saw the sleepy little town with the scarlet bunches of geraniums, heard
the bird-like voice of the unknown girl singing her song of innocence.
He walked again under the face of the moon into the ice maiden's snowy
castle, and there he stood with her amongst the beating, broken hearts
that lay awaiting the great trumpet call. He stood on the wave-tossed
boards of the frail little vessel, mingling his voice with the cries of
the sea.
Then, wandering through the enchanted grottos, he came to the place
where he shudderingly knelt by the murdered form of the far too
entrancing woman. In the ruined cathedral the Virgin's eyes once again
blessed his folded hands with her flowing tears.
Above all, the venerated face of his dearly loved master rose
startlingly vivid, waving to him with trembling hands, and his little
travelling companion came running towards him, her dear arms
outstretched in joyous greeting.
The silent army of phantoms passed and faded into space, so that amongst
the falling leaves of autumn he imagined he could clearly see the
many-coloured bubbles rise like tropical butterflies floating always
farther away.
Last of all came Radu the shepherd, with eyes resembling two burning
coals, his white teeth shining from between his smiling lips.
And there was not one of these trembling apparitions that did not look
down upon him with loving glances;--only this fair being playing at his
side would not turn her look his way.
Oh, those eyes that his fairy fingers at last were fixing on his canvas:
deep, grey, wide open, surrounded by long black lashes that were like
dark rays radiating from the unfathomed pupils, starry eyes overflowing
with celestial dreams, eyes that never, ah, never would come down to
look into his!
He clenched his teeth, and, casting away his brushes, he threw himself
down at her feet, laying his face close against them as they rested,
pale twin sisters, amongst the mosses he had gathered.
But Stella was as ever in a world of her own; and whilst the young
painter was trembling with uncontrollable longing, his lips pressed upon
the ground as close to her as he dared, she serenely played on her
violin, making it cry out all the infinite yearning to which her
ethereal nature had never yet awakened.
XXIII
And know that the sorrow of sorrows is only a law of his being.
FIONA MACLEOD.
The tired leaves were falling always thicker; the days were shorter;
night came down with the rapidity of a swooping bird; and more than once
in the early morn a white frost had covered the ground like crystallized
sugar strewn all over the earth.
The gypsies' camp was still pitched beside the wood. They had work to do
in the villages close by, and often in the evenings the long-suffering
donkeys came back heavily laden with vessels of shining copper, which
the dark people mended and patched, as is the wont of their wandering
race.
Their voices could be heard, either in song or strife, as they hammered
away on the rounded caldrons that shone from far, the colour of molten
lead.
The naked children played about in noisy groups, quarrelling like little
brown monkeys, pursuing, with extended hands, every traveller that
ventured too near their tents, and relating their misery with lamentable
cries.
There was word of moving to some warmer clime, but as yet no order of
march had been given, though the nights were cold and the large fires
that were lit, and glowed in the dark like funeral pyres, were hardly
sufficient protection. When the young men had finished their work for
the day they would sit around in groups, playing games of cards with
packs all greasy and blackened by constant use, games which often ended
in noisy discord, when more than one sharpened blade would have to be
knocked out of angry hands. The old women came together and sat by the
leaping flames, weird witches of ancient legends, talking and
chattering, relating endless yarns of endless deeds both gay and
sinister, often scolding the young ones for all they had left undone,
threatening them with every curse if they did not mend their ways.
The lean dogs walked about snatching at every remnant of food they could
lay their hungry teeth upon, but the horses passively waited till the
dark hour would sound for receiving once more their heavy burdens, which
they would carry with patient resignation in spite of the scarcely
healed wounds upon their tired backs.
Only Zorka never joined those rowdy groups; she sat alone in her gloomy
tent like some old beggared queen, thinking about long-past glories. Her
pipe was ever between her lips; the smoke curled upwards in tiny wisps,
forming odd shapes that quivered about like mystic signs mounting into
the damp cold air.
Each day she watched with growing anxiety the two young people, who, at
the fall of night, would come slowly towards her out of the forest.
Since long she had imagined that nothing more could touch her withered
heart; but the sight of these mortals, so full of beauty, purity, and
light, had filled her with a new benevolence, and she longed with an
unspeakable longing to help them if she could.
