In their naive songs, our people long remembered the valley in which the
chieftain parted from his comrades. Our fathers called it the Valley of
Farewells; our children so will call it should our songs endure through
another generation--should not our language, with ourselves, be
extinguished forever!
In a valley circled by three hills of gentle slope, whose feet bathe in
the same stream, but whose tops are widely severed, stands the man who
but an hour before had borne the ban of excommunication from the altar
of God. Male figures, clad in black from head to foot, with pallid
faces, and the flash of steel glittering in the moonlight, seem to have
been awaiting his appearance, for when they perceive him, the reclining
rise to their feet, the standing descend to the borders of the stream,
banners are unfurled in the summer's night, but no huzzas break the
silence. Seating himself upon a rock on the banks of the stream, he is
himself the first to speak, his voice chiming time with the murmur of
the waters, as the tones of the singer with the sounding harpstrings.
His words, though low, reach the hearts of his companions:
'Soldiers! for some time past I have been your leader, and I am sure you
will not forget me. Treasure in your memories the last words I shall
ever address to you, for in them is the old truth, firm as these rocks,
holy as these stars. Our fathers owned this country for thousands of
years; during all that time, exile, injustice, oppression were utterly
unknown. Its children were numberless as the grains of wheat upon its
plains, as the trees in its interminable forests, and the neighboring
nations gathered for shelter under the shadow of their clustering
sabres. What the ear now never hears, what the eye never sees, but what
the soul of the brave never ceases to love, was their proud
inheritance--FREEDOM! Then came, with his throngs of slaves, the King
of the South.[A] At first he spake with guileful gentleness, pouring out
treacherous treasures of gold before us. Differing from us in faith and
language, he strove to unite what God had severed, and when affairs
moved not in accordance with his wishes, he tried to force himself upon
us with fire and sword. Shame to the dwellers in cities and the lords of
the valleys! fearing to face the dangers and hardships of life in the
caves of the mountains, the wilds of the forests, they submitted to the
usurper. But you have buried yourself in them as in graves, therefore
the day of resurrection will dawn upon you. Already I see the signs of a
brighter future. Has not the king's own residence been fired and
consumed? Have we not heard the screams of joy of the vultures over the
dead bodies of his minions, while the wolves howled in chorus the long
night through? If you would regain the inheritance of our fathers, your
labor must be long, your best blood flow. Especially now, when from
wandering exiles you have grown into threatening heroes, will the king
strive to deceive you by glittering baits: but beware of the tempters;
their promises are mountains of gold, their performances handfuls of
mud. Look up! There is room enough in these blue skies for brave souls!
Regret not the earth, even should you fall in battle. Even on the other
side of the grave may the face of God be forever dark to him who
consents to lay down his arms while his country is in bondage!
[Footnote A: Russia]
'Go not down into the plains to secure the golden grain; your guardian
angel dwells in the mountains--the time is coming when you shall reap a
full harvest of spoils. Hearken always to the voices of the Seven who
appointed me your leader. Their arms are weary with age and heavy work,
but wisdom reigns supreme over the ruins of their wornout bodies. Obey
them. When they call upon you, defend them to the last; whom they shall
appoint chief, follow in dauntless courage; conquer with him, as you
have always conquered with me! Soldiers, another fate demands me now. No
morrow dawns for me upon this earth. Brothers, I bid you farewell
forever!'
The summer moon shines brightly down upon the little band of heroes.
They start to their feet, and, gliding silently from every direction,
they assemble round their chief, twining about him in a gloomy circle.
'Where art thou going, our brave chieftain?'
Stretching out his arm, he points toward the flame which still throws a
pale light over the plain.
'Stay! It is the flame of the wedding festival glaring from the halls of
thy ancestors. We will not suffer thee to go to those who would take thy
life; to the maiden who has betrayed thee!'
He starts suddenly from the rock; his shrill cry pierces the hearts of
the warriors:
'Malign her not with falsehood! She has not betrayed me. This very night
she will be mine. We will rest together in the long sleep of eternity.
Comrades, I have consecrated to you the house and riches of my fathers;
life and bliss with the woman I love I have sacrificed on the altar of
my country; but death with her I cannot relinquish--the moment is
near--no time is to be lost--I go. Farewell!'
