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53 Bulwer Lsrtton. The Pilgrims of the Rhine. By the
author of " rdhani," " f!ugene Aram," etc. IVifh 27 illnstra-
sonie Jitll piv^'c — hcaitii fully oii^rni-ed on steel from origi- r
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this bcimiful work— "now iiiiiti m .i
THE
PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
TIHIE SASiriU^S ®3F E-HEBlESf SSEEKT & STEJSMWIFIEJr.S.
S i^.rnty,J\tr.t^
FOR TUB PROPRI.KTOK E.I. ROBBRTS^
THE
PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE
BV THE AUTHOR OF
PELHAM, " " EUGENE ARAM," &c.
'* Wilt thou forget the happy hour5
Which we buried in love's sweet bowers.
Heaping over their corpses cold
Blossoms and leaves, instead of mould ?''
Shelley.
' Thou passest in review before me the whole series of animated things; and teachest me to
p my brothers in the still wood, in the air, and in the water.**
Haywabd's Faust.
LONDON
SAUNDERS AND OTLEY CONDUIT STREET
MDCCCXXXIV
LONDON:
BaAPHURV AND EVANS, PRINTERS, W IIITEKRI A RS .
(late T. DAVISOV.)
LOAN STACK
GIFT
756"
ARGUMENT.
OPENING ADDRESS TOTHEIDEAf. — THE ESCAPE WHICH THE (MAGIVARV WORJ.n
PROFFERS FROM THE REAt, — OUR DISAPPOINTMENT IN LOVE — THE OBJECT WK
DREAM OF IS NEVER FOUND, BUT EVEN IN THIS WE POSSESS A CONSOLATION —
GENIUS IS OFTEN MADE ELOQUENT BY THAT VERY DISAPPOINTMENT, AND ROUS-
SEAU, THE VICTIM, IS ALSO THE PRIEST, OF THE IDEAL — CHARACTER OF BYRON —
BUT THE COMFORT AND THE REWARDS OP THE IDEAL ARE NOT CONFINED TO
POETS, THEV BELONG EQUALLY TO THE ENTHUSIASTS OF FREEDOM — PORTRAIT
OF ALGERNON SIDNEY, THE NIGHT BEFORE HIS HEATH— THE TITLE OF THE
IDEAL IS CONSOLER, BUT SHE IS ALSO THE EXALTER; OUR NOBLEST ASPIRATIONS
ARE FROM HER — THE DREAMS ARE HER SUBJECTS — THEIR POWER OVER THE
PAST — YOUNG NAPOLEON, AND WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN HIS VISIONS OF THE
FUTURE — THE IDEAL IS THE DEFIER OF KINGS — THE TRUE LEVELLER OF RANKS,
HER SERVICE IS THE WORSHIP OF THE BEAUTIFUL — THE INVOCATION OF THE
AUTHOR AND HIS PRAYER — ADDRESS TO GERMANY — OUTLINE OF THE TALK
WHICH THE POEM PREFACES, AND OF THE AID WHICH IT HAS BORROWED
FROM THE IDEAL.
08B
ADVERTISEMENT.
CouLU I jirescribe to the critic and to the public,
1 would wish that this work might be tried by the
rules rather of poetry thaii prose, for according to
those rules have been both its conception and its
execution ; — and I feel that something of sympathy
with the author's design is requisite to win indul-
gence for the superstitions he has incorporated with
his tale ; for the floridity of his style and the redun-
dance of his descriptions. Perhaps, indeed, it would
be impossible, in attempting to paint the scenery
and embody some of the Legends of the Rhine,
not to give (it may be too loosely) the reins to the
imagination, or to escape the imbuing influence of
that wild German spirit which I have sought to
tiansicr to a colder tongue.
vi ADVERTISEMENT.
I have made the experiment of selecting for the
main interest of my work the simplest materials,
and weaving upon them the ornaments given chiefly
to subjects of a more fanciful and ideal nature.
I know not how far I have succeeded, but various
reasons have conspired to make this the work, above
all others that I have written, which has given me
the most delight (though not unmixed with melan-
choly) in producing, and in which my mind, for the
time, has been the most completely absorbed. But
the ardour of composition is often disproportioned
to the merit of the work ; and the public sometimes,
nor unjustly, avenges itself for that forgetfulness of
its existence, which makes the chief charm of an
author's solitude — and the happiest, if not the wisest,
inspiration of its dreams.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
IN "HICM THE READER IS INTRODUCED TO QUEEN NYMPHALIN
THE LOVERS
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
16
THE MAID OF MALINErS
CHAPTER IV.
2]
CHAPTER V.
ROTTERDAM THE CH.4RACTER OF THE DUTCH. THEIR RESEMBLANCE TO THE
GERMANS A DISPUTE BETWEEN VANE AND TREVYLYAN, AFTER THE MANNER
OF THE ANCIENT NOVELISTS, AS TO WHICH IS PREFERABLE, THE LIFE OF
ACTION OR THE LIFE OF REPOSE TREVYLYAn's CONTRAST BETWEEN LITERARY
AMBITION AND THE AMBITION OF PUBLIC LIFE. A CHAPTER TO BE FORGIVEN
ONLY BY THOSE WHO FIND RAS.SELAS AMUSING . . . .
62
CHAPTER VI.
GORCUM. THE TOUR OF THE VIRTUES : A PHILOSOPHER'S TALE
73
CHAPTER VII.
COLOGNE THE TRACES OK THE ROMAN YOKE. THE CHURCH OF ST. MARJA,
TREVYLYAN's REFLECTIONS ON THE MONASTIC LIFE. THE TOMB OF THE
THREE KINGS. AN EVENING EXCURSION ON THE RHINE
«!)
Vm CONTENTS.
CHAPTER Vlll.
THE SOVL IN PUKGATORY ; OR LOVE STRONGER THAN DEATH
CHAPTER IX.
THE SCENERY OF THE RHINE ANALOGOUS TO THE GERMAN LITERARY GENIUS.
THE DRACHENFELS . . . . •
94
100
CHAPTER X.
THK LEGEND OK ROLAND. THE ADVENTURES OK NYiMPHALIN ON THE ISLAND OK
NONNEWORTIl. HER SONG. THE DECAY OF THE FAIRY FAITH IN ENGLAND 104
CHAPTER XI.
WHEREIN THK READER IS iMADE SPECTATOR WITH THE ENGLISH FAIRIES OF THE
SCENES AND BEINGS THAT ARE BENEATH THE EARTH
113
CHAPTER XU.
THE WOOING OF .MASTER FOX . . • . . 118
CHAPTER XHl.
THK TO.MB OF A FATHER OF MANY CHILDREN . . . .151
CHAPTER XIV,
THE fairy's cave, AND THE FAIHy's WISH . . . . 1-53
CHAPTER XV.
THE BANKS OF THE RHINE, FROM THE DRACHENFELS TO BROHL : AN INCIDENT
THAT SUFFICES I!< THIS TALE FOR AN EPOCH
15^
CHAPTER XVI.
GERTRUDE— THE EXCURSION TO HAMMERSTEIN THOUGHTS . 162
r,Fl TER FROM TUEVYLYAN TO
CHAPTER XVH.
. . . .166
CONTKNTS.
CHAPTER XVIll.
COBLENTZ. EXCURSION TO THE MOUNTAINS OK TAUNUS ; ROMAN TOWER IN THE
VALLEY OF EHRENBREITSTEIN.- — TRAVEL, ITS PLEASURES ESTIMATED DIFFER-
ENTLY BY THE YOUNG AND THK OLD. THE STUDENT OK HEIDELBERG ; HIS
CRITICISMS ON GERMAN LITERATURE . . . . . 170
CHAPTER XIX.
THE FALLEN STAR; OR THE HISTORY OF A FALSE RELIGION
CHAPTER XX.
GELNHAUSEN THE POWER OK LOVE IN SANCTIFIED PLACES A PORTRAIT OF
FREDERIC BARBAROSSA. THE AMBITION OF MEN KINDS NO ADEQUATE SYM-
PATHY IN WOMEN . . . • • •
THE LIFE OF DREAMS
THE BROTHERS
CHAPTER XXHI.
CHAPTER XXIV.
CHAPTER XXV.
THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. A COMMON INCIDENT NOT BEFORE DESCRIBED.
TREVYLYAN AND GERTRUDE . . . • •
CHAPTER XXVI.
IN WHICH THE READER WILL LEARN HOW THE FAIRIES WERE RECEIVED BY THE
SOVEREIGNS OK THK MINES. THE COMPLAINT OK THE LAST OF THE FAUNS.
THE RED HUNTSMAN. THE STORM DEATH . . • •
176
223
CHAPTER XXI.
VIEW OF EHRENBREITSTEIN. A NEW ALARM IN GERTRUDF.'s HEALTH TRARBACH 2'2()
CHAPTER XXU.
TIJE DOUBLE LIKE. TREVYLYAN's FATE SORROW THE PARENT OF FAME
NIEDERLAHNSTEIN. DREAMS . . . • •
229
234
24i
27!)
284
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XXVll.
IHUKMBL-HU. A STOKM Ul'ON THE RHINE. THE RUINS OF UHEINFELS. PERIL
UNFELT BY LOVE. THE ECHO OF THE LL'RLEI-BERG. ST. GOAR, KAUB,
GUTENFELS, AND PFALZGHAFENSTEIN. A CERTAIN VASTNESS OF MIND IN THE
FIRST HERMITS. THE SCENERY OF THE RHINE TO BACHARACH . 2!)6
CHAPTER XXVni.
THE VOYAGE TO BINGEN. THE SIMPLE INCIDENTS IN THIS TALE EXCUSED. THE
SITUATION AND CHARACTER OF GERTRUDE. THE CONVERSATION OF THE
LOVERS IN THE TEMPLE. A FACT CONTRADICTED. THOUGHTS OCCASIONED
BY A HUDHOUSE AMONGST THE MOST BEAUTIFUL LANDSCAPES OF THE RHINE. 301^
CHAPTER XXIX.
ELLFELD. MAYENCE. HEIDELBERG. A CONVERSATION BETWEEN VANE AND THE
GERMAN STUDENT". THE RUINS OF THE CASTLE OF HEIDELBERG AND IT.S
SOLITARY HABITANT . . . . . . 3 1 "2
CHAPTER XXX.
NO PART OF THE EARTH REALLY SOLITARY THE SONG OF THE FAIRIES. THE
SACRED SPOT THE WITCH OF THE EVIL WINDS. THE SPELL AND THE DUTY
OF THE FAIRIES . . . , . 3"21
CHAPTER XXXI.
•IKRTRUDE AND TREVYLYAN, WHEN THE FORMER IS AWAKENED TO THE APPROACH
OF DEATH ...... 326
CHAPTER XXXII.
A SPOT TO BE BURIED IN . . ... 330
CHAPTER THE LAST.
THE CONCLUSION OF THIS TALE . . . _ 333
THE ILLUSTRATIONS
ENGRAVED BY, OR UNDER THE SUPERINTENDENCE OF
MR. E. I. ROBERTS.
I FRONTISPIECE; THURMBERG.
Engraved by J. T. Willmore, from a Drawing by D. Roberta.
II ILLUSTRATED TITLE; CASTLES OF LIEBENSTEIN AND
STERNFELS.
Engraved by E- I. Roherts, from a Drawing by D. Roberts.
Ill BUST OF THE AUTHOR
Engraved by F. C. Lewis, from a Bust by H. B. Burlowe.
IV.— THE DANCE BY MOONLIGHT . . . . .
Engraved by F, Bacon, from a Painting by E. T. Parris.
V THE MILL AT BRUGES . • 8
Engraved by R. Brandard, from a Drawing by D. Robeits.
VI.-^THE CHURCH OF ST. REMBAULD, MECHLIN . . .21
Engraved by J. Le Keux, from a Drawing by D. Roberts.
VII.-HOTEL DE VILLE, LOUVAIN 41
Enf^ravfld by ^V. Wallis, from a Drawing by D. Roberts.
xii ILLISTRATIONS.
Pa..s
Vlll THE CHURCH UF .ST. LAWRENCE, kUTTERDAM . . GJ
Engraved by J. Carter, from a Drawing by D. Roberts.
IX GORCl Al 73
Eugraved by R. \ViiUis, liom a Drawing by U. Kubtrls.
X THE CHURCH OF ST. MARIA, COLOGNE .... 39
Engraved by J. Redaway, from a Drawing^ by D. Roberts.
XL— TOMB OF THE THREE KINGS, COLOGNE ... 92
Engraved by W. Deeble, from a Drawing by D. Roberts.
