Frankfort, and prevented his joining the +Crusade. During his slow recovery he had formed an intimacy with Otho, +and, taking up his residence at the castle of Liebenstein, had been +struck with the beauty of Leoline. Prevented by his oath from marriage, +he allowed himself a double license in love, and doubted not, could he +disengage the young knight from his betrothed, that she would add a +new conquest to the many he had already achieved. Artfully therefore he +painted to Otho the various attractions of the Holy Cause; and, above +all, he failed not to describe, with glowing colours, the beauties who, +in the gorgeous East, distinguished with a prodigal favour the warriors +of the Cross. Dowries, unknown in the more sterile mountains of the +Rhine, accompanied the hand of these beauteous maidens; and even a +prince’s daughter was not deemed, he said, too lofty a marriage for the +heroes who might win kingdoms for themselves. + +“To me,” said the Templar, “such hopes are eternally denied. But you, +were you not already betrothed, what fortunes might await you!” + +By such discourses the ambition of Otho was perpetually aroused; they +served to deepen his discontent at his present obscurity, and to convert +to distaste the only solace it afforded in the innocence and affection +of Leoline. + +One night, a minstrel sought shelter from the storm in the halls of +Liebenstein. His visit was welcomed by the chief, and he repaid the +hospitality he had received by the exercise of his art. He sang of the +chase, and the gaunt hound started from the hearth. He sang of love, and +Otho, forgetting his restless dreams, approached to Leoline, and +laid himself at her feet. Louder then and louder rose the strain. The +minstrel sang of war; he painted the feats of the Crusaders; he plunged +into the thickest of the battle; the steed neighed; the trump sounded; +and you might have heard the ringing of the steel. But when he came +to signalize the names of the boldest knights, high among the loftiest +sounded the name of Sir Warbeck of Liebenstein. Thrice had he saved the +imperial banner; two chargers slain beneath him, he had covered their +bodies with the fiercest of the foe. + +Gentle in the tent and terrible in the fray, the minstrel should forget +his craft ere the Rhine should forget its hero. The chief started from +his seat. Leoline clasped the minstrel’s hand. + +“Speak,--you have seen him, he lives, he is honoured?” + +“I myself am but just from Palestine, brave chief and noble maiden. I +saw the gallant knight of Liebenstein at the right hand of the imperial +Conrad. And he, ladye, was the only knight whom admiration shone upon +without envy, its shadow. Who then,” continued the minstrel, once more +striking his harp, “who then would remain inglorious in the hall? Shall +not the banners of his sires reproach him as they wave; and shall not +every voice from Palestine strike shame into his soul?” + +“Right!” cried Otho, suddenly, and flinging himself at the feet of his +father. “Thou hearest what my brother has done, and thine aged eyes weep +tears of joy. Shall I only dishonour thine old age with a rusted sword? +No! grant me, like my brother, to go forth with the heroes of the +Cross!” + +“Noble youth,” cried the harper, “therein speaks the soul of Sir +Warbeck; hear him, sir, knight,--hear the noble youth.” + +“Heaven cries aloud in his voice,” said the Templar, solemnly. + +“My son, I cannot chide thine ardour,” said the old chief, raising him +with trembling hands; “but Leoline, thy betrothed?” + +Pale as a statue, with ears that doubted their sense as they drank in +the cruel words of her lover, stood the orphan. She did not speak, she +scarcely breathed; she sank into her seat, and gazed upon the ground, +till, at the speech of the chief both maiden pride and maiden tenderness +restored her consciousness, and she said,-- + +“_I_, uncle! Shall _I_ bid Otho stay when his wishes bid him depart?” + +“He will return to thee, noble ladye, covered with glory,” said the +harper: but Otho said no more. The touching voice of Leoline went to +his soul; he resumed his seat in silence; and Leoline, going up to +him, whispered gently, “Act as though I were not;” and left the hall to +commune with her heart and to weep alone. + +“I can wed her before I go,” said Otho, suddenly, as he sat that night +in the Templar’s chamber. + +“Why, that is true! and leave thy bride in the first week,--a hard +trial!” + +“Better than incur the chance of never calling her mine. Dear, kind, +beloved Leoline!” + +“Assuredly, she deserves all from thee; and, indeed, it is no small +sacrifice, at thy years and with thy mien, to renounce forever all +interest among the noble maidens thou wilt visit. Ah, from the galleries +of Constantinople what eyes will look down on thee, and what ears, +learning that thou art Otho the bridegroom, will turn away, caring for +thee no more! A bridegroom without a bride! Nay, man, much as the Cross +wants warriors, I am enough thy friend to tell thee, if thou weddest, to +stay peaceably at home, and forget in the chase the labours of war, from +which thou wouldst strip the ambition of love.” + +“I would I knew what were best,” said Otho, irresolutely. “My +brother--ha, shall he forever excel me? But Leoline, how will she +grieve,--she who left him for me!” + +“Was that thy fault?” said the Templar, gayly. “It may many times chance +to thee again to be preferred to another. Troth, it is a sin under which +the conscience may walk lightly enough. But sleep on it, Otho; my eyes +grow heavy.” + +The next day Otho sought Leoline, and proposed to her that their wedding +should precede his parting; but so embarrassed was he, so divided +between two wishes, that Leoline, offended, hurt, stung by his coldness, +refused the proposal at once. She left him lest he should see her weep, +and then--then she repented even of her just pride! + +But Otho, striving to appease his conscience with the belief that +hers now was the _sole_ fault, busied himself in preparations for his +departure. Anxious to outshine his brother, he departed not as Warbeck, +alone and unattended, but levying all the horse, men, and money that +his domain of Sternfels--which he had not yet tenanted--would afford, he +repaired to Frankfort at the head of a glittering troop. + +The Templar, affecting a relapse, tarried behind, and promised to join +him at that Constantinople of which he had so loudly boasted. Meanwhile +he devoted his whole powers of pleasing to console the unhappy orphan. +The force of her simple love was, however, stronger than all his arts. +In vain he insinuated doubts of Otho,--she refused to hear them; in vain +he poured with the softest accents into her ear the witchery of flattery +and song,--she turned heedlessly away; and only pained by the courtesies +that had so little resemblance to Otho, she shut herself up in her +chamber, and pined in solitude for her forsaker. + +The Templar now resolved to attempt darker arts to obtain power over +her, when, fortunately, he was summoned suddenly away by a mission from +the Grand Master of so high import, that it could not be resisted by a +passion stronger in his breast than love,--the passion of ambition. He +left the castle to its solitude; and Otho peopling it no more with his +gay companions, no solitude _could_ be more unfrequently disturbed. + +Meanwhile, though, ever and anon, the fame of Warbeck reached their +ears, it came unaccompanied with that of Otho,--of him they had no +tidings; and thus the love of the tender orphan was kept alive by +the perpetual restlessness of fear. At length the old chief died, and +Leoline was left utterly alone. + +One evening as she sat with her maidens in the hall, the ringing of a +steed’s hoofs was heard in the outer court; a horn sounded, the heavy +gates were unbarred, and a knight of a stately mien and covered with the +mantle of the Cross entered the hall. He stopped for one moment at the +entrance, as if overpowered by his emotion; in the next he had clasped +Leoline to his breast. + +“Dost thou not recognize thy cousin Warbeck?” He doffed his casque, and +she saw that majestic brow which, unlike Otho’s, had never changed or +been clouded in its aspect to her. + +“The war is suspended for the present,” said he. “I learned my father’s +death, and I have returned home to hang up my banner in the hall and +spend my days in peace.” + +Time and the life of camps had worked their change upon Warbeck’s face; +the fair hair, deepened in its shade, was worn from the temples, and +disclosed one scar that rather aided the beauty of a countenance that +had always something high and martial in its character; but the calm it +had once worn had settled down into sadness; he conversed more rarely +than before, and though he smiled not less often, nor less kindly, the +smile had more of thought, and the kindness had forgot its passion. He +had apparently conquered a love that was so early crossed, but not +that fidelity of remembrance which made Leoline dearer to him than all +others, and forbade him to replace the images he had graven upon his +soul. + +The orphan’s lips trembled with the name of Otho, but a certain +recollection stifled even her anxiety. Warbeck hastened to forestall her +questions. Otho was well, he said, and sojourning at Constantinople; he +had lingered there so long that the crusade had terminated without his +aid: doubtless now he would speedily return,--a month, a week, nay, a +day, might restore him to her side. + +Leoline was inexpressibly consoled, yet something remained untold. +Why, so eager for the strife of the sacred tomb, had he thus tarried at +Constantinople? She wondered, she wearied conjecture, but she did not +dare to search further. + +The generous Warbeck concealed from her that Otho led a life of the most +reckless and indolent dissipation,--wasting his wealth in the pleasures +of the Greek court, and only occupying his ambition with the wild +schemes of founding a principality in those foreign climes, which the +enterprises of the Norman adventurers had rendered so alluring to the +knightly bandits of the age. + +The cousins resumed their old friendship, and Warbeck believed that it +was friendship alone. + +They walked again among the gardens in which their childhood had +strayed; they sat again on the green turf whereon they had woven +flowers; they looked down on the eternal mirror of the Rhine,--ah! could +it have reflected the same unawakened freshness of their life’s early +spring! + +The grave and contemplative mind of Warbeck had not been so contented +with the honours of war but that it had sought also those calmer sources +of emotion which were yet found among the sages of the East. He had +drunk at the fountain of the wisdom of those distant climes, and had +acquired the habits of meditation which were indulged by those wiser +tribes from which the Crusaders brought back to the North the knowledge +that was destined to enlighten their posterity. Warbeck, therefore, had +little in common with the ruder chiefs around; he did not summon them to +his board; nor attend at their noisy wassails. Often late at night, in +yon shattered tower, his lonely lamp shone still over the mighty stream, +and his only relief to loneliness was in the presence and the song of +his soft cousin. + +Months rolled on, when suddenly a vague and fearful rumour reached the +castle of Liebenstein. Otho was returning home to the neighbouring tower +of Sternfels; but not alone. He brought back with him a Greek bride of +surprising beauty, and dowered with almost regal wealth. Leoline was +the first to discredit the rumour; Leoline was soon the only one who +disbelieved. + +Bright in the summer noon flashed the array of horsemen; far up +the steep ascent wound the gorgeous cavalcade; the lonely towers of +Liebenstein heard the echo of many a laugh and peal of merriment. Otho +bore home his bride to the hall of Sternfels. + +That night there was a great banquet in Otho’s castle; the lights shone +from every casement, and music swelled loud and ceaselessly within. + +By the side of Otho, glittering with the prodigal jewels of the East, +sat the Greek. Her dark locks, her flashing eye, the false colours of +her complexion, dazzled the eyes of her guests. On her left hand sat the +Templar. + +“By the holy rood,” quoth the Templar, gayly, though he crossed himself +as he spoke, “we shall scare the owls to-night on those grim towers +of Liebenstein. Thy grave brother, Sir Otho, will have much to do to +comfort his cousin when she sees what a gallant life she would have led +with thee.” + +“Poor damsel!” said the Greek, with affected pity, “doubtless she will +now be reconciled to the rejected one. I hear he is a knight of a comely +mien.” + +“Peace!” said Otho, sternly, and quaffing a large goblet of wine. + +The Greek bit her lip, and glanced meaningly at the Templar, who +returned the glance. + +“Nought but a beauty such as thine can win my pardon,” said Otho, +turning to his bride, and gazing passionately in her face. + +The Greek smiled. + +Well sped the feast, the laugh deepened, the wine circled, when Otho’s +eye rested on a guest at the bottom of the board, whose figure was +mantled from head to foot, and whose face was covered by a dark veil. + +“Beshrew me!” said he, aloud, “but this is scarce courteous at our +revel: will the stranger vouchsafe to unmask?” + +These words turned all eyes to the figure, and they who sat next it +perceived that it trembled violently; at length it rose, and walking +slowly, but with grace, to the fair Greek, it laid beside her a wreath +of flowers. + +“It is a simple gift, ladye,” said the stranger, in a voice of such +sweetness that the rudest guest was touched by it; “but it is all I can +offer, and the bride of Otho should not be without a gift at my hands. +May ye both be happy!” + +With these words, the stranger turned and passed from the hall silent as +a shadow. + +“Bring back the stranger!” cried the Greek, recovering her surprise. +Twenty guests sprang up to obey her mandate. + +“No, no!” said Otho, waving his hand impatiently. “Touch her not, heed +her not, at your peril.” + +The Greek bent over the flowers to conceal her anger, and from amongst +them dropped the broken half of a ring. Otho recognized it at once; it +was the broken half of that ring which he had broken with his betrothed. +Alas! he required not such a sign to convince