Enchantment wove mine aching heart a strange
Bright web of many hued delight. She gave
To that brief Dream all the reality
That made its flying moments passing sweet.
The kindly echoes lent their magic aid,
And tones reverberated in mine ear
Whose music gently whispered rapture, not
Of Earth, but of some far-off lovely Land,
A Time when all that is not yet may be.
* * * * *
With trembling sigh, from happiness too great,
I all unknowing broke the mystic spell,
And shivering back, through dark and dreary ways,
No Moon to guide the weary feet, no Light
To cheer the falling spirit, once again
Within dull clay poor Psyche found her home,
And woke to bitter loneliness and woe.
She had in truth a rough awakening from her dream of happiness. As day
by day the restless monarch showed more and more the change in his
feelings that perfect vision had wrought, Fidunia not only passed
through the deep waters of sorrow in realizing his alienation, but
experienced moreover a fresh and equally poignant pain as the veil of
illusion fell from her disenchanted eyes, and taught the simple-hearted
young girl that she could never again regard her monarch with the same
trusting faith.
To one of hasty impulsive temperament like Antiphates, dissimulation
proved impossible: however much he was bound, alike by the ties of
honour and of gratitude, to keep the vows publicly pledged to his
deliverer, he could not forgive the hapless girl her lack of outward
beauty. He valued not the delicate refinement of her nature. He marked
not the ethereal spirit that shone unconquerable through her
transparent eye. His affection had been of the earth, earthy;
evanescent as frail mortality itself.
Nor was Fidunia's spirit formed in a mould to sicken and die of
unrequited affection. In happier days, the happiest of her short life,
she had, in spite of the vast difference in their ages, learned to
regard the gifted King with something akin to reverential love. The
eager wooing of one so talented and fascinating could not fail to
produce some corresponding effect on the imagination of the forest
maiden. Not unsolicited she had yielded up her gentle heart, and come
gradually to centre all the hopes and thoughts of her young life upon
Antiphates.
She now grew to spend longer hours each day in wandering round the
precincts of Xylina. The child of nature, she ever found her truest
solace beneath the wide canopy of heaven. There no walls pent in her
labouring sobs, no human eye beheld the slowly falling tears, mourners
over a vanished past, that welled up one by one from her burning heart;
tears that slowly rising, purified still further her much afflicted
spirit, and weaned her soul from the earthly love which for a time had
satisfied that strange immortal portion of mortality.
Fido, ever beside his mistress, grew like her, pensive and forlorn. He
knew she was in grief, and his mute sympathy gave her comfort, as
together they climbed through the mazy wood, or explored the hills that
rose behind the castle.
In these wanderings, Fidunia came frequently to a knoll, commanding the
lovely expanse of waters beneath. Looking across the broad bay of Deva,
the horizon was bounded only by the fair island of Spera, so fraught
with memory's brightest records. Here upon a bank of wild thyme,
sheltered by the cool olive trees, and fanned by the passing breeze,
she pondered over her mysterious lot, and shudderingly thought of the
blank untrodden future.
But counsel and comfort already approached. One day as she thus sat,
rapt and musing, a gentle voice addressed her; turning half alarmed,
she beheld the sweetest face her eyes had ever dwelt upon. That
countenance shone with heaven-born beauty. "Sister Angela" (for thus
the stranger was called) had also sorrowed, but she had found lasting
comfort in the convent of Saint Sebastian. This monastery was near at
hand, though partially concealed by the dense foliage and the masses of
creepers which clothed its outer walls. Angela had oftentimes seen and
yearned over the sorrowful young girl, and at last, issuing forth,
ventured to greet her.
She tenderly saluted Fidunia, who, before long, learnt to love and
trust her new friend. She soon came daily to seek for guidance and
comfort at her hands, confiding to Angela's sympathizing ears the
chequered story of her brief life.
Meantime, to add still further to the griefs of poor Fidunia, her
little dog disappeared. She first missed him one afternoon as, after
long converse with her new found friend, she turned to descend the
grassy slopes to Castle Xylina.
During those hours she had formed a high and holy resolution. Alone in
the world, she aspired to become one of the sisterhood to whom Angela
belonged, and to find an asylum for her wearied wounded heart within
the sacred walls of Saint Sebastian.
