"Oh! love, love, strong as death--from such an hour
Pressing out joy by thine immortal power;
Holy and fervent love! Had earth but rest
For thee and thine, this world were all too fair:
How could we thence be weaned to die without despair!
"But woe for him who felt that heart grow still
Which with its weight of agony had lain
Breaking on his. Scarce could the mortal chill
Of the hushed bosom, ne'er to heave again,
And all the curdling silence round the eye,
Bring home the stern belief that she could die."
MRS. HEMANS.
The glowing light of a glorious sunset lingered on the Vale of Cedars,
displaying that calm and beautiful retreat in all the fair and rich
luxuriance of former years. Reuben and Ruth, the aged retainers of the
house of Henriquez, had made it their pride and occupation to preserve
the cherished retreat, lovely as it had been left. Nor were they its
only inmates; their daughter, her husband, and children, after various
struggles in the Christian world, had been settled in the Vale by the
benevolence of Ferdinand Morales--their sole duty, to preserve it in
such order, as to render it a fitting place of refuge for any who
should need it. Within the last twelve months, another inmate had been
added to them. Weary of his wanderings, and of the constant course of
deception which his apparent profession of a monk demanded, Julien
Morales had returned to the home of his childhood, there to fix
his permanent abode; only to make such excursions from it, as the
interests of his niece might demand. Her destiny was his sole anxious
thought. Her detention by Isabella convinced him that her disguise had
been penetrated, and filled him with solicitude for her spiritual, yet
more than her temporal welfare. Royal protection of a Jewess was
so unprecedented, that it could only argue the hope--nay, perhaps
conviction--of her final conversion. And the old man actually tried to
divorce the sweet image of his niece from his affections, so convinced
was he that her unhappy love for Arthur, combined with Isabella's
authority, and, no doubt, the threat of some terrible alternative
should she refuse, would compel her acceptance of the proffered cross,
and so sever them for ever. How little can man, even the most gentle
and affectionate, read woman!
It was the day completing the eleventh month after Don Ferdinand's
murder, when Julien Morales repaired earlier than usual to the little
temple, there to read the service for the dead appointed for the day,
and thence proceeded to his nephew's grave. An unusual object, which
had fallen on, or was kneeling beside the grave, caught his eye, and
impelled him to quicken his pace. His heart throbbed as he recognized
the garb of a novice, and to such a degree as almost to deprive him of
all power, as in the white, chiselled features, resting on the cold,
damp sod, he recognized his niece, and believed, for the first
agonizing moment, that it was but clay resting against clay; and that
the sweet, pure spirit had but guided her to that grave and flown. But
death for a brief interval withdrew his grasp; though his shaft had
reached her, and no human hand could draw it back. Father Denis had
conducted her so carefully and tenderly to the frontiers of Castile,
that she had scarcely felt fatigue, and encountered no exposure to the
elements; but when he left her, her desire to reach her home became
stronger, with the seeming physical incapacity to do so. Her spirit
gave way, and mental and bodily exhaustion followed. The season was
unusually damp and tempestuous, and, though scarcely felt at the time,
sowed the seeds of cold and decline, from which her naturally good
constitution might, in the very midst of her trials, otherwise have
saved her. Her repugnance to encounter the eyes or speech of her
fellows, lest her disguise should be penetrated, caused her to shrink
from entering any habitation, except for the single night which
intervened, between the period of the father's leaving her and her
reaching the secret entrance to the Vale. Her wallet provided her with
more food than her parched throat could swallow; and for the consuming
thirst, the fresh streams that so often bubbled across her path, gave
her all she needed. The fellowship of man, then, was unrequited,
and, as the second night fell, so comparatively short a distance lay
between her and her home, that buoyed up by the desire to reach it,
she was not sensible of her utter exhaustion, till she stood within
the little graveyard of the Vale; and the moon shining softly and
clearly on the headstones, disclosed to her the grave of her husband.