XIL — THE DRACHENFELS . 100
Engraved by E. Goodall, from a Drawing by D. Roberts.
XIH THE RUINS OF ROLANDSECK 104
Engraved by J- T. Willraore, from a Drawing by D. Roberts.
XIV THE CASTLE OF HAMMERSTEIN 162
Engraved by W. Floyd, from a Drawing by D. Roberta.
XV — THE ROMAN TOWER, THAL, EHRENBREITSTEIN . .170
Engraved by R. AV'allis, from a Drawing by D. Roberts.
XVI THE FALLEN STAR 176
Engraved by R. Staines, from a Painting by T. Von Hoist.
XVII EHRENBREITSTEIN 226
Engraved by J. H. Kernot, from a Drawing by D. Roberts.
XV HI TRAKBACH . 228
Engraved by E. 1. Robert?, liom a Drawing by D. Robcits.
ILLUSTRATIONS. xiii
Page
XIX.— TOWER OF XTEDERLAHNSTEIN -23)
Engraved by E. Gnodall, trom a Drawing by D. Roberts.
XX.— THE BROTHERS '244
Engraved by R. Hatfield, from a Painting by D. Mae Clise.
XXI THE FAUN AND THE FAIRIES ■2«4
Engraved by F. Bacon, from a Painting by D. Mac Clise.
XXIT._THE RUINS OF RHEINFELS 297
Engraved by W. Radclyffe, from a Drawing by D. Roberts.
XXIII.— KAUB, GUTENFELS, AND PFALZGRAFENSTEIN . . 301
Engraved by W. Floyd, from a Drawing by D. Roberts.
XXIV._THE GOTHIC TOWERS OF ELLFELD . . . .312
Eneravpd by E. I. Roberts, from a Drawine by D- Roberts.
XXV.— HEIDELBERG .317
Engraved by J. T. Willmore, from a Drawing by D. Roberts.
XXVI.— THE GREAT COURT OF HEIDELBERG . . • . 321
Engraved by H. Winkles, from a Drawing by D- Roberti.
XXVII THE VISIT AT MOONLIGHT 341
En^ived by J. Mitchell, from a Painting by E. T, Parris.
ck
o^l^'^ir—^?—^^
pefatorn pern:
TO THE IDEAL.
Like the sweet Naiad of the Grecian's dreams,
A Spirit born of Song — unseen, all-seeing —
Lives deep within our dark Life's wandering streams —
Nymph of our soul, and brightener of our being :
She makes the common waters musical —
Binds the rude nightwinds in a silver thrall —
Bids Hybla's thyme, and Tempe's violet, dwell
Round the green marge of her moon-haunted cell :
She— The Ideal, in the Wells of Truth-
Moves, gladdening all things with a Godhead's youth !
b
j-^iJi PREFATORY POEM
n.
Angel, that o'er this dark and bhnded earth
Walk'st, Uke a dream, dim-shewing worlds above ; —
Arch- Vanquisher of Time and Care, thy birth
Is of the morning! — And the Incarnate Love,
Yea, the same Power that erst, in Galilee,
When the bark travailed on the adverse sea.
O'er the grim dark the meekening silence cast.
And bade the Deep's broad bosom hush the blast —
Still in thy presence moves with looks of light.
Smiles in the storm, and comforts through the night.
III.
There is a world beyond the visual scope.
Where Memory, brightening, wears the hues of Hope;
A life as this to youth's first gaze may seem
Vague, but intense — a passion and a dream.
There, when the earth glooms dark, we glide away,
Soft breathes the air, and golden glows the day ; —
Flowers bloom and forests wave, — the wild-bird calls,-
The noon laughs loud along the waterfalls :
TO THE IDEAL. xix
Man is not there ; yet ever mayst thou mark
The River-Maid her amber tresses sleeking ;
Or, when the day is done, and through the dark
That bathes the sky, the twihght stars are breaking,
Oft mayst thou view, afar and faintly seen,
The glancing fairies on the silvered green ;
Or there, what time the roseate Urns of Dawn
Scatter fresh dews, and the first sky-lark weaves
Wild meshes of glad song, the bearded Faun
Comes piping cheerly through the odorous leaves,
Dim shapes sink, mist-like, down the crystal fountain.
And fades the Oread through the green caves of the mountain.
These are thy work and world, bright Habitant
Of our own hearts ; all beings of all creeds.
So they be fair or wondrous, all are thine,
Born of thee, but undying ! and each want
Of our soul's deep desire — the eternal seeds
Planted by Heaven within the ungenial earth —
Hopes all august, and wishes all divine —
Tears, not of sadness — smiles, but not of mirth —
Seeds — wert thou not — all buried, till our tomb.
Spring at thy breath, and at thy bidding bloom !
h2
XX
PREFATORY POEM :
IV.
We love, and loving, aye ourselves deceive.
For Custom chills what Fate may not bereave,
And still, as Passion sobers in its vow,
The Angel darkens from the mortal's brow.
In vain we yearn, we pine, on earth to win
The Being of the Heart, our boyhood's Dream ;
Thou, the Egeria of the world within.
The creature of the West-wind and the Beam —
The embodied music of most sweet emotion ;
Thou seem'st, but art not in each human love ;
Thou shinest starlike o'er this nether ocean.
And, starlike, hold'st thy unreach'd home above.
Still from thy light we turn the gaze away.
To feel the more the cumber of our clay.
For dimly guessed and vague desires to sigh.
And ask from earth the Eureka of the sky !
Thus round thy joys the soft regret adheres.
As tones that charm, but, charming, melt to tears ;
Yet if the pain, the recompense is thine.
And To Imagine conquers To Repine !
TO THE IDEAL. Xxi
And still, as Persia's tender minstrel told,
The Rose's breath inspires the common mould *,
If not for us the eternal flow'ret springs,
Still round our dust the aerial odour clings ;
By the loved scent the exalted earth is known,
And grows of worth from fragrance not its own.
Thus gave thy power the imperishable name
To souls whose veriest frailties cradled Fame ;
Struck the bright fount of hallowing tears from wee,
And lit with prophet fires the wild Rousseau.
And He, the erring great, and dimly wise,
O'er whom stern Judgment, while it censures, sighs ;
'' The young, the beautiful " — whose music cast
A haunting echo where his shadow past.
And with a deep, yet half disdainful, art.
Chained to his wandering home the world's mute heart ;
Was he not thine — all thine ? — his faihngs, powers.
Faults, fame, and all that make his memory ours ?
* " One day I was delighted by the odour of a piece of earth. Art thou
musk ? said I. Art thou amber ? It replied, I am but common earth ; but
the rose grew from me ; its beneficent virtue penetrated my nature. Were it
not for the rose I should be but common earth." — Saadi.
^^jj PREFATORY POEM :
Not in this world his life : he breathed an air,
Its light thy hope — its vapour thy despair.
If earthlier passion, snake-like, crept within —
If stung suspicion nursed ungenial sin —
If his soul shrunk within one sickly dream
Till self became his idol as his theme ;
Yet while we blame, his mournful Image chides,
As if we wronged the memory of a friend.
As moonlight sways the trouble of the tides,
Wild Minstrel, didst thou sway the soul, and blend
Thyself with us as in a common cause ;
And when thy wayward heart its rest had won,
The eternal course of Nature seemed to pause :
We stood stunn'd — shock'd : thy very life had grown
A part — a power — a being of our own !
Oh who shall tell what comforts yet were thine,
In the lone darkness of the unwatched mind ;
What time thou stood'st beside the rushing Rhine,
Or heard, through Nero's towers, the moaning wind ;
Or watch'd the white moon, in thy younger day,
O'er shrunk Ilyssus shed the dreaming ray ?
Victim and Votary of the Ideal, none
Shall sound thy joys, or measure thy despair ! —
TO THE IDEAL. xxiii
The harp is shattered, and the spirit gone,
And half of Heaven seems vanish'd from the air !
Yet still the murmurs of the Adrian sea
Shall blend with Tasso's song wild thoughts of thee ;
Thy shade shall gloom through old Ravenna's lair
" Till ev'n the forest leaves seem stirred with prayer ;"
And when the Future, envious of the Past,
Shall break the Argive's iron sleep at last.
Thy reverent name the Albanian youth shall keep ; —
Thy shape shall haunt the Ionian maiden's sleep; —
Thy song shall linger by the Oread's hill.
By liove's own Isle, and Music's ancient rill ; —
And one grey halo, all unknown before.
Crest the drear wastes by Missolonghi's shore!
But not to them, the Lyre-God's sons, is given
Alone the light of the Ideal Heaven :
Alike thy power o'er souls more arm'd and stern.
And Earth's great Truths drink freshness from thy urn !
In the dim cell where lofty Sidney told
The hours before the Morn on which his soul
Xxiv PREFATORY POEM :
Trod, with unfaltering steps and firm, the old
But unworn bridge to our eternal goal.
Arching the Drear Invisible, — the vast
Abyss that wombs The Secret of the Past : —
In that lone cell what thoughts, what white-robed dreams,
Kept watch, like vestals o'er the holy fire,
Round the bright altar of his high desire !
Thou, his Unfound Ideal ! thou, whose beams
Broke through earth's bars upon his upward eye,
Thou, his beloved — his cherished — his adored —
His creature — yet creator — Liberty !
Thou that didst twine around the Athenian's sword.
The wreaths made sacred when Hipparchus fell,
Wert Thou not with him in that glorious cell ?
Didst thou not fill the darkness with bright things.
And mighty prophecies of times to be ?
Thy love had wrought those fetters, but the wings,
No chains could curb, were Eagle-plumed by thee !
Thou gav'st the dungeon, — but the key to Heaven :
Thou gav'st the death-blow, — but the deathless fame :
The thunder roll'd around, but through the riven
And stormy clouds, the Future's Angel came,
And in the chamber where the doom'd man sate,
Foretold the brishtening march of Human Fate !
TO THE IDEAL. XXV
Yes ! it is thou, — when hfe's last hope is o'er,
And the soul sails affrighted from the shore, —
While the eternal deep spreads wide and dark,
Light'st the lone star and guid'st the helmless bark.
On the grim scaffold, with the axe on high,
To thee the patriot lifts his dauntless eye.
Recks not the crowd below, the headsman near —
The gaze — the pause — the pity and the fear.
Bright through the waste the burning column beams,
Liffhts the blest land — the Canaan of his dreams.
By Freedom's blood Futurity is freed,
And from each drop springs forth the Dragon Seed !
VI.
Is not thy name Consoler? Do we ask
A gift, thou calm'st us with its gilded seeming !
Life is a wayward child — thy mother-task
Is still to rock its cradle to sweet dreaming ! —
Exalter as Consoler! Dost thou not
Build altars in our hearts to the Sublime ?
What were our thoughts without thy worship ? What
Were this dark islet in the seas of Time,
xxvi PREFATORY POEM:
Hedged round by petty wants and low desires,
But for thy lore — the commune of the skies, —
Great Magian of the Stars? — Thy creed inspires
All that we ween of Noble ! Poesy, —
Religion, — and the Soul's Archangel, Fame, —
Unconquered Liberty — the wish to be
Better and brighter than we are — our claim
To make men great and blest, and consummate
Our likeness to the glorious shapes of heaven —
The yearnings to outleap our mortal state,
And climb Olympus — are they not all given
By thee — all thine; — but longings to obey
The haunting oracles that stir our clay.
To make the Unseen with actual glories rife.
And call the starred Ideal into life?
The Dreams — the ivory-palaced Dreams — are thine,
The countless brood of Earth's great mother. Sleep; —
The gentle despots whose soft courts combine
Against life's cares ; — and with a wondrous power.
Mightier than all men's grinding laws, controul
E'en tears themselves ! — They cover hearts that weep
With a wild web of smiles — they bid the tomb
TO THE IDEAL. XXvii
Give back the Lov'd ; and colour forth the hour
With our heart's early hues and vanished bloom :
As a nurse leads or lulls her restless child,
They guide at will, or fondling hush, the soul :
Our lords — thy slaves ; — what wonder that their wild
Voices, with prophet tales, the elder age beguiled ?
VII.
Lo ! on yon couch pale Austria's crownless Boy,
The sad Scamandrius of a fallen Troy;
His birth the date of what august desicrns !
Visions of thrones made stable to all time ;
Laugh'd France's violet vales and nodding vines ;
High swell'd the harp ; exulting glowed the rhyme.
Women, and warriors with a thousand scars,
The veteran race of Austerlitz, the bands
That, o'er the rent Alps, poured the avenging wars
Into the heart of the ancestral lands
Of Conquest's dark-winged Eagle, throng'd around ; —
" Hail to our mother France, a son is found!"