On reaching the Castle, Fidunia sought everywhere for Fido, but no one
had seen him, or could tell whither he had gone. While occupied in
threading the long passages and calling anxiously for her missing
companion, she met Domenichino hastening to entreat her attendance on
the King. Without returning to her chamber to alter her attire, Fidunia
turned and accompanied him to the royal presence.
Antiphates met her at the entrance of the hall. In kind yet constrained
tones the monarch condoled with her as he heard of Fido's
disappearance. He gave orders moreover that the strictest search should
at once be instituted throughout Deva and its environs for Fidunia's
dear little favourite.
"But now," continued the King, leading her to a deep embrasure, whence
could be seen the fair landscape beneath, "I am anxious you should name
the day for the ceremony that is to unite the debtor to his mistress,
and thus permit me to fulfil my plighted troth." So saying, he carried
her hand lightly to his lips, and looked searchingly upon her. But even
his bold eyes fell rebuked beneath Fidunia's pure enquiring gaze, now
divested of all hesitation or embarrassment. No word of reproach for
his altered behaviour towards her, since she had restored his sight,
fell from her. No murmur escaped her. But her voice quavered as, in a
few simple sentences, she unfolded to him the purpose she had that day
formed of taking upon herself the vows of Saint Sebastian.
A sense of momentary shame at his own want of generosity dyed the
King's rough cheek a deeper hue. He felt his inability to urge Fidunia
with any zest to renounce her lofty aspirations. He strove to conceal
his satisfaction, but he knew too well that her voluntary self-devotion
relieved him from a perplexing dilemma.
Nevertheless he cast about in his mind for some form of remonstrance;
but before he could frame the words on his unwilling lips, she was
gone.
Stung to her inmost heart by the inscrutable changes in his variable
nature, and already overwrought by the day's emotions, the hapless
Fidunia only reached her chamber in time to shut from every human eye
her deadly struggle, her last overwhelming battle with wounded mortal
love.
Days slowly elapsed without intelligence of Fido, and the arrangements
became gradually completed by which, upon the Festival of All Saints,
Fidunia was to enter her noviciate.
All Hallow's Eve drew near. On the morrow the lonely Fidunia was to bid
farewell to the outer world, and rest her wearied tempest-tossed head
within the peaceful cloistered shades.
She sought her luxurious chamber for the last time, and unfastening the
window, stepped out on the broad balcony. The glorious full moon once
more illuminated with clear cold light each beloved object in the
exquisite panorama so dear to her.
Human sorrow asserted its own in the maiden's breast, as in spirit she
bade farewell to the slumbering monarch who, for a brief period, had
been her sun and firmament, the "all" for which in the forest depths
her innocent soul had insensibly pined.
A sudden pattering footstep sounded near, and looking inwards, lo!
through the moonlit chamber, approached the truant Fido. In the
imperfect light he seemed faint and weary; but Fidunia sprang to meet
him, and raised and fondled the little wanderer in her arms, asking him
the while many a question about his strange absence, half reproaching
him for his desertion.
As she held the little dog close to her breast, rejoicing over his
return, she felt something of a novel character around his neck. She
gently unfastened a cord, and found attached to it a small phial
carefully sealed, yet emitting a wondrous fragrance.
Somehow assuming from her companion's quiescent attitude that the flask
was for her own use, she slipped it into her bosom, and forgetting all
else, again yielded herself to vague yearnings over the unfulfilled
visions of the past. It was long before she stepped from the window,
and placing Fido on the ground prepared for her last night's rest in
the palace.
As she let down the now lengthened tresses of her thick hair, Fido
though evidently exhausted, refused to lie down. Seemingly ill at ease,
he watched her every movement with painful anxiety. When at length she
drew near the marble bath, wherein she nightly plunged, his agitation
knew no bounds, and as in undressing she displaced the phial from her
garments he uttered a series of short sharp barks restlessly springing
the while backwards and forwards from his mistress to the edge of the
alcove. So close was the companionship between Fidunia and her faithful
companion, that she at once divined his meaning, and undoing the seal
and extracting the stopper from the bottle, she emptied its contents
into the water. Scarcely had she done so when the whole chamber became
filled with a delicious perfume. As one in a trance, half overcome by
the powerful scent, Fidunia entered her bath, and felt at once the
extraordinary invigorating power which seemed to emanate from those few
drops of liquid.
