THE WEAK AGAINST THE STRONG.
Through the most fertile plain that Europe can display, amid the olive
and the fig, the loaded vine and the ripening corn, with on one side a
vast and interminable view over lands laughing in the richest gifts of
nature, and on the other mounting up into the sky the gigantic
mountains which separate that bright land from all the rest of earth,
passed on a multitude of those savage warriors, who were destined to
change the rich plains of Lombardy from the garden of the world to the
most desolate spot of this quarter of the globe.
But, alas! not alone did those fierce warriors take their way,
unaccompanied by any of the children of the soil. On the contrary,
closely following their march, appeared a body which contained within
itself sad samples of all the vice, the weakness, the baseness of the
land. There was the skilful engineer, whose warlike but not perilous
art provided the means of destruction for other men's hands to use;
there was the theoretic strategist, whose pen prepared the plans of
battles that he could not fight; there the sculptor and the limner,
ready ever to transmit unto posterity the features of those whose
actions commanded admiration, though not applause; there the thousand
fawning slaves, ready to forget all ties, so long as they could cover
baser bonds by the golden ties of interest. Besides all these were the
captives, not chained, indeed, but dragged along by fetters as
powerful as rings of iron, selected and preserved from slaughtered
myriads for a fate worse than death itself, on account of those
qualities which adorn and beautify the blessed state of freedom.
Beauty, skill, strength, and activity: these were the sad gifts that
purchased slavery.
In the midst of these--herself a captive, though surrounded by her own
slaves, now all in bondage to another--was borne along the fair
Dalmatian girl, whose fate has occupied so much of our attention. Her
way was cleared by parties of the Huns appointed expressly for that
purpose; and honours, too queenlike, awaited her wherever she paused.
In many a place she found garlands strewed in her way, and tutored
rejoicings greeted her at every resting-place. But oh! the coldest
silence, the most icy indifference would have conveyed more warmth to
her heart than those demonstrations of a distinction which she feared.
Seldom, very seldom did she raise her eyes; but, poring earnestly on a
book before her, seemed buried in contemplations from which no
external objects could awaken her. Twice only during the second day's
journey from Verona did she look up, and then her attention was called
forcibly towards too terrible a sight by the wild ejaculations of the
attendants who surrounded her. On either side of the road appeared,
when she did look up, a range of trees, which had been planted to
afford a pleasant shelter to the weary wayfarer from the burning rays
of the summer's sun. But now, fixed upon those trees, were immense
crosses of wood, on each of which, extended by nails in the hands and
feet, was seen the dead body of a human being, contorted with the
agonies of a painful death. Nor had one nation alone nor one country
furnished the victims for that awful sacrifice; for there were seen
the dark-visaged Hun, the fair-haired Frank, the large-limbed Goth,
the strong-featured Roman--all, in short, against whom any charge of
deceit or infidelity towards Attila and the Hunnish nation could be
brought, were arrayed in fearful assemblage to terrify the passer-by.
Ildica gazed on them when her attention was forced towards them; and
then, clasping her hands, she looked up on high, while her lips
murmured woman's prayer for patience under all the sad scenes which
she was destined to act in and behold. Then again, casting down her
eyes, she strove to avoid, as far as possible, such fearful sights,
hoping that brighter days and more joyful objects might come, and blot
them out for ever from the tablets of memory, or soften the harsh
lines so that they should be no longer painful. But still, as they
marched onward, fresh scenes of desolation and horror were forced upon
her sight, and, whether she would or not, the indignant heart swelled
up, and a voice within her bosom exclaimed, "Oh for a warrior's soul
and a warrior's might! Oh for an ancient Roman's undaunted energy, to
stem this dark and ruinous torrent in its course, to drive back the
destroyer of my native land, to snatch the bloody scourge out of the
hand of fate, and hurl it for ever into the gulf of death!"
At length a large and magnificent city appeared before her; and Ildica
prepared her eyes to behold the same utter destruction which she had
beheld in every other town. Her astonishment was great, however, on
entering Mediolanum,[5] to behold the inhabitants pursuing their
ordinary occupations; the shops opened, and their wares exposed in the
very presence of those ruthless barbarians who had come to spoil and
desolate the land. It is true, the great body of Attila's army was
encamped without its walls, and that but a few thousand of the Huns
were permitted to enter the city; but still, with its gates in their
possession, and its walls covered by their troops, Milan was at the
mercy of the Hunnish multitude, and nothing but the awful name of
Attila saved it from destruction.
---------------
[Footnote 5: Milan.]