Hark, at that shout from north to south, grey Power
Quailed on her weak hereditary thrones,
xviii PREFATORY POEM :
And widow'd mothers prophesied the hour
Of future carnage to their cradled sons.
" What, shall our race to blood be thus consigned,
" And Ate claim an heirloom in mankind?
" Are these proud lots unshaken in the urn ?"
— Years pass — approach, pale questioner, and learn !
Lo ! on yon rock the Eagle Lord expires !
Lo ! the Son's life the moral of the Sire's! —
What know we of thy real self, poor boy, —
If thou wert brave or recreant ; if thy soul
Aspired, or drank content from vulgar joy?
If wisdom lurked beneath that fair young brow,
Or the dull sense lay lock'd in the controul
Of a court's gaoler customs? — If the blood
Leapt through the proud veins kindling ; — or its flow
Oozed from the torpid heart with lagging flood?
If, as thy features in their softer mould
Betokened, thou hadst something of thy sire
Writ in thy nature, which perchance foretold,
Had the Fates spared thy thread, that on the pyre
Lit above lone St. Helen's, there should rise
A phoenix from the ashes ? — or if all
The guards of slavish tongues and watchful eyes.
The eunuch Luxury, that doth build a wall
TO THE IDEAL. xxix
Between a court and such thoughts as inspired
Thy Father in the vigorous airs of Hfe, —
Whether these quenched the spark that might have fired
Napoleon's last, unsceptred son, to strife,
And urged again the ravening Eagle's wings
Against the towers of King-descended Kings,
Who now shall tell or guess ? Fate's darkest gloom
Shuts out ev'n dreams fi'om thine unlaurelled tomb ; —
And the small web of royal flatteries,
The chamber's gossip, and the lackey's lies,
The prodigal tongues of courtly charity,
Benign alike to Bourdeaux or to thee.
Are all thy record ! — So the race is run
Of the Great Corsican's world-welcomed son!
Yet this, at least, 'tis our's of thee to deem,
In Thought's wide realms not throneless, that at night,
When the world slept, the wing'd Ideal's dream
Came to thine unwatched pillow, and a light
Streamed o'er that Future never to be thine.
For merciful is youth to all ; — and thou.
Son of the sword that first made Kings divine,
Wouldst nurse at least the vision and the vow,
XXX PREFATORY POEM :
The fancy panting for a glorious truth,
Which are the eternal guerdon of that youth.
Then didst thou flame before the paling world —
Fame kept the lurid promise of thy birth ;
Then was the Eagle flag again unfurl'd, —
A monarch's voice cried " Havoc," to the Earth ;
A new Philippi gained a second Rome,
And the Son's sword avenged the greater Caesar's doom !
VIII.
Yes ! Thou, the wild Armida of the Soul,
Laughest to scorn the arts and arms of Kings ;
They share the visible Empires, and controul
The surface of Earth's tides ; — its deeper springs,
Its higher ether, yea, unto the stars,
And all the bright world of th' Unbounded Hope,
The Heaven of heavens are thine ! nor bolts, nor bars,
Nor courts, nor laws, can circumscribe the scope.
The Fates themselves can v/ither not one leaf
In thy unwinter'd gardens ; the dread Three
Knock at thy gates in vain ! Heart-gnawing Grief
TO THE IDEAL. XXxi
And false-eyed Love, and Fortune with her wheel,
Sore Shame that dogs poor Pride, and Jealousy
(The shadow of hot Passion,) cannot steal
Into thy bowers ! —
When from the forfeit space
Of Eden, God sent forth man's fallen race,
One sacred spot, within the spirit plac'd,
(Thee — the adored Ideal of Life's waste — )
He left unguarded by the sworded host —
A type — a shadow of the Eden lost !
IX.
Seraph that art within me ! Comforter !
Apostle, preaching holy thoughts and heaven !
Scorner of all things base, — albeit to err
Is our life's lot, yet it may be forgiven
If we err nobly, and one mean desire
Me thinks would scare the angel from its ward.
Thus do I feed thine altars with a fire,
Which Thought must wear a priestly robe to guard.
And with a solemn conscience and serene,
Watch the flame chase the mists from every scene ;
xxxii PREFATORY POEM :
Making a worship of tiik Beautiful,
Whether on earth, or in the human lieart,
And seeking, from this shadowy vale, to cull
The flowers wherein I learn the gentle art,
To waft an incense of sweet thoughts above ;
Thus have I imaged Virtue as a seen
And felt divinity, and filled with love —
As I believe God wills us — all the springs
In which life stirs the universe of things !
Lo ! as I write, before my lattice waves
The wild wood where the midnight winds rejoice,
And the lone stars are on the stream, that laves
The green banks, wailing with a spirit's voice ;
x\nd these thy presence consecrates to me ; —
'Tis not the common turf, or wave, or sky, —
In every herb thy holiness I see.
And in each breeze thy low voice murmurs by. —
My heart is wed to sadness, and my frame
Bows from the vigour of my earlier youth.
And much it roused my rapture once to name,
Won now too late, hath lost the power to soothe ;
But Thou, unscath'd by Time's destroying blast,
Coverest the wintry earth with verdure to the last !-
TO THE IDEAL. XXxiii
Still be thou mine, and in the paths of strife,
The public toil, perchance the public wrong,
Through which I labour out the ends of life,
Raise my dark spirit with thy sacred song ;
Point to ambition its more noble aim,
To raise the lowly, nor to fear the strong ; —
Bid me yet hope to leave a freeman's name
With my Land's loftier hopes, not loosely' twined,
So that my grave this epitaph may claim,
Peace to his errors — he hath served mankind."
Enough ! my song is closing ; and to Thee,
Land of the North, I dedicate its lay,
As I have done the simple tale, to be
The Drama of this prelude. —
Far away
Rolls the swift Rhine beneath the mooned ray ;
But to my listening ear and dreaming eye
Murmur the pines, the blue wave ripples by ;
Through the deep Rheingau"'s vine-enamour'd vale,
I see dark shapes careering down the gale : —
c
xxxiv PREFATORY POEM :
Or hear the Lurlci's moaning Syren call, —
Or walk with Song by Roland's shattered Hall ! —
Slight is the tale, and simply sad, my soul
Hath woven from some memories deeply stor'd,
Which should not voiceless die ! — Die ! — nay, the scroll
On which Thought's cavern streams to-day are poured,
Might it endure earth's date, could not outwear
Those mournful memories ; if our souls, in truth.
Are deathless, through eternity I bear
"Within the tomb that closes o'er my youth,
Thoughts that are o/'the soul, whose natures brave
Decay, — and with the soul shall triumph o'er the grave !
XI.
Simple the tale, nor would it lure the ear
From earth's hack sounds one instant, if the glory
Of Fancy, from the Real, did not rear
Its rainbow images and deck the story
With hues the kind Ideal lends to all,
Who, though with voice untun'd, upon her duly call I
TO THE IDEAL.
Of one fair girl my tale, athwart whose bloom,
In the young May of life, the harsh wind sped,
And, all Hope's blossoms in that soft flower shed,
Left one lone heart to find the world a tomb !
This all I take from Truth, but Thou, more kind,
Still as our Pilgrims sail, shalt balm the wind ;
With many a tale the various way beguile.
And charm ev'n death with love's untiring smile.
Still as the sufferer droops, thy witchery calls
Wild handmaid shapes from Oberon's grassy halls ;
Bids Faeries watch the soft life glide away ;
And with fond dreams make beautiful decay: —
Brighten the path ; keep M-ard above the heart,
And steal at least the venom from the dart ;
Let Love receive the last untortured breath.
And Sleep lend all its loveliest hues to Death !
And when the heart lies dumb, around the tomb,
Still shall the Faeries bid the wild flowers bloom.
Woo gentlest moonbeams to the odorous grass,
And smooth the waves to music as they pass ;
And still shall Fancy deem, in him who wreatlies
These fading flowers, thy power not vainly breathes.
Xxxvi PREFATOKV P(.)KM: TO THH IDEAL.
If o'er his task thy angel presence shone,
Hath his soul quaffVl no magic not its own ?
No spell to lure the anxious world awhile
From truths that vex, to visions that beguile,
Chequering the darkness of surrounding strife
With the brief moonlight of a lovelier life ?
THK
^^tlQVtmjS of ti)t Mfjiue.
CHAPTER I.
IN WHICH THE READER IS INTRODUCKU TO QUEEN NYMPHALIN.
In one of those green woods which belong so peculiarly
to our island (for the continent has its forests, but England
its woods), tliere lived, a short time ago, a charming little
Fairy called Nymphalin ; 1 believe she is descended from a
2 THE PILGRIMS OF THE lUITNE.
younger brancli of the house of Mab, but perhaps that may-
be only a genealogical fable, for your fairies are very sus-
ceptible to the pride of ancestry, and it is. impossible to deny
tbat tliey fall somewhat reluctantly into the liberal opinions
so much d'la-mode at the present day.
However that may be, it is quite certain that all the cour-
tiers in Nymphalin's domain, (for she was a Queen Fairy,)
made a point of asserting her right to this illustrious descent ;
and accordingly she quartered the Mab arms with her own,
— three acorns vert, with a grasshopper rampant. It was as
merry a little court as could possibly be conceived, and on
a fine midsimimer niglit it would have been worth while
attending the Queen's balls, — that is to say, if you could
have got a ticket; a favour not obtained without great
interest.
But, mihappily, until both men and fairies adopt the
excellent Mr. Owen's proposition, and live in parallelo-
grams, they will always be the victims of ennui. And
Nymphalin, who had been disappointed in love, and was
still unmarried, had for the last five or six months been
exceedingly tired even of giving balls. She yawned very
frequently, and consequently yawning became the fashion.
" But why don't we have some new dances, my Pipalee?"
said Nymphalin to her favourite maid of honour; " these
waltzes are very old fashioned."
" Very old fashioned," said Pipalee.
The Queen gaped — and Pipalee did tlie same.
It was a gala night; — the court was held in a lone and
beautiful hollow, with the wild brake closing round it on
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 3
every side, so that no human step could easily gain the
spot. Wherever the shadows fell upon the brake, a glow-
worm made a point of exhibiting himself, and the bright
August moon sailed slowly above, pleased to look down
upon so charming a scene of merriment ; for they wrong
the Moon who assert that she has an objection to mirth; —
with the mirth of fairies she has all possible sympathy.
Here and there in the thicket the scarce honeysuckles — in
August, honeysuckles are getting out of season — hung their
rich festoons, and at that moment they were crowded with
the elderly fairies, who had given up dancing and taken to
scandal. Besides the honeysuckle you might see the hawk-
weed and the white convolvulus, varying the soft verdure of
the thicket ; and mushrooms in abundance had sprung up in
the circles glittering in the silver moonlight, and acceptable
beyond measure to the dancers ; every one knows how
agreeable a thing tents are in difete cliampetre ! I was mis-
taken in saying that the brake closed the circle entirehj
round ; for there was one gap, scarcely apparent to mortals,
through which a fairy at least might catch a view of a brook
that was close at hand, rippling in the stars, and chequered
at intervals by the rich weeds floating on the surface, inter-
spersed with the delicate arrowhead and the silver water
lily. Then the trees themselves, dight in their prodigal
variety of hues ; — the blue — the purple — the yellowing tint
— the tender and silvery verdure, and the deep mass of
shade frowning into black ; the willow — the elm — the ash —
the fir — the lime—" and, best of all, Old England's haunted
B
4 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
Oak : " these lines broke again into a thousand minor and
subtler shades, as the twinkling stars pierced the foliage,
or the moon slept with a richer light upon some favoured
glade.
It was a gala night; the elderly fairies, as I said before,
were chatting among the honeysuckles; the young were flirt-
ing, and dancing, and making love ; the middle-aged talked
politics under the mushrooms ; and the Queen herself, and
half a dozen of her favourites, were yawning their pleasure
from a little mound, covered with the thickest moss.
" It has been very dull. Madam, ever since Prince Fay-
zenheim left us," said the Fairy Nip.
The Queen sighed.
" How handsome the Prince was ! " said Pipalee.
The Queen blushed.
" He wore the prettiest dress in the world — and what
a moustache ! " cried Pipalee, fanning herself with her left
wing.
" He was a coxcomb," said the Lord Treasurer, sourly.
The Lord Treasurer was the honestest and most disagree-
able Fairy at court ; he was an admirable husband, brother,
son, cousin, uncle, and godfather ; it was these virtues that
had made him a Lord Treasurer. Unfortunately they had
not made him a sensible man. He was like Charles the
Second in one respect ; for he never did a wise thing ; but
he was not like him in another — for he very often said a
foolish one.
