THE LETTERS.
He stood alone at the door of his dwelling, gazing forth upon the
summer sunset, as--reflected in rays of gold and rose colour from the
summits of the mountains where the snow still lingered--it spread in
floods of brightness over the western sky. During the day there had
been in the royal village of the Huns a certain degree of silent
activity, the coming and going of messengers here and there, the
frequent gathering together in small groups, the examination of horses
and arms, and the arrival of strangers from distant lands, which
betoken, in general, some approaching expedition. As Theodore stood
and gazed out on the splendours of the dying day, he thought that ere
now, on such an evening as that, he had drank draughts of deep
enjoyment from that well of sweet sensations, unpolluted nature; but
yet, before the sun had risen again, the bright hopes to which that
exciting draught gave rise had been trampled, like flowers before a
war-horse, beneath the feet of fate. Perhaps it was that the
indications of some near-coming change, which he had beheld during the
day, had occasioned such feelings, and called up such memories; but,
as he stood and gazed, a slave from the dwelling of Attila approached
with rapid steps, and put into his hand some small leaves of vellum,
rolled carefully up, and tied with waxed threads.
"From the land of the Alani," was all that the slave said, as he
delivered them, and then departed without waiting for any questions.
With a beating heart Theodore opened the packet, and, sitting down on
a seat before his door, he read as long as the light of the declining
day would permit, and then entering his dwelling, concluded his task
by the lamp.
THE LETTER.
"You have not come, oh Theodore! You have not written. And yet to come
was impossible, neither could any messenger bear me a letter hither,
for the snow has lain upon the mountains deeper and more terrible than
ever I thought to behold. Why, then, should I think of things that
were impossible for you to do? It was because I longed for that which
was impossible; it was because love would not be persuaded of
difficulties in the way of gratification.
"Oh how weary have been the hours, how dull, how tedious, since you
left us to return to your barbarian home! Each moment has seemed to
linger on the way, longer and more tardily than the rest; and the
wintry year, as it went along, seemed to creep with the laggard steps
of age, slowly and more slowly, as every new hour was added to the
burden that it bore. Neither have the objects around me been such as
to give my mind any means of withdrawing itself from that on which it
dwells. The white robe of winter has covered all; clouds have hung
upon the sky, and obscured the sun; the forests have disappeared
beneath mountains of snow; and the grand features of the Alps
themselves, softened and rounded by the same monotonous covering, have
lost those fine and striking forms which we looked upon and admired
together when you were here.
"During the summer, I found a thousand objects to take--no, not to
take my thoughts from you, but by recalling sweet moments and
beautiful scenes which we had enjoyed together, to create a bright
illusion for my heart, and make me think the past not so
irretrievable, the present less painful, the future more full of
hopes. Then I could gaze over the lake, and mark the sinuosities of
the shore, till I could have fancied myself at Salona, and mistaken
that small water, with its tiny waves, for the grander and more
splendid Adriatic. I could sit upon the little grassy promontory
beneath the clump of pines, and think of the mound of cypresses by the
banks of the Hyader; I could gaze upon the mountains, and remember
blue hills that rose between us and Sirmium; and with all, and each,
and everything, one beloved idea would mingle like sunshine, giving
light and beauty to the whole, one dear form would wander by my side
through the world of imagination, rendering all harmonious by the
music of his voice.
"During the summer, I could gaze upon the flowers, I could listen to
the birds, I could taste the fresh breezy air of morning, and think of
you. Nothing that was sweet to mine eye, nothing that was dear to my
heart, nothing that was melodious to mine ear, could I see, or know,
or hear without remembering you. But, since then, the whole has
changed: ere you had been gone ten days, the snow came down, covering
the whole country round, even to our very door. The flowers are gone;
the air of summer breathes no more; the birds are mute; no objects
that we have seen together strike mine eye; no sounds that we have
loved to listen to salute mine ear; and yet, day and night I think of
you; but not with bright hopes or roused-up memories: rather with a
sad and longing regret that you are not with me, to cheer the darkened
prospect, and be the sunshine of my wintry life.