All sorrow was lifted from her heart. Already in imagination she joined
in the sweet praiseful strains of the Sebastian sisters. Angelic forms
moved around her, and the moon's pale rays at length guided the weary
maiden to her pillow. Stretching out one soft arm over her faithful
dog, lying in his cot by her side, and lulled by a foretaste of
heaven's own music, Fidunia sank into dreams of ecstatic beauty.
The loud pealing of a thousand bells for the Festival of All Saints at
last awoke the neophyte from her deep repose. For a moment she started
and half forgot her resting place; but her eye fell upon her little
dog. Something strange in his attitude struck her. Startled, she sprang
to her feet and bent over him.
His sleep was surely very deep! Yes, Fidunia! sound are those slumbers
from which not even the touch of thy beloved hand can rouse his wearied
form, or call forth a response from the wistful eyes, wont to hang upon
thy lightest gesture.
With an exceeding bitter cry, Fidunia fell beside her lost favourite
and vainly chafed his stiffening limbs. As she stooped over him, her
eyes swimming in tears, she perceived in the morning light a small
scroll lying on the floor by his couch. She hastily raised it, and
noted "This for Fidunia" traced upon the outer covering. She tore it
open, and through the mists of sorrow that perpetually dimmed her
vision, she read these words:
"Sweet daughter, when thou readest this, thy faithful servant will
be no more. Know that the little dog, Fido, through many past days
and nights hath mourned over thine exceeding sorrow and thy low
estate.
"He held thee altogether lovely, but he knew from human fellowship
that those who owed most to thy labours, my child, had weighed
thine outward beauty in the balance and found it wanting. He
watched thine affliction till his own heart went nigh to break; and
then, calling to remembrance my counsels and assistance to thee, he
left thy side, and through many hardships and with great fatigue he
gained once more my little cottage by the wide and spreading
common. I made known to him that the gift of earthly beauty could
only be thine through the self-sacrifice of one who loved thee to
the death. Thy faithful companion hath cheerfully laid down his
sinless existence for thy dear sake.
"Heaven guard thee and guide thee, Fidunia!
"ANNA."
As Fidunia, penetrated to her very inmost soul by the dying fidelity of
her beloved dog, sank again over his inanimate frame, a loud and
persistent knocking made itself heard at her chamber door. She had
barely time to cast on her outer garments before the palace women,
alarmed by her first cry, and hearing no response to their summons,
thrust open the door and drew inquisitively near the weeping maiden.
Fidunia rose from her knees, and casting an indignant look on the
amazed intruders, she exclaimed, "Behold your thoughtless work! It was
through you and yours that my poor dog learnt the small esteem in which
his mistress was held, and has thus been goaded to his death."
No answer came from the gathering throng. Awed and abashed, they herded
together. Whence came the ineffable beauty that sat upon Fidunia's
brow, and cast a radiance over her shining hair? That it was the forest
maiden none could doubt, but how exquisitely soft and fair her
lineaments, as standing in the morning sun before her dead comrade's
couch, she gave vent to her feelings of passionate reproach.
At this moment Domenichino, hastily entering, heralded the King's
approach. The news of the death of Fido and of Fidunia's miraculous and
new-born beauty had spread like wild-fire through the Castle.
Antiphates, no less bewildered than his subjects, hesitated half
awe-struck on the threshold of the young girl's chamber, which he now
for the first time proposed to enter. Recovering himself promptly,
however, with an imperious gesture he signed to his surrounding people
to leave the apartment, and then slowly advanced to the now silent but
still weeping Fidunia.
In bygone days, all unknown to the sightless monarch, the very sound of
his approaching footsteps had power to suffuse her cheek with blushes.
Now coldly conscious of his presence, she stood before him without
responsive sign, the loveliest creature upon God's wide earth, the
realized ideal of his fairest dreams.
Wrapped in her white morning robe, with her yet unbound hair falling
back in rich clustering masses from her pure pale brow and pearly skin
of dazzling whiteness; a solemn depth shone from her dark blue eyes,
bearing still a wealth of tears unshed; while a faint evanescent colour
like the transparent petal of the wood anemone played upon her rounded
cheek.