The Queen frowned.
THR PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 5
" A young- Prince is not the worse for that," retorted
Pipalee. "Heigho ! does your majesty think his Highness
likely to return ? "
" Don't tease me," said Nymphalin, pettishly.
The Lord Treasurer, by way of giving- the conversation
an agreeable turn, reminded her majesty that there was a
prodigious accumulation of business to see to, especially that
difficult affair about the emmet- wasp loan. Her majesty
rose, and leaning on Pipalee's arm, walked down to the
supper tent.
" Pray," said the Fairy Trip to the Fairy Nip, " what
is all this talk about Prince Fayzenheim? Excuse my
ignorance, I am only just out, you know."
" Why," answered Nip, a young courtier, not a marrying
fairy, but very seductive, " the story runs thus. Last sum-
mer a foreigner visited us, calling himself Prince Fayzen-
heim, one of your German fairies, I fancy; — no great things,
but an excellent waltzer. He wore long spurs, made out of
the stings of the horse-flies in the Black Forest ; his cap sate
on one side, and his moustachios curled like the lip of the
dragon flower. He was on his travels, and amused himself
by making love to the Queen. You can't fancy, dear Trip,
how fond she was of hearing him tell stories about the strange
creatures of Germany — about wild huntsmen — water sprites
— and a pack of such stuff," added Nip, contemptuously, for
Nip was a freethinker.
"In short?'' said Trip.
*' Li short, she loved," cried Nip, with a theatrical air.
B 2
Q THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
"And the Prince?"
" Packed up his clothes, and sent on his travelling carriage,
in order that he might go at his ease, on the top of a stage
pigeon — in short, — as you say, — in short, he deserted the
Queen, and ever since she has set the fashion of yawning."
"It was very naughty in him," said the gentle Trip.
"Ah, my dear creature," cried Nip, "if it had been t/ou
he had paid his addresses to !"
Trip simpered, and the old fairies from their seats in the
honeysuckles observed she was " sadly conducted," but the
Trips had never been too respectable.
Meanwhile the Queen, leaning on Pipalee, said, after a
short pause, " Do you know I have formed a plan ! "
" How delightful," cried Pipalee. " Another gala ! "
" Pooh, surely even you must be tired with these levities;
the spirit of the age is no longer frivolous ; and I dare say
as the march of gravity proceeds, we shall get rid of these
galas altogether." The Queen said this with an air of
inconceivable wisdom, for the " Society for the Diffusion of
General Stupefaction " had been recently established among
the fairies, and its tracts had driven all the light reading
out of the market. The " Penny Proser " had contributed
greatly to the increase of knowledge and yawning, so visibly
progressive among the courtiers.
" No," continued Nymphalin; " I have thought of some-
thing better than galas — Let us travel! "
Pipalee clasped her hands in extasy.
" Where shall we travel ? "
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 7
" Let US go up the Rhine," said the Queen, turning away
her head. " We shall be amazingly welcomed ; there are
fairies without number, all the way by its banks; and
various distant connections of ours, whose nature and pro-
perties will afford interest and instruction to a philosophical
mind."
*' Number Nip, for instance," cried the gay Pipalee.
" The Red Man ! " said the graver Nymphalin.
"O my Queen, what an excellent scheme!" and Pipalee
was so lively during the rest of the night, that the old fairies
in the honeysuckle insinuated that the lady of honour had
drunk a buttercup too much of tlie May dew.
CHAPTER II.
THE LOVERS.
I WISH only for such readers as give themselves heart
and soul up to me — if they begin to cavil I have done with
them; their fancy should put itself entirely under my
management; and, after all, ought they not to be too
glad to get out of this hackneyed and melancholy world,
to be run away with by an author who promises them
something new ?
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 9
From the heights of Bruges, a moi'tal and his betrothed
gazed upon the scene below. They saw the sun set slowly
amongst purple masses of cloud, and the lover turned to
his mistress and sighed deeply ; for her cheek was delicate
in its blended roses, beyond the beauty that belongs to the
hues of health ; and when he saw the sun sinking from the
world, the thought came upon him, that she was his sun,
and the glory that she shed over his life might soon pass
away into the bosom of the " everduring Dark." But
against the clouds rose one of the many spires that charac-
terise the town of Bruges ; and on that spire, melting into
heaven, rested the eyes of Gertrude Vane. The different
objects that caught the gaze of each was emblematic both
of the different channel of their thoughts, and the different
elements of their nature : he thought of the sorrow, she of
the consolation ; his heart prophesied of the passing away
from earth, — hers of the ascension into heaven. The
lower part of the landscape was wrapt in shade; but, just
where the bank curved round in a mimic bay, the waters
caught the sun's parting smile, and rippled against the
herbage that clothed the shore, with a scarcely noticeable
wave. There were two of the numerous mills which are so
picturesque a feature of that country, standing at a distance
from each other on the rising banks, their sails perfectly
still in the cool silence of the evening, and adding to the
rustic tranquillity which breathed around. For to me there
is somethins: in the stilled sails of one of those inven-
a
tions of man's industry peculiarly eloquent of repose ; the
10 THE PILGRIMS OK THE RHINE.
rest seems typical of the repose of our own passions — short
and uncertain, contrary to their natural ordination; and
doubly impressive from the feeling which admonishes us
how precarious is the stillness — how utterly dependent on
every wind rising at any moment and from any quarter of
the heavens ! They saw before them no living forms, save
of one or two peasants yet lingering by the water side.
Trevylyan drew closer to his Gertrude ; for his love was
inexpressively tender, and his vigilant anxiety for her made
his stern frame feel the first coolness of the evening, even
before she felt it herself.
" Dearest, let me draw your mantle closer round you."
Gertrude smiled her thanks.
" I feel better than I have done for weeks," said she ;
"and when once we get into the Rhine you will see me
grow so strong as to shock all your interest for me."
" Ah, would to heaven my interest for you may be put
to such an ordeal !"" said Trevylyan ; and they turned slowly
to the inn, where Gertrude's father already awaited them.
Trevylyan was of a wild, a resolute, and an active nature.
Thrown on the world at the age of sixteen, he had passed
his youth in alternate pleasure, travel, and solitary study.
At the age in which manhood is least susceptible to caprice,
and most perhaps to passion, he fell in love with the loveliest
person that ever dawned upon a poet's vision. I say this
without exaggeration, for Gertrude Vane's was indeed the
beauty, but the perishable beauty, of a dream. It happened
most singularly to Trevylyan (but he was a singular man),
THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. ]1
that being naturally one whose affections it was very difficult
to excite, he should have fallen in love at first sight with a
person whose disease, already declared, would have deterred
any other heart from risking its treasures on a bark so
utterly unfitted for the voyage of life. Consumption, but
consumption in its most beautiful shape, had set its seal
upon Gertrude Vane, when Trevylyan first saw her, and
at once loved. He knew the danger of the disease ; he did
not, except at intervals, deceive himself; he wrestled
against the new passion ; but, stern as his nature was, he
could not conquer it. He loved, he confessed his love,
and Gertrude returned it.
In a love like this, there is something ineffably beautiful
— it is essentially the poetry of passion. Desire grows
hallowed by fear, and, scarce permitted to indulge its vent
in the common channel of the senses, breaks forth into those
vague yearnings — those lofty aspirations, which pine for the
Bright — the Far — the Unattained. It is " the desire of the
moth for the star " — it is the love of the soul !
Gertrude was advised by the faculty to try a southern
climate ; but Gertrude was the daughter of a German mo-
ther, and her young fancy had been nursed in all the wild
legends, and the alluring visions that belong to the children
of the Rhine. Her imagination, more romantic than classic,
yearned for the vine-clad hills and haunted forests, which
are so fertile of their spells to those who have once
drunk, even sparingly, of the literature of the north. Her
desire strongly expressed, her declared conviction that if any
12 TIIH I'lI.GRIMS or THE RHINE.
cliaiigc of scone could yet arrest the progress of her malady,
it would be the shores of the river she had so longed to visit,
prevailed with her physicians and her father, and they
consented to that pilgrimage along the Rhine, on which
Gertrude, her father, and her lover, were now bound.
It was by the green curve of the banks which the lovers
saw from the heights of Bruges, that our fairy travellers
met. They were reclining on the water side, playing at
dominos with eye-bright, and the black specks of the trefoil;
viz., Pipalee, Nip, Trip, and the Lord Treasurer, (for that
was all the party selected by the Queen for her travelling
cortige), and waiting for her majesty, who, being a curious
little elf, had gone round the town to reconnoitre.
" Bless me ! " said the Lord Treasurer, " what a mad
freak is this ! Crossing that immense pond of water — and
was there ever such bad grass as this ? — one may see that
the fairies thrive ill here."
" You are always discontented, my lord," said Pipalee ;
" but then you are somewhat too old to travel — at least
unless you go in your nutshell and four."
The Lord Treasurer did not like this remark, so he
muttered a peevish pshaw, and took a pinch of honeysuckle
dust to console himself for being forced to put up with so
much frivolity.
At this moment, ere the moon was yet at her middest
height, Nymphalin joined her subjects.
" I have just returned," said she, with a melancholy
expression on her countenance, " from a scene, that has
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. I3
almost renewed in me that sympathy with human beings,
which of late years our race has well nigh relinquished.
" I hurried through the town without noticing much food
for adventure. I paused for a moment on a fat citizen's
pillow, and bade him dream of love. He woke in a fright,
and ran down to see that his cheeses were safe. I swept with
a light wing over a politician's eyes, and straightway he
dreamt of theatres and music. I caught an undertaker in
his first nap, and I have left him whirled into a waltz. For
what would be sleep if it did not contrast life ? Then I
came to a solitary chamber, in which a girl, in her tenderest
youth, knelt by the bedside in prayer, and I saw that the
death-spirit had passed over her, and the blight was on the
leaves of the rose. The room was still and hushed — the
angel of Purity kept watch there. Her heart was full of
love, and yet of holy thoughts, and I bade her dream of the
long life denied to her — of a happy home — of the kisses of
her young lover — of eternal faith, and unwaning tenderness.
Let her at least enjoy in dreams what Fate has refused to
Truth ! — and, passing from the room, I found her lover
stretched in his cloak beside the door ; for he reads with a
feverish and desperate prophecy the doom that waits her ;
and so loves he the very air she breathes, the very ground
she treads, that when she has left his sight, he creeps silently
and unknown to her, to the nearest spot hallowed by her
presence, anxious that while yet she is on earth, not an hour,
not a moment should be wasted upon other thoughts than
those that belong to her ■; and feeling a security, a fearful
14 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
joy, in lessenin<^ the distance tliat now only momentarily
divides them. And that love seemed to me not as the love of
the common world, and I stayed my wings and looked upon
it, as a thing that centuries might pass, and bring no parallel
to, in its beauty and its melancholy truth. But I kept away
the sleep from the lover's eyes, for well I knew that sleep
was a tyrant, that shortened the brief time of waking tender-
ness for the living, yet spared him ; and one sad, anxious
thought of her was sweeter, in spite of its sorrow, than the
brightest of fairy dreams. So I left him awake, and watch-
ing there through the long night, and felt that the children
of earth have still something that unites them to the spirits
of a finer race, so long as they retain amongst them the
presence of real love ! "
And oh ! Is there not a truth also in our fictions of the
Unseen World ? Are there not yet bright lingerers by the
forest and the stream ? Do the moon and the soft stars look
out on no delicate and winged forms bathing in their light?
Are the fairies, and the invisible hosts, but the children of
our dreams ; and not their inspiration ? Is that all a delu-
sion which speaks from the golden page ? And is the world
only given to harsh and anxious travailers, that walk to
and fro in pursuit of no gentle shadoM'S? Are the chi-
meras of the passions the sole spirits of the universe ? No !
while my remembrance treasures in its deepest cell, the
image of one no more — one who was " not of the earth
earthy" — one in whom love was the essence of thoughts
divine — one whose shape and mould, whose heart and genius,
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. I5
would, had Poesy never before have dreamt it, have called
forth the first notion of spirits resembling mortals, but not
of them ; no, Gertrude, while I remember you, the faith, —
the trust in brighter shapes and fairer natures than the
world knows of, comes clinging to my heart ; and still
will I think that Fairies might have watched over your
sleep, and Spirits have ministered to your dreams !
CHAPTER 111.
Gertrude and her companions proceeded by slow, and,
to her, delightful stages, to Rotterdam. Trevylyan sate by
her side, and her hand was ever in his, and when her deli-
cate frame became sensible of fatigue, her head drooped on
his shoulder as its natural resting-place. Her father was a
man who had lived long enough to have encountered many
reverses of fortune, and they had left him, as I am apt to
believe long adversity usually does leave its prey, some-
what chilled and somewhat hardened to affection ; passive
and quiet of hope, resigned to the worst as to the common
order of events, and expecting little from the best, as an
unlooked-for incident in the regularity of human afflictions.
