"The waters, the cruel waters!" she cried; "haste to the hills ere it
be too late--hasten, or they will overwhelm you!" No thought of her own
fate unnerved the heroic woman. Waving wildly to the workmen, she bade
them escape for their lives, and indeed the nurse had already seen from
above, and turned to warn them of an impending tempest. Lurid clouds
veiled the sun, wild winds sighed around, strange shapes arose in the
bed of the little river, madly leaping to and fro, while, stranger than
all, and striking consternation to the bravest heart, with low growls
as of far thunder, arose a huge black wall of water in the distant sea,
and seemed ever approaching nearer. Sea gulls and cormorants wheeled in
the air above, uttering dissonant cries. Affrighted and amazed, the
terrified workmen left tools, clothes, and implements behind and fled
in desperate haste towards the mountains.
At this moment Esgair, turning, perceived that Llewelyn, paralyzed with
terror and remorse, could move neither hand nor foot to save himself or
the child. Endued for the time being with superhuman strength, she
snatched the babe from his arms, and crying "Follow me," swept rapidly
across the uneven ground, sometimes stumbling and nearly falling, but
never stopping to take breath until, on the slopes of Moel Llys, she
reached the trembling crowd, who from this vantage-ground watched the
wild work of destruction below. Breathless and exhausted she flung
herself down on the soft turf and soothed the bitterly crying and
frightened infant.
Esgair's hurried flight awoke Llewelyn from the stupor of despair. He
followed and aided her as best he could, and now stood by her side. In
silent awe that little assembly beheld the appalling inroad of the
waters. Like a dark pall, the slow moving mass spread itself over the
fertile lands below; ere long it reached the castle; the unfinished
walls disappeared, and soon a wide watery waste covered the whilome
scene of busy labour and the rich fields around. At length the
remorseless waves dashed unavailingly beneath the rising ground where
stood the trembling fugitives. Loud thanksgivings for their safety
arose from these simple pious men, and they gratefully acknowledged the
hand of Providence in their wonderful escape from a watery grave.
But now low sobs of anguish were heard, a mother--like Rachel of
old--weeping over her child, and refusing to be comforted. The gentle
Esgair, wan and weary, lay prostrate upon the ground. Painfully she
drew her labouring breath and strained Rhiwallon to her poor aching
heart. Her eyes were mournfully fixed on Llewelyn, as if to take a last
farewell. His grief could find no utterance. With gloomy foreboding he
recalled the words of the ancient legend, and a cold thrill ran through
him as he remembered that his fatal impatience had not only tempted
Esgair's fate, but according to the old prophecy had riveted still more
firmly the spell that bound her hapless kinsmen; for was it not
written--
But if that wedded peace be riven,
By blows at random three times given,
Esgair must seek her father's cave,
Nor quit again the gloomy wave,
No slow revolving years shall wake
The spell-bound slumberers of the lake.
By this time the tempest had gradually died away. A faint melody of
unearthly beauty fell on their ears--as they listened wondering and
entranced, they heard these thrilling words:
Three times lost, and three times won,
Thou hast wedded Dafydd's son:
Brow that holy sign hath crossed
Ne'er can be by witchcraft lost.
By thy faith and suffering power
Thou hast won the conquering hour;
Though the spell on thee must break,
Rhuddlan's race from sleep shall wake;
Thou and thine shall dwell in light,
Saved by glory infinite.
Rise, the evil spell is broken,
Peace be thine, and this the token.
As the voice ceased the sun broke through the clouds, and from his
western declivity threw a long radiance across the calming ocean.
Within this glittering pathway stood an angel of exceeding beauty, and
of grave and majestic countenance. With his left hand he beckoned to
Esgair. With his right he pointed to the golden rays behind him, within
which myriad shapes of brightest loveliness seemed to move. The light
fell on Esgair's head as she arose with new strength from the earth.
Already a solemn stillness hushed the grief of her pale features and a
new expression beamed from her pure face.