All unknown to herself, clothed in this wondrous panoply of beauty,
Fidunia awaited her sovereign's commands. To her unspeakable surprise
the monarch seemed overcome with some unbidden emotion. Again and again
he vainly assayed to speak; at length, drawing near, he bent his proud
knee before her, and in agitated tones besought her pardon.
"Sire," replied Fidunia, "as regards myself, I have little to forgive,
but would that my dumb companion had been spared the knowledge that
hath cost him his faithful life."
"Oh, Fidunia!" cried the enamoured Prince, "forget these sad weeks
wherein we have suffered disquiet, and during which untoward shadows
have obscured my vision, and consent, as you once promised, to be my
bride. I swear to you, my darling," continued he, pressing closer to
the shrinking girl, "that in my love and tender care you shall find
consolation even for the death of your poor lost favourite."
With an effort Fidunia extricated her hand from his nervous grasp, and
the red flush of indignation mounting higher and higher, she exclaimed,
"Nay, my liege, this is neither the time nor the place wherein to renew
the vows which of late have sat so light on thy heart and conscience.
Here in the presence of the faithful dead, spare me, I pray thee, all
reference to the unfaithful past. That chapter is closed for ever. On
this morning, with thy free consent, I take upon myself new and holy
vows. Yes," repeated she, raising her speaking eyes to the glorious
eastern sky, "I am accounted worthy to become the lowly bride of
Heaven." And as if in confirmation of her words, a gust of wind brought
faintly to their ears, through the wide open window, the glad chiming
of the Saint Sebastian bells, ringing in anticipation of the ceremonial
of the day.
"Now by my crown and kingdom," whispered Antiphates, in burning ardent
tones, "that thou never shalt become, for mine thou art and mine thou
shalt remain while I have life and power to keep thee." So saying he
sprang to his feet and enfolding Fidunia in his arms, pressed her
fiercely to his breast.
Weary and distraught, and well nigh overcome with the struggle, as she
felt the loud pulsations of his throbbing heart, and experienced the
mesmeric influence of strong earthly passion, the sorely bestead maiden
breathed from her fainting soul an earnest prayer for guidance; and her
silent petition for aid in the hour of need was answered.
A low strain of music sounded through the chamber, and the reluctant
King involuntarily released his trembling captive, as the door slowly
opening admitted two by two the veiled and white arrayed sisters of
Saint Sebastian coming to adorn their promised novice for the
approaching ceremony.
In vain the distracted Prince commanded them to pause in their holy
duties, in vain he implored Fidunia to delay even for a day her
irrevocable vows.
Borne back by the gentle but resistless force of the sacred band, and
secretly abashed at the recollection of his own conduct, Antiphates
stood spell-bound, devouring with hungry eyes the peerless beauty of
the maid, whom too late, he knew to be the one golden hope of his life.
They arrayed her in bridal robes of exceeding splendour. They placed a
coronal of blooming orange flowers upon her faultless head.
When all was completed Fidunia, turning to Domenichino, pleaded with
him to convey what remained of her devoted servant to the little thymy
knoll beneath the olive trees, and there within easy reach of her
convent walls, to lay to rest the still beautiful form of the faithful
Fido.
Then, stepping aside as if to bid him farewell, she raised and kissed
the silent Prince's hand, murmuring in tones that he alone could hear,
"while life lasts I shall pray for thee." Ere he could respond the
procession slowly re-formed, and descending the broad palace-stairs,
swept onwards along the avenue of grassy sward, and through the
orange-scented gardens of Xylina to the hallowed precincts of Saint
Sebastian on the Hill.
Within the chapel where the holy fathers waited, many had collected to
witness the ceremony, but the King and his cortege occupied the places
nearest to the sisters and the young aspirant.
Through his intervention her meditations were yet again disturbed, as
he besought her once more to turn from her purpose, and to remain amid
the outer world as his loved and honoured bride. She steadfastly
refused to listen to his entreaties. The service proceeded, and the
novice at length prepared to pass through the iron gateway that should
now close to all eternity between her and the world without. A ray from
heaven fell on her beautiful figure, and illumined her devout features,
as she stood waiting to receive the white consecrated veil of the
sisterhood.