He was insensible of his daughter's danger, for he was
not one whom the fear of love endows with prophetic vision ;
and he lived tranquilly in the present, without asking what
new misfortune awaited him in the future. Yet he loved
his child, his only child, with all the warmth of attachment
left him by the many shocks his heart had received ; and
in her approaching connection with one rich and noble as
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 17
Trevylyan, lie felt even something bordering upon plea-
sure. Lapped in the apathetic indifference of his nature,
he leant forth from the carriage, enjoying the bright weather
that attended their journey, and sensible — for he was one
of fine and cultivated taste — to whatever beauties of nature
or remains of art, varied their course. A companion of this
sort was the most agreeable that two persons never need-
ing a third could desire ; he left them undisturbed to the
intoxication of their mutual presence ; he marked not the
interchange of glances ; he listened not to the whisper, the
low delicious whisper, with which the heart speaks its sym-
pathy to heart. He broke not that charmed silence which
falls over us when the thoughts are full, and words leave
nothing to explain ; that repose of feeling ; that certainty
that we are understood without the effort of words, which
makes the real luxury of intercourse and the true enchant-
ment of travel. What a memory hours like these bequeath,
after we have settled down into the calm occupations of com-
mon life ! — how beautiful, through the vista of years, seems
that brief moonlight track upon the waters of our youth !
And Trevylyan*'s nature, which, as I have said before,
was naturally hard and stern, which was hot, irritable,
ambitious, and early tinctured with the policy and lesson of
the world, seemed utterly changed by the peculiarities of
his love ; every hour, every moment was full of incident to
him; every look of Gertrude's was entered on the tablets
of his heart, so that his love knew no languor, it required
no change ; he was absorbed in it ; it was himself/ And
he was soft and watchful as the step of a mother by the
18 TIIK PILGRIMS OF THE HHINK.
couch of her sick chikl ; the lion within him was tamed by
indomitable love; the sadness, the presentiment that was
mixed with all his passion for Gertrude filled him too with
that poetry of feeling, which is the result of thoughts
weighing upon us, and not to be expressed by ordinary
language. In this part of their journey, as I find by
the date, were the following lines written ; they are to be
judged as the lines of one in whom emotion and truth
were the only inspiration.
I.
" As leaves left darkling in the flush of day,
When glints the glad sun chequering o'er the tree,
I see the green earth brightening in the ray.
Which only casts a shadow upon me !
II.
" W^hat are the beams, the flowers, the glory, all
Life's glow and gloss — the music and the bloom,
W^Iien every sun but speeds the Eternal Pall,
And Time is Death that dallies with the Tomb ?
III.
" And yet — oh yet, so young, so pure ! — the while
Fresh laugh the rose-hues round youth"'s morning sky.
That voice, — those eyes, — the deep love of that smile,
Are they not soul — all soul — and caii they die ?
IV.
"Are there the words 'No More' for thoughts like ours?
Must the bark sink upon so soft a wave?
Hath the short summer of thy life no flowers,
But those which bloom above tliinc early grave ?
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 19
V.
" O God ! and what is life, that I should live,
(Hath not the world enow of common clay?)
And she — the Rose — whose life a soul could give
To the void desert, sigh its sweets away !
VI.
" And I that love thee thus, to whom the air,
Blest by thy breath, makes heaven where'er it be,
Watch thy cheek wane, and smile away despair —
Lest it should dim one hour yet left to Thee.
VII.
" Still let me conquer self, — oh, still conceal
By the smooth brow, the snake that coils below ;
Break, break my heart, it comforts yet to feel
That she dreams on, unwakened by my woe !
VIII.
" Hush'd, where the Star's soft Angel loves to keep
Watch o'er their tide, the mourning waters roll ;
So glides my spirit — darkness in the deep,
But o'er the wave the presence of thy soul ! "
Gertrude herself had not as yet the presentiments that
filled the soul of Trevylyan. She thought too little of her-
self to know her danger, and those hours to her were hours
of unmingled sweetness. Sometimes, indeed, the exhaus-
tion of her disease tinged her spirits with a vague sadness,
an abstraction came over her, and a languor she vainly
struggled against. These fits of dejection and gloom
touched Trevylyan to the quick ; his eye never ceased to
watch them, nor his heart to soothe. Often when he marked
20 iHF. rn.oRiMS of the rtitne.
tliem, he sought to attract her attention from what he fan-
cied, tliough erringly, a sympathy with his own forebodings,
and to lead her young and romantic imagination through
the temporary beguilements of fiction ; for Gertrude was
yet in the first bloom of youth, and all the dews of beautiful
childhood sparkled freshly from the virgin blossoms of her
mind. And Trevylyan, wlio had passed some of his early
years among the students of Leipsic, and was deeply versed
in the various world of legendary lore, ransacked his me-
mory for such tales as seemed to him most likely to win
her interest; and often with false smiles entered into the
playful tale, or oftener, with more faithful interest, into the
graver legend of trials that warned yet beguiled them
from their own. Of such talcs I have selected but a few ;
I know not that they are the least unworthy of repetition ;
they are those which many recollections induce me to repeat
the most willingly. Gertrude loved these stories, for she
had not yet lost, by the coldness of the world, one leaf from
that soft and wild romance which belonged to her beautiful
mind. And, more than all, she loved the sounds of a voice
which every day became more and more musical to her ear.
" Shall I tell you," said he, one morning, as he observed
her gloomier mood stealing over the face of Gertrude,
" shall I tell you, ere yet we pass into the dull land of Hol-
land, a story of Malines, whose spires M'e shall shortly
see?" Gertrude's face brightened at once, and as she
leant back in the carriage as it whirled rapidly along,
and fixed her deep blue eyes on Trevylyan, he began
the following tale.
CHAPTER IV.
THE MAID OF MALINES.
It was noonday in the town of Mallnes, or Mechlin, as
the English usually term it ; the sabbath bell had summoned
the inhabitants to divine worship ; and the crowd that had
loitered roimd the Church of St. Rembauld had gradually
emptied itself within the spacious aisles of the sacred
edifice.
A young man was standing in the street, with his eyes
bent on the ground, and apparently listening for some
sound; for, without raising his looks from the rude pave-
ment, he turned to every corner of it with an intent and
anxious expression of countenance ; he held in one hand
a staff, in the other a long slender cord, the end of v.'hich
trailed on the ground; every now and then he called,
with a plaintive voice, " Fido, Fido, come back ! Why
hast thou deserted me!" — Fido returned not; the dog,
wearied of confinement, had slipped from the string, and
was at play with his kind in a distant quarter of the town,
leaving the blind man to seek his way as he might to his
solitary inn. c
J?0 TIIH IMT.fiKTMS OF TfTR RHINE.
By and by a Hglit step passed through the street, and tlio
young stranger's face brightened —
"Pardon me," said he, turning to the spot wliere his
quick ear had caught the sound, "and direct me, if you
are not by chance much pressed for a few moments' time,
to the hotel Moj'tic?- d'or.""
It was a young woman, whose dress betokened that
she belonged to the middling class of life, whom he thus
addressed. — " It is some distance hence, sir," said she ;
" but if you continue your way straight on for about a
hundred yards, and then take the second turn to your
right hand"
" Alas !" interrupted the stranger, with a melancholy
smile, " your direction will avail me little ; my dog has
deserted me, — and I am blind ! "
There was something in these words, and in the stranger's
voice, which went irresistibly to the heart of the young
woman, — " Pray forgive me," she said, almost with tears
in her eyes, " I did not perceive your " — misfortune, she
was about to say, but she checked herself with an instinc-
tive delicacy. — "Lean upon me, I will conduct you to the
door; nay, sir," observing that he hesitated, "I have time
enough to spare, I assure you."
The stranger placed his hand on the young woman's
arm, and though Lucille was naturally so bashful that even
her mother would laughingly reproach her for the excess
of a maiden virtue, she felt not the least pang of shame,
as she found herself thus suddenly walking through the
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 03
streets of Malines, alone with a young stranger, whose
dress and air betokened him of rank superior to her own.
"Your voice is very gentle," said he, after a pause,
"and that," he added, with a slight sigh, "is the criterion
by which I only know the young and the beautiful!"
Lucille now blushed, and wich a slight mixture of pain in
the blush, for she knew well that to beauty she had no
pretension. " Are you a native of this town," continued
he. " Yes, sir, my father holds a small office in the customs,
and my mother and I eke out his salary by making lace.
We are called poor, but we do not feel it, sir."
" You are fortunate ; there is no wealth like the heart's
wealth, content," answered the blind man mournfully.
" And Monsieur," said Lucille, feeling angry with her-
self, that she had awakened a natural envy in the stranger's
mind, and anxious to change the subject — "and Monsieur,
has he been long at Malines ? "
" But yesterday. I am passing through the Low Countries
on a tour; perhaps you smile at the tour of a blind man — but
it is wearisome even to the blind to rest always in the same
place. I thought during church time, when the streets were
empty, that I might, by the help of my dog, enjoy safely at
least the air, if not the sight of the town ; but there are
some persons, methinks, who cannot even have a dog for a
friend ! "
The blind man spoke bitterly — the desertion of his dog
had touched him to the core. Lucille wiped her eyes. "And
does Monsieur travel then alone ?" said she; and looking at
c2
OJ. THK I'llXiUlMS OF THE RHINE.
his face more attentively than she had yet ventured to do,
she saw that he was scarcely above two-and-twenty. " His
father, his mother" she added, with an emphasis on the last
word, "are they not witli him?"
" I am an orphan ! " answered the stranger; "and I have
neither brother nor sister."
Tlie desolate condition of the blind man quite melted
Lucille; never had she been so strongly affected She
felt a strange flutter at the heart — a secret and earnest
sympathy, that attracted her at once towards him. She
wished that heaven had suffered her to be his sister.
The contrast between the youth and the form of the
stranger, and the affliction which took hope from the one,
and activity from the other, increased the compassion he
excited. His features were remarkably regular, and had a
certain nobleness in their outline ; and his frame was grace-
fully and firmly knit, though he moved cautiously and with
no cheerful step.
They had now passed into a narrow street leading towards
the hotel, when they heard behind them the clatter of hoofs ;
and Lucille, looking hastily back, saw that a troop of the
Belgian horse was passing through the town.
She drew her charge close by the wall, and trembling
with fear for him, she stationed herself by his side. The troop
passed at a full trot through the street; and at the sound
of their clanging arms, and the ringing hoofs of their heavy
chargers, Lucille might have seen, had she looked at the
blind man's face, that its sad features kindled with enthusiasm.
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 25
and his head was raised proudly from its wonted and melan-
choly bend. " Thank heaven ! " she said, as the troop had
nearly passed them, " the danger is over ! " Not so. One
of the last two soldiers who rode abreast, was unfortunately
mounted on a young and unmanageable horse. The rider's
oaths and digging spur only increased the fire and impatience
of the charger ; he plunged from side to side of the narrow
street.
'' Gardez voiis," cried the horseman, as he was borne on to
the place where Lucille and the stranger stood against the
wall ; " are ye mad — why do you not run ? "
"For heaven's sake, for mercy's sake, he is blind," cried
Lucille, clinging to the stranger's side.
" Save yourself, my kind guide ! " said the stranger. But
Lucille dreamt not of such desertion. The trooper wrested
the horse's head from the spot where they stood ; vvith a
snort, as he felt the spur, the enraged animal lashed out with
its hind-legs ; and Lucille, unable to save both, threw herself
before the blind man, and received the shock directed against
him ; her slight and delicate arm fell shattered by her side —
the horseman was borne onward. " Thank God, ^ou are
saved ! " was poor Lucille's exclamation; and she fell, over-
come with pain and terror, into the arms which the stranger
mechanically opened to receive her.
" My guide, my friend !" cried he, "you are hurt, you — "
" No, Sir," interrupted Lucille, faintly, "I am better — I
am well. T7iis arm, if you please — we are not far from
your hotel now."
2() TIIK PILCUIMS OF TIIK KIIINE.
