"And thus how oft do life and death
Twine hand in hand together;
And the funeral shroud, and bridal wreath,
How small a space may sever!"
MS.
One little week did Ferdinand spend within the home of his boyhood;
and in that brief interval the earthly fate of Marie Henriquez was
decided. He had deferred his visit till such peace and prosperity had
dawned for Spain, that he could offer his bride not only a home suited
to his rank, but the comfort of his presence and protection for
an indeterminate time. He had come there purposely to reveal his
long-cherished love; to conjure Marie to bless him with the promise of
her hand; and, if successful, to return, in two short months, for the
celebration of their marriage, according to their own secret rites,
ere the ceremony was performed in the sight of the whole Catholic
world. The intermarriages of first cousins had been so common an
occurrence in his family, that Ferdinand, in spite of some tremblings,
as a lover, had regarded his final union with Marie with almost as
much certainty, and as a thing of course, as his uncle himself.
The effects of that agitating interview between father and daughter
had been visible to Ferdinand; but he attributed it, very naturally,
to the cause privately assigned for it by his kinsman--Marie's first
conviction that her father's days were numbered. He had been greatly
shocked at the change in Henriquez's appearance, and deeply affected
at the solemn and startling earnestness with which he consigned his
child to his care, beseeching him, under all circumstances, to love
and cherish her. His nephew could scarcely understand, then, such
earnest pleadings. Alas! ere his life closed, their cause was clear
enough.
Unconscious that her father and cousin were together, or of the nature
of their conversation, Marie had joined them, unexpectedly, ere the
interview was over. From her father's lips, and in a tone of trembling
agitation, she heard that his long-cherished prayer was granted, and
that she was his nephew's plighted, bride. He joined their hands,
blessed them, and left them alone together, ere she had had power
to utter a single word; and when voice was recalled by the tender,
earnest accents of her cousin, beseeching her to ratify her father's
consent--to say she would learn to love him, if she did not then; that
she would not refuse the devotedness he proffered--what could she
answer? She had so long loved him, venerated him, gloried in his
achievements, his honors, as of an elder and much-loved brother, that,
had she followed the impulse of her nature, she would have thrown
herself as a sister on his neck, and poured forth her tale of sorrow.
But she had sworn to be guided by her father, and he had besought her
to reveal nothing; and therefore she promised to be his, even while
with tears she declared herself unworthy. But such words were of
little meaning to her enraptured lover save to bid him passionately
deny them, and excite his ardent affection more than ever--satisfied
that she could be not indifferent, listening as she did, with such
flushed cheek and glistening eye, to the theme of his life since they
had parted--the favor of the sovereigns, and the station he had won.
During the two months which intervened between Don Ferdinand's
departure and promised return, Marie strained every nerve to face her
destiny, and so meet it with calmness. Had she not loved, it would
have been impossible to feel herself the cherished object of her
cousin's love without returning it, possessing, as he did, alike
inward and outward attraction to win regard. She studiously and
earnestly banished every thought of Arthur as it rose; she prayed only
for strength to be faithful, not only in outward seeming but in inward
thought; that Stanley might never cross her path again, or, if he did,
that his very affections might be estranged from her; that the secret
she had revealed might alone be thought upon, till all of love had
gone. The torture of such prayer, let those who love decide; but it
was the thought of his woe, did he ever know she was another's bride,
that haunted her. Her own suffering it was comparitively easy to bear,
believing as she did, that they were called for by her involuntary
sin: but his--so successfully had she conquered herself; that it was
only when his countenance of reproach would flit before her, that the
groan burst from her heart, and she felt bowed unto the earth.
Infirmity itself seemed conquered in the rejoicing thankfulness with
which Henriquez regarded this fulfilment of his wishes. He appeared
actually to regain strength and energy; his alarming fainting fits had
not recurred since his nephew's visit, and Marie hoped he would
be spared her longer than he believed. He never recurred to her
confession, but lavished on her, if possible, yet more endearing love,
and constantly alluded to the intense happiness which her consent to
be her cousin's bride had given him. Once he left the vale, despite
his precarious health, taking with him his old retainer, Reuben, and
returned, laden with the richest gems and costliest silks, to adorn
his child, on her bridal day, as befitted the bride of Ferdinand.
Time passed: the day specified by Ferdinand rapidly approached. He was
there to meet it--and not alone. Thoughtful of his Marie's feeling, he
had resolved that she should not stand beside the altar without
one female friend; and he brought one, the sight of whom awakened
associations with such overpowering strength, that Marie could only
throw herself upon her bosom, almost convulsed with tears. It was
Donna Emelie de Castro, at whose house she had joined the world; but
her emotion, supposed natural to the agitating ceremony impending,
and her father's precarious health, happily for her, passed without
further notice than sympathy and love.