"Oh, if it be possible, come to us soon, my Theodore; come and sooth
us by your presence, and direct us by your advice. There are rumours
abroad among the nation with which we dwell, which add difficulty and
uncertainty to the heaviness of exile and the pain of being separated
from you. They say that the king of this land has offended Attila, and
that the implacable monarch threatens vengeance. All hear the tidings
with fear and horror; for his wrath is as unsparing as the breath of
the tempest, which with one blast overthrows the weak and the strong
together. Messengers are now sent to propitiate him, and they bear
this letter; but Heaven knows, and Heaven only, whether any excuse
will be received, any atonement permitted.
"Come to us then, my Theodore, if you can; and if you cannot come,
find means to write to us speedily; inform us what we are to expect;
tell us what we ought to do, for terrible, indeed, would be our
situation, in the midst of a strange land, and of a people who, though
kind, are but the friends of yesterday, if war were to be added to all
that is already painful in our situation.
"My mother says that you will warn us of any danger, and inform us
what is the best course for us to pursue. She declares that she has
the most perfect confidence in you, and that at the court of Attila
you will soon learn, and be able to warn us of the result. But still I
perceive that she is anxious; still I see that she sits alone, and
thinks with care over the future; still I mark that she listens
eagerly to every tale and rumour concerning the approaching events.
"Ammian is as thoughtless as ever, thinking justly and wisely when he
does think, but seldom giving himself the trouble to reflect at all;
and yet, Theodore, it is time that he should think, for every day the
change that is working itself in his form strikes me more and more;
and though but a few months have passed since you saw him, I think you
would say, could you behold him now, that he has made no small
progress towards manhood. Nevertheless, his pleasures are still as
wild, as roving, as uncertain as ever; he seems to find delight only
in perils and dangers; in the rough exercise of the mountain chase, in
springing from rock to rock, where even the mountain hunters tell him
to beware, or in traversing the turbulent streams, bridged by the ice,
when the footing is scarcely solid enough to bear him as he passes.
Then, again, when he has roamed far and wide for many a day, he seems
wearied with one kind of sport, and sits down to weave wreaths of
evergreen for Eudochia's hair, or to sing us the songs that he
composes in his wanderings, to the tunes that he catches up from the
pipe of the mountaineers, as they sit watching their flocks in some
sunny spot upon the hill-side.
"Often, too, Theodore, when I see him and Eudochia sitting together
with all that fond affection which they have shown towards each other
from infancy, I think how strange, and yet how happy it would be, if
the same feelings, which have sprung up in your heart and mine from
the same childish regard, should with them also arise to bind them for
ever to each other. He loves her, certainly, even now, as much as he
loves anything, and he has, too, the power of loving deeply,
notwithstanding all his wildness.
"How he loved your father, Theodore! how deeply! how lastingly! Even
now, seldom a day passes but he thinks or speaks of Paulinus; and
making his javelin quiver in his hand, longs to plunge it in the
breast of Chrysapheus.
"Such feelings are strange, and I know not whence they arise; yet,
when I think of them, I feel as if I too could experience them with
the same intensity. If I picture to myself any one injuring you, oh
Theodore! I fancy that I too could hold the dagger or cast the spear.
Think you not that we ought all to have been born in the old times of
Rome, when men sacrificed everything for their country, and even women
shared in the same patriotic devotion. Always, Theodore, when my mind
rests upon you, I imagine you overthrowing tyrants, hurling down the
Tarquin, driving Appius from his polluted seat, or leading armies for
the defence of Rome; and I believe that I could have stood by your
side, have shared your dangers, consoled your cares, enjoyed your
triumphs, or died in your defence.
"But whither am I wandering? Far from the present scene and present
dangers, into the wide land of imagination, to encounter the chimeras
of my own brain. Dangers enough and perils now surround us, without my
dreaming of others; and your Ildica will show, beloved, that she can
bear with firmness, if not act with energy, in difficulties, perhaps,
as great as those which her fancy paints.
"I will not say, Come to us, my Theodore! for that may be impossible
for you to do; I will not say, Write! for that may be equally so; but
come if you can, write if you are able. Tell us how we ought to act,
and we will do it. Show us if there be really the danger which rumour
teaches us to apprehend, and say what you think the best way of
avoiding it!
"My mother will not write herself, but she bids me ask, had we not
better now accept the invitation of Valentinian, and retire to Rome?
We have gold enough remaining for a long time to come, and in the
Western empire we have powerful friends--but then we are farther from
you, beloved. Nevertheless, what you advise, that we will do.