---------------
The troops of Onegisus entered not the gates of the city; but the
litter of Ildica was borne forward through the principal streets, and
at length stopped before a magnificent pile of building, which was, in
fact, the royal palace of Milan. Those who accompanied her waited for
directions from some one within; and, after a brief pause, the litter
was again carried on into the interior of the palace. At the foot of
the great staircase it was set down, and Ildica with her attendants
was bade to follow on foot. From room to room, from hall to hall, from
gallery to gallery, she was led onward by several of the barbarian
chiefs, beholding, as she advanced, with wonder, not unmixed with
pleasure, that, amid all the splendour which that building displayed,
amid all the monuments of art which it contained, no act of violence
had been perpetrated by the hand of the barbarians, but that there
every object remained untouched, or at least uninjured. At one spot,
indeed, she beheld a painter busily employed in labouring with the
brush upon the walls, but he was a Roman; and on looking nearer she
perceived that he was making a complete change in one of the pictures,
which represented some barbarian kings kneeling at the feet of a Roman
emperor.
"What doest thou, my friend?" she asked.
"I am working at the command of the mighty Attila," replied the
painter, "in order to change this picture so as to suit the changes of
the time. When I have done, two Roman emperors will be seen kneeling
at the feet of a Scythian king."
Ildica walked on without reply, feeling bitterly in her heart the
truth of the sad lesson which Attila thus taught.
At the farther extremity of the building she found the apartments
assigned to her; and in a moment or two after she had entered them,
and when the Huns who conducted her had withdrawn, Neva, whom she had
not beheld for many days, approached, and took her fondly in her arms.
The girl's countenance was sad, however, and while she gazed upon
Ildica the tears rose in her eyes.
"Shall I say welcome?" she asked--"shall I say welcome, when I fear
that much grief awaits you? shall I say welcome to a place where you
must hear many things that will grieve you!"
At these words the dull, heavy weight fell again upon Ildica's heart,
and the struggle recommenced, the painful struggle, of strong and
high-minded resolution against woman's natural fears and
apprehensions. "Speak," she replied, "speak, dear Neva. Tell me what
new cause of sorrow and of terror has arisen. Tell me what step has
been taken in the warfare that fate seems resolved to wage against my
happiness on earth."
"Alas!" replied Neva, "alas! that my lip should tell it; but it is
only right to warn thee of what you might hear too soon from other
lips, and might hear unprepared. Attila speaks of thee often: Attila
speaks of thee with love: Attila speaks of thee as of one destined to
be his; and thou knowest, Ildica, that his will is like the will of
fate."
"Not so, Neva; not so," replied Ildica. "There is a will above his!"
But while she thus expressed her trust, the tears rolled from her eyes
in despite of every effort, and she wept bitterly. "There is a will
above his," she said, "holier, more merciful, and mightier far! In it
will I trust, Neva, in it will I trust! But what do I do weeping?" she
added--"what do I do weeping, when I have to think, to resolve, and
act? what do I do weeping, when lo he comes, and I have need of
vigour, not of tears; of determination, not of terror? Hear you not
his step, hear you not his step? He is coming! he is coming! Hear you
not his step?" and, as she spoke, she grasped the arm of the fair girl
tight in her hand, and gazed towards the door with a look of wild and
painful anticipation, which, had it not been too well justified by her
circumstances, might well have passed for the vivid but wandering
glance of insanity.
"It is not his foot you hear," replied Neva, fondly linking herself to
Ildica, and striving to assuage the fears which she had herself
occasioned. "That is not his step--I know it well, Ildica! I have
known it, and trembled at it from my infancy. As the beasts of the
field have an intimation of the earthquake, and fly trembling from the
walls over which the impending ruin is suspended--as the light summer
insect, to whom the falling drop of a spring shower is a deadly ocean,
finds some warning to seek shelter beneath the foliage against the
coming destruction--as the birds cease their song, and the cattle seek
the fold before the approaching storm--so unto me has been given an
augury of danger and of terror, in the world-shaking step of that
awful king. I have heard it in the sunshine of summer, and the
sunshine has been clouded: I have heard it in the dead of the night,
and night has assumed the horror of the grave. But hark! Whoever it is
that speaks with the attendants without--that voice is not Attila's,
nor was the step."