him that that figure, +so full of ineffable grace, that touching voice, that simple action so +tender in its sentiment, that gift, that blessing, came only from the +forsaken and forgiving Leoline. + +But Warbeck, alone in his solitary tower, paced to and fro with agitated +steps. Deep, undying wrath at his brother’s falsehood mingled with +one burning, one delicious hope. He confessed now that he had deceived +himself when he thought his passion was no more; was there any longer a +bar to his union with Leoline? + +In that delicacy which was breathed into him by his love, he had +forborne to seek, or to offer her the insult of consolation. He felt +that the shock should be borne alone, and yet he pined, he thirsted, to +throw himself at her feet. + +Nursing these contending thoughts, he was aroused by a knock at his +door; he opened it. The passage was thronged by Leoline’s maidens, +pale, anxious, weeping. Leoline had left the castle, with but one female +attendant, none knew whither; they knew too soon. From the hall of +Sternfels she had passed over in the dark and inclement night to the +valley in which the convent of Bornhofen offered to the weary of spirit +and the broken of heart a refuge at the shrine of God. + +At daybreak the next morning, Warbeck was at the convent’s gate. He saw +Leoline. What a change one night of suffering had made in that face, +which was the fountain of all loveliness to him! He clasped her in his +arms; he wept; he urged all that love could urge: he besought her to +accept that heart which had never wronged her memory by a thought. “Oh, +Leoline! didst thou not say once that these arms nursed thy childhood; +that this voice soothed thine early sorrows? Ah, trust to them again +and forever. From a love that forsook thee turn to the love that never +swerved.” + +“No,” said Leoline; “no. What would the chivalry of which thou art the +boast,--what would they say of thee, wert thou to wed one affianced and +deserted, who tarried years for another, and brought to thine arms only +that heart which he had abandoned? No; and even if thou, as I know thou +wouldst be, wert callous to such wrong of thy high name, shall I bring +to thee a broken heart and bruised spirit? Shalt thou wed sorrow and +not joy; and shall sighs that will not cease, and tears that may not be +dried, be the only dowry of thy bride? Thou, too, for whom all blessings +should be ordained! No, forget me; forget thy poor Leoline! She hath +nothing but prayers for thee.” + +In vain Warbeck pleaded; in vain he urged all that passion and truth +could urge; the springs of earthly love were forever dried up in the +orphan’s heart, and her resolution was immovable. She tore herself from +his arms, and the gate of the convent creaked harshly on his ear. + +A new and stern emotion now wholly possessed him; though naturally +mild and gentle, he cherished anger, when once it was aroused, with the +strength of a calm mind. Leoline’s tears, her sufferings, her wrongs, +her uncomplaining spirit, the change already stamped upon her face,--all +cried aloud to him for vengeance. “She is an orphan,” said he, bitterly; +“she hath none to protect, to redress her, save me alone. My father’s +charge over her forlorn youth descends of right to me. What matters it +whether her forsaker be my brother? He is _her_ foe. Hath he not crushed +her heart? Hath he not consigned her to sorrow till the grave? And with +what insult! no warning, no excuse; with lewd wassailers keeping revel +for his new bridals in the hearing--before the sight--of his betrothed! +Enough! the time hath come when, to use his own words, ‘One of us two +must fall!’” He half drew his sword as he spoke, and thrusting it back +violently into the sheath, strode home to his solitary castle. The sound +of steeds and of the hunting horn met him at his portal; the bridal +train of Sternfels, all mirth and gladness, were parting for the chase. + +That evening a knight in complete armour entered the banquet-hall of +Sternfels, and defied Otho, on the part of Warbeck of Liebenstein, to +mortal combat. + +Even the Templar was startled by so unnatural a challenge; but +Otho, reddening, took up the gage, and the day and spot were fixed. +Discontented, wroth with himself, a savage gladness seized him; he +longed to wreak his desperate feelings even on his brother. Nor had +he ever in his jealous heart forgiven that brother his virtues and his +renown. + +At the appointed hour the brothers met as foes. Warbeck’s vizor was up, +and all the settled sternness of his soul was stamped upon his brow. +But Otho, more willing to brave the arm than to face the front of his +brother, kept his vizor down; the Templar stood by him with folded arms. +It was a study in human passions to his mocking mind. Scarce had the +first trump sounded to this dread conflict, when a new actor entered +on the scene. The rumour of so unprecedented an event had not failed to +reach the convent of Bornhofen; and now, two by two, came the sisters of +the holy shrine, and the armed men made way, as with trailing garments +and veiled faces they swept along into the very lists. At that moment +one from amongst them left her sisters with a slow majestic pace, and +paused not till she stood right between the brother foes. + +“Warbeck,” she said in a hollow voice, that curdled up his dark spirit +as it spoke, “is it thus thou wouldst prove thy love, and maintain thy +trust over the fatherless orphan whom thy sire bequeathed to thy care? +Shall I have murder on my soul?” At that question she paused, and those +who heard it were struck dumb, and shuddered. “The murder of one man by +the hand of his own brother! Away, Warbeck! _I command_.” + +“Shall I forget thy wrongs, Leoline?” said Warbeck. + +“Wrongs! they united me to God! they are forgiven, they are no more. +Earth has deserted me, but Heaven hath taken me to its arms. Shall I +murmur at the change? And thou, Otho”--here her voice faltered--“thou, +does thy conscience smite thee not? Wouldst thou atone for robbing me of +hope by barring against me the future? Wretch that I should be, could +I dream of mercy, could I dream of comfort, if thy brother fell by thy +sword in my cause? Otho, I have pardoned thee, and blessed thee +and thine. Once, perhaps, thou didst love me; remember how I loved +thee,--cast down thine arms.” + +Otho gazed at the veiled form before him. Where had the soft Leoline +learned to command? He turned to his brother; he felt all that he had +inflicted upon both; and casting his sword upon the ground, he knelt at +the feet of Leoline, and kissed her garment with a devotion that votary +never lavished on a holier saint. + +The spell that lay over the warriors around was broken; there was one +loud cry of congratulation and joy. “And thou, Warbeck?” said Leoline, +turning to the spot where, still motionless and haughty, Warbeck stood. + +“Have I ever rebelled against thy will?” said he, softly; and buried the +point of his sword in the earth. “Yet, Leoline, yet,” added he, looking +at his kneeling brother, “yet art thou already better avenged than by +this steel!” + +“Thou art! thou art!” cried Otho, smiting his breast; and slowly, and +scarce noting the crowd that fell back from his path, Warbeck left the +lists. + +Leoline said no more; her divine errand was fulfilled. She looked long +and wistfully after the stately form of the knight of Liebenstein, and +then, with a slight sigh, she turned to Otho, “This is the last time we +shall meet on earth. Peace be with us all!” + +She then, with the same majestic and collected bearing, passed on +towards the sisterhood; and as, in the same solemn procession, they +glided back towards the convent, there was not a man present--no, not +even the hardened Templar--who would not, like Otho, have bent his knee +to Leoline. + +Once more Otho plunged into the wild revelry of the age; his castle was +thronged with guests, and night after night the lighted halls shone down +athwart the tranquil Rhine. The beauty of the Greek, the wealth of Otho, +the fame of the Templar, attracted all the chivalry from far and near. +Never had the banks of the Rhine known so hospitable a lord as the +knight of Sternfels. Yet gloom seized him in the midst of gladness, +and the revel was welcome only as the escape from remorse. The voice of +scandal, however, soon began to mingle with that of envy at the pomp +of Otho. The fair Greek, it was said, weary of her lord, lavished her +smiles on others; the young and the fair were always most acceptable +at the castle; and, above all, her guilty love for the Templar scarcely +affected disguise. Otho alone appeared unconscious of the rumour; and +though he had begun to neglect his bride, he relaxed not in his intimacy +with the Templar. + +It was noon, and the Greek was sitting in her bower alone with her +suspected lover; the rich perfumes of the East mingled with the +fragrance of flowers, and various luxuries, unknown till then in those +northern shores, gave a soft and effeminate character to the room. + +“I tell thee,” said the Greek, petulantly, “that he begins to suspect; +that I have seen him watch thee, and mutter as he watched, and play with +the hilt of his dagger. Better let us fly ere it is too late, for his +vengeance would be terrible were it once roused against us. Ah, why did +I ever forsake my own sweet land for these barbarous shores! There, love +is not considered eternal, nor inconstancy a crime worthy death.” + +“Peace, pretty one!” said the Templar, carelessly; “thou knowest not the +laws of our foolish chivalry. Thinkest thou I could fly from a knight’s +halls like a thief in the night? Why, verily, even the red cross would +not cover such dishonour. If thou fearest that thy dull lord suspects, +let us part. The emperor hath sent to me from Frankfort. Ere evening I +might be on my way thither.” + +“And I left to brave the barbarian’s revenge alone? Is this thy +chivalry?” + +“Nay, prate not so wildly,” answered the Templar. “Surely, when the +object of his suspicion is gone, thy woman’s art and thy Greek wiles can +easily allay the jealous fiend. Do I not know thee, Glycera? Why, thou +wouldst fool all men--save a Templar.” + +“And thou, cruel, wouldst thou leave me?” said the Greek, weeping. “How +shall I live without thee?” + +The Templar laughed slightly. “Can such eyes ever weep without a +comforter? But farewell; I must not be found with thee. To-morrow I +depart for Frankfort; we shall meet again.” + +As soon as the door closed on the Templar, the Greek rose, and pacing +the room, said, “Selfish, selfish! how could I ever trust him? Yet I +dare not brave Otho alone. Surely it was his step that disturbed us +in our yesterday’s interview? Nay, I will fly. I can never want a +companion.” + +She clapped her hands; a young page appeared; she threw herself on her +seat and wept bitterly. + +The page approached, and love was mingled with his compassion. + +“Why weepest thou, dearest lady?” said he. “Is there aught in which +Conrad’s services--services!--ah, thou hast read his heart--_his +devotion_ may avail?” + +Otho had wandered out the whole day alone; his vassals had observed +that his brow was more gloomy than its wont, for he usually concealed +whatever might prey within. Some of the most confidential of his +servitors he had conferred with, and the conference had deepened the +shadow of his countenance. He returned at twilight; the Greek did not +honour the repast with her presence. She was unwell, and not to be +disturbed. The gay Templar was the life of the board. + +“Thou carriest a sad brow to-day, Sir Otho,” said he; “good faith, thou +hast caught it from the air of Liebenstein.” + +“I have something troubles me,” answered Otho, forcing a smile, “which I +would fain impart to thy friendly bosom. The night is clear and the moon +is up, let us forth alone into the garden.” + +The Templar rose, and he forgot not to gird on his sword as he followed +the knight. + +Otho led the way to one of the most distant terraces that overhung the +Rhine. + +“Sir Templar,” said he, pausing, “answer me one question on thy knightly +honour. Was it thy step that left my lady’s bower yester-eve at vesper?” + +Startled by so sudden a query, the wily Templar faltered in his reply. + +The red blood mounted to Otho’s brow. “Nay, lie not, sir knight; these +eyes, thanks to God! have not witnessed, but these ears have heard from +others of my dishonour.” + +As Otho spoke, the Templar’s eye resting on the water perceived a boat +rowing fast over the Rhine; the distance forbade him to see more than +the outline of two figures within it. “She was right,” thought he; +“perhaps that boat already bears her from the danger.” + +Drawing himself up to the full height of his tall stature, the Templar +replied haughtily,-- + +“Sir Otho of Sternfels, if thou hast deigned to question thy vassals, +obtain from them only an answer. It is not to contradict such minions +that the knights of the Temple pledge their word!” + +“Enough,” cried Otho, losing patience, and striking the Templar with his +clenched hand. “Draw, traitor, draw!” + +Alone in his lofty tower Warbeck watched the night deepen over the +heavens, and communed mournfully with himself. “To what end,” thought +he, “have these strong affections, these capacities of love, this +yearning after sympathy, been given me? Unloved and unknown I walk to +my grave, and all the nobler mysteries of my heart are forever to be +untold.” + +Thus musing, he heard not the challenge of the warder on the wall, or +the unbarring of the gate below, or the tread of footsteps along the +winding stair; the door was thrown suddenly open, and Otho stood before +him. “Come,” he said, in a low voice trembling with passion; “come, I +will show thee that which shall glad thine heart. Twofold is Leoline +avenged.” + +Warbeck looked in amazement on a brother he had not met since they stood +in arms each against the other’s life, and he now saw that the arm that +Otho extended to him dripped with blood, trickling drop by drop upon the +floor. + +“Come,” said Otho, “follow me; it is my last prayer. Come, for Leoline’s +sake, come.” + +At that name Warbeck hesitated no longer; he girded on his sword, and +followed his brother down the stairs and through the castle gate. The +porter scarcely believed his eyes when he saw the two brothers, so long +divided, go forth at that hour alone, and seemingly in friendship. + +Warbeck, arrived