THE POWER OF RESOLUTION.
Scarcely was Zercon gone when the hangings of the tent which he had
let fall behind him were again pushed aside, and an old woman, of some
barbarian tribe, frightful in features, and fantastically dressed,
entered and stood before Ildica. Neva started up; and when she beheld
this personage she turned very pale.
"What wouldst thou?" demanded Ildica, in her own language; but the
woman did not seem to understand her, and continued to gaze upon her
from head to foot.
"What wouldst thou?" repeated Neva, in the Hunnish tongue; in reply to
which the old crone burst into a loud and scornful laugh, adding, "I
came to see what I have seen!" and, turning as she spoke, she left the
tent without waiting for further inquiries.
"Who is that, dear Neva?" demanded Ildica. "She is rude and strange in
her demeanour."
"Alas! alas!" replied Neva; "I fear her coming bodes no good. She is
skilled in healing, and dwells among the wives of Attila; and I doubt
not that she has been sent to see if thou art still as ill as we have
reported."
At these words Ildica herself turned pale, and gazed anxiously upon
the countenance of Neva. She had no time, however, to inquire further;
for scarcely had the woman left the tent when there was a cry of
"Attila! Attila! The king! the king!" and the domestic attendants, who
had followed the fair Roman girl and her mother through all their
fortunes, ran in with looks of apprehension from the outer tent, and
surrounded their beloved mistress.
The moment after the cry of "Attila! Attila!" was repeated, the
hangings were again drawn back, and the dark monarch of the Huns
advanced at once into the tent. There was a mortal paleness upon
Ildica's countenance; but, from the moment that the cry of "Attila!
Attila!" had sounded on her ear till the moment that he came into her
presence, the eyes of those who surrounded her saw an expression of
high and noble resolution gathering upon that fair, lofty forehead, as
the electric clouds upon a summer's day may be seen rolling round some
mountain peak, till that which, in the morning light, was all clear
and fair, becomes, ere noon, awful in the proud majesty of the coming
storm.
All rose and retired a step as Attila entered, except Ildica; but she,
with queenlike calmness, kept her place: and it was wonderful to all
eyes to behold that sweet and gentle girl, full of tenderness and soft
affections, changed in a moment, by the power of a great mind and
mighty resolution, into a proud and lordly being, fit to cope with the
great conqueror of one half of the earth. There she sat immoveable,
gazing with the unquailing light of her lustrous eyes upon the dark
monarch as he advanced towards her; and even Attila himself--though
the cause was surprise and admiration only--paused for a single
instant midway in his approach, and scarcely could believe his eyes,
that this was the same creature whom he had last beheld dissolved in
tears beside her departing brother. Her beauty, however, was as
radiant, though it shone through another air; and, again advancing, he
seated himself beside her calmly on the cushions, saying, "They have
deceived me: they told me you were ill!"
"I have been ill, oh king!" replied Ildica, in a voice not a tone of
which faltered, even in the slightest degree, "I have been ill, very
nearly unto death."
"Illness seldom wears so lovely a form," replied Attila, in a softened
voice. "Attila trusts that thou art better, fair maiden; else thy
beauty belies thy state."
"I am better, oh king," answered Ildica; "and I trust that a few days
more of repose may restore me completely unto health."
"Were it not better for thee," said Attila, "to seek the open air, and
draw in the pure breath of the summer day, than, sitting here in the
close atmosphere of a tent, to waste the hours of sunshine?"
"The covering of this tent, oh king," replied Ildica, boldly, "shuts
out from me more things than the pure air; and if, in going forth. I
should gain advantage from the sweet breath of heaven visiting my
lips, the sights that I should behold would carry tenfold poison to my
heart by the sure channel of the eye--at least, if all be true that I
have heard."
"What hast thou heard?" demanded Attila, quickly, rolling his eye over
those that surrounded them, "what hast thou heard, sweet Ildica?"
"I have heard," she replied, unwilling to call down the anger of that
terrible monarch upon any one else, however sure she might be of
encountering it ultimately herself--"I have heard but the usual tale
of warfare: I have heard of populous cities taken and made desolate;
of blood drowning out the fire on the dear domestic hearth: of
thousands and tens of thousands slaughtered, and their bodies lying
unburied in the fields, or nailed, if they resisted, to the trees of
their own fruitful gardens. I have heard of the whole land swept of
its produce, its arts obliterated, its monuments destroyed, its
husbandmen slain, even its women and children put to the sword--and
that land my country!"
She paused; but Attila made no reply, and sat listening as
if he expected her to go on. "Pardon me, oh king," continued
Ildica--"pardon me, if I am bold to say thus much; but as it was grief
which brought me nearly unto death at first--deep, bitter grief!--I am
told that any grief whatsoever, added anew, may complete what the
other left undone, and bring me at once unto the grave."
"A mother's death," replied Attila, without any sign of anger at the
bold and proud demeanour of the fair Roman girl--"a mother's death, so
sudden and unexpected, might well shake the strength and fortitude of
a daughter; but, as to other things, I see not why she should let her
mind rest upon them."
