LOVE AND FATE.
Amid the sylvan solitude
Of unshorn grass and waving wood
And waters glancing bright and fast,
A softened voice was in her ear,
Sweet as those lulling sounds and fine
The hunter lifts his head to hear,
Now far and faint, now full and near--
The murmur of the wood swept pine.
A manly form was ever nigh,
A bold, free hunter, with an eye
Whose dark, keen glance had power to wake
Both fear and love--to awe and charm.
Faded the world that they had known,
A poor vain shadow, cold and waste,
In the warm present bliss alone
Seemed they of actual life to taste.
--_Whittier_.
It was in the month of June they were married; when the sun shone with
his brightest splendor; when the sky was of the clearest blue, when the
grass was of the freshest green, the woods in their rudest foliage, the
flowers in their richest bloom, and all nature in her most luxuriant
life! Yes, June was their honeymoon; the forest shades their bridal
halls, and birds and flowers and leaves and rills their train of
attendants. For weeks they lived a kind of fairy life, wandering
together through the depths of the valley forest, discovering through
the illumination of their love new beauties and glories in the earth and
sky; new sympathies with every form of life. Were ever suns so bright,
skies so clear, and woods so green as theirs in this month of beauty,
love, and joy!
"It seems to me that I must have been deaf and blind and stupid in the
days before I knew you, Herman! for then the sun seemed only to shine,
and now I feel that he smiles as well as shines; then the trees only
seemed to bend under a passing breeze, now I know they stoop to caress
us; then the flowers seemed only to be crowded, now I know they draw
together to kiss; then indeed I loved nature, but now I know that she
also is alive and loves me!" said Nora, one day, as they sat upon a bank
of wild thyme under the spreading branches of an old oak tree that stood
alone in a little opening of the forest.
"You darling of nature! you might have known that all along!" exclaimed
Herman, enthusiastically pressing her to his heart.
"Oh, how good you are to love me so much! you--so high, so learned, so
wealthy; you who have seen so many fine ladies--to come down to me, a
poor, ignorant, weaver-girl!" said Nora humbly--for true love in many a
woman is ever most humble and most idolatrous, abasing itself and
idolizing its object.
"Come down to you, my angel and my queen! to you, whose beauty is so
heavenly and so royal that it seems to me everyone should worship and
adore you! how could I come down to you! Ah, Nora, it seems to me that
it is you who have stooped to me! There are kings on this earth, my
beloved, who might be proud to place such regal beauty on their thrones
beside them! For, oh! you are as beautiful, my Nora, as any woman of
old, for whom heroes lost worlds!"
"Do you think so? do you really think so? I am so glad for your sake! I
wish I were ten times as beautiful! and high-born, and learned, and
accomplished, and wealthy, and everything else that is good, for your
sake! Herman, I would be willing to pass through a fiery furnace if by
doing so I could come out like refined gold, for your sake!"
"Hush, hush, sweet love! that fiery furnace of which you speak is the
Scriptural symbol for fearful trial and intense suffering! far be it
from you! for I would rather my whole body were consumed to ashes than
one shining tress of your raven hair should be singed!"
"But, Herman! one of the books you read to me said: 'All that is good
must be toiled for; all that is best must be suffered for'; and I am
willing to do or bear anything in the world that would make me more
worthy of you!"
"My darling, you are worthy of a monarch, and much too good for me!"
"How kind you are to say so! but for all that I know I am only a poor,
humble, ignorant girl, quite unfit to be your wife! And, oh! sometimes
it makes me very sad to think so!" said Nora, with a deep sigh.
"Then do not think so, my own! why should you? You are beautiful; you
are good; you are lovely and beloved, and you ought to be happy!"
exclaimed Herman.
"Oh, I am happy! very happy now! For whatever I do or say, right or
wrong, is good in your eyes, and pleases you because you love me so
much. God bless you! God love you! God save you, whatever becomes of
your poor Nora!" she said, with a still heavier sigh.