She was moved by conflicting feelings, asking herself if Stella's
marvellous visions were worth one poor human kiss, one enchanted
awakening to the wonders of love.
Oh, what use was all her long-accumulated wisdom if it failed her at a
moment like this! What should she do? Should she tell the enamoured
youth to go his way, not to waste his days running after something that
could never be?
But it would break his heart; was he not a dreamer of dreams, and
therefore a kindred soul to the solitary maiden who had never seen
anything but pictures that certainly were not of this world.
Sometimes she felt an overpowering desire that a sweet miracle might
come to pass, and that these two lovely innocents should both at the
same instant put their lips to the full cup of Life.
Even ... even ... yes, death in attainment; would it be so terrible a
thing! Ah! But does death ever mercifully cover with his wings two
living hearts at once? Does he not always leave the one in cold misery
to carry his despair alone? So many heavy problems! and she who had
thought that her overburdened brain had already solved the mysteries of
life! One evening she sat thus alone, pondering over all these questions
to which she could find no answer.
The early dusk was descending slowly over one of autumn's last fine
days, and darkness was also rising out of the cold barren earth, meeting
the coming night half-way.
The sky was covered by leaden clouds, dashed by streaks of glowing red,
where the sun resentfully opposed the grey shadows that strove to hide
him out of sight. The air was chilly and the very old woman shivered,
feeling forsaken and sad and useless.
Over the sombre expanse that lay beyond, a faint mist mounted, like
fleecy wool, giving each object the appearance of floating over the
earth. The tents, the gypsies that moved about, the tethered horses, the
slinking dogs, all seemed to have lost their bases and to be floating in
the air.
Zorka was weary, too tired to think. She was only allowing her mind to
wander slowly through the past.
The fire, that young hands always built up beside her venerable grey
head, leapt and sprang like restless spirits eternally striving after
unattainable heights, casting fantastic lights upon her crouching form.
It was a picture of old age, in all its forlorn, colourless sadness,
from which all else has been taken except the weary comfort of looking
back.
Zorka was remembering the distant years when she, too, had known wild
love and scorching hate; when the day had been a long smile of promise,
when for her also young hearts had beaten with passionate desire.
She remembered many faces that rose like ghosts out of the past, calling
to her with long-forgotten voices that once she had loved. She
remembered hours of triumph when the ultimate dream of happiness had
arisen and wrapped her around with its burning flame.
But she had also lived through the long deadly years when nothing more
was laid at her feet, when youth had carelessly trodden upon the heart
that once had seemed to others a treasure impossible to obtain.
Past--past--all past; but forgotten? Dear God! ah no! But old age, weary
old age from which all flee, whose breath lies like white snow upon the
bended head, contains also the balm and benediction of a frosty peace
that resembles the face of the night, unstarred and moonless, covering
over the glaring joys and gloomy sorrows of yore!
As she was thus wandering on distant shores of her youth, a shadow
crossed the space before her and she looked up. It took her a little
time before she could come back to cold reality, till her brain realized
that in truth she was now but Zorka the wise old witch.
Eric stood at her side; the flames flared and hissed, covering him with
changing jets of light.
Between his hands he held a finished picture. Zorka gave a low cry of
surprise, and rose trembling to her feet; there in the unsteady glow of
the restless flames she looked upon a face the like of which human hand
had never before fixed upon canvas or paper.
The eyes of the painting seemed alive, and seemed to stare with
unspeakable rapture upon a sight too marvellous for poor human words to
translate into mortal language. There they were with all the
extraordinary beauty the hoary woman had always known: and more than
all, within these eyes the dreamer of dreams had put also another
expression which contained all the yearning cry of his own passionate,
hopeless love.
For many a year old Zorka, the witch, had not shed a single tear--that
source of emotion had dried since ages past; but now as she gazed with
quivering emotion upon the glory of this unearthly visage she felt how
something rose up from her heart, warm and suffocating, clutching at her
strangled throat, till one by one warm drops ran down her furrowed
cheeks, leaving shining wet lines upon her leathery skin like little
streams of rain on hard-baked earth.
