_Acasto._--Can she not speak?
_Oswald._--If speech be only in accented sounds,
Framed by the tongue and lips, the maiden’s dumb;
But if by quick and apprehensive look,
By motion, sign, and glance, to give each meaning,
Express as clothed in language, be term’d speech,
She hath that wondrous faculty; for her eyes,
Like the bright stars of heaven, can hold discourse,
Though it be mute and soundless.
--OLD PLAY.
At the head of the first flight of steps which descended towards the
difficult and well-defended entrance of the Castle of Holm-Peel,
Peveril was met and stopped by the Countess’s train-bearer. This little
creature--for she was of the least and slightest size of womankind--was
exquisitely well formed in all her limbs, which the dress she usually
wore (a green silk tunic, of a peculiar form) set off to the best
advantage. Her face was darker than the usual hue of Europeans; and the
profusion of long and silken hair, which, when she undid the braids in
which she commonly wore it, fell down almost to her ankles, was also
rather a foreign attribute. Her countenance resembled a most beautiful
miniature; and there was a quickness, decision, and fire, in Fenella’s
look, and especially in her eyes, which was probably rendered yet more
alert and acute, because, through the imperfection of her other organs,
it was only by sight that she could obtain information of what passed
around her.
The pretty mute was mistress of many little accomplishments, which the
Countess had caused to be taught to her in compassion for her forlorn
situation, and which she learned with the most surprising quickness.
Thus, for example, she was exquisite in the use of the needle, and so
ready and ingenious a draughtswoman, that, like the ancient Mexicans,
she sometimes made a hasty sketch with her pencil the means of conveying
her ideas, either by direct or emblematical representation. Above all,
in the art of ornamental writing, much studied at that period, Fenella
was so great a proficient, as to rival the fame of Messrs. Snow,
Shelley, and other masters of the pen, whose copybooks, preserved in
the libraries of the curious, still show the artists smiling on the
frontispiece in all the honours of flowing gowns and full-bottomed wigs,
to the eternal glory of caligraphy.
The little maiden had, besides these accomplishments, much ready wit
and acuteness of intellect. With Lady Derby, and with the two young
gentlemen, she was a great favourite, and used much freedom in
conversing with them, by means of a system of signs which had been
gradually established amongst them, and which served all ordinary
purposes of communication.
But, though happy in the indulgence and favour of her mistress, from
whom indeed she was seldom separate, Fenella was by no means a favourite
with the rest of the household. In fact, it seemed that her temper,
exasperated perhaps by a sense of her misfortune, was by no means equal
to her abilities. She was very haughty in her demeanour, even towards
the upper domestics, who in that establishment were of a much higher
rank and better birth than in the families of the nobility in general.
These often complained, not only of her pride and reserve, but of her
high and irascible temper and vindictive disposition. Her passionate
propensity had been indeed idly encouraged by the young men, and
particularly by the Earl, who sometimes amused himself with teasing her,
that he might enjoy the various singular motions and murmurs by which
she expressed her resentment. Towards him, these were of course only
petulant and whimsical indications of pettish anger. But when she was
angry with others of inferior degree--before whom she did not control
herself--the expression of her passion, unable to display itself in
language, had something even frightful, so singular were the tones,
contortions, and gestures, to which she had recourse. The lower
domestics, to whom she was liberal almost beyond her apparent means,
observed her with much deference and respect, but much more from fear
than from any real attachment; for the caprices of her temper displayed
themselves even in her gifts; and those who most frequently shared her
bounty, seemed by no means assured of the benevolence of the motives
which dictated her liberality.
All these peculiarities led to a conclusion consonant with Manx
superstition. Devout believers in all the legends of fairies so dear to
the Celtic tribes, the Manx people held it for certainty that the elves
were in the habit of carrying off mortal children before baptism, and
leaving in the cradle of the new born babe one of their own brood, which
was almost always imperfect in some one or other of the organs proper to
humanity. Such a being they conceived Fenella to be; and the smallness
of her size, her dark complexion, her long locks of silken hair, the
singularity of her manners and tones, as well as the caprices of her
temper, were to their thinking all attributes of the irritable, fickle,
and dangerous race from which they supposed her to be sprung. And it
seemed, that although no jest appeared to offend her more than when Lord
Derby called her in sport the Elfin Queen, or otherwise alluded to her
supposed connection with “the pigmy folk,” yet still her perpetually
affecting to wear the colour of green, proper to the fairies, as well as
some other peculiarities, seemed voluntarily assumed by her, in order to
countenance the superstition, perhaps because it gave her more authority
among the lower orders.
