THE ANTICIPATIONS OF EVIL.
Long and dark was the sleep that fell upon Ildica: the overwrought
mind, the overexcited feelings, the heart and brain, stretched beyond
their bearing to support each other, had worked in the mortal frame
that complete overthrow of the equipoise which such a state almost
invariably will produce. The sleep of Ildica's mind--for the reasoning
soul remained asleep long after the eyes had opened again to the light
of day after her mother's death--was not the sleep which brings
repose; and when at length she really woke, and gazed about her with
full returning consciousness, she found an unknown scene around her.
She was stretched upon a rich couch, round which fell the hangings of
a tent; and though two of her own female attendants sat at the farther
side, there was watching over her a face as beautiful as she had ever
beheld, but which was altogether strange to her eye. It was beautiful,
as I have said, most beautiful; and though the hair was dressed in the
barbarian mode, and the garments were not such as the Romans wore, yet
the pure and snowy skin showed tints very different from the dingy
complexion of the Huns; and, though Ildica knew not the face, yet
there was something in it--something in the exquisite loveliness of
those devoted deep blue eyes--that was not unfamiliar to her
imagination. It was as if somebody, in former times, had sung, or
told, or written to her about eyes like those. Her mind, however,
wandered still; and she could not recall where or how such an
impression had been made upon her. But she saw, as she moved, those
eyes bent upon her with a look of tender pity; and laying her hand
upon that which rested on the couch beside her, she would have spoken,
but her voice was so weak that she herself started at its altered
sound.
"You are better," said Neva, for she it was who sat beside her--"you
are better; I see you are better." And though the tongue in which she
spoke was but a mixture of Latin with her barbarian dialect, yet her
looks spoke eloquently, and Ildica began to remember, or rather to
guess, who she was.
Neva watched her gently and assiduously; and Ildica recovered health
and strength; and grateful and tender did she feel towards that fair
companion, who wound herself day by day so closely round her heart,
that she only wondered that Theodore could have continued to love
Ildica when he had unknowingly won the heart of Neva. But though
Ildica recovered rapidly, that illness had wrought a change. She
remained long in deep silent fits of thought. Sometimes, when she was
spoken to, her mind, intensely occupied with the dark past or the dim
future, seemed to deaden her ear, and she made no reply. But, what was
still more strange, she spoke of her mother, she talked of her death,
she inquired of her burial, without a tear moistening her eyelids. She
would fain have wept; she longed to do so; but no drops, no kind
relieving drops came from the dried-up well to give her ease. Her
mother and Theodore were the two great themes of her thoughts; and of
her lover's coming back she talked with joy and smiles to her own
attendants; but, with kindly care, which showed how thoughtful she was
for others, she avoided, as far as possible, the mention of his name
to Neva.
Bleda's daughter, indeed, was now her chief companion; shared the same
tent, and spent whole hours with her on each succeeding day. On Ildica
she seemed to look as on a superior being; and seated at her feet,
with her arm resting on the fair Dalmatian's knee, she would gaze up
into her face, trace all those beautiful lines, and mark the full
lustrous eye, the swelling lip, and clear and rounded nostril, pure
and defined, but soft and graceful as if chiselled from the Parian
marble. Thus she would gaze, and think in her own mind, that it was no
wonder such a face and form as that, with such a spirit as shone
through all that beauty, had lighted and kept alive, as pure and
unextinguished as the fire of Vesta, the flames of love within the
heart of one worthy of her--within a heart incapable of forgetfulness
or falsehood.
Twice only did it happen that Ildica, who, however sadly her own heart
might be wrung, forgot not easily the feelings of another, mentioned
even the name of Theodore in the hearing of Neva. The first time the
fair girl coloured and looked down; but the second she was sitting, as
we have said, at Ildica's feet; and though her countenance glowed, she
gazed up and asked, "When you saw him, did he never mention Neva's
name?"
Ildica bent down her head, and kissed the fair girl's brow, saying,
"Yes, dear Neva, he did mention you."
"And what did he say?" demanded Neva, burying her face in Ildica's
robe--"what did he say?"