As she spoke the curtain was withdrawn, and there appeared, not the
form of the Scythian king, but that of Ardaric, chief of the
Gepid[ae]. His countenance, as we have already said, was naturally
frank and open; and, unlike that of Attila, it displayed, as in a
highly polished mirror, every emotion of his heart, except when, by
some great effort, he drew an unwonted veil over the picture of his
thoughts, which there found their ordinary expression. His face was
now clouded; and advancing towards Neva, he spoke a few words to her
in the Hunnish dialect; and then turning towards Ildica, addressed
her, though with considerable difficulty, in the Latin tongue.
Agitated, terrified, and confused, it was with difficulty Ildica
gathered his meaning. She found, however, that what he said consisted
of warnings of approaching danger, like those which Neva had already
given, and of caution and advice as to how she should avoid or
mitigate them. Though for the time Ildica's mind could scarcely grasp
those counsels, yet they returned beneficially to her in the hour of
need. She heard him tell her that delay to her was more valuable than
beaten gold, and remind her that in her case any sort of duplicity was
justifiable to foil a tyrant who knew no scruples, and joined deceit
with power. But all that Ildica could reply, under her overpowering
sense of the fearful struggle she saw approaching, was, "Can I not
fly? Oh, can I not fly?"
"For fifty miles around on every side," replied Ardaric, "the troops
of the Huns are spread over the country; and for more than fifty miles
beyond those, scattered parties from a thousand different nations, but
all attached to Attila by vows, by love, or by fear, roam through the
country, and keep, as it were, an outer watch on his camp. The eagle
may escape from the net woven to catch a sparrow; the lion may rend
into a thousand pieces the toils which were set to catch the stag or
the elk; but thou canst no more escape from the midst of the host of
Attila than a small fly can disentangle itself from the meshes of the
spider."
Ildica wept bitterly, nor was it with the kind of tears which bring
relief. They were not tears for the past--the dark, irretrievable
past, for the beloved and the dead, for the hours wasted or the
pleasures passed away--they were not tears, in short, for any of those
things which may be mourned with mourning sweet and profitable--but
they were the deep, bitter, fruitless tears of apprehension, wrung
forth by the agony of a fearful but unavoidable fate. She wept
bitterly, she wept wildly; she noted not Ardaric, she heeded not the
voice of Neva. Hopes and consolations they offered her in vain. Advice
and direction seemed to fall unheeded on her ear: she appeared not to
notice their presence or be conscious of their sympathy. Indeed, so
totally was she absorbed in the overpowering sorrows of her own heart,
and the fearful contemplation of the destiny before her, that she knew
not when they left her, or awakened from the vision of her wo till
another voice demanded, in a tone that made her start wildly from her
seat, "Why weepest thou, maiden? why weepest thou so bitterly?" and
Attila stood before her.
She gazed upon him with a wandering and anxious look while one might
count ten, but then the triumph of the powerful mind began again. The
moment of terror and apprehension was over--the moment of resolution
and of action was come. Womanly weakness had had its hour, and was
passed. The Roman heart was reawakened by the voice that called her to
the trial. The sight of Attila, like the fierce sun shining on the
dewy grass after a storm, dried up the tears in her eyes; and after
that brief pause she replied, "I weep, oh king! because as a woman I
am weak; because I am apprehensive of the future; because I am
uncertain of the present; because I grieve for the past. Little cause
is there to ask any one living why he weeps. Thou wouldst do more
wisely wert thou to ask any one in this world why he smiles."
"Maiden," replied Attila, "dost thou think that such vague words can
deceive me? Thinkest thou that so thin a veil can hide the features of
thy mind? Thou weepest for thy lover! thou thinkest that he is either
dead or faithless, because he has not come so soon as he promised!"
"Thou art mistaken, oh Attila!" replied Ildica; "I neither think him
dead--for God protects the good, the virtuous, and the noble--nor do I
think him faithless; for to judge so harshly of him would be to wrong
the God who formed his heart, and made it upright, true, and constant.
I may have fears and apprehensions, but they are not of him or of his
truth. What they are matters not to any one; for though I may be
carried captive after a mighty conqueror's army, the freedom of my
thoughts he cannot touch; and I am still at liberty in heart and soul,
above his reach, and far beyond his power."
Her words, however bold, seemed to give no offence to Attila; but, on
the contrary, as she spoke, a brighter and a warmer fire glowed up in
his countenance, and taking her unwilling but unresisting hand, he led
her back to the seat from which she had risen, saying, "Thou art bold
as well as beautiful, and well fit to be the bride of some great
warrior, whose soul is capable of prizing such as thine."
"May such be my fate!" replied Ildica. "Theodore, to whom all my
thoughts and feelings are given, is worthy of much more than this weak
hand. Hast thou heard news of his return, oh king? and dost thou come
to make me happy with the tidings!"