"Let me not boast, oh king!" replied Ildica, resolved to leave no word
unspoken which might guard her against all she feared--"let me not
boast, but yet I may say, my fortitude is never shaken. It was the
bodily strength gave way, and not the resolution of the heart. Neither
was it a mother's loss alone: that was the last of many sorrows.
Before it went the parting with my brother and the sister of my heart;
and before that again the still bitterer parting with my promised
husband, with him I loved, and always have loved, better than anything
on earth."
Attila's brow grew dark, and he fixed his eyes bitterly upon the
ground. Ildica marked the expression, however much he strove to
control it, but she proceeded all the more eagerly; and had he been a
tiger ready for the spring, still she would have gone on. "Yes, oh
king! that, though the first, was the bitterest stroke of all--for who
shall tell how I love him, how deeply, how sincerely, how beyond all
other things I love him. Without him, life to me is a dark blank; and
when you forbade our union, and sent him from me to a distant land,
you struck the blow that undermined my health; you filled high the cup
that my mother's death caused afterward to overflow."
She paused again, and Attila looked up and replied, "Thy voice is
sweet and musical, lovely girl, but thy words are harsh and somewhat
grating to mine ear. Attila seeks not to make thee unhappy; but be not
rash, and change the tenderness which he feels for thee and thine into
a less gentle temper. I would not force thee to behold sights which
may be painful to a woman's eye; but to-morrow early, thou, as well as
the rest, must set out upon our onward march."
"Must we then go on," said Ildica; "I had hoped, as thou hast encamped
here long, some cause might induce thee to turn thy fiery sword
another way, and not let the edge fall heavy upon Rome."
"We must upon our march!" replied Attila, "we must upon our march! The
country around us is exhausted of its stores. We have dried up the
land of its wine and oil, like the summer's sun shining on a scanty
brook. All is consumed; and where the foot of Attila's horse has trod
grows no grass afterward. I paused here," he added, with a grim smile,
"because my son sent me word that a pitiful city of the Venetian
province resisted the army of Attila, one of those stony piles in
which you Romans love to dwell, called Aquileia."
"What? Aquileia, the beautiful, the proud," exclaimed Ildica, "the
provincial Rome?"
"The same," replied Attila, "It dared to shut its gates against those
I sent to possess it; and when I reached them myself, I found that it
had made its resistance good. It was different from the usual Roman
towns. There were more than women and boys within. The catapult and
balista had been plied in vain. The walls held out; and as I rode
around, the soldiers on the towers, in their fancied security,
laughed loud, and mocked the arms of Attila. But there was a certain
stork--wiser, by the gods' own teaching, than the fools within--who
saw the horse of Attila pause before the spot where she had built her
nest upon the ramparts, and, auguring destruction to the towers on
which he looked, she took her young ones on her back, and flew away
for ever. Over the fragments of her nest, strewed upon the ruins of
that wall, passed the horse of Attila ere nightfall; and now let after
ages look for Aquileia, and find some scattered stones spread over a
desolate plain. The brothers of those who defended it shall never
gather their bones into their family sepulchre; for the flames of that
city have confounded all, and nothing but dust is left. Thus perish
all who resist the will of Attila," he added, and fixed his eyes full
on Ildica.
"They did but die," replied the Roman girl, and she gave him back his
glance as proudly as it was sent. The light of irrepressible
admiration rose in that mighty monarch's eyes, and for several minutes
he remained gazing upon her in silence; but there mingled with that
steadfast look an expression which, in spite of every effort, called
the quick and modest blood into the cheek of Ildica.
"Those whom Attila loves," said the king, "are as sure of benefits as
those who resist him of punishments; and surely the regard of one,
before whom the proudest monarchs of the earth bow down their heads,
is a prize worth having to those whose hearts are noble and their
spirit high. The great, the generous, and the lofty minded should ever
love each other; and I say to thee, fair maiden, that thy noble and
thy daring mind has this day commanded the esteem of Attila more fully
than even thy radiant, thine unequalled beauty has called forth the
admiration of his eyes."
"Esteem, oh Attila!" replied Ildica, in a calm, solemn tone, "must
ever create esteem; for it is founded on virtue, and ever springs from
it. Those we esteem we would never debase, and dare not injure; and
Ildica rests tranquilly upon the esteem of Attila for protection
against all men--even should it be against himself."
Attila cast down his eyes, and for a few moments remained in thought;
then turning to the attendants round, he said, in a tone that admitted
no reply, "Leave us!"
One by one, those who stood near left the tent, Neva following more
slowly and with downcast eyes. Ildica lifted her heart to heaven, and
prayed internally for strength and wisdom, for she felt that the hour
of trial might be coming near. The hangings of the tent fell; but
scarcely had they fallen when there came sudden voices sounding
eagerly without, and in a moment after Onegisus entered the presence
of Attila.
"Let me die if I have offended, oh mighty king!" he said, in
breathless haste; "but I have tidings that admit no delay."
"Speak them!" said Attila.