"He told me," answered Ildica, pressing her hand gently, "he told me
how kind and good you had been to him; how you attended him in
sickness, saved him by your care from death, and rescued him in his
moment of utmost danger from the hands of those who would have slain
him. He told me all, dear Neva, he told me all."
Neva cast herself upon Ildica's bosom and wept. "Then he told you,"
she murmured, through her tears, "how I loved him, and how kindly and
gently he soothed the feelings he could not return; how nobly and
honestly he told me that he loved another, whom he must ever love."
Ildica pressed her in her arms; and, raising her eyes towards heaven,
she said, in a low voice, "Oh God! why should I hope to be happy when
this sweet being is wretched?"
"Nay, nay, Ildica," cried Neva, starting back as her ear caught those
words, "I am not wretched; I am as happy as my state will admit; I am
happy in possessing the next best blessing to the great one of his
love. I have his friendship, his gratitude! I am happy in having
served him; I am happy in having seen the being that he loves, and in
loving her myself," and she pressed a fond kiss on Ildica's glowing
cheek. "Now, Ildica," she continued, "now you know how I feel. I have
seen you; I know you; I am sure you are worthy of him; and so help me
all the gods, if it were in my power this moment to take him from you
and bind him to myself, I would rather die than do it! Speak to me
about him when you will, you will inflict no pain upon my heart. He is
your own, your beloved, your rightful husband. Neva is contented with
her lot."
Ildica smiled sadly. "Oh Neva," she answered, "it is hard to be
generous in love! There is no one thing on earth I know of that I
would not give to make you happy, except the affection of Theodore."
"And now I would not have it, could it be given," Neva replied; "but
he will soon be back again, dear Ildica. More than three weeks out of
the two months allotted for his absence have already passed, and he
will soon be here: Ildica will then be his bride, and Neva will weave
the bridal flowers for her hair. Only remain within your tent, Ildica,
as long as you can; and when the army marches on again, be carried in
your litter without speaking, so that Attila may think you are still
ill."
Ildica started, and gazed on Neva with surprise. "Why should I try to
deceive Attila?" she demanded: "I have long wondered why you should
oppose my going forth to breathe the free outward air when I am ill no
longer. Tell me, dear Neva, tell me what I have done to offend
Attila?"
"You have done nothing to offend him," answered Neva: "oh no; it is
not his wrath that we fear! It is, that the sight of your beauty might
inflame his love. Therefore was it that Ardaric, who loves your
Theodore, so strongly counselled that you should hold the semblance of
sickness as long as may be."
Ildica sank back upon the cushions that supported her, and hid her
pale face in her hands, as if the doom of death had been pronounced in
her ear. Terror overcame every reasoning power for some moments, and
it seemed as if the fate which had been spoken of as merely possible,
was certain and inevitable; and with her hands covering her face and
her bosom heaving with convulsive sobs, she sat for several moments in
silence; while Neva, alarmed by the state into which her words cast
her, tried, by every kindly effort, to sooth and reassure her.
At length the fair Roman suddenly removed her hands, exclaiming, "I
had forgot myself, Neva! and had given way to terror, a feeling that
should have no empire in my bosom. I do not, I will not fear this man,
terrible as he is. I will hide myself from his eyes most willingly.
Till Theodore comes back, I will never leave my tent: but if my evil
fate should draw his looks upon me; if what you fear on my account
should occur, he shall find that the daughter of a Roman can act a
Roman's part. No, I will not leave this tent till Theodore returns."
"Alas! dearest Ildica," replied Neva, "ere two days be over you will
be forced to leave it. Attila has ravaged all this part of the
country: these plains, so fertile and so populous not a fortnight
since, when we first issued forth from the mountains and encamped a
two days' journey from Tridentum, are now as bare as the summit of the
Alps, and not a human being save the followers of the mighty king can
be seen for miles around. The white bones of the Romans who have been
slain, indeed, whiten the ground; and troops of wolves have followed
us from the mountains, as if they had been called by the voice of
Attila himself to the feast he fails not to prepare for them; but
nothing living and breathing is to be seen but ourselves and those
fierce beasts; and the day after to-morrow we are appointed to march
on and carry the same bloody scourge, the same fiery sword, farther
into the empire."