at that epoch in the feelings when nothing stuns, +followed with silent steps the rapid strides of his brother. The two +castles, as you are aware, are scarce a stone’s throw from each other. +In a few minutes Otho paused at an open space in one of the terraces of +Sternfels, on which the moon shone bright and steady. “Behold!” he said, +in a ghastly voice, “behold!” and Warbeck saw on the sward the corpse of +the Templar, bathed with the blood that even still poured fast and warm +from his heart. + +“Hark!” said Otho. “He it was who first made me waver in my vows to +Leoline; he persuaded me to wed yon whited falsehood. Hark! he, who had +thus wronged my real love, dishonoured me with my faithless bride, and +thus--thus--thus”--as grinding his teeth, he spurned again and again the +dead body of the Templar--“thus Leoline and myself are avenged!” + +“And thy wife?” said Warbeck, pityingly. + +“Fled,--fled with a hireling page. It is well! she was not worth the +sword that was once belted on--by Leoline.” + + + +The tradition, dear Gertrude, proceeds to tell us that Otho, though +often menaced by the rude justice of the day for the death of the +Templar, defied and escaped the menace. On the very night of his revenge +a long and delirious illness seized him; the generous Warbeck forgave, +forgot all, save that he had been once consecrated by Leoline’s love. +He tended him through his sickness, and when he recovered, Otho was an +altered man. He forswore the comrades he had once courted, the revels +he had once led. The halls of Sternfels were desolate as those of +Liebenstein. The only companion Otho sought was Warbeck, and Warbeck +bore with him. They had no topic in common, for on one subject Warbeck +at least felt too deeply ever to trust himself to speak; yet did a +strange and secret sympathy re-unite them. They had at least a common +sorrow; often they were seen wandering together by the solitary banks of +the river, or amidst the woods, without apparently interchanging word or +sign. Otho died first, and still in the prime of youth; and Warbeck +was now left companionless. In vain the imperial court wooed him to its +pleasures; in vain the camp proffered him the oblivion of renown. Ah! +could he tear himself from a spot where morning and night he could see +afar, amidst the valley, the roof that sheltered Leoline, and on which +every copse, every turf, reminded him of former days? His solitary life, +his midnight vigils, strange scrolls about his chamber, obtained him +by degrees the repute of cultivating the darker arts; and shunning, he +became shunned by all. But still it was sweet to hear from time to time +of the increasing sanctity of her in whom he had treasured up his +last thoughts of earth. She it was who healed the sick; she it was who +relieved the poor; and the superstition of that age brought pilgrims +from afar to the altars that she served. + +Many years afterwards, a band of lawless robbers, who ever and anon +broke from their mountain fastnesses to pillage and to desolate the +valleys of the Rhine,--who spared neither sex nor age, neither tower +nor hut, nor even the houses of God Himself,--laid waste the territories +round Bornhofen, and demanded treasure from the convent. The abbess, +of the bold lineage of Rudesheim, refused the sacrilegious demand. +The convent was stormed; its vassals resisted; the robbers, inured to +slaughter, won the day; already the gates were forced, when a knight, at +the head of a small but hardy troop, rushed down from the mountain side +and turned the tide of the fray. Wherever his sword flashed fell a foe; +wherever his war-cry sounded was a space of dead men in the thick of +the battle. The fight was won, the convent saved; the abbess and the +sisterhood came forth to bless their deliverer. Laid under an aged oak, +he was bleeding fast to death; his head was bare and his locks were +gray, but scarcely yet with years. One only of the sisterhood recognized +that majestic face; one bathed his parched lips; one held his dying +hand; and in Leoline’s presence passed away the faithful spirit of the +last lord of Liebenstein! + +“Oh!” said Gertrude, through her tears; “surely you must have altered +the facts,--surely--surely--it must have been impossible for Leoline, +with a woman’s heart, to have loved Otho more than Warbeck?” + +“My child,” said Vane, “so think women when they read a tale of love, +and see _the whole heart_ bared before them; but not so act they in real +life, when they see only the surface of character, and pierce not its +depths--until it is too late!” + + + +CHAPTER XXV. THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL.--A COMMON INCIDENT NOT BEFORE +DESCRIBED.--TREVYLYAN AND GERTRUDE. + +THE day now grew cool as it waned to its decline, and the breeze came +sharp upon the delicate frame of the sufferer. They resolved to proceed +no farther; and as they carried with them attendants and baggage, which +rendered their route almost independent of the ordinary accommodation, +they steered for the opposite shore, and landed at a village beautifully +sequestered in a valley, and where they fortunately obtained a lodging +not often met with in the regions of the picturesque. + +When Gertrude, at an early hour, retired to bed, Vane and Du-----e fell +into speculative conversation upon the nature of man. Vane’s philosophy +was of a quiet and passive scepticism; the physician dared more boldly, +and rushed from doubt to negation. The attention of Trevylyan, as he sat +apart and musing, was arrested in despite of himself. He listened to an +argument in which he took no share, but which suddenly inspired him with +an interest in that awful subject which, in the heat of youth and the +occupations of the world, had never been so prominently called forth +before. + +“What,” thought he, with unutterable anguish, as he listened to the +earnest vehemence of the Frenchman and the tranquil assent of Vane, “if +this creed were indeed true,--if there be no other world,--Gertrude is +lost to me eternally, through the dread gloom of death there would break +forth no star!” + +That is a peculiar incident that perhaps occurs to us all at times, but +which I have never found expressed in books, namely, to hear a doubt of +futurity at the very moment in which the present is most overcast; and +to find at once this world stripped of its delusion and the next of its +consolation. It is perhaps for others, rather than ourselves, that the +fond heart requires a Hereafter. The tranquil rest, the shadow, and the +silence, the mere pause of the wheel of life, have no terror for the +wise, who know the due value of the world. + + “After the billows of a stormy sea, + Sweet is at last the haven of repose!” + +But not so when that stillness is to divide us eternally from others; +when those we have loved with all the passion, the devotion, the +watchful sanctity of the weak human heart, are to exist to us no more! +when, after long years of desertion and widowhood on earth, there is +to be no hope of reunion in that INVISIBLE beyond the stars; when the +torch, not of life only, but of love, is to be quenched in the Dark +Fountain, and the grave, that we would fain hope is the great restorer +of broken ties, is but the dumb seal of hopeless, utter, inexorable +separation! And it is this thought, this sentiment, which makes religion +out of woe, and teaches belief to the mourning heart that in the +gladness of united affections felt not the necessity of a heaven! To how +many is the death of the beloved the parent of faith! + +Stung by his thoughts, Trevylyan rose abruptly, and stealing from the +lowly hostelry, walked forth amidst the serene and deepening night; from +the window of Gertrude’s room the light streamed calm on the purple air. + +With uneven steps and many a pause, he paced to and fro beneath the +window, and gave the rein to his thoughts. How intensely he felt the ALL +that Gertrude was to him! how bitterly he foresaw the change in his lot +and character that her death would work out! For who that met him in +later years ever dreamed that emotions so soft, and yet so ardent, had +visited one so stern? Who could have believed that time was when the +polished and cold Trevylyan had kept the vigils he now held below the +chamber of one so little like himself as Gertrude, in that remote and +solitary hamlet; shut in by the haunted mountains of the Rhine, and +beneath the moonlight of the romantic North? + +While thus engaged, the light in Gertrude’s room was suddenly +extinguished; it is impossible to express how much that trivial incident +affected him! It was like an emblem of what was to come; the light had +been the only evidence of life that broke upon that hour, and he was +now left alone with the shades of night. Was not this like the herald of +Gertrude’s own death; the extinction of the only living ray that broke +upon the darkness of the world? + +His anguish, his presentiment of utter desolation, increased. He groaned +aloud; he dashed his clenched hand to his breast; large and cold drops +of agony stole down his brow. “Father,” he exclaimed with a struggling +voice, “let this cup pass from me! Smite my ambition to the root; +curse me with poverty, shame, and bodily disease; but leave me this one +solace, this one companion of my fate!” + +At this moment Gertrude’s window opened gently, and he heard accents +steal soothingly upon his ear. + +“Is not that your voice, Albert?” said she, softly. “I heard it just as +I lay down to rest, and could not sleep while you were thus exposed to +the damp night air. You do not answer; surely it is your voice: when +did I mistake it for another’s?” Mastering with a violent effort his +emotions, Trevylyan answered, with a sort of convulsive gayety,-- + +“Why come to these shores, dear Gertrude, unless you are honoured with +the chivalry that belongs to them? What wind, what blight, can harm me +while within the circle of your presence; and what sleep can bring me +dreams so dear as the waking thought of you?” + +“It is cold,” said Gertrude, shivering; “come in, dear Albert, I beseech +you, and I will thank you to-morrow.” Gertrude’s voice was choked by the +hectic cough, that went like an arrow to Trevylyan’s heart; and he felt +that in her anxiety for him she was now exposing her own frame to the +unwholesome night. + +He spoke no more, but hurried within the house; and when the gray light +of morn broke upon his gloomy features, haggard from the want of sleep, +it might have seemed, in that dim eye and fast-sinking cheek, as if the +lovers were not to be divided--even by death itself. + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. IN WHICH THE READER WILL LEARN HOW THE FAIRIES WERE +RECEIVED BY THE SOVEREIGNS OF THE MINES.--THE COMPLAINT OF THE LAST OF +THE FAUNS.--THE RED HUNTSMAN.--THE STORM.--DEATH. + +IN the deep valley of Ehrenthal, the metal kings--the Prince of the +Silver Palaces, the Gnome Monarch of the dull Lead Mine, the President +of the Copper United States--held a court to receive the fairy wanderers +from the island of Nonnewerth. + +The prince was there, in a gallant hunting-suit of oak leaves, in +honour to England; and wore a profusion of fairy orders, which had been +instituted from time to time, in honour of the human poets that had +celebrated the spiritual and ethereal tribes. Chief of these, sweet +Dreamer of the “Midsummer Night’s Dream,” was the badge crystallized +from the dews that rose above the whispering reeds of Avon on the night +of thy birth,--the great epoch of the intellectual world! Nor wert thou, +O beloved Musaeus! nor thou, dim-dreaming Tieck! nor were ye, the +wild imaginer of the bright-haired Undine, and the wayward spirit that +invoked for the gloomy Manfred the Witch of the breathless Alps and +the spirits of earth and air!--nor were ye without the honours of fairy +homage! Your memory may fade from the heart of man, and the spells of +new enchanters may succeed to the charm you once wove over the face of +the common world; but still in the green knolls of the haunted valley +and the deep shade of forests, and the starred palaces of air, ye are +honoured by the beings of your dreams, as demigods and kings! Your +graves are tended by invisible hands, and the places of your birth are +hallowed by no perishable worship! + +Even as I write,* far away amidst the hills of Scotland, and by the +forest thou hast clothed with immortal verdure, thou, the maker of “the +Harp by lone Glenfillan’s spring,” art passing from the earth which thou +hast “painted with delight.” And such are the chances of mortal fame, +our children’s children may raise new idols on the site of thy holy +altar, and cavil where their sires adored; but for thee the mermaid of +the ocean shall wail in her coral caves, and the sprite that lives in +the waterfalls shall mourn! Strange shapes shall hew thy monument in the +recesses of the lonely rocks! ever by moonlight shall the fairies pause +from their roundel when some wild note of their minstrelsy reminds them +of thine own,--ceasing from their revelries, to weep for the silence of +that mighty lyre, which breathed alike a revelation of the mysteries of +spirits and of men! + + * It was just at the time the author was finishing this work + that the great master of his art was drawing to the close + of his career. + +The King of the Silver Mines sat in a cavern in the valley, through +which the moonlight pierced its way and slept in shadow on the soil +shining with metals wrought into unnumbered shapes; and below him, on a +humbler throne, with a gray beard and downcast eye, sat the aged King +of the Dwarfs that preside over the dull realms of lead, and inspire +the verse of -----, and the prose of -----! And there too a fantastic +household elf was the President of the Copper Republic,--a spirit that +loves economy and the Uses, and smiles sparely on the Beautiful. But, in +the centre of the cave, upon beds of the softest mosses, the untrodden +growth of ages, reclined the fairy visitors, Nymphalin seated by her +betrothed. And round the walls of the cave were dwarf attendants on +the sovereigns of the metals, of a thousand odd shapes and fantastic +garments. On the abrupt ledges of the rocks the bats, charmed to +stillness but not sleep, clustered thickly, watching the scene with +fixed and amazed eyes; and one old gray owl, the favourite of the witch +of the valley, sat blinking