"Heaven guard and guide thee, my babe," she said, and placing him
tenderly in his nurse's arms, turned to Llewellyn imploring him to wish
her farewell. He approached and wildly cast his arms around her--the
strong passions of earth still raged uncontrolled in his unchastened
bosom--but she slowly disengaged herself from his despairing caress and
hopefully trod the brief steps that divided her from the heavenly
visitant. The angel took her by the hand--once more with overflowing
tenderness she waved adieu to her husband, and ere the awestruck
Llewelyn could move from where he stood, the red sun disappeared with a
sudden dip behind the distant island. With him also, alas! were gone
the last faint traces of that pathway of light, wherein had moved, but
a moment before, those bright blessed forms, connecting earth with the
upper world.
Breaking from his trancelike despair, Llewelyn madly rushed to the
water's brink and again and again strove to end his miserable existence
by flinging himself into the gloomy sea. But his people restrained him,
and the nurse brought the little Rhiwallon to his side. The unhappy
father turned to look on his child, then with renewed agony, as he
remembered how he had for ever deprived that tender nursling of a
mother's care, he groaned aloud and smote his hands wildly together.
But now, through the quiet evening air--calm and serene--like dew on
the parched and weary herb, was borne this soothing message from
invisible realms:
Farewell to the home of my brief mortal years,
Farewell to the valley of sunshine and tears.
Now over our castle on Arvon's pale shore
The waters of Meinai shall surge evermore.
Llyn Idwyl! sleep calmly--thou desolate lake.
Dark Glydirs! no Esgair your echoes shall wake.
But mourn not, Llewelyn, the fate of thy love,
She smiles still upon thee from regions above.
Arise and walk onward, nor idly repine,
A mission that angels might sigh for is thine,
To guide and to shelter through life's opening days
Rhiwallon, whose future all Cymri shall praise.
The Spirit Divine hath inclined to my voice,
And parents and kindred around me rejoice.
My fate is accomplished--the spell overcome,
And Paradise opens to Rhuddlan a home.
The sudden shadow that had followed sunset now gave way to gorgeous
colouring. From the closed western portals of the day emerged rich
waving lines of gold and roseate hue, and spread far overhead. Behind
the distant islands where the sun had disappeared glowed an atmosphere
of living amber. For a brief moment the gates of Paradise were indeed
"standing ajar" to receive the now immortal Esgair and her long lost
kindred.
Awhile the watchers on the shore continued on their knees hoping once
more to see that heavenly visitant or hear again the soul-stirring
voice that had fallen from unseen lips. At last one by one they arose,
and gazing seawards by the waning light beheld the broad band of waters
still covering the fertile plains, the green meadows, and the
unfinished castle. Little rippling waves broke at their feet and marked
the boundary line, where to this day, the waves surge and swell between
the mighty Penmaens upon the Cambrian Coast.
At this moment Gwynneth arrived breathless in their midst and joined
her lamentations to those of the little babe, who, missing his mother,
bewailed her loss in heart-rending tones.
The workmen now turned to seek a night's lodging where they could, for
their temporary dwellings had shared the fate of the more lordly
castle. Llewelyn, still carrying his child, motioned to his mother to
draw somewhat aside, and as they slowly remounted the hill, frequently
pausing to cast wistful glances around, and to strain their eyes in
vain toward the fading west, he related to her the various occurrences
of that fatal day and repeated the farewell words of his lost wife.
"Hear me, mother," exclaimed he, as they gained the door of the
shieling; "by the remembrance of my Esgair's pure and holy life, I
devote myself henceforth to the fulfilment of her behest, and while
life and strength remain I promise so to cherish and bring up our child
(aided by heavenly power) that he shall renew the memory of his sainted
mother, and become the benefactor of mankind."
Clasping the babe closer in his arms he turned to enter at the lowly
door, but with a cry of joy the infant stretched out its little arms,
and lo! soft and pure in the western sky gleamed through the dusk the
gentle Evening Star. Then Llewelyn knew in his heart that his vow had
been heard, and that an angel spirit shone approval of his humble
resolution.
With mournful resignation, aided by his mother and cheered by the
ministrations of the good Father Tudno, Llewelyn passed the remainder
of his days in the careful up-bringing of his son. They never returned
to the Castle of the Lakes. For at daybreak on the morning which
succeeded Esgair's translation, a messenger arrived footsore and weary
bringing strange tidings of devastation. As the last stroke of midnight
clanged from the castle clock the whole mighty fabric disappeared, and
with it the numerous servants, the fleet steeds, and the fabulous
wealth which Esgair's bridal night had brought to Llewelyn.