She was totally ignorant that he had been borne there; and the rush
of feeling which came over her, as she read his name--the memories of
their happy, innocent, childhood, of all his love for her--that had he
been but spared, all the last year's misery might have been averted,
for she would have loved him, ay, even as he loved her; and he would
have guarded, saved--so overpowered her, that she had sunk down upon
the senseless earth which covered him, conscious only of the wild,
sickly longing, like him to flee away and be at rest. She had reached
her home; exertion no longer needed, the unnatural strength, ebbed
fast, and the frail tenement withered, hour by hour, away. And how
might Julien mourn! Her work on earth was done. Young, tried, frail
as she was, she had been permitted to show forth the glory, the
sustaining glory, of her faith, by a sacrifice whose magnitude was
indeed apparent, but whose depth and intensity of suffering, none knew
but Him for whom it had been made. She had been preserved from the
crime--if possible more fearful in the mind of the Hebrew than any
other--apostacy: and though the first conviction, that she was indeed
"passing away" even from his affection, was fraught with absolute
anguish, yet her uncle could not, dared not pray for life on earth.
And in the peace, the calm, the depth, of quietude which gradually
sunk on her heart, infusing her every word and look and gentle smile,
it was as if her spirit had already the foretaste of that blissful
heaven for which its wings were plumed. As the frame dwindled, the
expression of her sweet face became more and more unearthly in its
exquisite beauty, the mind more and more beatified, and the heart more
freed from earthly feeling. The reward of her constancy appeared in
part bestowed on earth, for death itself was revealed to her--not as
the King of Terrors, but as an Angel of Light, at whose touch the
lingering raiment of mortality would dissolve, and the freed soul
spring up rejoicing to its home.
It was the Feast of the Tabernacle and the Sabbath eve. The
tent--formed of branches of thick trees and fragrant shrubs--was
erected, as we have seen it in a former page, a short distance from
the temple. Marie's taste had once again, been consulted in its
decorations; her hand, feeble as it was, had twined the lovely
wreaths of luscious flowers and arranged the glowing fruit. With some
difficulty she had joined in the devotional service performed by her
uncle in the little temple--borne there in the arms of old Reuben, for
her weakness now prevented walking--and on the evening of the Sabbath
in the Festival, she reclined on one of the luxurious couches within
the tent, through the opening of which, she could look forth on the
varied beauties of the Vale, and the rich glorious hues dyeing the
western skies. The Sabbath lamps were lighted, but their rays were
faint and flickering in the still glowing atmosphere. A crimson ray
from the departing luminary gleamed through the branches, and a faint
glow--either from its reflection, or from that deceiving beauty, which
too often gilds the features of the dying--rested on Marie's features,
lighting up her large and lustrous eyes with unnatural brilliance. She
had been speaking earnestly of that life beyond the grave, belief in
which throughout her trials had been her sole sustainer. Julien had
listened, wrapt and almost awe-struck, so completely did it seem as if
the spirit, and not the mortal, spoke.
"And thine own trials, my beloved one," he said,--"Has the question
never come, why thou shouldst thus have been afflicted?"
"Often, very often, my father, and only within the last few weeks has
the full answer come; and I can say from my inmost heart, in the words
of Job, 'It is good that I have been afflicted,' and that I believe
all is well. While _on_ earth, we must be in some degree _of_ earth,
and bear the penalty of our earthly nature. The infirmities and
imperfections of that nature in others, as often as in ourselves,
occasion human misery, which our God, in his infinite love, permits,
to try our spirit's strength and faith, and so prepare us for that
higher state of being, in which the spirit will move and act, when
the earthly shell is shivered, and earthly infirmities are for ever
stilled. In the time of suffering we cannot think thus; but looking
back as I do now--when the near vicinity of another world bids me
regard my own past life almost as if it were another's--I feel it in
my inmost heart, and bless God for every suffering which has prepared
me thus early for his home. There is but one feeling, one wish
of earth, remaining," she continued, after a long pause of utter
exhaustion. "It is weak, perhaps, and wrong; but if--if Arthur could
but know that fatal secret which made me seem a worse deceiver than
I was--I know it cannot be, but it so haunts me. If I wedded one
Christian, may he not think there needed not this sacrifice--sacrifice
not of myself, but of his happiness. Oh! could I but--Hush! whose step
is that?" she suddenly interrupted herself; and with the effort of
strong excitement, started up, and laid her hand on her uncle's arm.
"Nay, my child, there is no sound," he replied soothingly, after
listening attentively for several moments.