"Already, one of those weary seven years of your captivity has passed
away; but oh! if I look back to the time when we parted after the
terrible days we spent by the Danube, the space between seems
interminable. Many and many a year appears crowded into that one; and
yet it is vacant, filled with nothing but the tedious passing of empty
hours, absent from him I love. It is like looking over the sands of
the desert, one long, unvaried, interminable waste, with but one
bright spot of verdure in the midst of the desolation, the few short
hours that you passed with us during the autumn. Blessed and happy,
indeed, are those hours, ever embalmed in memory. They were in their
passing a dream of delight, and now, even in recollection, they serve
as an antidote to all the cares and sorrows of the present!
"Yet those seven years will reach their end: and I shall see you
again, and once more lean my head upon your bosom, and hear your
voice, and tell you all my thoughts. Let them fly, let them fly
quickly, though they may be taken from the brightest season of our
life; yet if the spring be without sunshine, well may we long for the
summer. Farewell!"
Theodore pressed the letter to his lips, to his heart. Her hand had
touched it, her spirit had dictated it: and the very sight of those
beloved characters was balm to his bosom. The news she told, however,
was painful; the danger that she apprehended great, if the rumours on
which her fears were raised had themselves any foundation in truth.
Without hesitation, Theodore took his way at once to the dwelling of
Attila, and was admitted to the presence of the king.
The monarch's brow was gloomy, but he received the Roman youth with
tenderness. "What wouldst thou, my son?" he said. "Thou hast had
letters, I find, from the land of the Alani. Do they bear thee good
tidings? Thy face is sad."
"They say that the chiefs of the Alani fear the wrath of Attila,"
replied Theodore, boldly.
"They have cause!" answered the monarch, sternly--"they have cause!
but, if thou wouldst send any letters back, prepare them quickly, for
by to-morrow's noon the messengers return, and some of mine own
accompany them."
"I would fain ask a boon," replied Theodore, anxiously. "In the land
of the Alani, as thou well knowest, oh mighty monarch, I have those
whom I love better than life itself. If thine arms, victorious as they
ever have been, are now destined to be turned against the Alani, I
would fain visit those dear friends, and provide for their safety.
They are but women and children, and cannot protect themselves."
"Thou canst not go, my son," replied Attila. "Thou goest with me
wherever my steps are directed. Thus have I resolved for thy sake, as
well as for mine own. When last thou wert absent, dangers, and
wellnigh death, befell thee! The same may occur again. Bleda is dead;
but even for thy sake Attila could not slay a son. Thou understandest
well that which I mean. While thou art with me, thou art safe; but
among distant tribes, such is not the case. There, thy death might be
accomplished without leaving a trace to tell me how. I know not yet
whether the Alani are to be crushed as a swarm of wasps, or hived as
bees. It depends upon themselves. Let them obey Attila, and they are
safe; but, at all events, I go towards the western seas; and though
Italy will not be visited, some of my hosts may sweep the mountains as
they advance. It were better that they were not encountered by
women--women such as these, who, I have heard from those who went with
thee thither, are exceeding beautiful. Bid them remove to some other
land. They dare not, I think you tell me, return to Illyria on account
of the base, weak Theodosius; but, if thou wilt, I will issue my
commands to that throned slave to receive them with friendship and
favour. He dare not disobey!"
"Thanks, oh great king!" replied Theodore; "but willingly we will not
tread that land again so long as he is emperor. Valentinian, however,
in the West, offers them peace and protection. Thither will I send
them, if, indeed, I may not see them ere they go. I fear not any
danger to myself."
"It must not be," said Attila, in a tone that left no reply. "Thou
must go with me; but I promise thee that, this expedition over, thou
shalt have permission to visit them in that great pile of stones which
you Romans call the capital of the world, and shall abide with them
longer than thou didst before. In Rome thou wilt be safe; but I could
not trust thy life in barren mountains and passes which would defy our
search. The word of Attila is given: thou shalt visit them in Rome!
and my promise, like thine, my son, can never be violated."
"I thank thee, oh Attila," replied Theodore--"I thank thee, and feel
that thou art generous. So they be safe and free from harm, I am
content to abide with thee."
"They shall be safe," replied Attila; "for my messengers to
Valentinian shall command him to respect them as the children of his
master; and the Alani shall have orders to guard them on their journey
into the Roman state. Now hie thee hence and write thy letter--a weary
task, I should think it! What need have men with letters? Was not
speech enough? But they must still add to what the gods give them; and
all their additions do but spoil Heaven's gifts."