Attila's brow grew dark for a moment; but the angry cloud soon passed
away, and the light of other passions returned to his countenance.
"No, Ildica, no!" he said, "I come not to tell you of his return, for
no news of his coming has yet reached the camp, though the time fixed
by his own lips as the utmost period of his absence has wellnigh
expired. No, Ildica, no! I come to tell thee of a brighter and a
loftier fate which may be thine, if thy mind be capable, as I am sure
it is, of higher aspirations and more noble hopes."
"I seek no loftier fate, oh king!" cried Ildica, shrinking from his
eager gaze, and striving to delay the utterance of words by Attila
which, with woman's keen insight into the heart of man, she knew would
bind him to pursue his purpose by the bond of pride, stronger, far
stronger than even passion itself--"I seek no loftier fate, I
entertain no higher aspirations! To be the wife of him whom my heart
has loved from infancy to womanhood--to wed him who has loved me
through every change of fate, through peril and danger, through
absence and temptation--to wed him who has so loved me, and whom I so
love, is to my mind the brightest fate, the loftiest destiny that
woman could obtain."
"But if he be dead?" said Attila, fixing his dark eyes full upon her.
"Then," replied Ildica, seeing the danger of the slightest hesitation
in her answer to such a suggestion, "then will I either die also, or,
vowing myself to silent prayer, leave for ever an idle and a sorrowful
world, and hide myself with some of those lone sisterhoods who spend
their days in solitude."
"Not so," answered Attila, drawing closer to her: "thou shouldst have
a better destiny; thou shouldst be the bride of Attila--his chosen,
his best beloved bride; honoured and revered above all others; queen
of his heart; mistress of his actions; sovereign of all the nations
that bow to his command."
Ildica sprang from his eager arm, and cast herself upon her knees
before him. The terrible words were spoken! There was no escape left
but in determination strong as his own! She could no longer avoid the
theme most dreaded; and her task was to meet it boldly and at once!
"Hear me, oh king!" she cried, earnestly--"hear me! I am small, and
thou art great! Hear me, and save me even from thyself! I love another
deeply, devotedly, truly; but even were that other dead, I could never
love thee as thou wouldst wish to be loved--nay, as thou deservest to
be loved. Mighty warrior! great and magnanimous king! unequalled
conqueror! wilt thou debase thyself to contend with a woman? wilt thou
degrade thyself to violate the sanctity of thy word, to wrong the
innocent and the unoffending, to betray those who trusted thee, to
destroy him who loved thee? Wilt thou risk being defeated by the
strong and resolute heart of a girl like me? Monarch! I am not in thy
power, but in God's! To God I will appeal against thee; and sooner
than become thy bride, will give my spirit back to Him who lent it.
Think not that thou canst frustrate my purpose, and debar me of my
will. A camp has always weapons whereby my own life can be reached; no
tent but has its cord; no banquet but has its knife. Not a tower of
this city but affords me the means of defying the mighty power of
Attila; and the flinty bed beneath yon window would, to me, seem a
couch of down compared with thy bridal bed, oh king! But thou wilt
spare me! thou wilt spare me! I know thy better thoughts and nobler
nature. Thou dost but try me. Thou wilt still be just, and wise, and
esteemed of all men! If Theodore be dead, tell me so; and I will vow
myself to God--I can bear such tidings with calm grief; but never,
never can I love Attila as Attila should be loved! Oh, let me
reverence and admire him still! Force me not to see in him the pagan
king--the destroyer of my country--the enemy of my faith--the slayer
of my promised husband--the betrayer of his trust--the falsifier of
his word--the tyrant of a woman whom he had vowed to protect!"
So rapidly, so earnestly, so vehemently did she speak, and at the same
time so lovely did she look in the attitude of eager supplication,
that Attila had neither time nor inclination to interrupt her; and,
though admiration and tenderness were crossed by jealousy at the words
of love which she bestowed on Theodore, and by anger at the daring
terms she feared not to apply to himself, he remained silent for a
moment after she had done, gazing on that splendid countenance and
that beautiful form, awakened, as both face and figure were, into a
thousand fresh graces by the imploring earnestness of her address.
"Take care," he exclaimed at length, "take care. Remember, love may be
turned into hate; and the hate of Attila is a thing to be feared."
"Not near so much by me as is his love," replied Ildica. "Oh king!
thou canst but slay me, and I fear not death. No torture that the
cruellest tyrant ever yet invented is equal to the torture of the
mind; and were I to wed Attila, could my mind ever be free from
agony?"