Many were the tales circulated respecting the Countess’s _Elf_, as
Fenella was currently called in the island; and the malcontents of
the stricter persuasion were convinced, that no one but a Papist and a
malignant would have kept near her person a creature of such doubtful
origin. They conceived that Fenella’s deafness and dumbness were only
towards those of this world, and that she had been heard talking, and
singing, and laughing most elvishly, with the invisibles of her own
race. They alleged, also, that she had a _Double_, a sort of apparition
resembling her, which slept in the Countess’s ante-room, or bore her
train, or wrought in her cabinet, while the real Fenella joined the song
of the mermaids on the moonlight sands, or the dance of the fairies in
the haunted valley of Glenmoy, or on the heights of Snawfell and Barool.
The sentinels, too, would have sworn they had seen the little maiden
trip past them in their solitary night walks, without their having it in
their power to challenge her, any more than if they had been as mute
as herself. To all this mass of absurdities the better informed paid no
more attention than to the usual idle exaggerations of the vulgar, which
so frequently connect that which is unusual with what is supernatural.
Such, in form and habits, was the little female, who, holding in her
hand a small old-fashioned ebony rod, which might have passed for a
divining wand, confronted Julian on the top of the flight of steps which
led down the rock from the Castle court. We ought to observe, that as
Julian’s manner to the unfortunate girl had been always gentle, and free
from those teasing jests in which his gay friend indulged, with less
regard to the peculiarity of her situation and feelings; so Fenella, on
her part, had usually shown much greater deference to him than to any of
the household, her mistress, the Countess, always excepted.
On the present occasion, planting herself in the very midst of the
narrow descent, so as to make it impossible for Peveril to pass by her,
she proceeded to put him to the question by a series of gestures, which
we will endeavour to describe. She commenced by extending her hand
slightly, accompanied with the sharp inquisitive look which served her
as a note of interrogation. This was meant as an inquiry whether he was
going to a distance. Julian, in reply, extended his arm more than half,
to intimate that the distance was considerable. Fenella looked grave,
shook her head, and pointed to the Countess’s window, which was visible
from the spot where they stood. Peveril smiled, and nodded, to intimate
there was no danger in quitting her mistress for a short space. The
little maiden next touched an eagle’s feather which she wore in her
hair, a sign which she usually employed to designate the Earl, and then
looked inquisitively at Julian once more, as if to say, “Goes he
with you?” Peveril shook his head, and, somewhat wearied by these
interrogatories, smiled, and made an effort to pass. Fenella frowned,
struck the end of her ebony rod perpendicularly on the ground, and again
shook her head, as if opposing his departure. But finding that Julian
persevered in his purpose, she suddenly assumed another and milder mood,
held him by the skirt of his cloak with one hand, and raised the other
in an imploring attitude, whilst every feature of her lively countenance
was composed into the like expression of supplication; and the fire of
the large dark eyes, which seemed in general so keen and piercing as
almost to over-animate the little sphere to which they belonged, seemed
quenched, for the moment, in the large drops which hung on her long
eyelashes, but without falling.
Julian Peveril was far from being void of sympathy towards the poor
girl, whose motives in opposing his departure appeared to be her
affectionate apprehension for her mistress’s safety. He endeavoured to
reassure by smiles, and, at the same time, by such signs as he could
devise, to intimate that there was no danger, and that he would return
presently; and having succeeded in extricating his cloak from her
grasp, and in passing her on the stair, he began to descend the steps as
speedily as he could, in order to avoid farther importunity.
But with activity much greater than his, the dumb maiden hastened to
intercept him, and succeeded by throwing herself, at the imminent risk
of life and limb, a second time into the pass which he was descending,
so as to interrupt his purpose. In order to achieve this, she was
obliged to let herself drop a considerable height from the wall of a
small flanking battery, where two patereroes were placed to scour the
pass, in case any enemy could have mounted so high. Julian had scarce
time to shudder at her purpose, as he beheld her about to spring
from the parapet, ere, like a thing of gossamer, she stood light and
uninjured on the rocky platform below. He endeavoured, by the gravity
of his look and gesture, to make her understand how much he blamed her
rashness; but the reproof, though obviously quite intelligible, was
entirely thrown away. A hasty wave of her hand intimated how she
contemned the danger and the remonstrance; while, at the same time,
she instantly resumed, with more eagerness than before, the earnest
and impressive gestures by which she endeavoured to detain him in the
fortress.
Julian was somewhat staggered by her pertinacity. “Is it possible,” he
thought, “that any danger can approach the Countess, of which this
poor maiden has, by the extreme acuteness of her observation, obtained
knowledge which has escaped others?”