Gwynneth and Llewelyn now fixed their abode on the giant slopes of
Penmaenmaur, and often at sunset the father was seen pointing up the
golden pathway and watching with his little son for the first pale ray
of the Evening Star.
Rhiwallon grew and flourished apace. His was a fearless nature. He
loved the sea, the hills, the birds, and the flowers. His childish brow
only became clouded with pain or sorrow for the sufferings of man and
beast, which even in earliest boyhood he ever yearned to alleviate.
When still an infant he was often found with a sweet smile upon his
countenance, and in after years could recall the dim vision of an angel
form that bent over and lulled him in his dreams, but was ever absent
when he awoke. Gwynneth and Llewelyn were long spared to foster his
awakening talents, and ere they were gathered to their fathers the name
of Rhiwallon had become a household word, for the sweet songs of the
gentle bard are to this day remembered and sung wherever the Cymri
tongue is known and loved.[1]
[1] Founded on an old Welsh legend. There is a submerged
half-built castle between Penmaenmaur and Penmaenbach, which
can be seen at low tides.
EOTHWALD: THE YOUNG SCULPTOR.
It will not surprise you, dear children, to learn that after Hans
Christian Andersen wrote his touching story of "The Little Mermaid,"
the whole world sighed with a strong desire to behold the true likeness
of that loving and lovely heroine.
Painters and sculptors wandered anxiously by the sea-shore; not alone
in Denmark, but in many other countries, seeking thus to obtain a
glimpse of one of the mermaidens--whose whole race has been for ever
immortalized by the gentle Dane--longing to depict on canvas, or to
carve in marble, the fair lineaments of the faithful sea-child who gave
her voice and her life for the Prince she loved.
Now for successive ages it has been well known among the denizens of
the ocean that trouble and misfortune must certainly fall on the
mermaiden who should visit the shore too frequently, or permit her
likeness to be taken in any form whatsoever.
Long, long ago, the most beautiful of the sea-nymphs rose in her
gambols to the surface of the billows; and as in those days mermaids
wore no tails, and were consequently unable to steer themselves
properly, she was carried on shore by the force of the waves, where
such was the confusion caused by her charms, that gods and goddesses
themselves quarrelled about her, and artists in their enthusiasm
neglected everything else to depict in all its bewildering beauty the
sea-born loveliness of "Aphrodite." Great was the indignation excited
by the appearance of this fair interloper in the aerial courts, and
"Hera," the Queen of Olympus, persuaded her husband, the awful "Jove,"
to issue a decree ordaining that henceforth and for evermore all
mermaidens should bear long tails; thus confining their dangerous
influence to their own native element; and furthermore forbidding them,
on pain of severest penalties, to hold communication with the
inhabitants of earth or sky.
Though centuries have rolled away, this dread command is still
remembered and obeyed, and hence the extreme difficulty experienced by
those whose artistic longings had been kindled afresh by the glowing
descriptions of the sweet Danish writer.
One golden evening during the brief but glorious northern summer, the
young sculptor, Eothwald, after a weary day of unavailing search for
the far-famed mermaidens, threw himself down on the soft grass by a
river's side, and lulled by the soft ceaseless murmur of the rushing
waters, sank into deep dreamless sleep. As the drowsiness of fatigue
wore itself away, he became gradually conscious of ravishing strains of
music, and rousing himself half awakened to listen to the dulcet
sounds, he still heard the harmonious cadences of some stringed
instrument swell and thrill in tones of unearthly beauty.
Eothwald arose softly from his grassy couch, and stole noiselessly
along. Keeping himself carefully concealed behind rocks and brushwood,
he followed the sound, till at a bend of the stream he beheld the young
river god Naecken, seated at the entrance to a grotto, playing and
singing to his harp strains of heaven-born music; while, bathed in the
evening sunshine, and with their arms lovingly intertwined, there on
the surface of the water, in rapt attention, floated the lovely
mermaiden sisters, Duva and Himinglaefa, unsuspicious of danger, and
forgetful of all else, for the spell of love's magic numbers hung over
them and rivetted their attention.