in a corner, listening with all her might +that she might bring home the scandal to her mistress. + +“And tell me, Prince of the Rhine-Island Fays,” said the King of the +Silver Mines, “for thou art a traveller, and a fairy that hath seen +much, how go men’s affairs in the upper world? As to ourself, we live +here in a stupid splendour, and only hear the news of the day when +our brother of lead pays a visit to the English printing-press, or the +President of Copper goes to look at his improvements in steam-engines.” + +“Indeed,” replied Fayzenheim, preparing to speak like AEneas in the +Carthaginian court,--“indeed, your Majesty, I know not much that will +interest you in the present aspect of mortal affairs, except that you +are quite as much honoured at this day as when the Roman conqueror bent +his knee to you among the mountains of Taunus; and a vast number of +little round subjects of yours are constantly carried about by the rich, +and pined after with hopeless adoration by the poor. But, begging your +Majesty’s pardon, may I ask what has become of your cousin, the King +of the Golden Mines? I know very well that he has no dominion in these +valleys, and do not therefore wonder at his absence from your court this +night; but I see so little of his subjects on earth that I should fear +his empire was well nigh at an end, if I did not recognize everywhere +the most servile homage paid to a power now become almost invisible.” + +The King of the Silver Mines fetched a deep sigh. “Alas, prince,” said +he, “too well do you divine the expiration of my cousin’s empire. So +many of his subjects have from time to time gone forth to the world, +pressed into military service and never returning, that his kingdom is +nearly depopulated. And he lives far off in the distant parts of the +earth, in a state of melancholy seclusion; the age of gold has passed, +the age of paper has commenced.” + +“Paper,” said Nymphalin, who was still somewhat of a +_precieuse_,--“paper is a wonderful thing. What pretty books the human +people write upon it!” + +“Ah! that’s what I design to convey,” said the silver king. “It is the +age less of paper money than paper government: the Press is the true +bank.” The lord treasurer of the English fairies pricked up his ears +at the word “bank;” for he was the Attwood of the fairies: he had a +favourite plan of making money out of bulrushes, and had written four +large bees’-wings full upon the true nature of capital. + +While they were thus conversing, a sudden sound as of some rustic and +rude music broke along the air, and closing its wild burden, they heard +the following song:-- + + + +THE COMPLAINT OF THE LAST FAUN. + + +I. The moon on the Latmos mountain Her pining vigil keeps; +And ever the silver fountain In the Dorian valley weeps. +But gone are Endymion’s dreams; And the crystal lymph + Bewails the nymph +Whose beauty sleeked the streams! + + +II. Round Arcady’s oak its green The Bromian ivy weaves; +But no more is the satyr seen Laughing out from the glossy leaves. +Hushed is the Lycian lute, Still grows the seed + Of the Moenale reed, +But the pipe of Pan is mute! + + +III. The leaves in the noon-day quiver; The vines on the mountains wave; +And Tiber rolls his river As fresh by the Sylvan’s cave. +But my brothers are dead and gone; And far away + From their graves I stray, +And dream of the past alone! + + +IV. And the sun of the north is chill; And keen is the northern gale; +Alas for the Song of the Argive hill; And the dance in the Cretan vale! +The youth of the earth is o’er, And its breast is rife + With the teeming life +Of the golden Tribes no more! + + +V. My race are more blest than I, Asleep in their distant bed; +‘T were better, be sure, to die Than to mourn for the buried Dead: +To rove by the stranger streams, At dusk and dawn + A lonely faun, +The last of the Grecian’s dreams. + + + +As the song ended a shadow crossed the moonlight, that lay white and +lustrous before the aperture of the cavern; and Nymphalin, looking up, +beheld a graceful yet grotesque figure standing on the sward without, +and gazing on the group in the cave. It was a shaggy form, with a goat’s +legs and ears; but the rest of its body, and the height of the stature, +like a man’s. An arch, pleasant, yet malicious smile played about its +lips; and in its hand it held the pastoral pipe of which poets have +sung,--they would find it difficult to sing to it! + +“And who art thou?” said Fayzenheim, with the air of a hero. + +“I am the last lingering wanderer of the race which the Romans +worshipped; hither I followed their victorious steps, and in these green +hollows have I remained. Sometimes in the still noon, when the leaves of +spring bud upon the whispering woods, I peer forth from my rocky lair, +and startle the peasant with my strange voice and stranger shape. Then +goes he home, and puzzles his thick brain with mopes and fancies, till +at length he imagines me, the creature of the South! one of his northern +demons, and his poets adapt the apparition to their barbarous lines.” + +“Ho!” quoth the silver king, “surely thou art the origin of the fabled +Satan of the cowled men living whilom in yonder ruins, with its horns +and goatish limbs; and the harmless faun has been made the figuration +of the most implacable of fiends. But why, O wanderer of the South, +lingerest thou in these foreign dells? Why returnest thou not to the +bi-forked hill-top of old Parnassus, or the wastes around the yellow +course of the Tiber?” + +“My brethren are no more,” said the poor faun; “and the very faith that +left us sacred and unharmed is departed. But here all the spirits not of +mortality are still honoured; and I wander, mourning for Silenus, though +amidst the vines that should console me for his loss.” + +“Thou hast known great beings in thy day,” said the leaden king, who +loved the philosophy of a truism (and the history of whose inspirations +I shall one day write). + +“Ah, yes,” said the faun; “my birth was amidst the freshness of the +world, when the flush of the universal life coloured all things with +divinity; when not a tree but had its Dryad, not a fountain that was +without its Nymph. I sat by the gray throne of Saturn, in his old age, +ere yet he was discrowned (for he was no visionary ideal, but the arch +monarch of the pastoral age), and heard from his lips the history of the +world’s birth. But those times are gone forever,--they have left harsh +successors.” + +“It is the age of paper,” muttered the lord treasurer, shaking his head. + +“What ho, for a dance!” cried Fayzenheim, too royal for moralities, and +he whirled the beautiful Nymphalin into a waltz. Then forth issued the +fairies, and out went the dwarfs. And the faun leaning against an aged +elm, ere yet the midnight waned, the elves danced their charmed round +to the antique minstrelsy of his pipe,--the minstrelsy of the Grecian +world! + +“Hast thou seen yet, my Nymphalin,” said Fayzenheim, in the pauses of +the dance, “the recess of the Hartz, and the red form of its mighty +hunter?” + +“It is a fearful sight,” answered Nymphalin; “but with thee I should not +fear.” + +“Away then!” cried Fayzenheim; “let us away at the first cock-crow, into +those shaggy dells; for there is no need of night to conceal us, and the +unwitnessed blush of morn or the dreary silence of noon is, no less than +the moon’s reign, the season for the sports of the superhuman tribes.” + +Nymphalin, charmed with the proposal, readily assented; and at the last +hour of night, bestriding the starbeams of the many-titled Friga, away +sped the fairy cavalcade to the gloom of the mystic Hartz. + +Fain would I relate the manner of their arrival in the thick recesses +of the forest,--how they found the Red Hunter seated on a fallen pine +beside a wide chasm in the earth, with the arching bows of the wizard +oak wreathing above his head as a canopy, and his bow and spear lying +idle at his feet. Fain would I tell of the reception which he deigned to +the fairies, and how he told them of his ancient victories over man; how +he chafed at the gathering invasions of his realm; and how joyously he +gloated of some great convulsion* in the northern States, which, rapt +into moody reveries in those solitary woods, the fierce demon broodingly +foresaw. All these fain would I narrate, but they are not of the Rhine, +and my story will not brook the delay. While thus conversing with the +fiend, noon had crept on, and the sky had become overcast and lowering; +the giant trees waved gustily to and fro, and the low gatherings of +the thunder announced the approaching storm. Then the hunter rose and +stretched his mighty limbs, and seizing his spear, he strode rapidly +into the forest to meet the things of his own tribe that the tempest +wakes from their rugged lair. + + * Which has come to pass.--1847. + +A sudden recollection broke upon Nymphalin. “Alas, alas!” she cried, +wringing her hands; “what have I done! In journeying hither with thee, +I have forgotten my office. I have neglected my watch over the elements, +and my human charge is at this hour, perhaps, exposed to all the fury of +the storm.” + +“Cheer thee, my Nymphalin,” said the prince, “we will lay the tempest;” + and he waved his sword and muttered the charms which curb the winds and +roll back the marching thunder: but for once the tempest ceased not at +his spells. And now, as the fairies sped along the troubled air, a +pale and beautiful form met them by the way, and the fairies paused and +trembled; for the power of that Shape could vanquish even them. It +was the form of a Female, with golden hair, crowned with a chaplet of +withered leaves; her bosoms, of an exceeding beauty, lay bare to the +wind, and an infant was clasped between them, hushed into a sleep so +still, that neither the roar of the thunder, nor the livid lightning +flashing from cloud to cloud, could even ruffle, much less arouse, the +slumberer. And the face of the female was unutterably calm and sweet +(though with a something of severe); there was no line nor wrinkle in +the hueless brow; care never wrote its defacing characters upon that +everlasting beauty. It knew no sorrow or change; ghostlike and shadowy +floated on that Shape through the abyss of Time, governing the world +with an unquestioned and noiseless sway. And the children of the green +solitudes of the earth, the lovely fairies of my tale, shuddered as they +gazed and recognized--the form of DEATH,--death vindicated. + +“And why,” said the beautiful Shape, with a voice soft as the last sighs +of a dying babe,--“why trouble ye the air with spells? Mine is the hour +and the empire, and the storm is the creature of my power. Far yonder to +the west it sweeps over the sea, and the ship ceases to vex the waves; +it smites the forest, and the destined tree, torn from its roots, feels +the winter strip the gladness from its boughs no more! The roar of the +elements is the herald of eternal stillness to their victims; and they +who hear the progress of my power idly shudder at the coming of peace. +And thou, O tender daughter of the fairy kings, why grievest thou at a +mortal’s doom? Knowest thou not that sorrow cometh with years, and that +to live is to mourn? Blessed is the flower that, nipped in its early +spring, feels not the blast that one by one scatters its blossoms around +it, and leaves but the barren stem. Blessed are the young whom I clasp +to my breast, and lull into the sleep which the storm cannot break, nor +the morrow arouse to sorrow or to toil. The heart that is stilled in the +bloom of its first emotions, that turns with its last throb to the eye +of love, as yet unlearned in the possibility of change,--has exhausted +already the wine of life, and is saved only from the lees. As the mother +soothes to sleep the wail of her troubled child, I open my arms to the +vexed spirit, and my bosom cradles the unquiet to repose!” + +The fairies answered not, for a chill and a fear lay over them, and the +Shape glided on; ever as it passed away through the veiling clouds they +heard its low voice singing amidst the roar of the storm, as the dirge +of the water-sprite over the vessel it hath lured into the whirlpool or +the shoals. + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. THURMBERG.--A STORM UPON THE RHINE.--THE RUINS OF +RHEINFELS.--PERIL UNFELT BY LOVE.--THE ECHO OF THE LURLEI-BERG.--ST. +GOAR.--KAUB, GUTENFELS, AND PFALZGRAFENSTEIN.--A CERTAIN VASTNESS OF +MIND IN THE FIRST HERMITS.