At this moment a soft summer cloud floated between them and the blazing
meridian sun, veiling its glory.
"Why, what is the matter, love? What has come over you?" inquired
Herman, gently caressing her.
"I do not know; nothing more than that perhaps," answered Nora, pointing
to the cloud that was now passing over the sun.
"'Nothing more than that.' Well, that has now passed, so smile forth
again, my sun!" said Herman gayly.
"Ah, dear Herman, if this happy life could only last! this life in which
we wander or repose in these beautiful summer woods, among rills and
flowers and birds! Oh, it is like the Arcadia of which you read to me in
your books, Herman! Ah, if it would only last!"
"Why should it not, love?"
"Because it cannot. Winter will come with its wind and snow and ice. The
woods will be bare, the grass dry, the flowers all withered, the streams
frozen, and the birds gone away, and we--" Here her voice sank into
silence, but Herman took up the word:
"Well, and we, beloved! we shall pass to something much better! We are
not partridges or squirrels to live in the woods and fields all winter!
We shall go to our own luxurious home! You will be my loved and honored
and happy wife; the mistress of an elegant house, a fine estate, and
many negroes. You will have superb furniture, beautiful dresses,
splendid jewels, servants to attend you, carriages, horses, pleasure
boats, and everything else that heart could wish, or money buy, or love
find to make you happy! Think! Oh, think of all the joys that are in
store for you!"
"Not for me! Oh, not for me those splendors and luxuries and joys that
you speak of! They are too good for me; I shall never possess them; I
know it, Herman; and I knew it even in that hour of heavenly bliss when
you first told me you loved me! I knew it even when we stood before the
minister to be married, and I know it still! This short summer of love
will be all the joy I shall ever have."
"In the name of Heaven, Nora, what do you mean? Is it possible that you
can imagine I shall ever be false to you?" passionately demanded the
young man, who was deeply impressed at last by the sad earnestness of
her manner.
"No! no! no! I never imagine anything unworthy of your gentle and noble
nature," said Nora, with fervent emphasis as she pressed closer to his
side.
"Then why, why, do you torture yourself and me with these dark
previsions?"
"I do not know. Forgive me, Herman," softly sighed Nora, laying her
cheek against his own.
He stole his arm around her waist, and as he drew her to his heart,
murmured:
"Why should you not enjoy all the wealth, rank, and love to which you
are entitled as my wife?"
"Ah! dear Herman, I cannot tell why. I only know that I never shall!
Bear with me, dear Herman, while I say this; After I had learned to love
you; after I had grieved myself almost to death for your absence; when
you returned and asked me to be your wife, I seemed suddenly to have
passed from darkness into radiant light! But in the midst of it all I
seemed to hear a voice in my heart, saying: 'Poor Moth! you are basking
in a consuming fire; you will presently fall to the ground a burnt,
blackened, tortured, and writhing thing.' And, Herman, when I thought of
the great difference between us; of your old family, high rank, and vast
wealth; and of your magnificent house, and your stately lady mother and
fine lady sisters, I knew that though you had married me, I never could
be owned as your wife--"
"Nora, if it were possible for me to be angry with you, I should be so!"
interrupted Herman vehemently; "'you never could be owned as my wife!' I
tell you that you can be--and that you shall be, and very soon! It was
only to avoid a rupture with my mother that I married you privately at
all. Have I not surrounded you with every legal security? Have I not
armed you even against myself? Do you not know that even if it were
possible for me to turn rascal, and become so mean, and miserable, and
dishonored as to desert you, you could still demand your rights as a
wife, and compel me to yield them!"
"As if I would! Oh, Herman, as if I would depend upon anything but your
dear love to give me all I need! Armed against you, am I? I do not
choose to be so! It is enough for me to know that I am your wife. I do
not care to be able to prove it; for, Herman, were it possible for you
to forsake me, I should not insist upon my 'rights'--I should die.