He signed to Fenella hastily to give him the tablets and the pencil
which she usually carried with her, and wrote on them the question, “Is
there danger near to your mistress, that you thus stop me?”
“There is danger around the Countess,” was the answer instantly written
down; “but there is much more in your own purpose.”
“How?--what?--what know you of my purpose?” said Julian, forgetting, in
his surprise, that the party he addressed had neither ear to comprehend,
nor voice to reply to uttered language. She had regained her book in
the meantime, and sketched, with a rapid pencil, on one of the leaves, a
scene which she showed to Julian. To his infinite surprise he recognised
Goddard Crovan’s Stone, a remarkable monument, of which she had given
the outline with sufficient accuracy; together with a male and female
figure, which, though only indicated by a few slight touches of the
pencil, bore yet, he thought, some resemblance to himself and Alice
Bridgenorth.
When he had gazed on the sketch for an instant with surprise, Fenella
took the book from his hand, laid her finger upon the drawing, and
slowly and sternly shook her head, with a frown which seemed to prohibit
the meeting which was there represented. Julian, however, though
disconcerted, was in no shape disposed to submit to the authority of
his monitress. By whatever means she, who so seldom stirred from the
Countess’s apartment, had become acquainted with a secret which he
thought entirely his own, he esteemed it the more necessary to keep the
appointed rendezvous, that he might learn from Alice, if possible, how
the secret had transpired. He had also formed the intention of seeking
out Bridgenorth; entertaining an idea that a person so reasonable
and calm as he had shown himself in their late conference, might
be persuaded, when he understood that the Countess was aware of his
intrigues, to put an end to her danger and his own, by withdrawing from
the island. And could he succeed in this point, he should at once,
he thought, render a material benefit to the father of his beloved
Alice--remove the Earl from his state of anxiety--save the Countess from
a second time putting her feudal jurisdiction in opposition to that of
the Crown of England--and secure quiet possession of the island to her
and her family.
With this scheme of mediation on his mind, Peveril determined to
rid himself of the opposition of Fenella to his departure, with less
ceremony than he had hitherto observed towards her; and suddenly lifting
up the damsel in his arms before she was aware of his purpose, he turned
about, set her down on the steps above him, and began to descend the
pass himself as speedily as possible. It was then that the dumb maiden
gave full course to the vehemence of her disposition; and clapping
her hands repeatedly, expressed her displeasure in sound, or rather a
shriek, so extremely dissonant, that it resembled more the cry of a wild
creature, than anything which could have been uttered by female organs.
Peveril was so astounded at the scream as it rung through the living
rocks, that he could not help stopping and looking back in alarm, to
satisfy himself that she had not sustained some injury. He saw her,
however, perfectly safe, though her face seemed inflamed and distorted
with passion. She stamped at him with her foot, shook her clenched hand,
and turning her back upon him, without further adieu, ran up the rude
steps as lightly as a kid could have tripped up that rugged ascent, and
paused for a moment at the summit of the first flight.
Julian could feel nothing but wonder and compassion for the impotent
passion of a being so unfortunately circumstanced, cut off, as it were,
from the rest of mankind, and incapable of receiving in childhood that
moral discipline which teaches us mastery of our wayward passions, ere
yet they have attained their meridian strength and violence. He waved
his hand to her, in token of amicable farewell; but she only replied by
once more menacing him with her little hand clenched; and then ascending
the rocky staircase with almost preternatural speed, was soon out of
sight.
Julian, on his part, gave no farther consideration to her conduct or its
motives, but hastening to the village on the mainland, where the stables
of the Castle were situated, he again took his palfrey from the
stall, and was soon mounted and on his way to the appointed place of
rendezvous, much marvelling, as he ambled forward with speed far greater
than was promised by the diminutive size of the animal he was mounted
on, what could have happened to produce so great a change in Alice’s
conduct towards him, that in place of enjoining his absence as usual, or
recommending his departure from the island, she should now voluntarily
invite him to a meeting. Under impression of the various doubts which
succeeded each other in his imagination, he sometimes pressed Fairy’s
sides with his legs; sometimes laid his holly rod lightly on her neck;
sometimes incited her by his voice, for the mettled animal needed
neither whip nor spur, and achieved the distance betwixt the Castle of
Holm-Peel and the stone at Goddard Crovan, at the rate of twelve miles
within the hour.
The monumental stone, designed to commemorate some feat of an ancient
King of Man, which had been long forgotten, was erected on the side of
a narrow lonely valley, or rather glen, secluded from observation by
the steepness of its banks, upon a projection of which stood the tall,
shapeless, solitary rock, frowning, like a shrouded giant, over the
brawling of the small rivulet which watered the ravine.