--THE SCENERY OF THE RHINE TO BACHARACH. + +OUR party continued their voyage the next day, which was less bright +than any they had yet experienced. The clouds swept on dull and heavy, +suffering the sun only to break forth at scattered intervals. They wound +round the curving bay which the Rhine forms in that part of its course, +and gazed upon the ruins of Thurmberg, with the rich gardens that skirt +the banks below. The last time Trevylyan had seen those ruins soaring +against the sky, the green foliage at the foot of the rocks, and the +quiet village sequestered beneath, glassing its roofs and solitary tower +upon the wave, it had been with a gay summer troop of light friends, +who had paused on the opposite shore during the heats of noon, and, over +wine and fruits, had mimicked the groups of Boccaccio, and intermingled +the lute, the jest, the momentary love, and the laughing tale. + +What a difference now in his thoughts, in the object of the voyage, in +his present companions! The feet of years fall noiseless; we heed, we +note them not, till tracking the same course we passed long since, +we are startled to find how deep the impression they leave behind. +To revisit the scenes of our youth is to commune with the ghost of +ourselves. + +At this time the clouds gathered rapidly along the heavens, and they +were startled by the first peal of the thunder. Sudden and swift came on +the storm, and Trevylyan trembled as he covered Gertrude’s form with the +rude boat-cloaks they had brought with them; the small vessel began to +rock wildly to and fro upon the waters. High above them rose the +vast dismantled ruins of Rheinfels, the lightning darting through its +shattered casements and broken arches, and brightening the gloomy trees +that here and there clothed the rocks, and tossed to the angry wind. +Swift wheeled the water-birds over the river, dipping their plumage in +the white foam, and uttering their discordant screams. A storm upon the +Rhine has a grandeur it is in vain to paint. Its rocks, its foliage, the +feudal ruins that everywhere rise from the lofty heights, speaking +in characters of stern decay of many a former battle against time +and tempest; the broad and rapid course of the legendary river,--all +harmonize with the elementary strife; and you feel that to see the Rhine +only in the sunshine is to be unconscious of its most majestic aspects. +What baronial war had those ruins witnessed! From the rapine of the +lordly tyrant of those battlements rose the first Confederation of the +Rhine,--the great strife between the new time and the old, the town +and the castle, the citizen and the chief. Gray and stern those ruins +breasted the storm,--a type of the antique opinion which once manned +them with armed serfs; and, yet in ruins and decay, appeals from the +victorious freedom it may no longer resist! + +Clasped in Trevylyan’s guardian arms, and her head pillowed on his +breast, Gertrude felt nothing of the storm save its grandeur; and +Trevylyan’s voice whispered cheer and courage to her ear. She answered +by a smile and a sigh, but not of pain. In the convulsions of nature we +forget our own separate existence, our schemes, our projects, our fears; +our dreams vanish back into their cells. One passion only the storm +quells not, and the presence of Love mingles with the voice of the +fiercest storms, as with the whispers of the southern wind. So she felt, +as they were thus drawn close together, and as she strove to smile away +the anxious terror from Trevylyan’s gaze, a security, a delight; for +peril is sweet even to the fears of woman, when it impresses upon her +yet more vividly that she is beloved. + +“A moment more and we reach the land,” murmured Trevylyan. + +“I wish it not,” answered Gertrude, softly. But ere they got into St. +Goar the rain descended in torrents, and even the thick coverings round +Gertrude’s form were not sufficient protection against it. Wet and +dripping she reached the inn; but not then, nor for some days, was she +sensible of the shock her decaying health had received. + +The storm lasted but a few hours, and the sun afterwards broke forth +so brightly, and the stream looked so inviting, that they yielded to +Gertrude’s earnest wish, and, taking a larger vessel, continued their +course; they passed along the narrow and dangerous defile of the +Gewirre, and the fearful whirlpool of the “Bank;” and on the shore to +the left the enormous rock of Lurlei rose, huge and shapeless, on their +gaze. In this place is a singular echo, and one of the boatmen wound a +horn, which produced an almost supernatural music,--so wild, loud, and +oft reverberated was its sound. + +The river now curved along in a narrow and deep channel amongst rugged +steeps, on which the westering sun cast long and uncouth shadows; and +here the hermit, from whose sacred name the town of St. Goar derived its +own, fixed his abode and preached the religion of the Cross. “There +was a certain vastness of mind,” said Vane, “in the adoption of utter +solitude, in which the first enthusiasts of our religion indulged. The +remote desert, the solitary rock, the rude dwelling hollowed from the +cave, the eternal commune with their own hearts, with nature, and their +dreams of God,--all make a picture of severe and preterhuman grandeur. +Say what we will of the necessity and charm of social life, there is a +greatness about man when he dispenses with mankind.” + +“As to that,” said Du-----e, shrugging his shoulders, “there was +probably very good wine in the neighbourhood, and the females’ eyes +about Oberwesel are singularly blue.” + +They now approached Oberwesel, another of the once imperial towns, and +behind it beheld the remains of the castle of the illustrious family of +Schomberg, the ancestors of the old hero of the Boyne. A little farther +on, from the opposite shore, the castle of Gutenfels rose above the busy +town of Kaub. + +“Another of those scenes,” said Trevylyan, “celebrated equally by love +and glory, for the castle’s name is derived from that of the beautiful +ladye of an emperor’s passion; and below, upon a ridge in the steep, +the great Gustavus issued forth his command to begin battle with the +Spaniards.” + +“It looks peaceful enough now,” said Vane, pointing to the craft that +lay along the stream, and the green trees drooping over a curve in the +bank. Beyond, in the middle of the stream itself, stands the lonely +castle of Pfalzgrafenstein, sadly memorable as a prison to the more +distinguished of criminals. How many pining eyes may have turned from +those casements to the vine-clad hills of the free shore! how many +indignant hearts have nursed the deep curses of hate in the dungeons +below, and longed for the wave that dashed against the gray walls to +force its way within and set them free! + +Here the Rhine seems utterly bounded, shrunk into one of those delusive +lakes into which it so frequently seems to change its course; and as you +proceed, it is as if the waters were silently overflowing their channel +and forcing their way into the clefts of the mountain shore. Passing the +Werth Island on one side and the castle of Stahleck on the other, +our voyagers arrived at Bacharach, which, associating the feudal +recollections with the classic, takes its name from the god of the vine; +and as Du-----e declared with peculiar emphasis, quaffing a large goblet +of the peculiar liquor, “richly deserves the honour!” + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. THE VOYAGE TO BINGEN.--THE SIMPLE INCIDENTS IN THIS TALE +EXCUSED.--THE SITUATION AND CHARACTER OF GERTRUDE.--THE CONVERSATION OF +THE LOVERS IN THE TEMPEST.--A FACT CONTRADICTED.--THOUGHTS OCCASIONED BY +A MADHOUSE AMONGST THE MOST BEAUTIFUL LANDSCAPES OF THE RHINE. + +THE next day they again resumed their voyage, and Gertrude’s spirits +were more cheerful than usual. The air seemed to her lighter, and she +breathed with a less painful effort; once more hope entered the breast +of Trevylyan; and, as the vessel bounded on, their conversation was +steeped in no sombre hues. When Gertrude’s health permitted, no temper +was so gay, yet so gently gay, as hers; and now the _naive_ sportiveness +of her remarks called a smile to the placid lip of Vane, and smoothed +the anxious front of Trevylyan himself; as for Du-----e, who had much of +the boon companion beneath his professional gravity, he broke out every +now and then into snatches of French songs and drinking glees, which he +declared were the result of the air of Bacharach. Thus conversing, the +ruins of Furstenberg, and the echoing vale of Rheindeibach, glided past +their sail; then the old town of Lorch, on the opposite bank (where the +red wine is said first to have been made), with the green island before +it in the water. Winding round, the stream showed castle upon castle +alike in ruins, and built alike upon scarce accessible steeps. Then came +the chapel of St. Clements and the opposing village of Asmannshausen; +the lofty Rossell, built at the extremest verge of the cliff; and now +the tower of Hatto, celebrated by Southey’s ballad, and the ancient +town of Bingen. Here they paused a while from their voyage, with the +intention of visiting more minutely the Rheingau, or valley of the +Rhine. + +It must occur to every one of my readers, that, in undertaking, as now, +in these passages in the history of Trevylyan, scarcely so much a tale +as an episode in real life, it is very difficult to offer any interest +save of the most simple and unexciting kind. It is true that to +Trevylyan every day, every hour, had its incident; but what are those +incidents to others? A cloud in the sky; a smile from the lip of +Gertrude,--these were to him far more full of events than had been the +most varied scenes of his former adventurous career; but the history of +the heart is not easily translated into language; and the world will not +readily pause from its business to watch the alternations in the cheek +of a dying girl. + +In the immense sum of human existence what is a single unit? Every +sod on which we tread is the grave of some former being; yet is there +something that softens without enervating the heart in tracing in the +life of another those emotions that all of us have known ourselves. For +who is there that has not, in his progress through life, felt all its +ordinary business arrested, and the varieties of fate commuted into one +chronicle of the affections? Who has not watched over the passing away +of some being, more to him at that epoch than all the world? And this +unit, so trivial to the calculation of others, of what inestimable value +was it not to him? Retracing in another such recollections, shadowed and +mellowed down by time, we feel the wonderful sanctity of human life, we +feel what emotions a single being can awake; what a world of hope may +be buried in a single grave! And thus we keep alive within ourselves the +soft springs of that morality which unites us with our kind, and sheds +over the harsh scenes and turbulent contests of earth the colouring of a +common love. + +There is often, too, in the time of year in which such thoughts are +presented to us, a certain harmony with the feelings they awaken. As I +write I hear the last sighs of the departing summer, and the sere and +yellow leaf is visible in the green of nature. But when this book goes +forth into the world, the year will have passed through a deeper cycle +of decay; and the first melancholy signs of winter have breathed into +the Universal Mind that sadness which associates itself readily with +the memory of friends, of feelings, that are no more. The seasons, like +ourselves, track their course by something of beauty, or of glory, that +is left behind. As the traveller in the land of Palestine sees tomb +after tomb rise before him, the landmarks of his way, and the only signs +of the holiness of the soil, thus Memory wanders over the most sacred +spots in its various world, and traces them but by the graves of the +Past. + +It was now that Gertrude began to feel the shock her frame had received +in the storm upon the Rhine. Cold shiverings frequently seized her; her +cough became more hollow, and her form trembled at the slightest breeze. + +Vane grew seriously alarmed; he repented that he had yielded to +Gertrude’s wish of substituting the Rhine for the Tiber or the Arno; +and would even now have hurried across the Alps to a warmer clime, if +Du-----e had not declared that she could not survive the journey, +and that her sole chance of regaining her strength was rest. Gertrude +herself, however, in the continued delusion of her disease, clung to +the belief of recovery, and still supported the hopes of her father, and +soothed, with secret talk of the future, the anguish of her betrothed. +The reader may remember that in the most touching passage in the +ancient tragedians, the most pathetic part of the most pathetic of +human poets--the pleading speech of Iphigenia, when imploring for +her prolonged life, she impresses you with so soft a picture of its +innocence and its beauty, and in this Gertrude resembled the Greek’s +creation--that she felt, on the verge of death, all the flush, the glow, +the loveliness of life. Her youth was filled with hope and many-coloured +dreams; she loved, and the hues of morning slept upon the yet +disenchanted earth. The heavens to her were not as the common sky; +the wave had its peculiar music to her ear, and the rustling leaves a +pleasantness that none whose heart is not bathed in the love and sense +of beauty could discern. Therefore it was, in future years, a thought +of deep gratitude to Trevylyan that she was so little sensible of her +danger; that the landscape caught not the gloom of the grave; and that, +in the Greek phrase, “death found her sleeping amongst flowers.” + +At the end of a few days, another of those sudden turns, common to +her malady, occurred in Gertrude’s health; her youth and her happiness +rallied against the encroaching tyrant, and for the ensuing fortnight +she seemed once more within the bounds of hope. During this time they +made several excursions into the Rheingau, and finished their tour at +the ancient Heidelberg. + +One morning, in these excursions, after threading the wood of +Niederwald, they gained that small and fairy temple, which hanging +lightly over the mountain’s brow, commands one of the noblest landscapes +of earth. There, seated side by side, the lovers looked over the +beautiful world below; far to the left lay the happy islets, in the +embrace of the Rhine, as it wound along the low and curving meadows that +stretch away towards Nieder-Ingelheim and Mayence. Glistening in the +distance, the opposite Nah swept by the Mause tower, and the ruins of +Klopp, crowning the ancient Bingen, into the mother tide. There, on +either side the town, were the mountains of St. Roch and Rupert, with +some old monastic ruin saddening in the sun. But nearer, below the +temple, contrasting all the other features of landscape, yawned a dark +and rugged gulf, girt by cragged elms and mouldering towers, the very +prototype of the abyss of time,--black and fathomless amidst ruin and +desolation. + +“I think sometimes,” said Gertrude, “as in scenes like these we sit +together, and rapt from the actual world, see only the enchantment that +distance lends to our view,--I think sometimes what pleasure it will be +hereafter to recall these hours. If ever you should love me less, I need +only whisper to you, ‘The Rhine,’ and will not all the feelings you have +now for me return?” + +“Ah, there will never be occasion to recall my love for you,--it can +never decay.” + +“What a strange thing is life!” said Gertrude; “how unconnected, how +desultory seem all its links! Has this sweet pause from trouble, from +the ordinary cares of life--has it anything in common with your past +career, with your future? You will go into the great world; in a few +years hence these moments of leisure and musing will be denied to you. +The action that you love and court is a jealous sphere,--it allows no +wandering, no repose. These moments will then seem to you but as yonder +islands that stud the Rhine,--the stream lingers by them for a moment, +and then hurries on in its rapid course; they vary, but they do not +interrupt the tide.” + +“You are fanciful, my Gertrude; but your simile might be juster. Rather +let these banks be as our lives, and this river the one thought that +flows eternally by both, blessing each with undying freshness.” + +Gertrude smiled; and, as Trevylyan’s arm encircled her, she sank her +beautiful face upon his bosom, he covered it with his kisses, and she +thought at the moment, that, even had she passed death, that embrace +could have recalled her to life. + +They pursued their course to Mayence, partly by land, partly along +the river. One day, as returning from the vine-clad mountains of +Johannisberg, which commands the whole of the Rheingau, the most +beautiful valley in the world, they proceeded by water to the town of +Ellfeld, Gertrude said,-- + +“There is a thought in your favourite poet which you have often +repeated, and which I cannot think true,-- + + “‘In nature there is nothing melancholy.’ + +“To me, it seems as if a certain melancholy were inseparable from +beauty; in the sunniest noon there is a sense of solitude and stillness +which pervades the landscape, and even in the flush of life inspires us +with a musing and tender sadness. Why is this?” + +“I cannot tell,” said Trevylyan, mournfully; “but I allow that it is +true.” + +“It is as if,” continued the romantic Gertrude, “the spirit of the +world spoke to us in the silence, and filled us with a sense of our +mortality,--a whisper from the religion that belongs to nature, and is +ever seeking to unite the earth with the reminiscences of Heaven. Ah, +what without a heaven would be even love!--a perpetual terror of the +separation that must one day come! If,” she resumed solemnly, after a +momentary pause, and a shadow settled on her young face, “if it be true, +Albert, that I must leave you soon--” + +“It cannot! it cannot!” cried Trevylyan, wildly; “be still, be silent, I +beseech you.” + +“Look yonder,” said Du-----e, breaking seasonably in upon the +conversation of the lovers; “on that hill to the left, what once was +an abbey is now an asylum for the insane. Does it not seem a quiet and +serene abode for the unstrung and erring minds that tenant it? What +a mystery is there in our conformation!--those strange and bewildered +fancies which replace our solid reason, what a moral of our human +weakness do they breathe!” + +It does indeed induce a dark and singular train of thought, when, in the +midst of these lovely scenes, we chance upon this lone retreat for those +on whose eyes Nature, perhaps, smiles in vain. _Or is it in vain?_ They +look down upon the broad Rhine, with its tranquil isles: do their wild +delusions endow the river with another name, and people the valleys +with no living shapes? Does the broken mirror within reflect back the +countenance of real things, or shadows and shapes, crossed, mingled, and +bewildered,--the phantasma of a sick man’s dreams? Yet, perchance, one +memory unscathed by the general ruin of the brain can make even the +beautiful Rhine more beautiful than it is to the common eye; can calm +it with the hues of departed love, and bids its possessor walk over its +vine-clad mountains with the beings that have ceased to _be_! There, +perhaps, the self-made monarch sits upon his throne and claims the +vessels as his fleet, the waves and the valleys as his own; there, the +enthusiast, blasted by the light of some imaginary creed, beholds the +shapes of angels, and watches in the clouds round the setting sun +the pavilions of God; there the victim of forsaken or perished love, +mightier than the sorcerers of old, evokes the dead, or recalls the +faithless by the philter of undying fancies. Ah, blessed art thou, the +winged power of Imagination that is within us! conquering even grief, +brightening even despair. Thou takest us from the world when reason can +no longer bind us to it, and givest to the maniac the inspiration and +the solace of the bard! Thou, the parent of the purer love, lingerest +like love, when even ourself forsakes us, and lightest up the shattered +chambers of the heart with the glory that makes a sanctity of decay. + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. ELLFELD.--MAYENCE.--HEIDELBERG.--A CONVERSATION BETWEEN +VANE AND THE GERMAN STUDENT.--THE RUINS OF THE CASTLE OF HEIDELBERG AND +ITS SOLITARY HABITANT. + +IT was now the full noon; light clouds were bearing up towards the +opposite banks of the Rhine, but over the Gothic towers of Ellfeld the +sky spread blue and clear; the river danced beside the old gray walls +with a sunny wave, and close at hand a vessel crowded with passengers, +and loud with eager voices, gave a merry life to the scene. On the +opposite bank the hills sloped away into the far horizon, and one slight +skiff in the midst of the waters broke the solitary brightness of the +noonday calm. + +The town of Ellfeld was the gift of Otho the First to the Church; +not far from thence is the crystal spring that gives its name to the +delicious grape of Markbrunner. + +“Ah,” quoth Du-----e, “doubtless the good bishops of Mayence made the +best of the vicinity!” + +They stayed some little time at this town, and visited the ruins of +Scharfenstein; thence proceeding up the river, they passed Nieder +Walluf, called the Gate of the Rheingau, and the luxuriant garden of +Schierstein; thence, sailing by the castle-seat of the Prince Nassau +Usingen, and passing two long and narrow isles, they arrived at Mayence, +as the sun shot his last rays upon the waters, gilding the proud +cathedral-spire, and breaking the mists that began to gather behind, +over the rocks of the Rheingau. + +Ever memorable Mayence,--memorable alike for freedom and for song, +within those walls how often woke the gallant music of the Troubadour; +and how often beside that river did the heart of the maiden tremble to +the lay! Within those walls the stout Walpoden first broached the great +scheme of the Hanseatic league; and, more than all, O memorable Mayence, +thou canst claim the first invention of the mightiest engine of human +intellect,--the great leveller of power, the Demiurgus of the moral +world,--the Press! Here too lived the maligned hero of the greatest +drama of modern genius, the traditionary Faust, illustrating in himself +the fate of his successors in dispensing knowledge,--held a monster for +his wisdom, and consigned to the penalties of hell as a recompense for +the benefits he had conferred on earth! + +At Mayence, Gertrude heard so much and so constantly of Heidelberg, +that she grew impatient to visit that enchanting town; and as Du-----e +considered the air of Heidelberg more pure and invigorating than that of +Mayence, they resolved to fix within it their temporary residence. +Alas! it was the place destined to close their brief and melancholy +pilgrimage, and to become to the heart of Trevylyan the holiest spot +which the earth contained,--the KAABA of the world. But Gertrude, +unconscious of her fate, conversed gayly as their carriage rolled +rapidly on, and, constantly alive to every new sensation, she touched +with her characteristic vivacity on all that they had seen in their +previous route. There is a great charm in the observations of one new +to the world; if we ourselves have become somewhat tired of “its hack +sights and sounds,” we hear in their freshness a voice from our own +youth. + +In the haunted valley of the Neckar, the most crystal of rivers, stands +the town of Heidelberg. The shades of evening gathered round it as their +heavy carriage rattled along the antique streets, and not till the next +day was Gertrude aware of all the unrivalled beauties that environ the +place. + +Vane, who was an early riser, went forth alone in the morning to +reconnoitre the town; and as he was gazing on the tower of St. Peter, +he heard himself suddenly accosted. He turned round and saw the German +student whom they had met among the mountains of Taunus at his elbow. + +“Monsieur has chosen well in coming hither,” said the student; “and I +trust our town will not disappoint his expectations.” Vane answered with +courtesy, and the German offering to accompany him in his walk, their +conversation fell naturally on the life of a university, and the current +education of the German people. + +“It is surprising,” said the student, “that men are eternally inventing +new systems of education, and yet persevering in the old. How many +years ago is it since Fichte predicted in the system of Pestalozzi +the regeneration of the German people? What has it done? We admire, we +praise, and we blunder on in the very course Pestalozzi proves to +be erroneous. Certainly,” continued the student, “there must be some +radical defect in a system of culture in which genius is an exception, +and dulness the result. Yet here, in our German universities, everything +proves that education without equitable institutions avails little in +the general formation of character. Here the young men of the colleges +mix on the most equal terms; they are daring, romantic, enamoured of +freedom even to its madness. They leave the University: no political +career continues the train of mind they had acquired; they plunge into +obscurity; live scattered and separate, and the student inebriated +with Schiller sinks into the passive priest or the lethargic baron. His +college career, so far from indicating his future life, exactly reverses +it: he is brought up in one course in order to proceed in another. And +this I hold to be the universal error of education in all countries; +they conceive it a certain something to be finished at a certain age. +They do not make it a part of the continuous history of life, but a +wandering from it.” + +“You have been in England?” asked Vane. + +“Yes; I have travelled over nearly the whole of it on foot. I was poor +at that time, and imagining there was a sort of masonry between all men +of letters, I inquired at each town for the _savants_, and asked money +of them as a matter of course.” + +Vane almost laughed outright at the simplicity and naive unconsciousness +of degradation with which the student proclaimed himself a public +beggar. + +“And how did you generally succeed?” + +“In most cases I was threatened with the stocks, and twice I was +consigned by the _juge de paix_ to the village police, to be passed +to some mystic Mecca they were pleased to entitle ‘a parish.’ Ah” + (continued the German with much _bonhomie_), “it was a pity to see in a +great nation so much value attached to such a trifle as money. But what +surprised me greatly was the tone of your poetry. Madame de Stael, who +knew perhaps as much of England as she did of Germany, tells us that its +chief character is the _chivalresque_; and, excepting only Scott, who, +by the way, is _not_ English, I did not find one chivalrous poet among +you. Yet,” continued the student, “between ourselves, I fancy that in +our present age of civilization, there is an unexamined mistake in the +general mind as to the value of poetry. It delights still as ever, but +it has ceased to teach. The prose of the heart enlightens, touches, +rouses, far more than poetry. Your most philosophical poets would be +commonplace if turned into prose. Verse cannot contain the refining +subtle thoughts which a great prose writer embodies; the rhyme eternally +cripples it; it properly deals with the common problems of human nature, +which are now hackneyed, and not with the nice and philosophizing +corollaries which may be drawn from them. Thus, though it would seem +at first a paradox, commonplace is more the element of poetry than of +prose.” + +This sentiment charmed Vane, who had nothing of the poet about him; +and he took the student to share their breakfast at the inn, with +a complacency he rarely experienced at the remeeting with a new +acquaintance. + +After breakfast, our party proceeded through the town towards the +wonderful castle which is its chief attraction, and the noblest wreck of +German grandeur. + +And now pausing, the mountain yet unscaled, the stately ruin frowned +upon them, girt by its massive walls and hanging terraces, round which +from place to place clung the dwarfed and various foliage. High at the +rear rose the huge mountain, covered, save at its extreme summit, with +dark trees, and concealing in its mysterious breast the shadowy beings +of the legendary world. But towards the ruins, and up a steep ascent, +you may see a few scattered sheep thinly studding the broken ground. +Aloft, above the ramparts, rose, desolate and huge, the Palace of the +Electors of the Palatinate. In its broken walls you may trace the tokens +of the lightning that blasted its ancient pomp, but still leaves in the +vast extent of pile a fitting monument of the memory of Charlemagne. +Below, in the distance, spread the plain far and spacious, till the +shadowy river, with one solitary sail upon its breast, united the +melancholy scene of earth with the autumnal sky. + +“See,” said Vane, pointing to two peasants who were conversing near +them on the matters of their little trade, utterly unconscious of the +associations of the spot, “see, after all that is said and done about +human greatness, it is always the greatness of the few. Ages pass, and +leave the poor herd, the mass of men, eternally the same,--hewers of +wood and drawers of water. The pomp of princes has its ebb and flow, but +the peasant sells his fruit as gayly to the stranger on the ruins as to +the emperor in the palace.” + +“Will it be always so?” said the student. + +“Let us hope not, for the sake of permanence in glory,” said Trevylyan. +“Had _a people_ built yonder palace, its splendour would never have +passed away.” + +Vane shrugged his shoulders, and Du-----e took snuff. + +But all the impressions produced by the castle at a distance are as +nothing when you stand within its vast area and behold the architecture +of all ages blended into one mighty ruin! The rich hues of the masonry, +the sweeping facades--every description of building which man ever +framed for war or for luxury--is here; all having only the common +character,--RUIN. The feudal rampart, the yawning fosse, the rude tower, +the splendid arch, the strength of a fortress, the magnificence of a +palace,--all united, strike upon the soul like the history of a fallen +empire in all its epochs. + +“There is one singular habitant of these ruins,” said the student,--“a +solitary painter, who has dwelt here some twenty years, companioned only +by his Art. No other apartment but that which he tenants is occupied by +a human being.” + +“What a poetical existence!” cried Gertrude, enchanted with a solitude +so full of associations. + +“Perhaps so,” said the cruel Vane, ever anxious to dispel an illusion, +“but more probably custom has deadened to him all that overpowers +ourselves with awe; and he may tread among these ruins rather seeking to +pick up some rude morsel of antiquity, than feeding his imagination with +the dim traditions that invest them with so august a poetry.” + +“Monsieur’s conjecture has something of the truth in it,” said the +German; “but then the painter is a Frenchman.” + +There is a sense of fatality in the singular mournfulness and majesty +which belong to the ruins of Heidelberg, contrasting the vastness of the +strength with the utterness of the ruin. It has been twice struck with +lightning, and is the wreck of the elements, not of man; during the +great siege it sustained, the lightning is supposed to have struck the +powder magazine by accident. + +What a scene for some great imaginative work! What a mocking +interference of the wrath of nature in the puny contests of men! One +stroke of “the red right arm” above us, crushing the triumph of ages, +and laughing to scorn the power of the beleaguers and the valour of the +besieged! + +They passed the whole day among these stupendous ruins, and felt, when +they descended to their inn, as if they had left the caverns of some +mighty tomb. + + + +CHAPTER XXX. NO PART OF THE EARTH REALLY SOLITARY.