Ijiit the Stranger's ear, tutored to every inflection of voice,
told him at once of the pain she suffered; he drew from her
l)y degrees the confession of the injury she had sustained;
but the generous girl did not tell him it had been incurred
solely in liis protection. He now insisted on reversing their
duties, and accompanying he?- to lier home ; and Lucille,
almost fainting with pain, and hardly able to move, was
forced to consent. But a few steps down the next turning
stood the humble mansion of her father — they reached it —
and Lucille scarcely crossed the threshold, before she sank
down, and for some minutes was insensible to pain. It was
left to the stranger to explain, and to beseech them im-
mediately to send for a surgeon, " the most skilful — the
most practised in the town," said he. " See, I am rich, and
this is the least I can do to atone to your generous daughter,
for not forsaking even a stranger in peril."
He held out his purse as he spoke, but the father refused
the offer ; and it saved the blind man some shame, that he
could not see the blush of honest resentment, with which so
poor a species of remuneration was put aside.
The young man stayed till the surgeon arrived, till the arm
was set ; nor did he depart until he had obtained a promise
from the mother, that he should learn the next morning how
the sufferer had passed the night.
The next morning, indeed, lie had intended to quit a town
that offers but little temptation to the traveller ; but he
tarried day after day, until Lucille herself accompanied
her mother, to assure him of her recov cry.
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 27
You know, or at least I do, clearest Gertrude, that there
is such a thing as love at the first meeting — a secret, an
unaccountable affinity between persons (strangers before),
which draws them irresistibly together. If there were truth in
Plato's beautiful phantasy, that our souls were a portion of
the stars, it might be that spirits, thus attracted to each other,
have drawn their original light from the same orb ; and they
thus but yearn for a renewal of their former union. Yet
without recurring to such ideal solutions of a daily mystery,
it was but natural that one in the forlorn and desolate con-
dition of Eugene St. Amand, should have felt a certain
tenderness for a person who had so generously suffered for
his sake.
The darkness to which he was condemned did not shut
from his mind's eye the haunting images of ideal beauty ;
rather, on the contrary, in his perpetual and unoccupied
solitude, he fed the reveries of an imagination naturally
warm, and a heart eager for sympathy and commune.
He had said rightly that his only test of beauty was in
the melody of voice; and never had a softer or a more thril-
ling tone than that of the young maiden touched upon his
ear. Her exclamation, so beautifully denying self, so de-
voted in its charity, " Thank God ^mc are saved," uttered
too in the moment of her own suffering, rang constantly
upon his soul, and he yielded, without precisely defining
their nature, to vague and delicious sentiments, that his
youth had never awakened to till then. And Lucille, — the
very accident that had happened to her on his behalf^ oidy
28 THE T'lLCRTMR OF THE RHINE.
deepened the interest she had already conceived for one
who, in the first flush of youth, was thus cut off from the
glad objects of life, and left to a night of years, desolate and
alone. There is, to your beautiful and kindly sex, a per-
petual and gushing lovlngness to protect. This makes them
tlie angels of sickness, the comforters of age, the fosterers
of childhood ; and this feeling, in Lucille peculiarly developed,
had already inexpressibly linked her compassionate nature
to the lot of the unfortunate traveller. With ardent affec-
tions, and with thoughts beyond her station and her years,
she was not without that modest vanity which made her
painfully susceptible to her own deficiencies in beauty.
Instinctively conscious of how deeply she herself could love,
she believed it impossible that she could ever be so loved in
retm"n. This stranger, so superior in her eyes to all she
had yet seen, was the first out of her own household who
had ever addressed her in that voice which by tones, not
words, speaks that admiration most dear to a woman's heart.
To him she was beautiful, and her lovely mind spoke out
undimmed by the imperfections of her face. Not, indeed,
that Lucille was wholly without personal attraction; her
light step and graceful form were elastic with the freshness
of youth, and her mouth and smile had so gentle and tender
an expression, that there were moments when it would not
have been the blind only who would have mistaken her to
be beautiful. Her early childhood had indeed given the
promise of attractions, which the small-pox, that then fearful
malady, had inexorably marred. It had not only seared the
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 29
smooth skin and the brilliant hues, but utterly changed even
the character of the features. It so happened that Lucille 's
family were celebrated for beauty, and vain of that celebrity ;
and so bitterly had her parents deplored the effects of the
cruel malady, that poor Lucille had been early taught to
consider them far more grievous than they really were, and
to exaggerate the advantages of that beauty, the loss of
which was considered by her parents so heavy a misfortune.
Lucille too had a cousin named Julie, who was the wonder
of all Malines for her personal perfections ; and as the cousins
were much together, the contrast was too striking not to
occasion frequent mortification to Lucille. But every mis-
fortune has something of a counterpoise; and the conscious-
ness of personal inferiority had meekened, without souring,
her temper, had given gentleness to a spirit that otherwise
might have been too high, and humility to a mind that was
naturally strong, impassioned, and energetic.
And yet Lucille had long conquered the one disadvantage
she most dreaded in the want of beauty. Lucille was never
known but to be loved. Wherever came her presence, her
bright and soft mind diffused a certain inexpressible charm;
and where she was not, a something was missing from the
scene which not even Julie's beauty could replace.
" I propose," said St. Amand to Madame Le Tisseur,
Lucille's mother, as he sate in her little salon, — for he had
already contracted that acquaintance with the family which
permitted him to be led to their house, to return the visits
Madame Le Tisseur had made him, and Ids dog, once more
30 THE riLORIMS OF THE RHINE.
returned a penitent to his master, always conducted his steps
to the humble abode, and stopped instinctively at the door, —
" 1 propose," said St. Amand after a pause, and with some
embarrassment, " to stay a little while longer at Malines ;
tlie air agrees with me, and I like the quiet of the place; but
you arc aware, Madame, that at a hotel among strangers,
J feel my situation somewhat cheerless. I have been think-
ing" — St. Amand paused again — "I have been thinking that
if I could persuade some agreeable family to receive me
as a lodger, I would fix myself here for some weeks. I
am easily pleased."
" Doubtless there are many in Malines who would be
too happy to receive such a lodger."
" Will you receive me ? " said St. Amand abruptly. " It
was of your family 1 thought."
" Of us? Monsieur is too flattering, but we have scarcely
a room good enough for you."
" What difference between one room and another can
there be to me ? That is the best apartment to my choice
in which the human voice sounds most kindly."
The arrangement was made, and St. Amand came now
to reside beneath the same roof as Lucille. And was she
not happy that he wanted so constant an attendance? was
she not happy that she was ever of use ? St. Amand was
passionately fond of music; he played himself with a skill
that was only surpassed by the exquisite melody of his voice ;
and was not Lucille happy when she sate mute and listening
to such sounds as at Malines were never heard before ? Was
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 31
she not happy in gazing on a face to whose melancholy
aspect her voice instantly summoned the smile? Was she
not happy when the music ceased, and St. Amand called
" Lucille ? " Did not her own name uttered by that voice
seem to her even sweeter than the music ? Was she not
happy when they walked out in the still evenings of summer,
and her arm thrilled beneath the light touch of one to whom
she was so necessary ? Was she not proud in her happiness,
and was there not something like worship in the gratitude
she felt to him, for raising her Immble spirit to the luxury of
feeling herself loved ?
St. Amand's parents were French; they had resided in the
neighbourhood of Amiens, where they had inherited a com-
petent property, to which he had succeeded about two years
previous to the date of my story.
He had been blind from the age of three years. " I know
not," said he, as he related these particulars to Lucille one
evening when they were alone ; " I know not what the earth
may be like, or the heaven, or the rivers whose voice at
least I can hear, for I have no recollection beyond that of
a confused, but delicious blending of a thousand glorious
colours — a bright and quick sense of joy — a visible music.
But it is only since my childhood closed, that I have
mourned, as I now unceasingly mourn, for the light of day.
My boyhood passed in a quiet cheerfulness; the least trifle
then could please and occupy the vacancies of my mind;
hut it was as I took delight in being read to, — as I listened
to the vivid descriptions of Poetry, as 1 glowed at the recital
32 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
of great deeds, as I was made acquainted by books, with
the energy, the action, the heat, the fervour, the pomp, the
enthusiasm of life, that I gradually opened to the sense of
all 1 was for ever denied. I felt that I existed, not lived ;
and that, in the midst of the Universal Liberty, I was sen-
tenced to a prison, from whose blank walls there was no
escape. Still, however, while my parents lived, I had some-
thing of consolation ; at least I was not alone. They died,
and a sudden and dread solitude, a vast and empty dreari-
ness, settled upon my dungeon. One old servant only, who
had nursed me from my childhood, who had known me in
my short privilege of light, by whose recollections my mind
could grope back its way through the dark and narrow
passages of memory to faint glimpses of the sun, was all
that remained to me of human sympathies. It did not suf-
fice, however, to content me with a home where my father
and my mother's kind voice were not. A restless impa-
tience, an anxiety to move possessed me, and I set out from
my home, journeying whither I cared not, so that at least I
could change an air that weighed upon me like a palpable
burthen. I took only this old attendant as my comj)aHion ;
he too died three months since at Bruxelles, worn out with
years. Alas ! I had forgotten that he was old, for I saw not
his progress to decay ; and now, save my faithless dog, I was
utterly alone, till I came hither and found tlicer
Lucille stooped down to caress the dog ; she blest the
desertion that had led to a friend who never could desert.
But however much, and however gratefully, St. Amand
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 33
loved Lucille, her power availed not to chase the melancholy
from his brow, and to reconcile him to his forlorn condition .
" Ah, would that I could see thee ! Would that I could
look upon a face that my heart vainly endeavours to
delineate ! "
" If thou couldst," sighed Lucille, " thou wouldst cease
to love me."
" Impossible ! " cried St. Amand, passionately ; " how-
ever the world may find thee, thou wouldst become my
standard of beauty, and I should judge not of thee by
others, but of others by thee."
He loved to hear Lucille read to him, and mostly he loved
the descriptions of war, of travel, of wild adventure, and
yet they occasioned him the most pain. Often she paused
from the page as she heard him sigh, and felt that she would
even have renounced the bliss of being loved by him, if she
could have restored to him that blessing, the desire for which
haunted him as a spectre.
Lucille's family were Catholic, and, like most in their
station, they possessed the superstitions, as well as the
devotion of the faith. Sometimes they amused themselves
of an evening by the various legends and imaginary miracles
of their calendar : and once, as they were thus conversing
with two or three of their neighbours, " The Tomb of the
Three Kings of Cologne " became the main topic of their
wandering recitals. However strong was the sense of
Lucille, she was, as you will readily conceive, naturally
influenced by the belief of those with whom she had been
34 TITF, PILORIMS OF TIIK lUTTNE.
brouirlit up from her cradle, and she listened to tale after
tale of the miracles wrought at the consecrated tomb, as
earnestly and undoubtingly as the rest.
And the Kings of the East were no ordinary saints ;
to the relics of the Three Magi, who followed the Star of
Bethlehem, and were the first potentates of the earth who
adored its Saviour, well might the pious Catholic suppose that
a peculiar power, and a healing sanctity, would belong. Each
of the circle ( St. Amand, who had been more than usually
silent, and even gloomy during the day, had retired to his
own apartment, for there were some moments when, in the
sadness of his thoughts, he sought that solitude which he so
impatiently fled from at others) — each of the circle had
some story to relate equally veracious and indisputable, of
an infirmity cured, or a prayer accorded, or a sin atoned for
at the foot of the holy tomb. One story peculiarly aifected
Lucille ; the narrator, a venerable old man with grey locks,
solemnly declared himself a witness of its truth.
A woman at Anvers had given birth to a son, the offspring
of an illicit connection, who came into the world deaf and
dumb. The unfortunate mother believed the calamity a
punishment for her own sin. " Ah ! would," said she, " that
the affliction had fallen only upon me ! Wretch that I am,
my innocent child is punished for my offence ! " This idea
haunted her night and day : she pined and could not be com-
forted. As the child grew up, and wound himself more and
more round her heart, its caresses added new pangs to her
remorse ; and at length (continued the narrator) hearing
THK PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 35
perpetually of the holy fame of the Tomb of Cologne, she
resolved upon a pilgrimage barefoot to the shrine. " God
is merciful," said she, " and he who called Magdalene his
sister, may take the mother's curse from the child." She
then went to Cologne ; she poured her tears, her penitence,
and her prayers, at the sacred tomb. When she returned
to her native town, what was her dismay as she approached
her cottage to behold it a heap of ruins ! — its blackened
rafters and yawning casements betokened the ravages of
fire. The poor woman sunk upon the ground utterly over-
powered. Had her son perished? At that moment she
heard the cry of a child's voice, and, lo ! her child rushed
to her arms, and called her " mother ! "
He had been saved from the fire which had broken out
seven days before; but in the terror he had suffered, the
string that tied his tongue had been loosened ; he had uttered
articulate sounds of distress ; the curse was removed, and
one word at least the kind neighbours had already taught
him, to welcome his mother's return. What cared she now
that her substance was gone, that her roof was ashes ; she
bowed in grateful submission to so mild a stroke ; her prayer
had been heard, and the sin of the mother was visited no
longer on the child.