He passes hurriedly through them; the long folds of his cloak, the locks
of his hair, the plumes of his cap, stream wildly on the breeze. Cries
rise on the midnight air; they kneel before him, they circle round him,
they stand a living wall before him, they entreat him to stop, they
threaten to storm the castle, to take it before the dawn of day, to
seize the bride, and bear her safely to his arms.
He stays his hurrying footsteps, and the eager men fall into respectful
silence. His voice is heard, sounding sweet indeed, but firm and deep as
they have often heard it in the midst of battle-smoke and thunder:
'I thank you from my heart; my brothers. But it cannot be! The clashing
of our sabres must not wake the old man sleeping in the chambers of my
forefathers. I grew up under the shadow of his hand. He first taught my
lips to utter the holy word which names the land of our fathers; he
planted in my soul the thirst for glory. Before our holy banners float
again from the walls of his castle, I must sleep in death! Fate has
inexorably decreed it. Once more, farewell!'
He moves rapidly on, muttering to himself: 'What the priest of God has
bound, man may not untie--it must be _cut_ asunder!' Unconsciously
drawing his sword, he raises it in the air, the glittering blade
flashing like a meteor in the rays of the summer moon.
In silence and with drooping heads the soldiers follow--they know that
what he says will surely come to pass. Predictions of his approaching
doom had long been current among them; he had himself warned them the
hour of separation was near. Not by the sword of the near enemy, nor by
the arrow of the distant one, was he fore-doomed to fall. Not slowly was
he to fade away upon a bed of mortal sickness: his own dreams and
foreign magic had announced to him another doom! The conspirators move
silently and solemnly on behind him, as if following a corpse. He
already seems to them a spirit. But when he commenced the ascent of the
hill, the long plumes of his cap streaming through rocks and trees,
appearing and disappearing as he clambers up, they rush into pursuit.
Separated only by mossy banks and rocky terraces, they seek the same
hilltop. He reaches it the first. Before him flashes upon his eyes a
full view of the illuminated castle with its towers and battlemented
turrets; at his feet lies the abyss, thundering with the roar of falling
waters. An enormous pine has fallen over and bridges the chasm. His men
are close upon him; again they try to surround him; pushing off the
nearest, he leaps upon the trunk of the gigantic pine, crawls forward
upon it, hangs for a moment over the abyss, reaches the other side,
descends with marvellous agility, plants himself firmly on the ground,
with feverish strength tears out the trunk from the rocks which had held
it fast; it trembles for a moment as if swung in a balance; he urges,
hurls it on, and at last it falls, crushing and shivering as it strikes
heavily against the steep sides of the rocky chasm. The soldiers feel as
if dazzled by a sudden flash of lightning, and when the glare passes, it
is too late! In the light of the moon they see for the last time his
broad brow in the full beauty of life--then the abyss separates them
forever. Holding his hands out, suspended above the chasm, as if with
his last breath he would bless his people, he cries:
'In the name of God, heroes, eternal struggle between you and the King
of the South!'
The rocks echo the full tones of the manly voice, and the depths of the
valley repeat it. His tall form disappears among the shadows of the
pines. The conspirators listen as if hoping to catch one word more. No
sound greets them save the sighing of the trees, the dash of the
waters--the manly tones of their young hero they will hear no more
forever!
* * * * *
Unfortunate! the glare of madness gleams in thine eyes. While thou wert
exposed to the gaze of thy brothers thou struggledst to control thyself,
because thou wouldst not their last memory of thee should be clouded;
but now thou art alone, thou throwest off restraint, and, driven on by
vengeance, hurriest forward. Thou startlest the owl as thou scalest the
rocks; she flaps her wing, and gazes on thee with round eyes of wonder;
the fox, baying in the moonlight, steals into the gloom; the wolves
howl in the ravine as thou rushest through--thou hearest not their
cries, they fly before the wild splendor of thine eyes! Thou readiest
the plain. Corpse-lights from the swamps flit on with thee; wildly
laughing, thou criest: 'Race on with me, friends!' They dance round thy
cap, and bathe thy breast with streams of pale, blue light; then, joined
in brotherly embrace, for a moment ye speed together on; but the
grave-lights are the first to die; then, a solitary shadow, thou
flittest darkly over the meadows, and approachest the castle of thine
ancestors.