--THE SONG OF THE +FAIRIES.--THE SACRED SPOT.--THE WITCH OF THE EVIL WINDS.--THE SPELL AND +THE DUTY OF THE FAIRIES. + +BUT in what spot of the world is there ever utter solitude? The vanity +of man supposes that loneliness is _his_ absence! Who shall say what +millions of spiritual beings glide invisibly among scenes apparently the +most deserted? Or what know we of our own mechanism, that we should deny +the possibility of life and motion to things that we cannot ourselves +recognize? + +At moonlight, in the Great Court of Heidelberg, on the borders of the +shattered basin overgrown with weeds, the following song was heard by +the melancholy shades that roam at night through the mouldering halls of +old, and the gloomy hollows in the mountain of Heidelberg. + + + +SONG OF THE FAIRIES IN THE RUINS OF HEIDELBERG. + + From the woods and the glossy green, + With the wild thyme strewn; + From the rivers whose crisped sheen + Is kissed by the trembling moon; + While the dwarf looks out from his mountain cave, + And the erl king from his lair, + And the water-nymph from her moaning wave, + We skirr the limber air. + + There’s a smile on the vine-clad shore, + A smile on the castled heights; + They dream back the days of yore, + And they smile at our roundel rites! + Our roundel rites! + + Lightly we tread these halls around, + Lightly tread we; + Yet, hark! we have scared with a single sound + The moping owl on the breathless tree, + And the goblin sprites! + Ha, ha! we have scared with a single sound + The old gray owl on the breathless tree, + And the goblin sprites! + + + +“They come not,” said Pipalee; “yet the banquet is prepared, and the +poor queen will be glad of some refreshment.” + +“What a pity! all the rose-leaves will be over-broiled,” said Nip. + +“Let us amuse ourselves with the old painter,” quoth Trip, springing +over the ruins. + +“Well said,” cried Pipalee and Nip; and all three, leaving my lord +treasurer amazed at their levity, whisked into the painter’s apartment. +Permitting them to throw the ink over their victim’s papers, break his +pencils, mix his colours, mislay his nightcap, and go whiz against his +face in the shape of a great bat, till the astonished Frenchman began +to think the pensive goblins of the place had taken a sprightly fit,--we +hasten to a small green spot some little way from the town, in the +valley of the Neckar, and by the banks of its silver stream. It was +circled round by dark trees, save on that side bordered by the river. +The wild-flowers sprang profusely from the turf, which yet was smooth +and singularly green. And there was the German fairy describing a +circle round the spot, and making his elvish spells; and Nymphalin sat +droopingly in the centre, shading her face, which was bowed down as the +head of a water-lily, and weeping crystal tears. + +There came a hollow murmur through the trees, and a rush as of a mighty +wind, and a dark form emerged from the shadow and approached the spot. + +The face was wrinkled and old, and stern with a malevolent and evil +aspect. The frame was lean and gaunt, and supported by a staff, and a +short gray mantle covered its bended shoulders. + +“Things of the moonbeam!” said the form, in a shrill and ghastly voice, +“what want ye here; and why charm ye this spot from the coming of me and +mine?” + +“Dark witch of the blight and blast,” answered the fairy, “THOU that +nippest the herb in its tender youth, and eatest up the core of the +soft bud; behold, it is but a small spot that the fairies claim from +thy demesnes, and on which, through frost and heat, they will keep the +herbage green and the air gentle in its sighs!” + +“And, wherefore, O dweller in the crevices of the earth, wherefore +wouldst thou guard this spot from the curses of the seasons?” + +“We know by our instinct,” answered the fairy, “that this spot will +become the grave of one whom the fairies love; hither, by an unfelt +influence, shall we guide her yet living steps; and in gazing upon this +spot shall the desire of quiet and the resignation to death steal upon +her soul. Behold, throughout the universe, all things are at war with +one another,--the lion with the lamb; the serpent with the bird; and +even the gentlest bird itself with the moth of the air; or the worm of +the humble earth! What then to men, and to the spirits transcending +men, is so lovely and so sacred as a being that harmeth none; what so +beautiful as Innocence; what so mournful as its untimely tomb? And shall +not that tomb be sacred; shall it not be our peculiar care? May we not +mourn over it as at the passing away of some fair miracle in Nature, +too tender to endure, too rare to be forgotten? It is for this, O dread +waker of the blast, that the fairies would consecrate this little spot; +for this they would charm away from its tranquil turf the wandering +ghoul and the evil children of the night. Here, not the ill-omened owl, +nor the blind bat, nor the unclean worm shall come. And thou shouldst +have neither will nor power to nip the flowers of spring, nor sear the +green herbs of summer. Is it not, dark mother of the evil winds,--is +it not _our_ immemorial office to tend the grave of Innocence, and keep +fresh the flowers round the resting-place of Virgin Love?” + +Then the witch drew her cloak round her, and muttered to herself, and +without further answer turned away among the trees and vanished, as the +breath of the east wind, which goeth with her as her comrade, scattered +the melancholy leaves along her path! + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. GERTRUDE AND TREVYLYAN, WHEN THE FORMER IS AWAKENED TO THE +APPROACH OF DEATH. + +THE next day, Gertrude and her companions went along the banks of the +haunted Neckar. She had passed a sleepless and painful night, and her +evanescent and childlike spirits had sobered down into a melancholy and +thoughtful mood. She leaned back in an open carriage with Trevylyan, +ever constant, by her side, while Du-----e and Vane rode slowly in +advance. Trevylyan tried in vain to cheer her; even his attempts +(usually so eagerly received) to charm her duller moments by tale or +legend were, in this instance, fruitless. She shook her head gently, +pressed his hand, and said, “No, dear Trevylyan, no; even your art fails +to-day, but your kindness never!” and pressing his hand to her lips, she +burst passionately into tears. + +Alarmed and anxious, he clasped her to his breast, and strove to lift +her face, as it drooped on its resting-place, and kiss away its tears. +“Oh,” said she, at length, “do not despise my weakness; I am overcome +by my own thoughts: I look upon the world, and see that it is fair and +good; I look upon you, and I see all that I can venerate and adore. Life +seems to me so sweet, and the earth so lovely; can you wonder, then, +that I should shrink at the thought of death? Nay, interrupt me not, +dear Albert; the thought must be borne and braved. I have not cherished, +I have not yielded to it through my long-increasing illness; but there +have been times when it has forced itself upon me, and now, _now_ more +palpably than ever. Do not think me weak and childish. I never feared +death till I knew you; but to see you no more,--never again to touch +this dear hand, never to thank you for your love, never to be sensible +of your care,--to lie down and sleep, _and never, never, once more to +dream of you_! Ah, that is a bitter thought! but I will brave it,--yes, +brave it as one worthy of your regard.” + +Trevylyan, choked by his emotions, covered his own face with his hands, +and, leaning back in the carriage, vainly struggled with his sobs. + +“Perhaps,” she said, yet ever and anon clinging to the hope that had +utterly abandoned _him_, “perhaps, I may yet deceive myself; and my love +for you, which seems to me as if it could conquer death, may bear me up +against this fell disease. The hope to live with you, to watch you, to +share your high dreams, and oh! above all, to soothe you in sorrow and +sickness, as you have soothed me--has not that hope something that may +support even this sinking frame? And who shall love thee as I love; who +see thee as I have seen; who pray for thee in gratitude and tears as I +have prayed? Oh, Albert, so little am I jealous of you, so little do I +think of myself in comparison, that I could close my eyes happily on the +world if I knew that what I could be to thee another will be!” + +“Gertrude,” said Trevylyan, and lifting up his colourless face, he gazed +upon her with an earnest and calm solemnity, “Gertrude, let us be united +at once! If Fate must sever us, let her cut the last tie too; let us +feel that at least upon earth we have been all in all to each other; +let us defy death, even as it frowns upon us. Be mine to-morrow--this +day--oh, God! be mine!” + +Over even that pale countenance, beneath whose hues the lamp of life so +faintly fluttered, a deep, radiant flush passed one moment, lighting up +the beautiful ruin with the glow of maiden youth and impassioned hope, +and then died rapidly away. + +“No, Albert,” she said sighing; “no! it must not be. Far easier would +come the pang to you, while yet we are not wholly united; and for my own +part I am selfish, and feel as if I should leave a tenderer remembrance +on your heart thus parted,--tenderer, but not so sad. I would not wish +you to feel yourself widowed to my memory; I would not cling like a +blight to your fair prospects of the future. Remember me rather as a +dream,--as something never wholly won, and therefore asking no fidelity +but that of kind and forbearing thoughts. Do you remember one evening +as we sailed along the Rhine--ah! happy, happy hour!--that we heard from +the banks a strain of music,--not so skilfully played as to be worth +listening to for itself, but, suiting as it did the hour and the scene, +we remained silent, that we might hear it the better; and when it died +insensibly upon the waters, a certain melancholy stole over us; we felt +that a something that softened the landscape had gone, and we conversed +less lightly than before? Just so, my own loved, my own adored +Trevylyan, just so is the influence that our brief love, your poor +Gertrude’s existence, should bequeath to your remembrance. A sound, +a presence, should haunt you for a little while, but no more, ere you +again become sensible of the glories that court your way!” + +But as Gertrude said this, she turned to Trevylyan, and seeing his +agony, she could refrain no longer; she felt that to soothe was to +insult; and throwing herself upon his breast, they mingled their tears +together. + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. A SPOT TO BE BURIED IN. + +ON their return homeward, Du-----e took the third seat in the carriage, +and endeavoured, with his usual vivacity, to cheer the spirits of his +companions; and such was the elasticity of Gertrude’s nature, that with +her, he, to a certain degree, succeeded in his kindly attempt. Quickly +alive to the charms of scenery, she entered by degrees into the external +beauties which every turn in the road opened to their view; and the +silvery smoothness of the river, that made the constant attraction +of the landscape, the serenity of the time, and the clearness of the +heavens, tended to tranquillize a mind that, like a sunflower, so +instinctively turned from the shadow to the light. + +Once Du-----e stopped the carriage in a spot of herbage, bedded among +the trees, and said to Gertrude, “We are now in one of the many places +along the Neckar which your favourite traditions serve to consecrate. +Amidst yonder copses, in the early ages of Christianity, there dwelt a +hermit, who, though young in years, was renowned for the sanctity of his +life. None knew whence he came, nor for what cause he had limited the +circle of life to the seclusion of his cell. He rarely spoke, save when +his ghostly advice or his kindly prayer was needed; he lived upon herbs, +and the wild fruits which the peasants brought to his cave; and every +morning and every evening he came to this spot to fill his pitcher from +the water of the stream. But here he was observed to linger long after +his task was done, and to sit gazing upon the walls of a convent which +then rose upon the opposite side of the bank, though now even its ruins +are gone. Gradually his health gave way beneath the austerities he +practised; and one evening he was found by some fishermen insensible on +the turf. They bore him for medical aid to the opposite convent; and one +of the sisterhood, the daughter of a prince, was summoned to attend +the recluse. But when his eyes opened upon hers, a sudden recognition +appeared to seize both. He spoke; and the sister threw herself on the +couch of the dying man, and shrieked forth a name, the most famous in +the surrounding country,--the name of a once noted minstrel, who, in +those rude times, had mingled the poet with the lawless chief, and was +supposed, years since, to have fallen