Theodore took his leave and withdrew; and going back to his dwelling,
he called one of his attendants, saying, "Haste thee to Constantius,
the Roman secretary of the king; ask him to send me parchment, and
reeds, and ink, or, if he have no vellum, let him send papyrus."
The materials for writing were soon brought to him; and sitting down
by the fresh-trimmed lamp, Theodore spent the next four hours of the
night in pouring forth to Ildica all the feelings of his heart.
THE REPLY.
"I have not come, oh dearest, and most beautiful, I have not sent,
because to do either was impossible; and even now, my prayer has been
refused, when I petitioned Attila to let me go, in order to guard thee
from difficulty and danger. He gives me the means, however, of sending
thee this letter; and although it will soon cause the distance between
us to be increased, yet gladly and eagerly do I seize the opportunity
of bidding thee fly from the land of the Alani ere it become dangerous
for thee to tarry. Fly, my Ildica; bid our mother fly as speedily as
may be; for although the anger of Attila towards the nation with whom
thou dwellest may be appeased, yet the myriads of the Huns are arming
for some distant expedition, and he himself has said that a part of
the host take their way by the Norican Alps. On their course is danger
and destruction; and even where they come as friends, perils not
small, to all whom they approach, precede and accompany their march.
"Oh that I could be with thee, to guide and guard thy footsteps! Oh
that I could be with thee, to shelter thee in my arms from every
danger and from every injury! But it must not be: and I must bid thee
go farther from me, leave the calm retreat where, even in exile, we
have known together some of our brightest hours of uninterrupted joy,
and plunge into the crowd of a wide, vicious, luxurious city, where
thousands will strive to efface the memory of the absent from thy
heart; where thousands will strive to win the hand that has been
promised unto me; where thousands will deem thy beauty and thy love
prizes to be won by any means, conquests to be made by any falsehood.
"Yes, my Ildica, thou must fly to Rome; and yet I bid thee do so
without one fear that any thought or any feeling of her I love will be
estranged from me by absence, that her affection will be diminished by
any art of others to win it for themselves, or that her heart will not
be as wholly mine when next we meet as when last we parted. If I know
my Ildica aright, and judge not Rome too harshly, the capital of the
empire will be but a wide desert to her, who has no feelings in common
with its degenerate and voluptuous inhabitants. Ravenna itself would
be worse; and I grieve that it is so, for my Ildica's sake, knowing
well that, even were the best and the brightest of other days
assembled round her, they could not steal one feeling of her heart
from the first grateful object of her young but steadfast love.
"Go, then, to Rome, my Ildica! and, amid the best of those who still
remain, thou mayst, perhaps, find some who will cheer thine hours
during our separation, some whose example and advice may be necessary
and salutary, both to Eudochia and to Ammian. Long, I fear, alas! too
long, will be that separation; for although Attila has fixed a time at
which I may once more fly to see thee, yet that time is named as the
end of the expedition on which he is now about to set out; and it is
only in the knowledge of one all-seeing Being how long that expedition
may continue, or whither it may lead.
"Still, however, it is a bright hope, a hope that will cheer me and
console me, though it may make the day seem long and the hours fly
heavily, till they dwindle down to the moment of my glad departure. Of
what may intervene, I will think the best: dangers may happen, sorrows
may befall; but I will not anticipate either the one or the other, and
will only think that every hour which passes only serves to bring
nearer the time of our reunion.
"What I most fear is, that the arms of Attila are about to be turned
against some part of our native land; for where, indeed, could he lead
his hosts, without meeting some portion of the Roman empire? He
demands, too, that I should accompany him; but be assured, sweetest
Ildica, that the hand of Theodore will never be armed against the land
of his fathers; and though, as a Roman, I feel that I should be
justified in striking to the earth the head of a tyrant, or of a
tyrant's favourite, by whom my father was unjustly doomed to die,
there is a difference between the country and its oppressor. I might
be a Brutus, but I would never be a Coriolanus. If I go with Attila,
and if his arms are turned against the empire, I may go as a spectator
to the war; but let it be remembered--and oh, Ildica, make it known,
wherever a Roman ear will listen--that I go against my will, and as a
captive; that I leave my sword behind me in these wars; that my shield
is hung up by the hearth I leave in this barbarian land; and that, if
I fall amid the events which may now ensue, I fall without dishonor.