It shines with innumerable lights. The terraced gardens with their walks
and perfumed shrubs lie so silently in the bright moonlight, they seem
dreaming of the bridal bliss, the echo of the wedding music cradling
them to sweeter sleep. The flying footsteps of the chieftain are
suddenly arrested--he thinks he hears the opening chant of the
bridesmaids' song, though so distant it seems rather dream than reality.
He listens. He knows the ancient custom; he certainly hears the chorused
strophes, the fresh, clear female voices, He rushes forward now, he
buries his nails in the fissures of the walls, he clambers up,
suspending himself in the air, his feet cling to the moss-grown stones,
he seizes a vine, swings himself forward, gains the top of the wall, and
the crushed grasses groan as he leaps down upon them. Having touched the
earth within the enclosure, he rises up with triple power, and bounds
into the leafy labyrinth. Oaks, ashes, pines, and firs, the remains of
the great forest, are around him. Thickets, vineyards, and meadows lie
in the moonlight, brooks and fountains murmur, nightingales sing; he
reaches the trailing willows where the long branches droop into the blue
waters of the lake, from whose depths the stars of heaven smile upon
him. He had played under these trees as a happy boy, swum in these clear
waves--but the memories of the past must not detain him now. He reaches
the bower where the jessamines bloom at the foot of the lower terrace.
This was the spot in which the maiden had revealed her soul to her
exiled brother; here had her holy promise kindled her blue eyes, and the
high resolve of its keeping rested on her pure brow;--he groans aloud,
but stops not, keeping his face steadily turned to the gray wall of the
castle. Certain of his course, whether in light or shadow, he still
hurries on. Winding among orange trees and fountains, he enters the
vaulted archway which leads to the castle. Ascending with every step, he
stands at last upon a level with its pillared portico. Taking the long
plume from his cap, he glides from beneath the vault of the archway. No
one is near. Songs and shouts are on his left; there then must be the
hall of festival. Silence reigns on his right, and the long ranges of
windows glitter only with the light of the moon. At the end of the long
gallery and near the angle of the western tower, lamps are still
burning; a wide glass door stands partly open--it seems to him he hears
a low moan, but so light, so inaudible, it is caught through the
divining of the soul rather than by the hearing of the ear. But he has
heard it. Leaving the shadow of the vaulted passage, he emerges into the
light, like one rising from the dead; imploring his steps not to betray
him, and supporting himself on balustrades and pillars, he glides on. As
he approaches the half-open door, he sees the long veils of the windows
floating like snow-wreaths in the air; behind these thin curtains he
feels that Life and Death, hand clasped in hand, await him. He falters,
stops, presses his hand on his heart, but his fingers encounter the cold
steel of his sword; he grasps it firmly, approaches, leans his forehead
on the panes of the wide gothic door--strange that the throbbing brain
burst not its narrow bounds!
* * * * *
He sees nothing at first but fiery sparks and black spots from the
seething of his heated brain. The long muslin draperies are sometimes
lifted by the wind, and again close their veils of mist; the silver lamp
flashes on his eyes for a moment, and again vanishes from his view; but,
as his sight grows clearer, the great mirror with its frame of gold
stands before him--necklaces, bracelets, and chains flash from the
toilet before it. He trembles no longer, he ceases to make the sign of
the cross, he sees distinctly now--under the floating flow of purple
drapery the bride is sitting on the bed alone. The flowers thrown over
her by the choir of singing bridesmaids still cluster on her hair and
breast; her little feet are almost buried in the fallen rose leaves. She
sighs as if utterly unconscious of herself, thoughtless of the pain she
suffers--as if her life were only anguish! The flowers droop from her
bosom and glide to the ground; and, as the violets, myrtles, and lilies
fall over her dress of snow, the great tears roll slowly down her pallid
cheeks with every deep-drawn sigh.
The door creaks on its hinges, her arms are thrown up involuntarily, her
neck is outstretched, like that of a frightened deer startled by the
baying of the hounds. She listens, waits, hears something move, starts
up, and flies into the depths of the chamber, seizes the floating
curtains, wraps herself in the folds, unwinds them from about her, flies
on, turns, starts, stops, then suddenly falling on her knees, cries
aloud: 'THOU!' Her last hope is in that word, but all strength fails her
now, and she stands fixed to the spot with rigid face and form of
marble. Steps and voices, which had been heard a moment before, die away
in the distance. He whom she had so passionately invoked stands before
her; he presses her not to his heart, but she hears the whisper: 'I AM
HERE!'