"[AE]tius, oh king, has passed the mountains," replied the chief; "he
brings with him the legions of Gaul. Valentinian has left Ravenna, and
gathers an army under the walls of Rome. The fleets of Marcian are
upon the Adriatic."
Attila listened without a change of countenance. "Thy news from the
East is false," he said: "Marcian stirs not. Valentinian is a fly in a
spider's web. Is it sure that [AE]tius has passed the mountains?"
"The tribe of Ilgours, who were in the country of the Burgundians,"
replied Onegisus, "followed his march, and have sent on messengers to
warn the king."
"Then it is true," said Attila, rising, "and we must scourge him back
into Gaul. Attila marches for Milan. I leave you, my friend, to tread
upon Verona and Padua, and to sweep the plains behind me of all
adversaries. Leave nothing dangerous behind, and follow with all
speed. Where are Ardaric and Valamir? They must accompany me this
night!" and with a slow and deliberate step he left the tent, giving
no sign of emotion of any kind, unless his leaving Ildica without a
word, or even a look, might be construed into a proof of how much the
tidings he had just heard affected him at heart.
Ildica lifted her eyes to heaven, and clasped her hands, exclaiming,
"Oh God, thou dost not desert me in my utmost need! On thee will I
rely!" and, with a heart relieved, she burst into a long but happy
flood of tears.
"To Milan!" she thought--"to Milan! That is far off. [AE]tius, too,
is before him. Ere I shall see his face again, Theodore will have
returned, and I shall be delivered!" and again she wept. Her
attendants flocked around her; and some seeing her state, without
knowing why, mingled their tears with hers.
"Weep not, my friends," she said at length--"weep not! I weep for joy!
Leave me alone for a while; and give me the ivory scrinium with the
silver clasps. There is a book therein I would fain read to
tranquillize my mind."
The attendants obeyed; and bringing her the casket which she had
mentioned, set it down beside her and retired. Ildica opened the
scrinium, and, from among a number of rolls of parchment and papyrus,
selected a manuscript in vellum, gathered together into the form of
two or three small volumes, and pored eagerly upon the pages, seeming
to find there matter for deep meditation and solemn interest. Now, her
eye ran rapidly over the lines, and her hand turned the pages without
pause; and then again she would suddenly stop, and looking up, as if
for light and direction, would think for several minutes over what she
had just read, as if the sense were doubtful, or the precept difficult
of application. But the book was one which, in every age since first
its words were traced upon that page of light, has caused, and well
might cause, the mind of man to lose itself in lofty musings. It was
the book which to the eye of the inspired patriarch of old was shown,
in the vision of those heavenly steps by which the angels of God came
down to earth, and ascended back again on high. It was the book which
leads the soul, step by step, from the thoughts of earth, and the
common and familiar things which the mind of man can grasp, up to
those wide and sublime regions where, standing at the footstool of the
Almighty throne, we still gaze up on high, and thought loses itself in
the boundless space of mercy, power, and wisdom. It was that book,
down each gradation of which angels and prophets came to visit earth,
and lead back into heaven the just, the humble, and the true.
There, as she read, the eye might see the history of that sacred Being
during his short stay on earth, whose life was mercy and purity; whose
words were wisdom and holiness; whose birth and whose death were
equally miraculous and beneficent, an example, a teacher, a guide, a
sacrifice, an atonement. There, too, as her eye ran back over the long
record, which marks the preservation of the revealed knowledge of our
God, holy, and true, and wise, throughout ages and among nations,
corrupt, perverse, unfaithful, the eye might trace the simple,
touching story of the early fathers of mankind, and see displayed in
the candid words of Divine truth their thoughts, their errors, and
their virtues, without a shade of palliation or excuse. There lay
revealed the mighty trial of Abraham's triumphant faith; there, the
sweet history of Joseph and his little brother; there, the tale of
Ruth, and of the widow and her son, and the mighty faults and virtues
of Israel's psalmist king; there, his son's instructive wisdom and
monitory fall; there, all those affecting scenes which, in their grand
simplicity, defy the brightest eloquence of every people and of every
time, to move the heart of man as they do.
But it was not on such scenes that the eye of Ildica principally
rested. She sought for matters more assimilating with her fate and
fortunes at the time. She read of the battles of the chosen people of
God, their wars, their victories, their reverses. She paused, and
thought upon the history of Sisera and Jael; but oh, how her heart
thrilled when she read the tale of the tyrant warrior, from whom a
woman's hand delivered the people of the Lord! She read! she trembled!
she gasped for breath! She laid down the book and wept aloud!
Oh let us leave the secret feelings of her heart to commune with
themselves undisclosed! for who can say what those feelings were, how
deep, how sad, how terrible? Who can tell them all perfectly, who can
display the struggle, and the mingling, and the strife, wherein a
thousand opposing thoughts, and hopes, and fears, bright sympathies,
noble aspirations, lofty purposes, and mighty inspirations, together
with woman's shrinking modesty, intense love, and tender nature,
contended like hostile nations bent on mutual destruction within the
narrow battle-field of that fair, beautiful bosom? Who can tell them
all? and, if not all, should we trifle with a part? Oh no, no! we have
said enough!