Therefore, why should I be armed with legal proofs against you, my
Herman, my life, my soul, my self? I will not continue so!" And with a
generous abandonment she drew from her bosom the marriage certificate,
tore it to pieces, and scattered it abroad, saying: "There now! I had
kept it as a love token, close to my heart, little knowing it was a
cold-blooded, cautious, legal proof, else it should have gone before,
where it has gone now, to the winds! There now, Herman, I am your own
wife, your own Nora, quite unarmed and defenseless before you; trusting
only to your faith for my happiness; knowing that you will never
willingly forsake me; but feeling that if you do, I should not pursue
you, but die!"
"Dear trusting girl! would you indeed deprive yourself of all defenses
thus? But, my Nora, did you suppose when I took you to my bosom that I
had intrusted your peace and safety and honor only to a scrap of
perishable paper? No, Nora, no! Infidelity to you is forever impossible
to me; but death is always possible to all persons; and so, though I
could never forsake you, I might die and leave you; and to guard against
the consequences of such a contingency I surrounded you with every legal
security. The minister that married us resides in this county; the
witness that attended us lives with you. So that if to-morrow I should
die, you could claim, as my widow, your half of my personal property
and your life-interest in my estate. And if to-morrow you should become
impatient of your condition as a secreted wife, and wish to enter upon
all the honors of Bradenell Hall, you have the power to do so!"
"As if I would! As if it was for that I loved you! oh, Herman!"
"I know you would not, love! And I know it was not for that you loved
me! I have perfect confidence in your disinterestedness. And I hope you
have as much in mine."
"I have, Herman. I have!"
"Then, to go back to the first question, why did you wound me by saying,
that though I had married you, you knew you never could be owned as my
wife?"
"I spoke from a deep conviction! Oh, Herman, I know you will never
willingly forsake me; but I feel you will never acknowledge me!"
"Then you must think me a villain!" said Herman bitterly.
"No, no, no; I think, if you must have my thoughts, you are the
gentlest, truest, and noblest among men."
"You cannot get away from the point; if you think I could desert you,
you must think I am a villain!"
"Oh, no, no! besides, I did not say you would desert me! I said you
would never own me!"
"It is in effect the same thing."
"Herman, understand me: when I say, from the deep conviction I feel,
that you will never own me, I also say that you will be blameless."
"Those two things are incompatible, Nora! But why do you persist in
asserting that you will never be owned?"
"Ah, dear me, because it is true!"
"But why do you think it is true?"
"Because when I try to imagine our future, I see only my own humble hut,
with its spinning-wheel and loom. And I feel I shall never live in
Brudenell Hall!"
"Nora, hear me: this is near the first of July; in six months, that is
before the first of January, whether I live or die, as my wife or as my
widow, you shall rule at Brudenell Hall!"
Nora smiled, a strange, sad smile.
"Listen, dearest," he continued; "my mother leaves Brudenell in
December. She thinks the two young ladies, my sisters, should have more
society; so she has purchased a fine house in a fashionable quarter of
Washington City. The workmen are now busy decorating and furnishing it.
She takes possession of it early in December. Then, my Nora, when my
mother and sisters are clear of Brudenell Hall, and settled in their
town-house, I will bring you home and write and announce our marriage.
Thus there can be no noise. People cannot quarrel very long or fiercely
through the post. And finally time and reflection will reconcile my
mother to the inevitable, and we shall be all once more united and
happy."
"Herman dear," said Nora softly, "indeed my heart is toward your mother;
I could love and revere and serve her as dutifully as if I were her
daughter, if she would only deign to let me. And, at any rate, whether
she will or not, I cannot help loving and honoring her, because she is
your mother and loves you. And, oh, Herman, if she could look into my
heart and see how truly I love you, her son, how gladly I would suffer
to make you happy, and how willing I should be to live in utter poverty
and obscurity, if it would be for your good, I do think she would love
me a little for your sake!"
"Heaven grant it, my darling!"
"But be sure of this, dear Herman. No matter how she may think it good
to treat me, I can never be angry with her. I must always love her and
seek her favor, for she is your mother."