She blooms into new life, and with a melancholy smile of wondrous
sweetness, murmurs:
'I knew, I knew thou wouldst be with me in this solemn hour. Dost thou
curse me in thy heart? But hear me: no one approaches, we are alone, I
may yet have time to tell thee all. When they led me to the church, I
sought thee everywhere; when I kneeled before the altar, I could only
seek thee with my soul, my eyes were too dim with tears for sight; and
when, on my return to the castle--they felicitated me, I listened for
thy voice to thunder o'er them all! And even here, where each moment was
freighted with coming shame and anguish, my faith never left me. I sat
in utter torpor, but my soul saw thee in thy flight across the distant
hills, my heart felt thee as thou camest through the gardens and up the
terraced way. What I divined is true, Give me thy hand--I am saved!
saved!'
Gracefully as the light sprays of the willow, she sways toward him, and
trustfully leans on his strong arm.
Who has ever felt in dreams his soul torn from hell, and borne by angels
into heaven? Who has ever known what it was to be God's own child for a
fleeting moment--felt the lightning flash of heaven-bliss gleam through
his heart? He had expected to meet one faithless to her vows; but as the
voice of simple truth and love thrills through his innermost being, he
grows omnipotent, immortal. His youth only begins from this hour! it
soars aloft--one wing is love, the other glory; his ashes shall be
worthy to mingle with those of his fathers! He will return to his
deserted comrades, and she, the beloved, will follow him, for does not
she, now clinging in holy trust to his arm, seem willing to give into
his hands the whole web of her future destiny? Its threads shall be of
gold, and the sun of love shall shine ever upon it. Weave the brilliant
mist in glittering woof, O glowing imagination of youth I Beautiful
cloud-dreams, which the setting sun of life paints and flushes with his
dying rays!
But suddenly awaking from his fevered visions, he cries: 'Why hast thou
set this ring on thy finger? Would it not have been far better to have
sought refuge in the mountains, than to have bound thyself to another by
the holy sacrament of marriage? Yet will I save thee, for my comrades
are brave and obedient, and I am their leader!'
'O God! thou questionest me about the Past, when not a single hour of
the Present is our own! Dost thou still doubt me? Dost thou not
comprehend me? I have plighted my troth to thee in truth, have sworn
that thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God. I will keep my
vow. Thou doubtest me, and must hear all. Interrupt me not. Unsheathe
thy sword; if they approach, I will throw myself into thy arms. When the
time came to tell my father all, to bid him the last good by, he begged
me sore, entreated me with many tears. Thou knowest with what a stern
voice he is wont to command, how instantaneously he is accustomed to be
obeyed; but he veiled the thunders of his wrath with tears, he sighed
and wailed, saying that his only child was armed to strike him to the
heart, to thrust him into the grave. The prince, the son-in-law of his
choice, promised to take our name; he brought his serfs and retainers in
crowds to the castle, and said to the old man: 'Lo, they shall all be
thine!' Kneeling before me, my father placed my hand upon his silver
hair; I felt the blood bounding and throbbing in his bare temples, and
on his grand old forehead lay the dream of his whole life gasping in its
death agonies. The cruel phantom of dominion and power, hateful to me,
clutched me through the heart of the only parent I have ever known. His
life or death was in my hands. A divine power swayed my soul; I resolved
upon self-sacrifice. Consent quivered from my shrinking lips--I gave my
trembling hand to the unknown, unloved, insupportable. Alas! all are
alike abhorrent to me who speak not with thy voice, look not with thy
eyes, breathe not with thy breath, love not with thy soul! The lord of
the castle has now a son in place of his slight girl, and thousands of
warriors stand ready to defend the old Home of our haughty race. Thus am
I free, now may I take leave of all. Again I pledge to thee my faith;
thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God. But this people, this
God, this plighted faith--knowest thou by what name it is called
to-day?'
The chieftain throws his arm round her slight form, and looking
anxiously toward the gallery, says: 'Speak and tell me while it is yet
time.'