Eric watched her, but never spoke a word; he stood motionless, his arms
hanging at his sides, tired and resigned, as one who can fight no more.
Overhead the white falcon circled and circled, uttering small weird
shrieks like some one in pain; and as it moved about in the inky sky the
blue diamond round its neck shone like a moving star.
"My son," spoke Zorka at last, "thy work is great and wonderful; and
truly it could never be said of one who had fashioned so blessed a
beauty that his life had been lived in vain. But I perceive that thy
human longing is for ever unstilled; and now some inner truth has broken
in upon my far-seeing brain, and these are the words I have to speak to
thee:
"Go to the woman that thy heart loveth too well--go, for such is the
unwritten law of this earth; go and take her in thy living arms and
teach her with a kiss all the joy and all the sorrow of the world. And
what the great God above desires that the end should be is not for us,
who are but fashioned from His dust, to presume to foresee. Go, and I in
the silence of the night shall remain here to watch and pray!"
Eric did as he was bid; laying the picture his hands had created down by
the side of the reader of signs, he silently vanished into the dark.
The fire flared into a renewed burst of flame, and stretched out long
arms of red glowing light as if endeavouring to call him back. Then a
cold gust of wind swept over the waste and covered all around with
clouds of smoke.
XXIV
A song of deathless Love, immortal,
Sunrise-haired and starry-eyed and wondrous.
FIONA MACLEOD.
Within the tent where Stella lived each thing was sweet and pure.
Her magic charm had spread over all she touched.
Old Zorka had thus decreed that she should always have a dwelling that
need be shared with none. It was as poor a place as those around, but
within the folding walls was a haven of rest and peace.
On its rustic canvas sides hung all the withered wreaths that day by day
she had worn. The one she had just removed from her tresses was still
quite fresh, and softly swayed over the door.
Eric had found in the early morn, beneath a protecting tree, a whole
bunch of scarlet strawberry leaves that the autumnal frosts had not yet
touched; he had wound therefrom a lovely garland, all crimson and red,
that throughout the day had crowned the loved one's brow.
A fire close by cast a friendly light through every crevice, so that the
humble dwelling looked warm and homely, in spite of its barren poorness
and the drear solitude upon which it stood.
Before the wide-open entry sat the mysterious maiden on an ancient
wooden chest, her much-loved violin, as always, pressed tenderly beneath
her cheek.
She played and played, and out of the darkness Fate was coming towards
her, treading with noiseless feet.... Still she played on, all else
forgotten or never even seen, tunes almost too sweet for human ear to
bear. But to-day there was something within them resembling the sighs of
a wandering soul that longs for what it cannot reach.
Something there was that perhaps the cold night air wafted to her
sleeping soul--something that held a warning that the tides of life were
at last gradually rising to creep close to her heart, for she suddenly
laid down the faithful friend that would no more give forth the sounds
she was wont to hear.
Each time she drew the bow across its melodious chords, the notes it
uttered were like the cry of a lost spirit in dire distress.
So she sat gazing into the pitchy darkness with something unknown and
frightening, fluttering amidst the strings of her heart. And there out
of the shadows of the lonely night a human form rose and stood beside
her, with arms outstretched. Then Eric was on his knees before her, and
drew the slowly awakening maiden within the unbounded tenderness of his
yearning arms.
The whole world seemed alive with a leaping promise of coming
fulfilment.
And then, oh wonder of wonders, he laid his lips upon the heart of the
girl, the girl who would not look upon his face.
And as he did so he perceived how an indescribable light of dawning
comprehension spread slowly over all her features, and awoke like two
luminous torches in both her eyes.
Then at last her gaze met his ... twin flames of purest beauty, in
which, quite gradually, all the hidden treasures of unconceived
ecstasies rose one by one in an overwhelming flood too strong for human
strength to sustain. Awful, wonderful, terrifying ... and yet so sweet,
so sweet that no halting tongue could ever describe such marvellous
revelations. Almost imperceptibly she bent her angelic lips nearer his,
so that the vision of his dreams was all at once looking into his
upturned face, with eyes into which a God-given splendour had suddenly
come in a burst of passionate understanding.