Ildica looked up towards the sky. "Oh God!" she murmured, "must such
things be? Hast thou no chosen instrument, as in the days of old, to
check the ravager in his course, to smite the mighty murderer of
nations?" and, clasping her hands together, she fixed her eyes upon
the ground, falling into a long, intense fit of gloomy meditation.
"It is strange," she continued, when, rousing herself at length from
her revery, she found Neva still sitting beside her in silence, and
gazing anxiously upon her--"it is very strange! But who can tell the
purpose of the Almighty? who can see into the wise counsels of the
Omniscient? who can tell at what trifling stumbling block this great
conqueror may fall down, or what small and insignificant means may, in
the hand of God, bring all his sanguinary expeditions to an end?"
"I do believe," said Neva, "that when he killed my father, Bleda, I
should have slain him myself if I had ever been within arm's length of
him, and alone. But he is much loved by his own people, and they keep
a watch for him; and now he has been kind to me, and wiped out the
memory of my father's death by tenderness and affection both to my
mother and myself."
"No personal revenge," said Ildica, thoughtfully, "can ever justify us
in shedding a human being's blood--at least I think so, Neva; but in
our own defence, or in the defence of those we love, or of our
country, or our faith, surely, surely God, the God of Hosts, will
hallow and sanctify the deed. I think so, Neva, I believe so, but I
will meditate upon it: I will inquire from the only source where we
can find sure guidance."
"Where is that?" demanded Neva.
"In the word of God," answered Ildica, abstractedly, and again she
fell into a fit of meditation, from which her fair companion did not
choose to rouse her. At length Ildica woke up of herself, and the sort
of shadowy gloom which had hung upon her seemed in a degree banished
by reflection; for when she looked up, a smile, faint and chastened
indeed, but still most beautiful, played upon her lip for a moment.
"I cannot but think, dear Neva," she said, "I cannot but hope, that we
have been combating imaginary adversaries. Why should Attila think of
me? why should any idle beauty that you talk of make him persecute one
who never injured him, or wrong a man who, like Theodore, has served
him well, and whom he himself professes to love."
"You know him not, Ildica, you know him not," replied Neva; "his
passions are fierce, and devouring as the flame; and we poor women,
but the slaves of his pleasures, are no more in his eyes than
merchandise, things to be used while they please, and to be cast away
when the gloss of novelty is gone. Besides, those passions, though
they once had a check, have now none. He is changed, Ildica, he is
changed! Within the last two years a change has come over him which
renders him no longer the same man. In former days you might rely upon
his justice, if not upon his humanity; you might trust in his
friendship as much as you were compelled to fear his enmity. He was
sincere, though never frank; and those who knew Attila well could
calculate his rising up, and his going down, and his course throughout
the day, as surely as they could calculate the rising and setting of
the sun himself. But he is changed, Ildica, he is changed! He has
grown suspicious of his dearest friends, deceitful towards those who
love him best, intemperate in all things; and while by day he revels
in blood, at night he revels in wine, till drunkenness closes the day
which was begun with slaughter. The only thing that ever withholds him
from gratifying his desires is shame; and if we can but keep thee from
his thoughts till thy lover returns, the fear of sinking lower in the
esteem of his chieftains will keep him from doing thee a wrong, from
violating his word."
"But why should I fear," said Ildica, "more than all the many women
who, I learn, are in the camp."
"Because thou art more beautiful than them all," answered Neva,
looking up in her face with a smile.
"Yes, but he let Eudochia go," replied Ildica; "he suffered her to
depart without one apparent wish to stay her; and she was much more
beautiful than I am--younger, lovelier in every way."
"Oh no," cried Neva, "not half so lovely! But, besides, if I must tell
thee all, I heard my cousin Ellac, the great king's son, contriving
with Onegisus to inflame Attila's love for thee. He has hated Theodore
ever since he set foot among our tribes, and he knew that he could
take no more terrible revenge upon him, that he could bring down no
more certain destruction upon his head, than by raising up against him
Attila as a rival in his love. I heard them lay their plot, and I know
that they executed it in part. For that purpose was Theodore sent
forth; for that purpose wert thou kept here; and had it not been for
thy illness and for Ardaric's protection, who loves thy promised
husband, thou hadst received, ere this time, terrible proofs that our
fears for thee are anything but vain."