With low, reproachful tone, she answers: 'Can it be possible that thou
dost not know? And yet there is no room for doubt--it is DEATH! So long
as I remain on earth, I am the wife of the foreigner. Thou canst regain
me only in the land of spirits; but the way is short--look! it is only
the length of thy sword!'
The word 'wife' falls from the soft lips like a stone on the heart of
the chief, awakening him from the last dream he will ever dream on this
earth. Yes. His sword would protect her from the pursuit of father and
husband, but he cannot save her from the condemnation of the church, its
excommunication; for what the priest of God has bound, that man may not
unloose! It grows cold and dark in his sinking heart. A single moment of
happiness, alas, now forever past! has robbed him of strength, of hope;
he shivers with awe; he sees the long skeleton finger of the pale
Phantom of Terror touch the young heart of the faithful maiden. But
_that_ will be impossible--he cannot take her life--he will fly, and
fall on the morrow with his braves in battle--she shall live--the
loveliest of human forms shall still remain on earth. He groans, and
breaks away from her--the walls seem crumbling before him, breaking into
tears of blood--he flies--but his sister overtakes him at the
threshold.
'Where dost thou fly, unfaithful? Didst thou not come to release me?
Wouldst thou brand me with dishonor--with infamy and shame? Betray me
not. O God! canst thou think of deserting me now! Listen! The foreigner
is already on his way to sully with his hot and pestilential breath the
purity of thy beloved. And what would be my future fate shouldst thou
deliver me into the hands of mine enemy, to his hated embraces? He will
force me to the court of the King of the South. I must there bear my
part amid strange faces, surrounded by falsehood and pride, and learn to
smile on those I loathe. He will lead me to the court that he may boast
of my beauty, that he may show his king he has gathered the pale flower
of the ancient House. And what will be the course of the king, what that
of the prince, my husband? Look at the old, and learn! They curse in old
age what they worshipped in youth; they love what they once scorned.
What has thus transformed them? Time. Time, the murderer, who in his
reckless culture plants fresh roses on the ruined wall, will draw and
thicken the veil of delusion over my face until my true features shall
be stifled behind it. I shall be utterly alone--alone forever! Thou wilt
be afar, on the mountains, rocks, or in the deserts; temptation will
surround me, and disgust possess my soul. Thou mayst be brought in
chains to the land of the King of the South, thine enemies may name me
there over their beaded cups of ruby wine, jeers and scandals may reach
thine ears, and thou wilt curse thyself that thou didst not kill me!
Thrust thy sword into my heart! Tear me from the grasp of the monster!'
As if in sudden madness, she wildly stretches out her hands as if to
push away the thronging phantoms which appal her.
'Look! his forehead sparkles--a word is written there in blazing
diamonds--read it--it is INFAMY! Hell glitters in his eyes; his writhing
arms are hissing vipers; they crawl to me, they touch me, wind around
me, bury their heads in my bosom, and poison as they drink my pure blood
from the virginal cup of my heart!'
She falls exhausted on the floor, washing his feet with her tears as her
long tresses stream around them.
He lifts her like a feather from the ground.
'By the Holy Mother of our Lord, such fate shall not be thine! Like the
flame of incense burning on the sacred altar, purest among the pure,
thou shalt ascend to God!'
His heart breaks, his manly features flicker and quiver like the mist;
strange spasms distort them; he bows his head in anguish, and with every
tear from her eyes mingle the bitter drops only shed by man.
But this is over now. It was the last sign of weakness, hesitation,
regret, wrung from him in his mortal agony. A solemn calm rests on his
broad brow as he presses the maiden to his heart.
'With this kiss of peace I consecrate thee to a holy death! He who first
breathed upon thy young cheek, first touched thy rosy lip, who may not
give thee his name in the sanctity of marriage, who cannot save thee
from condemnation--will give thee DEATH! In this thought I sought thee,
my sister; but when I found thee faithful, loving, a sudden dream of
bliss deceived me. Lulled by lovely visions, the weak one yielded to
unmanly hopes, unmanly fears! Forgive him, virgin hero! Temptation and
fear have fled forever--we will die together--let us pray!'