"Let me turn, now, to sweeter thoughts; let me think of some dearer
theme. I have dreamed, I have fancied, that after this expedition is
over, perchance Attila may abridge the period of my captivity, and
permit me to return, and at the altar of our God claim my Ildica as my
own for ever. Oh, beloved! how my heart beats even when I think of
that hour, when I think of the moment that shall make thee mine--mine
beyond the power of fate itself--mine through life and through
eternity--united unto me by bonds that nothing can sever--wife of my
bosom--mother of my children--one, one with me in every thought, in
every feeling--in hopes, in fears, in joys and sorrows, one! Oh,
Ildica! what were heaven itself, could we but think that dear bond,
that tie which binds the soul itself, could be burst even by the hand
of death. Oh, no! I will not believe it, that even in another life I
shall not know, and see, and love thee still; that purified, perhaps,
and elevated, calmed down and tranquillized from the agitating fire
that thrills through every vein when I but think of thee, the same
intense affection which I now feel shall not survive the tomb, and
become one of the brightest parts of a brighter state of being. Yes,
Ildica, yes, it shall be so! Those who doubt it know not what love is;
for oh, surely, if there be feelings in this life at all that deserve
to be immortal, it is those which would make us sacrifice life itself,
and all that life can give, for another.
"Thou thinkest of me, Ildica; yes, I know thou thinkest of me. My
heart is a witness for thine, that not an hour of the dull day passes
without some thought of those we love; and it is strange, oh, how
strange! that out of objects which have no apparent connexion with
such images, the idea of her I love is brought before my mind, and my
heart, like the bee, draws the honey of those sweet associations from
everything it finds. If, when hunting in the neighbouring woods, the
sweet breath of the wild cherry blossom is wafted past me by the wind,
the image of Ildica, I know not why, rises up instantly before my
imagination; and every sweet perfume of the odorous flowers seems to
gain an additional fragrance from the associations that they call up.
If the singing of the spring birds strike mine ear, do not the tones
of that dear voice come back upon memory, and thrill through my inmost
heart? Everything is lost in thee; nothing that I admired, or loved,
or delighted in before, seems now to have any separate existence in my
eyes, but is all beheld with some reference to her I love.
"Oh, Ildica! do we not love each other better for all the anxieties
and cares which have surrounded the first days of our affection? If
so, let us not regret them, for they have been stern but kind-hearted
friends, who may have chastised our youth, but have left us an
inestimable treasure ere they departed: yes, inestimable, indeed, for
there are gems to adorn existence as well as to ornament the body; and
the brightest of all the diamonds of the heart's treasury is love such
as I feel for thee.
"Tell Flavia that I love her as her son; and tell her all I feel for
thee. It will be more pleasant unto her ear than aught I could say
unto herself. Bid her not mourn more than needs must be to return to
Rome--the city which she knew in days of happiness--now that so much
of that happiness has passed away. Bid her cheer herself with hope,
for the clouds are beginning to break away; and the sun may soon shine
once more, if not for her as bright as ever, yet with a tranquil
splendour that will refresh her heart.
"Cast thine arms round Eudochia, and kiss her with love for her
brother's sake, telling her how deeply and bitterly he regrets that he
is not permitted to guard her youth, and foster her beauty and her
virtues, till a husband's hand took from his own the task. Greet
Ammian, too, with love, telling him that he must curb his wild spirit,
and keep all his courage and all his energies to protect those whom
God has placed under his charge, and left without other safeguard.
"One word more, my beloved, to end this long epistle. Doubt not that
at Rome you will find protection; for you have it from one whom you
have seen, but hardly know--from one so mighty, however, that, alas!
experience shows, even Rome herself must tremble at his frown. Attila
protects you; and unto Valentinian he has sent a message to respect
you and yours as if you were his children. The weak and corrupt
monarch that Rome must obey dare as soon neglect this warning as fall
upon his sword. The Alani, too, have orders to conduct you safely to
the Roman territory. Oh that every step should thus bear you farther
from me!
"As I cannot see thee, as I cannot embrace thee, I would willingly
write to thee for ever. But it must come to an end. Farewell, sweet
Ildica! farewell, my beloved! Remember me still, as heretofore! Love
me ever! Love me as well as I love thee! I ask--I can have--no better
love. Farewell, again and again farewell!"