Henriquez, for once, was indifferent alike to the agitation of Marie,
or the presence of Ferdinand. His glance was fixed on one of a little
group, all of whom, with the exception of this individual, were
familiar to his home and heart. He was clothed as a monk; but his
cowl was thrown back, and his gaze so fixed on Marie that she blushed
beneath it, and turned away.
"Do not turn from me, my child," he said; and Henriquez started at the
voice, it was so fraught with memories of the departed. "Stranger as
I must be, save in name, to thee--thou art none such to me. I seem
to feel thy mother once again before me--and never was sister more
beloved!--Manuel, hast thou, indeed, forgotten Julien?"
Almost ere he ceased to speak, the long separated relatives were
clasped in each, other's arms. The five-and-twenty years, which had
changed the prime of manhood into advancing age, and blanched the hair
of each, had had no power to decrease the strong ties of kindred,
so powerful in their secret race. The agitation and excitement of
Henriquez was so excessive, not only then, but during the few days
intervening before the celebration of the bridal, that Marie, in spite
of the near approach of the dreaded day, could only think of him.
Ferdinand was no exacting lover: his affection for her was so intense,
so true; his confidence in her truth so perfect, that, though he might
at times have fancied that she loved not then with fervor equal to
his own, he was contented to believe that his devotion would in time
create in her as powerful a feeling. He had so watched, so tended her
from infancy: she had so clung to and reverenced him, so opened her
young heart, without one reservation, to his view--so treated him as
her most cherished, most loved friend, that how could he dream she had
aught to conceal, or believe that, did she know there was, she could
have hesitated, one moment, to refuse his hand, preferring even the
misery of so grieving him, to the continued agony of deceit? It was
this perfect confidence, this almost childish trust, so beautiful in
one tried, as he had been, in the ordeal of the world, that wrung
Marie's heart with deepest torture. He believed her other than she
was;--but it was too late--she dared not undeceive him.
The nuptial morning dawned. The party, not more than twelve or
fourteen in all, assembled within the little edifice, whose nature
had so puzzled Arthur. Its interior was as peculiar as its outward
appearance: its walls, of polished cedar, were unadorned with either
carving, pictures, or imagery. In the centre, facing the east, was a
sort of raised table or desk, surrounded by a railing, and covered
with a cloth of the richest and most elaborately worked brocade.
Exactly opposite, and occupying the centre of the eastern wall, was
a sort of lofty chest, or ark; the upper part of which, arched, and
richly painted, with a blue ground, bore in two columns, strange
hieroglyphics in gold: beneath this were portals of polished cedar,
panelled, and marked out with gold, but bearing no device; their
hinges set in gilded pillars, which supported the arch above. Before
these portals were generally drawn curtains, of material rich and
glittering as that upon the reading-desk. But this day not only were
the curtains drawn aside, but the portals themselves flung open, as
the bridal party neared the steps which led to it, and disclosed six
or seven rolls of parchment, folded on silver pins, and filled with
the same strange letters, each clothed in drapery of variously colored
brocade, or velvet, and surmounted by two sets of silver ornaments,
in which the bell and pomegranate were, though small, distinctly
discernible. A superb lamp, of solid silver, was suspended from the
roof; and one of smaller dimensions, but of equally valuable material,
and always kept lighted, hung just before the ark.
Julien Morales, at his own particular request, was to read the
ceremony; and three hours after noon he stood within the portals, on
the highest step; a slab of white marble divided him from the bride
and bridegroom, over whom a canopy was raised, supported by four
silver poles. The luxuriant hair of the bride had been gathered
up, and, save two massive braids, shading her brow and cheek, was
concealed under a head-dress, somewhat resembling an eastern turban,
but well suited to her countenance. Her dress, of the fashion before
described, was all of white--the jacket or bodice richly woven with
gold threads; but so thick a veil enveloped face and form, that
her sweet face was concealed, until, at one particular part of the
mysterious rite (for such, to the Spaniards, this ceremony must have
been), the veil was uplifted for her to taste the sacred wine, and not
allowed to fall again. Neither the bridegroom (agitated himself,
for his was not a nature to think lightly of the nuptial rite), nor
Henriquez (whose excitement was extreme) was conscious of the looks
of alarm, blended with admiration, which the raising of the veil
attracted towards Marie. Lovely she was; but it was the loveliness of
a marble statue, not of life--her very lips were blanched, and every
feature still, indeed; but a stillness of so peculiar an expression,
so inexpressibly, so thrillingly sad, that admiration appeared
indefinably and strangely transformed to pain. The wedding ring was
placed upon her hand--a thin crystal goblet broken by Ferdinand,
on the marble at his feet--and the rites were concluded. An almost
convulsive embrace from her father--the unusual wildness of his voice
and manner, as he blessed, and called her his own precious child, who
this day had placed the seal upon his happiness, and confirmed twenty
years of filial devotedness and love--awoke her from that stagnating
trance. She folded her arms round his neck, and burst into passionate
tears; and there were none, not even Ferdinand, to chide or doubt that
emotion--it was but natural to her character, and the solemn service
of the day.