"But there is. Hark, dost thou not hear it now? God of mercy! thou
hast heard my prayer--it is _his_!" she exclaimed, sinking powerlessly
back, at the moment that even Julien's duller ear had caught a rapid
step; and in another minute the branches were hastily pushed aside,
and Stanley indeed stood upon the threshold.
"Marie--and thus!" he passionately exclaimed; and flinging himself
on his knees beside her, he buried his face on her hand, and wept in
agony.
* * * * *
Nearly an hour passed ere Marie could rally from the agitation of
Arthur's unexpected presence sufficiently to speak. She lay with her
hand clasped in his, and his arm around her--realizing, indeed, to the
full, the soothing consolation of his presence, but utterly powerless
to speak that for which she had so longed to see him once again. The
extent of her weakness had been unknown till that moment either to
her uncle or herself, and Julien watched over her in terror lest the
indefinable change which in that hour of stillness was perceptibly
stealing over her features should be indeed the dim shadow of death.
To Arthur speech was equally impossible, save in the scarcely
articulate expressions of love and veneration which he lavished on
her. What he had hoped in thus seeking her he could not himself have
defined. His whole soul was absorbed in the wild wish to see her
again, and the thoughts of death for her had never entered his heart.
The shock, then, had been terrible, and to realize the infinite mercy
which thus bade sorrow cease, was in such a moment impossible. He
could but gaze and clasp her closer and closer, yet, as if even death
should be averted by his love.
"Uncle Julien," she murmured, as she faintly extended her hand towards
him, "thou wilt not refuse to clasp hands with one who has so loved
thy Marie! And thou, Arthur, oh! scorn him not. Without him the
invisible dungeons of the Inquisition would have been my grave, and
thine that of a dishonored knight and suspected murderer."
The eyes of her companions met, and their hands were grasped in that
firm pressure, betraying unity of feeling, and reciprocal esteem,
which need no words.
"Raise me a little, dearest Arthur; uncle Julien" put back that
spreading bough. I would say something more, and the fresher air may
give me strength. Ah! the evening breeze is so fresh and sweet; it
always makes me feel as if the spirits of those we loved were hovering
near us. We hold much closer and dearer communion with the beloved
dead in the calm twilight than in the garish day. Arthur, dearest,
thou wilt think of me sometimes in an hour like this."
"When shall I not think of thee?" he passionately rejoined. "Oh,
Marie, Marie! I thought separation on earth the worst agony that could
befall me; but what--what is it compared to the eternal one of death?"
"No, no, not eternal, Arthur. In heaven I feel there is no distinction
of creed or faith; we shall all love God and one another there, and
earth's fearful distinctions can never come between us. I know such
is not the creed of thy people, nor of some of mine; but when thou
standest on the verge of eternity, as I do now, thou wilt feel this
too."
"How can I gaze on thee, and not believe it?" he replied. "The loudest
thunders of the church could not shake my trust in the purity of
heaven, which is thine."
"Because thou lovest, Arthur. Thy love for Marie is stronger than thy
hatred of her race; and, oh! if thou lovest thus, I know thou hast
forgiven."
"Forgiven!" he passionately reiterated.
"Yes, dearest Arthur. Is the past indeed so obliterated that the wrong
I did thee is forgotten even as forgiven? But, oh, Arthur! it was not
so unjustifiable as it seemed then. I dared not breathe the truth in
Isabella's court. I dare not whisper it now save to thee, who would
die rather than reveal it. Arthur, dearest Arthur, it was no Christian
whom I wedded. We had been betrothed from early childhood, though I
knew it not; and when the time came, I could not draw down on me a
father's curse, or dash with agony a heart that so cherished, so loved
me, by revelation of a truth which could avail me nothing, and would
bring him but misery. Ferdinand was my cousin--a child of Israel, as
myself."
"Now heaven bless thee for those words, my own, true, precious Marie!"
exclaimed Stanley, in strong emotion, and clasping her still closer,
he pressed his quivering lips to her forehead, starting in agony as he
marked the cold, damp dews which had gathered upon it, too truly
the index of departing life. He besought her to speak no more--the
exertion was exhausting her; she smiled faintly, drank of the reviving
draught which Julien proffered, and lay for a few minutes calm and
still.