Never had the exquisite orbs been so sweet, never had the ethereal face
shone with a more divine light;--and a voice that seemed to come from
the far-off distances of the land of mystery pronounced these words:
"Where have I been? To what regions have I come? What is this dazzling
splendour that rushes through my being like a leaping river of Life?
What is this dear face I see gazing into mine, what is this bounding joy
that wants to burst the confines of my overstrained heart? Oh what--oh
what does it mean?"
Drawing herself up she stood, both hands pressed on her heaving breast,
as if her great pain were piercing her through and through.
"What is it?... What is it?... What can it be? I do not understand!"
Eric rose also, and stood trembling before this unheard-of miracle that
had come to pass.
A great fear came to him and swept with a cold wind over his immensity
of joy. Would she suddenly close her mind again to his flaming love, now
that he had at last aroused her sleeping soul?
"Oh, my love, my love!" he cried. "It is I, it is I, who have come over
the distant seas, who have travelled through sun and shade, through
storm and calm, who have passed through the Shadow of Death to reach the
heaven of thy face; look at me with thy awakening eyes, and tell me that
life is sweet."
"Life!" said the girl, her two hands still tightly clutching at her
pulsing heart.
"Life, what is Life?"
"Life," cried Eric, "is contained in this one hour of perfect
attainment. Life is the great promise of love fulfilled. Life is the
sacred moment when my arms may clasp thee to my thirsting soul!
"Come, my beloved, for I have waited so cruelly long, so tirelessly have
I searched and yearned!"
Stella, moved by some unknown, mysterious force, timidly drew near to
this stranger man, whose face was as fair as the angels with whom in her
visions she had always dwelt.
But what was this waking joy--this tumultuous tide of intensest bliss?
Something too strong, too strong, something that no living mortal could
bear.... And yet now she lay within his passionate arms, her head hidden
against his throbbing straining heart.
In an agony of delight no words can describe, his lips, his warm living
lips, were drinking her very soul away--drawing by slow degrees her
sweet hardly-dawning life to mix with his boundless need.
He knew that this was the ultimate limit of his soul's desire, a moment
of such incommensurable joy, that body and soul flowed together into a
sunrise of dazzling triumph. All that had been, was as if it had never
existed. Past, present, and future were caught up and welded together
into a blaze of unearthly rapture.
He felt that he was being carried by the eternal wings of creation into
the very heart of the throbbing world; he was one with Nature, he was
one with God, one with his whole being's most sacred longing. And thus,
closely locked in each other's arms, these two mortals of perfect beauty
lived an hour that lies as a pulsing memory, deeply hidden within the
dark lap of the ever-wakeful Mother Earth, and from which it rose like a
song of undying, eternal perfection to the vastness of the sky above: a
song that now floats in never-ending echoes on every passing cloud, on
every ray of the sun. It was an hour when Nature stood still to listen
to the accomplishment of one of her dearest dreams--when all life seemed
concentrated within the happiness of those two frail human beings....
A cold streak of dawn was slowly advancing with pale furtiveness out of
the cover of night, when Eric bent once again to press his lips upon the
perfect mouth; as he did so Stella looked up into his face with those
eyes that had for so long been a living part of his most hidden self.
Oh! was ever any earthly thing so marvellous, so wonderful, as those two
grey stars of light! and a sweet whisper rose stealing into every drop
of his blood:
"I love thee, I love thee, as never have I loved a single one of my
heavenly dreams; I have learnt in this hour the most limitless
boundaries of human bliss. Lay now thy dear lips upon these eyes thou
hast found at last, so that no other sight than thy fond face may ever
trouble my inner vision.
"Oh, see the day dawns; give me once more all thy bounding soul in the
blessing of thy kiss."
Eric lifted the beloved woman and pressed her in a frenzy of joy to his
heart; then very gently laid his mouth upon her eyes, closing the
delicate lids, shutting away within her starry orbs the visage she loved
more than all else.
Long did he remain thus holding her sweet face beneath his tender
caress, whilst a heavenly smile parted her gentle lips.
And it seemed to Eric that at that moment his life and hers were flowing
quietly together in one great tide towards the shores of Eternity....