I have said, dear Gertrude, that this story made a deep
impression upon Lucille. A misfortune so nearly akin to
that of St. Amand, removed by the prayer of another, filled
her with devoted thoughts, and a beautiful hope. " Is not
the tomb still standing ? " thought she ; " is not God still in
',](') THE PTLCRlMSi OF TITE RHINE.
heaven? — lie who heard the guilty, may he not hear tlie
guiltless? Is he not the God of love? Are not the
affections the offerings that please him best? and what
though the child's mediator was his mother, can even a
mother love her child more tenderly than I love Eugene ?
But if, Lucille, thy prayer be granted, if he recover his
sight, th^ charm is gone, he will love thee no longer. No
matter ! be it so — I shall at least have made him happy ! "
Such were the thoughts that filled the mind of Lucille ;
she cherished them till they settled into resolution, and she
secretly vowed to perform her pilgrimage of love. She
told neither St. Amand nor her parents of her intention;
she knew the obstacles such an annunciation would create.
Fortunately she had an aunt settled at Bruxelles, to whom
she had been accustomed, once in every year, to pay a
month's visit, and at that time she generally took Math
her the work of a twelvemonth's industry, which found a
readier sale at Bruxelles than Malines. Lucille and St.
Amand were already betrothed ; their wedding was shortly
to take place; and the custom of the country leading
parents, however poor, to nourish the honourable ambition
of giving some dowry with their daughters, Lucille found
it easy to hide the object of her departure, under the pre-
tence of taking the lace to Bruxelles, which had been the
year's labour of her mother and herself— it would sell for
sufficient, at least, to defray the preparations for the
weddinof.
" Thou art ever right, child," said Madame Le Tisseur;
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 37
the richer St. Amand is, why the less oughtest tliou to go
a beggar to his house."
In fact, the honest ambition of the good people was
excited ; their pride had been hurt by the envy of the town
and the current congfratulations on so advantag^eous a
marriage; and they employed themselves in counting up
the fortune they should be able to give to their only child,
and flattering their pardonable vanity with the notion that
there would be no such great disproportion in the connection
after all. They were right, but not in their own view of
the estimate; the wealth that Lucille brought was what
fate could not lessen, — reverse could not reach, — the
ungracious seasons could not blight its sweet harvest, —
imprudence could not dissipate, — fraud could not steal one
grain from its abundant coffers ! Like the purse in the Fairy
Tale, its use was hourly, its treasure inexhaustible.
St. Amand alone was not to be won to her departure ; he
chafed at the notion of a dowry ; he was not appeased even
by Lucille's representation, that it was only to gratify and
not to impoverish her parents. " And thou, too, canst leave
me," he said, in that plaintive voice which had made his
first charm to Lucille's heart. " It is a second blindness."
" But for a few days ; a fortnight at most, dearest
Eugene."
" A fortnight ! you do not reckon time as the blind do,"
said St. Amand, bitterly.
" But listen, listen, dear Eugene," said Lucille, weeping.
The sound of her sobs restored him to a sense of his
D
38 THE PIT.r.RlMS OF THE RHINE.
ingratitude. Alas, he knew not how much he had to be
grateful for. He held out his arms to her; " Forgive me,"
said he. " Those who can see nature know not how terrible
it is to be alone."
" But my mother will not leave you."
" She is not you ! "
" And Julie," said Lucille, hesitatingly.
" What is Julie to me ? "
" Ah, you are the only one, save my parents, who could
think of me in her presence."
"And why, Lucille?"
" Why ! She is more beautiful than a dream. "
" Say not so. Would I could see, that I might prove to
the world how much more beautiful thou art. There is no
music in her voice."
The evening before Lucille departed, she sat up late
with St. Amand and her mother. They conversed on the
future ; they made plans ; in the wide sterility of the world
they laid out the garden of household love, and filled it
with flowers, forgetful of the wind that scatters, and the
frost that kills. And when, leaning on Lucille's arm, St.
Amand sought his chamber, and they parted at his door,
which closed upon her, she fell down on her knees at the
threshold, and poured out the fulness of her heart in a
prayer for his safety, and the fulfilment of her timid hope.
At day-break she was consigned to the conveyance that
performed the short journey from Malines to Bruxelles.
When she entered the town, instead of seeking her aunt,
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 39
she rested at an auberge in the suburbs, and confiding her
little basket of lace to the care of its hostess, she set out
alone, and on foot, upon the errand of her heart's lovely
superstition. And erring though it was, her faith redeemed
its weakness — her affection made it even sacred. And well
may we believe, that the eye which reads all secrets, scarce
looked reprovingly on that fanaticism, whose only infirmity
was love.
So fearful was she, lest, by rendering the task too easy,
she might impair the effect, that she scarcely allowed herself
rest or food. Sometimes, in the heat of noon, she wandered
a little from the road side, and under the spreading lime-
tree surrendered her mind to its sweet and bitter thoughts ;
but ever the restlessness of her enterprise urged her on,
and faint, — weary, — and with bleeding feet, she started up
and continued her way. At length she reached the ancient
city, where a holier age has scarce worn from the habits and
aspects of men the Roman trace. She prostrated herself
at the tomb of the Magi; she proffered her ardent but
humble prayer to Him before Mdiose son those fleshless
heads (yet to faith at least preserved) had, nearly eighteen
centuries ago, bowed in adoration. Twice every day, for
a whole week, she sought the same spot, and poured forth
the same prayer. The last day an old priest, who, hovering
in the church, had observed her constantly at devotion, with
that fatherly interest which the better ministers of the Ca-
tholic sect (that sect which has covered the earth with the
mansions of charity) feel for the unhappy, approached her as
she was retiring with moist and downcast eyes, and saluting
D 2
40 THE PILGRIMS OF TIIK RHINE.
her, assumed the privilege of his order, to inquire if there
was aught in which his advice or aid could serve. There
was somethins: iu the venerable air of the old man which
encouraged Lucille ; she opened her heart to him ; she told
him all. The good priest was much moved by her simpli-
city and earnestness. He questioned her minutely as to
the peculiar species of blindness with which St. Amand
was afflicted; and after musing a little while, he said,
" Daughter, God is great and merciful ; we must trust in
his power, but we must not forget that he mostly works by
mortal agents. As you pass through Louvain in your way
home, fail not to see there a certain physician, named Le
Kain. He is celebrated through Flanders for the cures he
has wrought among the blind, and his advice is sought by
all classes from far and near. He lives hard by the Hotel
de Ville, but any one will inform you of his residence.
Stay, my child, you shall take him a note from me ; he is
a benevolent and kindly man, and you shall tell him
exactly the same story (and with the same voice) you have
told to me."
So saying the priest made Lucille accompany him to his
home, and forcing her to refresh herself less sparingly than
she had yet done since she had left Malines, he gave her
his blessing, and a letter to Le Kain, which he rightly
j udged would ensure her a patient hearing from the physi-
cian. Well known among all men of science was the
name of the priest, and a word of recommendation from
him M'ent farther, where virtue and wisdom were honoured,
than the longest letter from the haughtiest Sieur in Flanders.
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 41
With a patient and hopeful spirit, the young pilgrim
turned her back on the Roman Cologne, and now about to
rejoin St. Amand, she felt neither the heat of the sun nor
the weariness of the road. It w^as one day at noon that she
again passed through Lou vain, and she soon found herself
by the noble edifice of the Hotel de Ville. Proud rose its
Gothic spires against the sky, and the sun shone bright on
its rich tracery and Gothic casements ; the broad open
street was crowded with persons of all classes, and it was
with some modest alarm, that Lucille lowered her veil and
mingled with the throng. It was easy, as the priest had
said, to find the house of Le Kain ; she bade the servant
take the priest's letter to his master, and she was not long
kept waiting before she was admitted to the physician's
presence. He was a spare, tall man, with a bald front, and
a calm and friendly countenance. He was not less touched
than the priest had been, by the manner in which she
narrated her story, described the affliction of her betrothed,
and the hope that had inspired the pilgrimage she had
just made.
" Well," said he, encouragingly, " we must see our
patient. You can bring him hither to me."
" Ah, Sir, I had hoped " Lucille stopped suddenly.
" What, my young friend ? "
" That I might have had the triumph of bringing you
to Malines. I know, Sir, what you are about to say ; and
I know. Sir, your time must be very valuable ; but 1 am
not so poor as I seem, and Eugene, that is Monsieur St.
4J> TIIK I'll/; RIMS OF TlIK RHINE.
Amand, is very rich, and — and 1 have at Bruxelles, what I
am sure is a lart^e sum ; it was to have provided for the
wedding, but it is most heartily at your service, Sir.""
Le Kain smiled ; he was one of those men who love to
read the human heart when its leaves are fair and undefiled ;
and, in the benevolence of science, he would have gone a
longer journey than from Louvain to Malines to give sight
to the blind, even had St. Amand been a beggar.
" Well, well," said he, " but you forget that Monsieur
St. Amand is not the only one in the world who wants me.
1 must look at my note book, and see if I can be spared for
a day or two."
So saying he glanced at his memoranda; everything
smiled on Lucille ; he had no engagements that his partner
could not fulfil, for some days ; he consented to accompany
Lucille to Malines,
Meanwhile cheerless and dull had passed the time to
St. Amand ; he was perpetually asking Madame Le Tisseur
what hour it was; it was almost his only question. There
seemed to him no sun in the heavens, no freshness in the
air, and he even forbore his favourite music; the instrument
had lost its sweetness since Lucille was not by to listen.
It was natural that the gossips of Malines should feel
some envy at the marriage Lucille was about to make with
one, whose competence report had exaggerated into prodigal
wealth, whose birth had been elevated from the respectable
to the noble, and whose handsome person was clothed, by
the interest excited by his misfortune, with the beauty of
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 43
Antinous. Even that misfortune, which ought to have
levelled all distinctions, was not sufficient to check the
general envy ; — perhaps to some of the dames of Malines
blindness in a husband was indeed not the least agreeable of
all qualifications ! But there was one in whom this envy
rankled with a peculiar sting; it was the beautiful, the all-
conquering Julie. That the humble, the neglected Lucille
should be preferred to her ; that Lucille, whose existence
was well nigh forgot beside Julie's, should become thus
suddenly of importance ; that there should be one person in
the world, and that person young, rich, handsome, to whom
she was less than nothing, when weighed in the balance
with Lucille, mortified to the quick a vanity that had never
till then received a wound. " It is well," she would say
with a bitter jest, " that Lucille's lover is blind. To be
the one it is necessary to be the other ! "
During Lucille's absence she had been constantly in
Madame Le Tisseur's house — indeed Lucille had prayed
her to be so. She had sought, with an industry that
astonished herself, to supply Lucille's place, and among the
strange contradictions of human nature, she had learnt,
during her efforts to please, to love the object of those
efforts, — as much at least as she was capable of loving.
She conceived a positive hatred to Lucille ; she persisted
in imagining that nothing but the accident of first acquaint-
ance had deprived her of a conquest with which she per-
suaded herself her happiness had become connected. Had
St. Amend never loved Lucille and proposed to Julie, his
misfortune would have made her reject him, despite his
44 •'"i- iMr,{;i{ii\is OK the khine.
wealth and liis youtli ; but to be Lucille's lover, and a con-
quest to be won from Lucille, raised liim instantly to an
importance not his own. Safe, however, in his affliction,
the arts and beauty of Julie fell harmless on the fidelity of
St. Amand. Nay, he liked her less than ever, for it seemed
an impertinence in any one to counterfeit the anxiety and
watchfulness of Lucille.
" It is time, surely it is time, Madame Le Tisseur, that
Lucille should return. She might have sold all the lace in
Malines by this time," said St. Amand one day peevishly.
" Patience, my dear friend, patience, perhaps she may
return to-morrow."
'' To-morrow ! let me see, it is only six o'clock, only six,
you are sure? "
"Just five, dear Eugene, shall I read to you; this is a new
book from Paris, it has made a great noise ? "" said Julie.
" You are very kind, but I will not trouble you."
" It is any thing but trouble."
" In a M'ord, then, I would rather not."
" Oh ! that he could see," thought Julie ; " would I not
punish him for this ! "
" I hear carriage wheels, who can be passing this way ?
surely it is the voiturier from Bruxelles," said St. Amand
starting up, " it is his day, his hour, too. No, no, it is a
lighter vehicle," and he sank down listlessly on his seat.