* * * * *
'Let us pray! but thou must remain to lead thy people. Longing, but
patient, I will await thee in Hades. Thou wilt often come to the spot in
which they will bury me, to throw a plume from thy helmet, a ring from
thy coat of mail upon the grassy mound. And the old grave-digger will
say: '_He_ was here to-night; she is still remembered by the chieftain.'
With pure, confiding glance she reads his soul; her eyes sparkle through
the mist of tears, and a faint smile writhes her pale young lips. With
iron grasp he holds her to his heart.
'With my _soul_ I wed thy _soul_ before the Great White Throne of God,
our Judge!'
In softer, sadder tone, he adds: 'While in my power, I served our people
with my whole might. I have raised our white eagle on the castles of our
enemies. To morrow my comrades will pass these walls--ah! thou dost not
know, had I lived another day, whose gray hairs might have been
scattered in the coming whirlwind, or in whose courts I might have been
forced to take my seat as avenger! We will go hence together, my sister.
And where we go, the old men will not desert their country, the young
men will not be forced to dishonor the gray hairs of those who first
taught them the meaning of patriotism and honor; _there_ treason and
oppression are unknown--there will be no _necessary vengeance_ in the
Land of the Hereafter! Let us go, sister!'
Transfigured by a sublime exultation, she throws herself into the arms
of the chieftain; words and tears are no longer sufficient to thank him;
but love has taught her how it may be done. Suddenly drawing from her
finger the glittering ring of the enemy, she moves rapidly to the head
of the bridal bed, and places it upon the rich embroidery of the laced
pillows. Then returning to the chief, she presses his hand to her heart:
'Earth is past, and Heaven begun. Thou art henceforth my lord and master
forever!'
She kneels at his side, and begins to recite the prayers for the dying.
He kneels beside her, sometimes reciting with her, sometimes wrapt in
solemn silence. After a few moments, he breaks upon her prayers:
'The morning twilight is upon us.'
As he speaks, the little birds awake; their matin song sounds from the
well-known grove.
'Lean on my arm, beloved; let us look once more upon the earth we leave
so soon together!'
She leans heavily upon his arm, and they stand on the threshold of the
door opening upon the gallery.
* * * * *
The fading moon dies out beyond the mountains; her last rays fall upon
the turf of the terraced gardens; long wreaths of mist and vapor rise in
the air like bridal veils, floating and reddening in the early dawn. In
this fatal moment the luring promises and lovely images of life stand
before her. The murmurs of the lulling fountains fall upon her ear, then
flash upon her eye; the shafts and groups of pillars of her ancestral
home cluster around her, and the summer flowers greet her with their
perfume. But death, not life, is in her heart. The pathway through the
old forest whitens in the coming light, the grain waves in the open
fields; beyond them, faintly flushing in the twilight, stand the
mountain tops above which _his_ star of glory might have risen that very
morn--and yet the whole horizon to him now is but the grave of eternal
forgetfulness! He gazes far into the mountains, boldly sending his last
greetings to the faithful there; while she, with drooping head, presses
ever closer to him, asking from him now the look of love, now the thrust
of death! In vain the gradual awaking of the world admonishes them more
and more loudly that they have nothing more to do with time, that
eternity is upon them--they linger still! Who may say what thoughts are
thronging through their souls! More and more heavily she sinks upon the
true heart of her brother, while the morning breeze plays with the long
tresses of her golden hair.
Hark! loud voices pledge a noisy health in one of the distant rooms--he
shudders, but perhaps she hears no longer; heavy footsteps tramp along
the gallery--the light of torches flickers in the morning breeze.
'O God, thou wilt surely give the victory to my country!' cries the
chieftain, as he carries the benumbed and half-lifeless form of the
bride within the wedding chamber.
The drunken companions of the long revel reel and totter along the
galleries of the castle; the bridegroom hastens to his bride with the
dawn of day.
'Look!' she exclaims, stretching out her hands to the great mirror
before which they stand, but in her bewilderment no longer recognizing
her own figure there: 'Look! how beautiful my angel is!'
'Ah, too beautiful!' the youth repeats, with a bitter groan; then,
pressing her to his breast with one arm, from the other flashes the
deadly gleam of glittering steel--and in that very moment the heavy
footsteps of the light-minded, reckless bridegroom reach the threshold
of the bridal chamber.