But when old Zorka came at the break of day to see how her dear ones
fared, she stood strangling a cry that rose in the air; then, throwing
herself upon the ground, she hid her grey head in the dust.
There sat Eric with wandering gaze, his eyes wide open, full of frantic
misery, looking down upon a corpse he held pressed closely to his
beating heart. And through the gold of his shining locks, soft silver
threads were scattered like finely spun moonbeams entwined with the rays
of the sun.
Zorka lifted her haggard face and stared in awe at the ghost-like pallor
of the girl. A wonderful light rested on her waxen features as she lay
full of peace and rest, white and motionless in the arms of her lover.
Her eyes were closed as one who has shut her tired lids over a joy too
great for words, the vastness of which had burst asunder her human
heart.
XXV
And thy first night of death
Belongs to our first sorrow....
What knowledge now is thine?
A deeper one than ours.
BARD OF THE DÂMBOVITZA.
All day the dark men of the tribe had been building a coffin into which
the beautiful maiden was to be laid to rest.
One and all were bowed with sorrow; this death was to them a horrible
unreality their simple minds could not grasp. Why was this creature of
light cut down in her sweetest prime?
What would their lives now be without the glamour and mystery with which
she had filled their wandering day?
The morning was bleak, and the rain fell in occasional showers that the
wind swept, with moaning sighs, over the naked waste. The canvas of the
tents flapped and creaked, straining against the poles and cords that
held them in place.
A heavy gloom brooded over the wretched camp, so that even the
squabbling children spoke with bated breath.
Within Stella's silent tent sat Eric of the golden locks, staring
without tears upon the face of the dead. The eyes of his dream looked
upon him no more; he had shut them for ever with the passion of his
kiss. Beneath his living lips she had breathed her last, dying like a
fading flower, scorched by the flame of his love!
He had not known when she had passed away--only the growing chill he had
felt beneath his cheek had pierced his soul with a sudden fear, and when
he had called on her beloved name no answer had come in response. But
we shall draw a veil over that hour of morn when he realized what was to
be his fate. There are times of darkness and bottomless grief wherein
the eye of a stranger must never descend. This was the end--the end!
Hope was dead, life was a waste, and all had been but a passionate dream
that ended with a kiss!
The wind swept over the humble tent, but upon her lowly couch Stella
still smiled the wise smile that removes the dead so far beyond the
reach of those who weep.
Not far off sat Zorka, the witch, her head bent down upon her trembling
knees, whilst the storm played amongst the frosted wisps of her hair.
From all sides weird chants rose into the wintry air where the old
women, sitting round their blazing fire, were singing dirges for the
dead.
And now came the moment when the black-eyed, black-haired sons of the
wild came to carry Stella to her last narrow bed.
They had fashioned her a coffin with sides of shining copper the colour
of the autumn that had now passed away. Eric had to stand by and see how
they lifted the body he loved, and laid it, all rigid and small, within
the three sides of the metal box that received in unmoved silence this,
his faded dream.
The gypsies had sullenly refused to let him carry her himself; they
jealously desired to have at least her inert body within their arms,
they who had never dared touch a single hair of her head.
They did not know that she had died beneath the kiss of his lips, but
they somehow guessed that at the end he had awakened her sleeping soul;
and although they had dearly loved his beautiful face, Eric had always
been an alien in their midst, all shining and fair, a being of light
amongst their sombre race.
Now she was dead--Stella was dead--the Luck of their tribe lay white
and cold in her last resting-place. Now she was theirs, and this son of
another clime must relinquish his right, and leave her pure perfection
between their dusky hands.
So while they were carrying her from out her tent Eric wandered with
dragging feet into the forest where he had so often sat, painting her
lovely face.
Now all the gold had fallen to the ground, the trees stood gaunt and
bare. Over his cruelly bowed head the branches stretched naked and grey;
from every twig large dropping tears fell splashing on the carpet of
faded leaves.
Nowhere could he find the smallest plant or flower out of which to wind
her a final wreath the same as those she had always worn. In vain he
searched each sheltered corner; wherever he peered, all was dark and
dead, killed by the frost of the night.