"Why? why?" demanded Attila, fiercely. "Is it that this form is
hateful to thee? Is it that this hand, which a thousand conquered
kings have felt proud to kiss, is abhorrent in thine eyes?"
"No, no! oh no!" cried Ildica, taking the hand that he had partly
extended, and pressing her lips upon it--"no, mighty king, far from
it! It is that I love another with a love that death itself can never
change. It is that our faith is different, all our thoughts unlike,
that thou art the avowed enemy of my country. Yet all that were
nothing compared with my love for another. Were he dead to-morrow,
still would he live in my heart as vividly, as strongly as if I saw
him every day. This is no vain dream, no idle fancy! I have known it
and proved it during long, long years of absence; and I should but
gaze upon thee and think upon him--I should live in the past and hate
the present for his sake! Oh, mighty Attila! be generous, be noble!
and command, by thine actions, the only kind of love that Ildica can
yield thee. Heaven is my witness, that far from feeling towards thee
with the cold abhorrence which thou seemest to think I experience--far
from striving to hate thee even as the enemy of my country, and to
regard thee with detestation, as many of my nation do--ever since that
day when first in the plains of Margus thou savedst the life of him I
loved, and didst free me and mine from terrible captivity, I have ever
loved thee with deep veneration. I have thought of thee as at once
mighty and generous, a conqueror, but a noble one, the enemy of my
country indeed, but a great, a wonderful, a just, a lofty-minded man.
Thus have I thought of thee, and thus has my beloved Theodore ever
taught me to think, by word and by letter, by the tale of thy great
deeds, and by his knowledge of thy noble nature."
Attila was evidently moved; and, folding his arms upon his breast, he
turned his eyes from Ildica as if from some impulse of shame, and
fixed them on the ground. The fair girl, however, saw that she had
produced some effect, and she proceeded eagerly in that strain which
had been thus far successful.
"Think, oh Attila," she exclaimed, "think what has been the conduct
towards thee of him whom I so dearly love. I know not half of what he
has done, for he boasts not of good actions; but sure I am that you
have ever found him faithful, zealous, and true; and thou canst in
thine own mind trace, as in a picture, all that he has done for thee
and thine. Have I not heard, here in the camp, that he saved the life
of thy youngest child, the beautiful youth whom they call Ernac? Have
I not heard that in some battle in Gaul more than once he risked his
life to defend that of Attila? Has he ever failed thee in the hour of
need? Has he ever spoken to thee or of thee one unjust word? Has he
ever betrayed thee in small things or in great? Has he ever been
untrue to thee, oh king? And wouldst thou now betray him; wouldst thou
make _his_ life miserable who always sought thy welfare? Wouldst thou
take that life which was risked to save thine own? Wouldst thou take
his bride, the chief object of his existence, from him who, from the
jaws of destruction, rescued thy beloved child?"
"No, no, no!" cried Attila, taking both the hands that she held out
towards him in the act of adjuration--"no, no; I will not wrong him!
Thou hast conquered! Whatever I may feel, however strong and burning
be the passion that thou hast kindled in my heart, I will not take his
bride from him who saved my son. Rise, maiden, rise! and set your
heart at rest! If the son of Paulinus return to claim thee for his
bride, his bride thou shalt be, and I will send ye together far from
me, that the memory of these feelings may never be reawakened by the
sight of thy beauty. A week hence is the utmost term that he allowed
himself to return; I will add thereunto another week ere I see thee
again, that I may not increase the fire that burns even now within my
heart. If he be not then returned, Attila will cause diligent search
and inquiry to be made, that his fate may be clearly ascertained.
Attila will do justice to the son of Paulinus; but if he be dead, as
in these times of trouble and of pestilence he well may be, Ildica
will do justice unto Attila."
Her heart sunk at his last words; but she had gained so much already
that she dared not risk all again by reply. All she answered then was,
"God defend us both!" and covering her fair face with her hands, she
gave way to the many mingled emotions that struggled in her
breast--present relief--future apprehension--hope, never-dying,
consoling hope--her dark, inseparable companion, fear--the agitation
of a great struggle achieved; and the overpowering sense of success
beyond her anticipations--she could not restrain them all--she gave
way, and wept.
Attila gazed upon her for several minutes in silence, and then
exclaimed, "Thou art too lovely! But be comforted," he added, "thou
mayst be happy yet!"
Thus saying, he turned, and left her to indulge her tears in peace.