The long enveloping folds shrouded her from head to foot, and as
Fidunia's golden head disappeared for ever from the sight of man, the
whole air became filled with the celestial voices of the choir, singing
these glorious words,
"She is not dead, but liveth."
EUDAEMON:
OR
_THE ENCHANTER OF THE NORTH_.
On the eastern side of the Isle of Raasay there still stands a lonely
ruin known as Castle Brochel. Perched upon precipitous rocks at the
very verge of the ocean, it is easy to imagine how, armed and
provisioned, this fortress held its own amid the perpetual warfare of
early Celtic times.
[Illustration: EUDAEMON
P. 199.]
Castle Brochel has always borne a doubtful reputation. According to
tradition, it was originally built with the price of blood, for the
ancient legend runs somewhat after this fashion.
Shiel Torquil went forth with his dogs one morning to hunt the red deer
on the wild mountains Blaven and Glamaig, in the neighbouring Island of
Skye. Shiel Torquil had with him only one retainer, but he was a host
in himself, being surnamed, from his immense size and strength, the
Gillie More. After some time they sighted a stag. In the ardour of the
chase the dogs soon ran out of sight, pursuing their quarry towards the
shore at Sligachan.
Now it so happened that the young Kreshinish in his galley was anchored
on that side of the island within sight of the beach. He saw the hunted
animal about to take to the water, and swim, as deer are often known to
do, across the narrow strait which lies between Skye and Raasay.
Kreshinish and his men at once landed and took possession, not only of
the stag itself, but of the dogs which, panting and exhausted, were
unable to offer any resistance.
Shiel Torquil presently appeared on the scene and angrily asked for his
deer and his hounds. Kreshinish refused to deliver them up. A bloody
struggle ensued, during which the Gillie More inflicted a fatal wound
upon the ill-fated young chieftain who unwittingly (at first) had
interfered with the sports of another. This brought the affray to a
speedy conclusion, and Shiel Torquil with his follower carried off deer
and dogs in triumph.
Not long after this the poor old father of Kreshinish came to Skye to
seek for the murderer of his son, and publicly offered the reward of a
bag of silver to any one who would show him the guilty man. The Gillie
More, hearing of the promised guerdon, boldly entered the presence of
the elder Kreshinish. Confessing that he himself had slain the youthful
chieftain, he urged in self-defence the young man's overbearing conduct
in attempting to carry off Shiel Torquil's stag-hounds and game.
The bereaved father, obliged by the stringent laws of Highland honour
to fulfil his solemn promise, reluctantly bestowed the bag of silver on
the very man who had cut off his only child in the early bloom of
manhood. The Gillie More, however, haunted by remorse, and still
fearing the avenger's footstep, entreated his master to accept the
money and build therewith a retreat for them both.
Shiel Torquil granted his henchman's request. After some time spent in
searching for a suitable site, they at last selected the wild easterly
shore of Raasay. Here were speedily raised the frowning walls of Castle
Brochel. Secured from sudden attack by the inaccessible situation of
their refuge, the Gillie More and his master lived in peace for many
years.
Their retired habits, and their dislike to intruders, coupled with this
strange tale of robbery and murder, caused the Castle, though
newly-built, to be regarded with no friendly eye. When they died, it
was left untenanted for a considerable time. Many reports were
circulated concerning the strange sights and sounds to be seen and
heard at the eerie hour of twilight, or amid the silent watches of the
night, by the belated traveller who chanced to pass that way by sea or
by land.
At the period of which we speak, Castle Brochel had however for some
time been inhabited by a being whose origin was partially shrouded in
mystery, the gloomy Eudaemon, known as the "Enchanter of the North."
Long years ago, Valbiorn, the wild sea-king, persuaded the lovely
Bragela, Sorglan's fair-haired daughter, to fly with him from her home.
Terrible was Sorglan's wrath when he discovered that his hereditary
enemy had deprived him of his only child, and undying was his
resentment. But filial disobedience brought its own punishment. Before
very long the restless Valbiorn was once more roaming alone on the high
seas, spreading war and confusion in his wake.
It was next rumoured that the gentle Bragela, heart-broken and
deserted, had, with her little babe and an old and faithful attendant,
one-eyed Donald, taken up her abode in the lonely Castle Brochel. Here
she reared her son, within whose infant mind the powers of good and
evil seemed to struggle with unwonted energy.