"I do remember," answered Ildica, "that on that sad night before
Theodore's departure, one of the barbarian leaders, a noble-looking
man, whom he called Ardaric, and in whom he afterward bade me trust
implicitly, came to us, and warned him of some approaching danger--"
"It was I who warned Ardaric," interrupted Neva, "because I knew that
he was sincere and true, and loved thy Theodore well. All that he knew
he heard from me, or from that unhappy Moor, that deformed and
mutilated negro, whom thou hast seen twice follow me into thy tent. He
also watched and saw much; and, with a shrewdness all his own,
perceived that Attila was not unwilling to follow where his baser son
would lead him."
Ildica clasped her hands and gazed down upon the ground. "Oh, Neva!"
she said at length, "you must aid and protect me; for--though I know,
and feel sure, that if the hour of difficulty were to come I should
find courage, on the instant, to behave as befits my race and
nation--though I feel sure and confident that there is no act which I
should fear to do, that justice and my honour required of me--yet,
Neva, yet I would fain shrink from the trial. In the contemplation of
it I am but a woman; and my very soul sinks, faint and dispirited, at
the very thought of what I may be called upon to suffer and to do."
"I will aid you, I will assist you, dear Ildica," replied Bleda's
daughter; "and there are many more in the camp who can assist you
better, and who are willing to do so too; but I hear some one in the
outer tent. It is the voice of Zercon, I think, speaking with your
slaves In him, too, you may trust; for he is one who will be faithful
unto death. He has known me from a child, and loves me well; and,
since my father's death, there is scarce a bitter cruelty in all the
long dark catalogue of inflictions which man's savage, demon-like
heart has invented, that Attila has not practised upon him. He hates
Attila, therefore, and he loves all who are persecuted by his
persecutor."
"I have heard Theodore mention him," replied Ildica. "Did he not aid
in his escape? I would fain see him again, and speak with him. All who
may assist or aid me are valuable to me, dear Neva."
Neva advanced, and drew back the curtains of the inner tent for a
moment, saying, "Dost thou seek me, Zercon? What wouldst thou with me?
Come hither, and speak with me," she added, ere the man could reply.
Returning to the side of Ildica, she seated herself near her on the
cushions; while the negro, Zercon, came forward, and drew the curtains
of the tent behind him.
"I came to warn you," he said, "that there are orders gone forth for
the whole host to move forward by dawn of day to-morrow, upon Verona
itself. Be wary, be cautious, lady," he added, fixing his eyes upon
Ildica; "all has gone well as yet; but the malice of enemies has but a
light slumber."
"My friend," said Ildica, in a calm but sad tone, "I have to thank
thee both for thine interest in myself and for the services thou hast
rendered to one dearer to me than myself. This sweet lady near me, thy
dead master's child, tells me that thou wilt befriend me, and will be
faithful unto me even unto death."
"That were saying little, lady," replied the negro. "Death, to me, is
not a thing to be feared. I will serve thee, if I can, through severer
trials than that; though I think that all the skill of Attila himself
will hardly discover a new torture or indignity which the body of man
can suffer--without being separated from the spirit--that he has not
already practised upon this wretched frame."
"I am sorry for thee, my friend, I am sorry for thee," replied Ildica.
"_Thy_ sufferings should teach us to bear _our_ lesser evils with more
patience and fortitude."
"Lady," said Zercon, "the difference between thy state and mine
renders the computation of evils in our several cases very different
also. Those evils, which to you are of the greatest magnitude, to me
are less than the sting of a piping gnat; and it is not that we bear
them differently, but that our states from infancy to this hour have
rendered them really different. You have been nurtured in ease, in
peace, and happiness. God made you beautiful as the day, and poured
through your young veins a stream of lordly blood, drawn from a source
of mighty conquerors. Philosophers and schoolmen taught you how to
enjoy; and wise and good relations showed you, from your youth up, the
path of virtue, and bade you prize honour as much, or more than life.