in one of the desperate frays +between prince and outlaw, which were then common; storming the very +castle which held her, now the pious nun, then the beauty and presider +over the tournament and galliard. In her arms the spirit of the hermit +passed away. She survived but a few hours, and left conjecture busy with +a history to which it never obtained further clew. Many a troubadour in +later times furnished forth in poetry the details which truth refused to +supply; and the place where the hermit at sunrise and sunset ever came +to gaze upon the convent became consecrated by song.” + +The place invested with this legendary interest was impressed with a +singular aspect of melancholy quiet; wildflowers yet lingered on the +turf, whose grassy sedges gently overhung the Neckar, that murmured +amidst them with a plaintive music. Not a wind stirred the trees; but at +a little distance from the place, the spire of a church rose amidst the +copse; and, as they paused, they suddenly heard from the holy building +the bell that summons to the burial of the dead. It came on the ear in +such harmony with the spot, with the hour, with the breathing calm, that +it thrilled to the heart of each with an inexpressible power. It was +like the voice of another world, that amidst the solitude of nature +summoned the lulled spirit from the cares of this; it invited, not +repulsed, and had in its tone more of softness than of awe. + +Gertrude turned, with tears starting to her eyes, and, laying her hand +on Trevylyan’s, whispered, “In such a spot, so calm, so sequestered, yet +in the neighbourhood of the house of God, would I wish this broken frame +to be consigned to rest.” + + + +CHAPTER THE LAST. THE CONCLUSION OF THIS TALE. + +FROM that day Gertrude’s spirit resumed its wonted cheerfulness, and for +the ensuing week she never reverted to her approaching fate; she seemed +once more to have grown unconscious of its limit. Perhaps she sought, +anxious for Trevylyan to the last, not to throw additional gloom over +their earthly separation; or, perhaps, once steadily regarding the +certainty of her doom, its terrors vanished. The chords of thought, +vibrating to the subtlest emotions, may be changed by a single incident, +or in a single hour; a sound of sacred music, a green and quiet +burial-place, may convert the form of death into the aspect of an angel. +And therefore wisely, and with a beautiful lore, did the Greeks strip +the grave of its unreal gloom; wisely did they body forth the great +principle of Rest by solemn and lovely images, unconscious of the +northern madness that made a Spectre of REPOSE! + +But while Gertrude’s _spirit_ resumed its healthful tone, her _frame_ +rapidly declined, and a few days now could do the ravage of months a +little while before. + +One evening, amidst the desolate ruins of Heidelberg, Trevylyan, who had +gone forth alone to indulge the thoughts which he strove to stifle in +Gertrude’s presence, suddenly encountered Vane. That calm and almost +callous pupil of the adversities of the world was standing alone, and +gazing upon the shattered casements and riven tower, through which the +sun now cast its slant and parting ray. + +Trevylyan, who had never loved this cold and unsusceptible man, save +for the sake of Gertrude, felt now almost a hatred creep over him, as he +thought in such a time, and with death fastening upon the flower of his +house, he could yet be calm, and smile, and muse, and moralize, and play +the common part of the world. He strode slowly up to him, and standing +full before him, said with a hollow voice and writhing smile, “You amuse +yourself pleasantly, sir: this is a fine scene; and to meditate over +griefs a thousand years hushed to rest is better than watching over a +sick girl and eating away your heart with fear!” + +Vane looked at him quietly, but intently, and made no reply. + +“Vane!” continued Trevylyan, with the same preternatural attempt at +calm, “Vane, in a few days all will be over, and you and I, the things, +the plotters, the false men of the world, will be left alone,--left by +the sole being that graces our dull life, that makes by her love either +of us worthy of a thought!” + +Vane started, and turned away his face. “You are cruel,” said he, with a +faltering voice. + +“What, man!” shouted Trevylyan, seizing him abruptly by the arm, “can +_you_ feel? Is your cold heart touched? Come then,” added he, with a +wild laugh, “come, let us be friends!” + +Vane drew himself aside, with a certain dignity, that impressed +Trevylyan even at that hour. “Some years hence,” said he, “you will +be called cold as I am; sorrow will teach you the wisdom of +indifference--it is a bitter school, sir,--a bitter school! But think +you that I do indeed see unmoved my last hope shivered,--the last tie +that binds me to my kind? No, no! I feel it as a man may feel; I cloak +it as a man grown gray in misfortune should do! My child is more to +me than your betrothed to you; for you are young and wealthy, and life +smiles before you; but I--no more--sir, no more!” + +“Forgive me,” said Trevylyan, humbly, “I have wronged you; but +Gertrude is an excuse for any crime of love; and now listen to my last +prayer,--give her to me, even on the verge of the grave. Death cannot +seize her in the arms, in the vigils of a love like mine.” + +Vane shuddered. “It were to wed the dead,” said he. “No!” + +Trevylyan drew back, and without another word, hurried away; he returned +to the town; he sought, with methodical calmness, the owner of the piece +of ground in which Gertrude had wished to be buried. He purchased it, +and that very night he sought the priest of a neighbouring church, +and directed it should be consecrated according to the due rite and +ceremonial. + +The priest, an aged and pious man, was struck by the request, and the +air of him who made it. + +“Shall it be done forthwith, sir?” said he, hesitating. + +“Forthwith,” answered Trevylyan, with a calm smile,--“a bridegroom, you +know, is naturally impatient.” + +For the next three days, Gertrude was so ill as to be confined to her +bed. All that time Trevylyan sat outside her door, without speaking, +scarcely lifting his eyes from the ground. The attendants passed to and +fro,--he heeded them not; perhaps as even the foreign menials turned +aside and wiped their eyes, and prayed God to comfort him, he required +compassion less at that time than any other. There is a stupefaction +in woe, and the heart sleeps without a pang when exhausted by its +afflictions. + +But on the fourth day Gertrude rose, and was carried down (how changed, +yet how lovely ever!) to their common apartment. During those three days +the priest had been with her often, and her spirit, full of religion +from her childhood, had been unspeakably soothed by his comfort. She +took food from the hand of Trevylyan; she smiled upon him as sweetly as +of old. She conversed with him, though with a faint voice, and at broken +intervals. But she felt no pain; life ebbed away gradually, and without +a pang. “My father,” she said to Vane, whose features still bore their +usual calm, whatever might have passed within, “I know that you will +grieve when I am gone more than the world might guess; for I alone know +what you were years ago, ere friends left you and fortune frowned, +and ere my poor mother died. But do not--do not believe that hope and +comfort leave you with me. Till the heaven pass away from the earth +there shall be comfort and hope for all.” + +They did not lodge in the town, but had fixed their abode on its +outskirts, and within sight of the Neckar; and from the window they saw +a light sail gliding gayly by till it passed, and solitude once more +rested upon the waters. + +“The sail passes from our eyes,” said Gertrude, pointing to it, “but +still it glides on as happily though we see it no more; and I feel--yes, +Father, I feel--I know that it is so with _us_. We glide down the river +of time from the eyes of men, but we cease not the less to _be_!” + +And now, as the twilight descended, she expressed a wish, before she +retired to rest, to be left alone with Trevylyan. He was not then +sitting by her side, for he would not trust himself to do so, but with +his face averted, at a little distance from her. She called him by his +name; he answered not, nor turned. Weak as she was, she raised herself +from the sofa, and crept gently along the floor till she came to him, +and sank in his arms. + +“Ah, unkind!” she said, “unkind for once! Will you turn away from me? +Come, let us look once more on the river: see! the night darkens over +it. Our pleasant voyage, the type of our love, is finished; our sail may +be unfurled no more. Never again can your voice soothe the lassitude of +sickness with the legend and the song; the course is run, the vessel is +broken up, night closes over its fragments; but now, in this hour, love +me, be kind to me as ever. Still let me be your own Gertrude, still let +me close my eyes this night, as before, with the sweet consciousness +that I am loved.” + +“Loved! O Gertrude! speak not to me thus!” + +“Come, that is yourself again!” and she clung with weak arms caressingly +to his breast. “And now,” she said more solemnly, “let us forget that we +are mortal; let us remember only that life is a part, not the whole, +of our career; let us feel in this soft hour, and while yet we are +unsevered, the presence of The Eternal that is within us, so that it +shall not be as death, but as a short absence; and when once the pang of +parting is over, you must think only that we are shortly to meet again. +What! you turn from me still? See, I do not weep or grieve, I have +conquered the pang of our absence; will you be outdone by me? Do you +remember, Albert, that you once told me how the wisest of the sages of +old, in prison, and before death, consoled his friends with the proof +of the immortality of the soul? Is it not a consolation; does it not +suffice; or will you deem it wise from the lips of wisdom, but vain from +the lips of love?” + +“Hush, hush!” said Trevylyan, wildly; “or I shall think you an angel +already.” + +But let us close this commune, and leave unrevealed the _last_ sacred +words that ever passed between them upon earth. + +When Vane and the physician stole back softly into the room, Trevylyan +motioned to them to be still. “She sleeps,” he whispered; “hush!” And +in truth, wearied out by her own emotions, and lulled by the belief +that she had soothed one with whom her heart dwelt now, as ever, she had +fallen into sleep, or it may be, insensibility, on his breast. There +as she lay, so fair, so frail, so delicate, the twilight deepened into +shade, and the first star, like the hope of the future, broke forth upon +the darkness of the earth. + +Nothing could equal the stillness without, save that which lay +breathlessly within. For not one of the group stirred or spoke, and +Trevylyan, bending over her, never took his eyes from her face, watching +the parted lips, and fancying that he imbibed the breath. Alas, the +breath was stilled! from sleep to death she had glided without a +sigh,--happy, most happy in that death! cradled in the arms of unchanged +love, and brightened in her last thought by the consciousness of +innocence and the assurances of Heaven! + +....... + +Trevylyan, after a long sojourn on the Continent, returned to England. +He plunged into active life, and became what is termed in this age +of little names a distinguished and noted man. But what was mainly +remarkable in his future conduct was his impatience of rest. He +eagerly courted all occupations, even of the most varied and motley +kind,--business, letters, ambition, pleasure. He suffered no pause in +his career; and leisure to him was as care to others. He lived in +the world, as the worldly do, discharging its duties, fostering its +affections, and fulfilling its career. But there was a deep and wintry +change within him,--_the sunlight of his life was gone_; the loveliness +of romance had left the earth. The stem was proof as heretofore to the +blast, but the green leaves were severed from it forever, and the bird +had forsaken its boughs. Once he had idolized the beauty that is born of +song, the glory and the ardour that invest such thoughts as are not of +our common clay; but the well of enthusiasm was dried up, and the golden +bowl was broken at the fountain. With Gertrude the poetry of existence +was gone. As she herself had described her loss, a music had ceased to +breathe along the face of things; and though the bark might sail on as +swiftly, and the stream swell with as proud a wave, a something that +had vibrated on the heart was still, and the magic of the voyage was no +more. + +And Gertrude sleeps on the spot where she wished her last couch to be +made; and far--oh, far dearer, is that small spot on the distant banks +of the gliding Neckar to Trevylyan’s heart than all the broad lands +and fertile fields of his ancestral domain. The turf too preserves its +emerald greenness; and it would seem to me that the field flowers spring +up by the sides of the simple tomb even more profusely than of old. +A curve in the bank breaks the tide of the Neckar; and therefore its +stream pauses, as if to linger reluctantly, by that solitary grave, and +to mourn among the rustling sedges ere it passes on. And I have thought, +when I last looked upon that quiet place, when I saw the turf so fresh, +and the flowers so bright of hue, that aerial hands might _indeed_ +tend the sod; that it was by no _imaginary_ spells that I summoned +the fairies to my tale; that in truth, and with vigils constant though +unseen, they yet kept from all polluting footsteps, and from the harsher +influence of the seasons, the grave of one who so loved their race; +and who, in her gentle and spotless virtue claimed kindred with the +beautiful Ideal of the world. Is there one of us who has not known some +being for whom it seemed not too wild a fantasy to indulge such dreams? + +THE END. + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s The Pilgrims Of The Rhine, by Edward Bulwer-Lytton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE *** + +***** This file should be named 8206-0.txt or 8206-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/8/2/0/8206/ + +Produced by David Widger and Dagny + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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