The inspired Naecken continued his impassioned lay; the blushing
Himinglaefa, to whom his song of homage was addressed, shook her long
chestnut tresses until they formed a veil around her, and laid her soft
cheek on the shoulder of the innocent Duva, who, childlike, wondered at
her sister's excess of emotion.
A while Eothwald remained motionless, overwhelmed by the beauty of the
scene, but soon the surpassing loveliness of the sea-sisters fired his
artistic mind with keen ardour; he felt within himself that could he
but reproduce these enchanting forms in marble, he would die content.
He resolved to seek his home, and return thence provided with all the
necessary materials for working. He had noticed during his wanderings,
not far from this very spot, a cave, where he fancied he could work
undisturbed. The clay by this river being famous for its plastic
properties, it would be easy for him to model by day concealed from all
beholders, and at eventide to steal forth unobserved, and gain new
ideas of beauty from the fair sisters now before him.
As he silently pondered and matured this plan, a silvery voice was
heard afar, and, quick as light, Duva and Himinglaefa sprang away
through the darkening waters at their mother's call, while Naecken,
carrying his harp with him, abruptly disappeared within the shadowy
entrance of the grotto.
Darkness came suddenly on; the river, cold and black, ran past Eothwald
with sullen murmurings; the wild owl swept close by where he stood,
brushing his face with her wing, and uttering her desolate cry. The
startled sculptor well-nigh missed his footing, and only escaped
falling into the stream by catching hold of the boughs above his head.
But undismayed and undaunted, he groped his way successfully out of the
wood, and then hastened cheerfully homewards, light-hearted and
content; for what were darkness, danger, or fatigue? The quenchless
fire of genius burned within his breast; the long dreamt-of ideal was
no longer a faint, far-off vision, but had become to him a reality of
dazzling beauty.
Ere daylight returned Eothwald had been to his home and informed his
old housekeeper that he was bound for a few days' trip into the
country. He put together his working tools, and having at her earnest
request taken some provisions in his knapsack, he swallowed a hasty
meal, and before the sun was yet high in the heavens, was already
ensconced in the cave and fast asleep in its welcome shade, after all
the fatigue and excitement of the last few but eventful hours.
And now night after night, sheltered by brushwood, rock, and fern, the
enthusiastic youth engraved on his heart the exquisite beauty of those
fair denizens of the sea; nay more, in the ardour of his pursuit he
became himself enamoured of the lovely childlike Duva. Often while
Naecken and Himinglaefa held sweet converse together, their companion
unobserved would float silently nearer and nearer to the shore.
Sometimes she amused herself by twining long wreaths of the ferns and
creepers which hung over the river bank. Sometimes she laughingly
lifted small silvery fish from their holes beneath the bank; then
remembering that air to them was death, she would place them gently
once more in their native element, and smiling, watch their playful
movements when they frisked around her, as if in gratitude, before they
swam away. Sometimes flinging her long tresses of hair over the grass
by the river margin, clasping her hands above her head, reposing half
on land and half on water, she would lie with all a maiden's dreamy
thoughts of the unknown future, her clear blue eyes fixed on the starry
vault above, her every action a study of grace and poetry, until
Himinglaefa's soft summons roused her, when springing again into life
and motion, the agile Duva excited new admiration in the sculptor's
mind as with the swiftness of a startled bird she flitted across the
water and disappeared with her sweet sister beneath the briny wave.
It is not given to me to say how Duva and Eothwald first became
acquainted; but it is certain that before the young sculptor had spent
many nights by the water's side, that innocent child of the sea grew to
know what it was that made the long hours pass so swiftly to Himinglaefa
and Naecken, when they were together; for a feeling hitherto unknown
sprang up within her own simple breast, and taught her to welcome with
beating heart the appearance of her new friend.
What long happy hours they passed together by starlight and moonlight
on that river brink! How endless were the words they had to say to each
other in those stolen interviews! and yet, though all seemed so
untroubled, a secret care disturbed the peace of either loving bosom.
It is true that Duva had attempted to lighten hers by confiding it to
her lover, for early in their acquaintance she told him that she longed
to whisper in her mother's ear the story of her Eothwald, and to find
in the majestic Ran's motherly bosom a soft pillow whereon to still the
flutterings of her awakened heart; but in tones of displeasure the
young sculptor chid her childlike impulse, and went so far as to
threaten that should she ever breathe to her family the fact of his
existence, he could never seek her more.