Your heart and feelings, your mind and soul, even like your tender
body itself, are subject to a thousand pangs, acute and dreadful, to
which mine are all insensible. I, born on an arid soil, sprung from a
despised race, gifted with deformity, nurtured in hardship, companion
from my infancy with famine, thirst, disease, and pain, tutored but to
bear, and bred up in the bitterest school of suffering--I look upon
evils which to other men are great, as enjoyment--actual happiness! I
may have heard the voice of philosophy, too; I may have listened to
wise and learned men; but the only doctrine which has been preached to
me is to suffer all things--the only lesson that I have learned
through life has been endurance. The couch that feels hard to other
men as a flinty rock, is a bed of down to me. Contumely and disgrace
have lost their sting: my body is insensible to blows, and my heart to
indignity. If I lie down to rest without the mutilating knife of
tyranny lopping away my limbs, I mark the day with a white stone, and
cry! 'Oh happy chance!' And though I have been too well tutored in
bearing the worst ever to take refuge at the altar of death, where
tyrants dare not follow, till fate shall lead me thither, yet, when
the hour comes that opens that sanctuary to me, how glad will be its
shelter, how heavenly its repose. Lady! oh, beautiful lady! if you can
give me any service which can merit death, I will bless you as for an
inestimable boon."
"Alas! my friend, I know not what may come," answered Ildica, with
tears standing in her eyes. "The time may not be far distant when I,
too, shall look to death as the only relief."
"I understand you, lady," answered Zercon, "and I know your danger;
but it is one from which your own hand can righteously deliver you if
ever it becomes imminent. Zercon--the poor, the despised Zercon--can
give you a gift worth more than a talent of gold in the hour of peril.
Look here!" and, approaching closer to Ildica, he drew from his bosom
a small dagger, the blade of which might be somewhat more than a span
in length. The haft was small, and formed of ivory; and the blade,
when he took it from the sheath, though dull in colour and in polish,
was evidently as sharp as a knife both at the point and edge.
"This steel," continued Zercon, "hard as a diamond and sharp as a
graver's tool, would, if struck with a firm hand, pierce the strongest
corslet that ever came from the armorer's anvil. In the hand of an
infant, it would slay a giant; and I give it unto you, lady, against
the hour when terror shall give place to resolution, and horror shall
conquer fear."
He spoke like a prophet; and Ildica took the dagger, and gazed upon
its blade. "Do you mean," she asked, after a long pause, "that I
should use this thing against my own life?"
"No," answered Zercon, eagerly; "no! I have never used it against
mine; but I have felt that there was a point at which endurance was
bound to stop; and that, if the time should come when opportunity
favoured the blow, I was called upon by the immutable command of
nature to strike in my own defence. That opportunity has never come;
for it would but little serve me, when a tyrant ordered his slaves to
cut away my ears or my thumbs, to take the life of one or two of his
instruments. Had he been within arm's length himself, he had died as
surely as I lived."
Ildica mused with a melancholy look, still holding the dagger on her
knee, while Neva, with the negro slave, gazed up in her face. The Moor
seemed to read her thoughts. "Lady," he said, "I hold the same faith
as you do. I have held it from my youth; but I am justified. Read in
that book, if thou canst read; not in the latter part alone, but in
the former also; and thou shalt find that our country's defence or our
own has been held just and righteous cause for slaying the oppressor.
Lady, I say no more. Conceal the weapon in your robe; and should you
ever have cause to use it, let it be no hasty, ill-considered blow,
aimed in the terror of the moment, but with calm deliberation, in a
chosen time, with the strength of virtue and of justice, and the
firmness of conscious right. I have given you what, if wisely used, is
better than a jewel; but I will serve you with my heart's dearest
blood to avoid the necessity of ever using it; and now farewell."
He retired as he spoke; and Ildica, taking up the dagger, held it for
a moment firmly in her hand, and then placed it in her bosom. Neva
gazed upon her as she did so with a look of deep emotion; and then,
sinking on her knees beside the fair Roman, threw her arms around her,
and hid her face upon her lap, murmuring, "Oh, may you never have to
use it!"