"I am better now," she said, after an interval. "It was only the
excitement of speaking that truth, which I have so long desired to
reveal--to clear my memory from the caprice and inconstancy with which
even thy love must have charged me; and now, Arthur, promise me that
thou wilt not mourn me too long: that thou wilt strive to conquer the
morbid misery, which I know, if encouraged, will cloud thy whole life,
and unfit thee for the glorious career which must otherwise be thine.
Do not forget me wholly, love, but deem it not a duty to my memory
never to love again. Arthur, dearest, thou canst bestow happiness on
another, and one of thine own faith, even such happiness as to have
been thy wife would have given me. Do not reject the calm rest and
peacefulness, which such love will bring to thee, though now thou
feelest as if the very thought were loathing. She will speak to thee
of me; for Jewess as she knew me, she has loved and tended me in
suffering, and so wept my banishment, that my frozen tears had well
nigh flowed in seeing hers. Seek her in Isabella's court, and try to
love her, Arthur--if at first merely for my sake, it will soon, soon
be for her own."
Impressively and pleadingly, these words fell on Arthur's aching
heart, even at that moment when he felt to comply with them was and
must ever be impossible. When time had done its work, and softened
individual agony, they returned again and yet again; and at each
returning, seemed less painful to obey.
"And Isabella, my kind, loving, generous mistress," she continued,
after a very long pause, and her voice was so faint as scarcely
to make distinguishable the words, save for the still lingering
sweetness, and clearness of her articulation--"Oh! what can I say to
her? Arthur, dearest Arthur, thou must repay the debt of gratitude
I owe her. Her creed condemns, but her heart loves me--aye, still,
still! And better (though she cannot think so) than had I for earthly
joy turned traitor to my God. Oh, tell her how with my last breath I
loved and blessed her, Arthur; tell her we shall meet again, where
Jew and Gentile worship the same God! Oh that I could but have
proved--proved--How suddenly it has grown dark! Uncle Julien, is it
not time for the evening prayer?"
And her lips moved in the wordless utterance of the prayer for which
she had asked, forgetting it had some time before been said; and then
her head sunk lower and lower on Arthur's bosom, and there was no
sound. Twilight lingered, as loth to disappear, then deepened into
night, and the silver lamps within the tents brighter and more
brightly illumined the gloom; but Arthur moved not, suppressing even
his breath, lest he should disturb that deep and still repose. It was
more than an hour ere Julien Morales could realize the truth, and then
he gently endeavored to unclasp Arthur's almost convulsive hold, and
with, kindly force to lead him from the couch. The light of the lamp
fell full upon that sweet, sweet face; and, oh! never had it seemed so
lovely. The awful stillness of sculptured repose was indeed there; the
breath of life and its disturbing emotions had passed away, and nought
but the shrine remained. But like marble sculptured by God's hand,
that sweet face gleamed--seeming, in its perfect tracery, its heavenly
repose, to whisper even to the waves of agony, "Be still--my spirit is
with God!"
* * * * *
Julien Morales and Arthur Stanley--the aged and the young--the Jewish
recluse and Christian warrior--knelt side by side on the cold earth,
which concealed the remains of one to both so inexpressibly dear. The
moonlit shrubs and spangled heaven alone beheld their mutual sorrow,
and the pale moon waned, and the stars gleamed paler and paler in the
first gray of dawn ere that vigil was concluded. And then both arose
and advanced to the barrier wall; the spring answered to the touch,
and the concealed door flew back. The young Christian turned, and
was folded to the heart of the Jew. The blessing of the Hebrew was
breathed in the ear of the Englishman, and Stanley disappeared.
Oh, love! thou fairest, brightest, most imperishable type of heaven!
what to thee are earth's distinctions? Alone in thy pure essence thou
standest, and every mere earthly feeling crouches at thy feet. And art
thou but this world's blessing? Oh! they have never loved who thus
believe. Love is the voice of God, Love is the rule of Heaven! As one
grain to the uncounted sands, as one drop to the unfathomed depths--is
the love of earth to that of heaven; but when the mortal shrine is
shivered, the minute particle will re-unite itself with its kindred
essence, to exist unshadowed and for ever.