Chilled and frightened at hearing Eothwald address her in accents such
as he had never used before, the gentle Duva tearfully promised to
comply with his request, and to conceal from all the knowledge of her
earthly lover. But the concealment preyed on her mind, and though in
his presence she forgot all save the bliss of being beloved, yet she
had for ever lost the joyous serenity of her early youth; while the
very look which roused her watchful mother's anxiety, gave her in her
lover's eye, a more etherial air of languor and grace.
Eothwald's secret care was widely different: he knew that his Duva
might in some terrible unknown manner have to suffer for his love; but
his anxiety was lest he should not succeed in obtaining her perfect
likeness, and thence partly came his reluctance to allow her to speak
of him to her people. He made sure they would remind her of the perils
of holding intercourse with mankind, and probably put a complete stop
to their clandestine meetings, now only carried on under the shadow of
the more legitimate attachment of Himinglaefa and Naecken.
While the inexperienced Duva only knew and felt she loved, the more
worldly Eothwald gazed upon her with a critical and artistic eye, and
often sent a chill of cold presentiment to her very heart's core, when
to her gentlest words he vouchsafed no answer; but, absently scanning
her perfect form, would strive to compare and calculate in his mind the
accuracy of his progressing model in the cave.
He found it easy to obtain Duva's compliance with all his requests save
one; but it was for long in vain that he besought her to leave her
watery home. Many a time and oft they parted almost in anger, and the
poor little sea-nymph more than once weepingly entreated him sooner to
quit her for ever, and go back to his own kith and kind. But Eothwald
always returned afresh to the charge, for, besides his real attachment
to the gentle maid herself, he knew that could he but once behold her
fair proportions near him in the cave, he could successfully finish his
now nearly completed model; and, by imparting to it those life-like
touches which alone it required, he would be enabled to give to the
world for the first time the perfect image of a mermaiden. With true
artistic fervour he forgot his mortal love in the eager pursuit of his
immortal art, and, brought completely to a standstill by the harassing
intensity of his longing to have the living form at hand to aid him in
his work, he grew so unkind towards Duva that with saddened heart the
poor child promised to comply with his prayer, and arranged to
accompany him through the wood the following night, when the yellow
harvest moon would reign in her fullest beauty.
Words cannot paint the overflowing sorrow that oppressed the pale
mermaiden's heart that eventful day as she joined her parents and
sisters, for what an inward voice told her, was the last time. Old
Agir, her father, gathered her to his bosom, and pressed his little
Duva to tell her trouble, but with a forced smile she first nestled
closer to that protecting shoulder and then sprang half sobbing away,
and they thought she grieved over the approaching bridals of Naecken and
Himinglaefa and the prospect of losing her favourite sister.
The wild young Kolga blew through her shell, and in her efforts to
cheer Duva made such a bubbling amid the water, that people passing in
boats far above the sea-king's palace, paused on their oars to watch
the agitated surface and thought they had discovered a new ocean
spring.
Haefring and Blodughadda caressed their little sister and playfully
asked her to choose whether they should all wear coral or pearls at
Himinglaefa's wedding, but with trembling lip she turned away, unable to
trust her voice in answer to their laughing affection, and for the
first time they deemed their pet Duva was sullen. Ah! how little they
knew the aching throbs of pain that strangled her sweet voice and
silenced their sorrow-stricken playmate.
At last the hour of sunset drew near. Together, as usual, Himinglaefa
and Duva rose to the surface of the darkening ocean, and soon were
greeted by the entrancing strains of Naecken's harp. Slowly Duva
disengaged herself from her sister's embrace and lingered long near the
companion, till now the sharer of every joy or care. But time's
relentless wheel rolled on, and through the woods by the river's brink
gleamed the golden radiance of the harvest moon, as the mermaiden at
length approached the shore where her lover kept anxious watch. With
joyful eagerness Eothwald greeted her, and in low trembling tones
whispered loving thanks into her ear; even then Duva would have
withdrawn her consent, but the impatient Eothwald, without pausing,
threw his strong arms around her, raised his beloved burden from the
glittering water, and bore her swiftly towards the cave.