Gay and joyous was the meal which followed the bridal. No
appurtenances of modern pomp and luxury, indeed, decorated the board:
its only ornaments were the loveliest flowers, arranged in alabaster
vases, and silver baskets filled with blushing fruit. The food was
simple, and the wines not choice; but the guests thought not of mere
sensual enjoyment. In these secret meetings, each felt there was
something holy; richer homes, more gorgeous feasts, were theirs in the
world, whenever they so willed; but such intercourse of brotherhood
seldom occurred, and when it came, was consequently hallowed.
Some time they sat around the board; and so unrestrained, so full of
varied interest was their eager converse, that sunset came unheeded;
and the silver lamps, fed with sweet incense, were placed upon the
table. Julien then arose, and solemnly pronounced the usual blessing,
or rather thanksgiving, after the bridal feast. Marie did not look up
during its continuance; but as it concluded, she arose, and was about
to retire with Donna Emilie, when her eye caught her father, and a cry
of alarm broke from her. The burning flush had given place to a livid
paleness--the glittering of the eye to a fixed and glassy gaze. The
frame was, for a moment, rigid as stone, then fearfully convulsed;
and Reuben, starting forward, caught his master as he fell. There was
something so startling and unusual in the seizure, that even those
accustomed to his periods of insensibility were alarmed; and vain was
every effort of Ferdinand to awaken hope and comfort in the seemingly
frozen spirit of his bride.
Henriquez was conveyed to his room, and every restorative applied; but
even the skill of Julien, well versed as he was in the healing art,
was without effect. More than an hour passed, and still he lay like
death; and no sound, no sob, broke from the torn heart of his hapless
child, who knelt beside his couch; her large dark eyes, distended
to even more than their usual size, fixed upon his face; her hands
clasped round one of his; but had she sought thus to give warmth she
would have failed, for the hand of the living was cold and damp as
that of the seeming dead.
A slight, almost imperceptible flush floated over that livid
cheek--the eyes unclosed, but so quickly closed again that it was more
like the convulsive quivering of the muscle than the effort of the
will; and Marie alone had marked the change.
"Father!" she almost shrieked in agony, "in mercy speak to me
again--say but you forgive--bless--"
"Forgive" feebly repeated the dying man; and the strong feeling of
the father, for a brief interval, conquered even death--"Forgive?--my
beautiful--my own!--the word is meaningless, applied to thee. Art thou
not my Ferdinand's bride, and hast thou not so taken the sting, the
trial even from this dread moment? My precious one!--would I could see
that face once more--but it is dark--all dark--kiss me, my child!"
She threw herself upon his bosom, and covered his cheek with kisses.
He passed his hand feebly over her face, as if the touch could once
more bring her features to his sight; and then extending his left
hand, feebly called--"Ferdinand!"
His nephew caught the withered hand, and kneeling down, pressed it
reverentially and fondly to his lips.
Henriquez's lips moved, but there came no word.
"Doubt me not, my more than father! From boyhood to youth, from youth
to manhood, I have doted on thy child. Shall I love and cherish her
less now, that she has only me? Oh, trust me!--if devotion can give
joy, she will know no grief, that man can avert, again!"
A strange but a beautiful light for a single minute dispersed the
fearful shadow creeping over Henriquez's features.
"My son! my son!--I bless thee--and thou, too, my drooping flower.
Julien! my brother--lay me beside my Miriam. Thou didst not come for
this--but it is well. My children--my friends--send up the hymn of
praise--the avowal of our faith; once more awake the voice of our
fathers!"
He was obeyed; a psalm arose, solemn and sweet, in accents familiar
as their mother tongue, to those who chanted; but had any other been
near, not a syllable would have been intelligible. But the voice which
in general led to such solemn service--so thrilling in its sweetness,
that the most indifferent could not listen to it unmoved--now lay
hushed and mute, powerless even to breathe the sobs that crushed
her heart. And when the psalm ceased, and the prayer for the dying
followed, with one mighty effort Henriquez raised himself, and
clasping his hands, uttered distinctly the last solemn words ever
spoken by his race, and then sunk back--and there was silence.
Minutes, many minutes, rolled by--but Marie moved not. Gently, and
tenderly, Don Ferdinand succeeded in disengaging the convulsive hold
with which she still clasped her parent, and sought to bear her from
that sad and solemn room. Wildly she looked up in his face, and then
on those beloved features, already fixed and gray in death;--with
frantic strength she pushed aside her husband, and sunk down by her
father's side.