Nearer and nearer rolled the wheels; they turned the
corner; they stopped at the lowly door; and — overcome, —
overjoyed, Lucille was clasped to the bosom of St. Amand.
" Stay," said she blushing, as she recovered her self-
THE PILCRIMS OF THE RHINE. 4,5
possession, and turned to Le Kain, " pray pardon me, Sir.
Dear Eugene, I have brought with me one who, by God's
blessing, may yet restore you to sight."
" We must not be sanguine, my child," said Le Kain,
" any thing is better than disappointment."
To close this part of my story, dear Gertrude, Le Kain
examined St. Amand, and the result of the examination was
a confident belief in the probability of a cure. St. Amand
gladly consented to the experiment of an operation ; it suc-
ceeded — the blind man saw ! Oh ! what were Lucille's feel-
ings, what her emotion, what her joy. when she found the
object of her pilgrimage, — of her prayers — fulfilled ! That
joy was so intense, that in the eternal alternations of human
life she might have foretold from its excess how bitter the
sorrows fated to ensue.
As soon as by degrees the patient's new sense became
reconciled to the light, his first, his only demand, was for
Lucille. " No, let me not see her alone, let me see her in
the midst of you all, that I may convince you that the heart
never is mistaken in its instincts." With a fearful, a sinking
presentiment, Lucille yielded to the request to which the
impetuous St. Amand would hear indeed no denial. The
father, the mother, Julie, Lucille, Julie's younger sisters
assembled in the little parlour ; the door opened, and St.
Amand stood hesitating on the threshold. One look around
sufficed to him ; his face brightened, he uttered a cry of joy.
" Lucille ! Lucille ! " he exclaimed, " it is you, I know it,
you only !" He sprang forward and fell at the feet of Julie!
46 '''UK PILGRIMS OK THE RHINE.
Flushed, elated, triumphant, Julie bent upon him her
sparkling eyes ; she did not undeceive him.
" You are wrong, you mistake," said Madame Le Tisseur,
in confusion, "that is her cousin Julie, this is your Lucille."
St. Amand rose, turned, saw Lucille, and at that moment
she wished herself in her grave. Surprise, mortification,
disappointment, almost dismay, were depicted in his gaze.
He had been haunting his prison-house with dreams, and,
now set free, he felt how unlike they were to the truth. Too
new to observation to read the woe, the despair, the lapse
and shrinking of the whole frame, that his look occasioned
Lucille, he yet felt, when the first shock of his surprise was
over, that it was not thus he should thank her who had
restored him to sight. He hastened to redeem his error ; —
ah ! how could it be redeemed ?
From that hour all Lucille's happiness was at an end;
her fairy palace was shattered in the dust; the magician's
wand was broken up ; the Ariel was given to the winds ;
and the bright enchantment no longer distinguished the
land she lived in from the rest of the barren world. It
was true that St. Amand's words were kind ; it is true that
he remembered with the deepest gratitude all she had done
in his behalf; it is true that he forced himself again and
again to say, " she is my betrothed — my benefactor ! " and
he cursed himself to think that the feelings he had enter-
tained for her were fled. Where was the passion of his
words ? where the ardour of his tone ? where that play
and light of countenance which her step, Iter voice could
formerly call forth ? When they were alone he was em-
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 47
barrassed and constrained, and almost cold; his hand no
longer sought hers ; his soul no longer missed her if she
was absent a moment from his side. When in their house-
hold circle, he seemed visibly more at ease; but did his
eyes fasten upon her who had opened them to the day ?
did they not wander at every interval with a too eloquent
admiration to the blushing and radiant face of the exulting
Julie ? This was not, you will believe, suddenly percep-
tible in one day or one week, but every day it was per-
ceptible more and more. Yet still — bewitched, ensnared
as St. Amand was — he never perhaps would have been
guilty of an infidelity that he strove with the keenest
remorse to wrestle against, had it not been for the fatal
contrast, at the first moment of his gushing enthusiasm,
which Julie had presented to Lucille; but for that he
would have formed no previous idea of real and living
beauty to aid the disappointment of his imaginings and
his dreams. He would have seen Lucille young and
graceful, and with eyes beaming affection, contrasted
only by the wrinkled countenance and bended frame of her
parents, and she would have completed her conquest over
him before he had discovered that she was less beautiful
than others; nay, more — that infidelity never could have
lasted above the first few days, if the vain and heartless
object of it had not exerted every art, all the power and
witchery of her beauty, to cement and continue it. The
unfortunate Lucille — so susceptible to the slightest change
in those she loved, so diffident of herself, so proud too in
45 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
that diffidence — no longer necessary, no longer missed, no
longer loved— could not bear to endure the galling com-
parison of the past and present. She fled uncomplainingly
to her chamber to indulge her tears, and thus, unhappily,
absent as her father generally was during the day, and
busied as her mother was either at work or in household
matters, she left Julie a thousand opportunities to complete
the power she had begun to wield over — no, not the heart!
— the senses of St. Amand ! Yet, still not suspecting, in the
open generosity of her mind, the whole extent of her
affliction, poor Lucille buoyed herself at times with the
hope that when once married, when once in that intimacy
of friendship, the unspeakable love she felt for him could
disclose itself with less restraint than at present, — she
should perhaps regain a heart which had been so devotedly
hers, that she could not think that without a fault it was
irrevocably gone : on that hope she anchored all the little
happiness that remained to her. And still St. Amand
pressed their marriage, but in what different tones ! In
fact, he wished to preclude from himself the possibility of a
deeper ingratitude than that which he had incurred already.
He vainly thought that the broken reed of love might be
bound up and strengthened by the ties of duty ; and at
least he was anxious that his hand, his fortune, his esteem,
his gratitude, should give to Lucille the only recompense
it was now in his power to bestow. Meanwhile left alone
so often with Julie, and Julie bent on achieving the last
triumph over his heart, St. Amand was gradually preparing
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 49
a far different reward, a far different return for her to whom
he owed so incalculable a debt.
There was a garden behind the house in which there was
a small arbour, where often in the summer evenings Eugene
and Lucille had sat together — hours never to return ! One
day she heard from her own chamber, where she sate
mourning, the sound of St. Amand's flute swelling gently
from that beloved and consecrated bower. She wept as
she heard it, and the memories that the music bore, softening
and endearing his image, she began to reproach herself
that she had yielded so often to the impulse of her wounded
feelings ; that, chilled by his coldness, she had left him so
often to himself, and had not sufficiently dared to tell him
of that affection M^iich, in her modest self-depreciation,
constituted her only pretension to his love. " Perhaps he
is alone now," she thought ; "the tune too is one which he
knew that I loved:" and with her heart on her step, she
stole from the house and sought the arbour. She had scarce
turned from her chamber when the flute ceased ; as she
n eared the arbour she heard voices — Julie's voice in grief,
St. Amand's in consolation. A dread foreboding seized
her ; her feet clung rooted to the earth.
" Yes, marry her — forget me," said Julie ; "in a few
days you will be another's, and I, I — forgive me, Eugene,
forgive me that I have disturbed your happiness. I am
punished sufficiently — my heart will break, but it will
break loving you." — sobs choked Julie's voice.
"Oh, speak not thus," said St. Amand. "I, /only am to
50 THE PTI.ORIMS or TflK RHlNr-:.
bhune ; I, false to botli, to both ungrateful. Oli, from the
hour that these eyes opened upon you I drank in a new
life ; the sun itself to me was less wonderful than your
beauty. But — but — let me forget that hour. What do I
not owe to Lucille ? I shall be wretched — I shall deserve
to be so ; for shall I not think, Julie, that I have embit-
tered your life with our ill-fated love? But all that I can
give — my hand — my home — my plighted faith — must be
hers. Nay, Julie, nay — why that look ? could I act other-
wise ? can I dream otherwise ? Whatever the sacrifice,
must I not render it ? Ah, what do I owe to Lucille, were
it only for the thought that but for her I might never have
seen thee."
Lucille stayed to hear no more ; with the same soft step
as that which had borne her within hearing of these fatal
words, she turned back once more to her desolate chamber.
That evening, as St. Amand was sitting alone in his
apartment, he heard a gentle knock at the door. " Come
in," he said, and Lucille entered. He started in some
confusion, and would have taken her hand, but she gently
repulsed him. She took a seat opposite to him, and looking
down, thus addressed him : —
" My dear Eugene, that is, Monsieur St. Amand, I
have something on my mind that I think it better to sjieak
at once ; and if I do not exactly express what I would wish
to say, you must not be offended at Lucille ; it is not
an easy matter to put into M'ords what one feels deeply."
Colouring, and suspecting something of the truth, St.
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 51
Amand would have broken in upon her here; but she,
with a gentle impatience, waved him to be silent, and
continued: —
" You know that when you once loved me, I used to tell
you, that you would cease to do so, could you see how
undeserving I was of your attachment? I did not deceive
myself, Eugene ; I always felt assured that such would be
the case, that your love for me necessarily rested on your
affliction : but, for all that, I never at least had a dream, or
a desire, but for your happiness; and God knows, that if
again, by walking bare-footed, not to Cologne, but to
Rome — to the end of the world, I could save you from a
much less misfortune than that of blindness, I would cheer-
fully do it; yes, even though I might foretell all the while
that, on my return, you would speak to me coldly, think of
me lightly, and that the penalty to me would — would be —
what it has been ! " Here Lucille wiped a few natural
tears from her eyes; St. Amand, struck to the heart,
covered his face with his hands without the courage to
interrupt her. Lucille continued : —
"That which I foresaw, has come to pass; I am no
longer to you what I once was, when you could clothe this
poor form and this homely face, with a beauty they did not
possess ; you would wed me still, it is true ; but I am proud,
Eugene, and cannot stoop to gratitude where I once had
love. I am not so unjust as to blame you; the change was
natural, was inevitable. I should have steeled myself more
against it; but I am now resigned; we must part; you love
5^ THK I'lr.OHlMS OF TIIK UITINK.
.Iiilie — that too is natural — and she loves you; ah ! what also
more in the probable course of events ? Julie loves you,
not yet, perhaps, so much as I did, but then she has not
knoMMi you as I have, and she whose whole life has been
triumph, cannot feel the gratitude I felt at fancying myself
loved; but this will come; — God grant It ! Farewell, then,
for ever, dear Eugene ; I leave you when you no longer
want me ; you are now independent of Lucille ; wherever
you go, a thousand hereafter can supply my place ; —
farewell ! "
She rose, as she said this, to leave the room; but St.
Amand seizing her hand, which she in vain endeavoured
to withdraw from his clasp, poured forth incoherently,
passionately, his reproaches on himself, his eloquent per-
suasions against her resolution.
" I confess," said he, " that I have been allured for a
moment; I confess that Julie's beanty made me less sen-
sible to your stronger, your holier, oh ! far, far holier .
title to my love ! But forgive me, dearest Lucille ; already
I return to you, to all I once felt for you ; make me not
curse the blessing of sight that I owe to you. You must
not leave me ; never can we two part ; try me, only try me,
and if ever, hereafter, my heart wander from you, then,
Lucille, leave me to my remorse ! "
Even at that moment Lucille did not yield; she felt that
his prayer was but the enthusiasm of the hour ; she felt
that there was a virtue in her pride ; that to leave him was
a duty to herself. In vain he pleaded ; in vain M^ere his
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 53
embraces, his prayers ; in vain he reminded her of their
plighted troth, of her aged parents, whose happiness had
become wrapt in her union with him ; " How, even were it
as you wrongly believe, how in honour to them can I
desert you, can I wed another ? "
" Trust that, trust all, to me," answered Lucille; "your
honour shall be my care, none shall blame you ; only do
not let your marriage with Julie be celebrated here before
their eyes; that is all I ask, all they can expect. God
bless you ! do not fancy I shall be unhappy, for whatever
happiness the world gives you, shall I not have con-
tributed to bestow it? — and with that thought, I am above
compassion."
She glided from his arms, and left him to a solitude
more bitter even than that of blindness; that very night
Lucille sought her mother; to her she confided all. I
pass over the reasons she urged, the arguments she over-
came ; she conquered rather than convinced, and leaving to
Madame le Tisseur the painful task of breaking to her
father her unalterable resolution, she quitted Malines
the next morning, and with a heart too honest to be
utterly without comfort, paid that visit to her aunt which
had been so long deferred.
The pride of Lucille's parents prevented them from
reproaching St. Amand. He did not bear, however, their
cold and altered looks; he left their house ; and though for
several days he would not even see Julie, yet her beauty
and her art gradually resumed their empire over him.
54 T^'TE PTT.ORIMS OF THE RHINE.
They were married at Courlroi, and, to the joy of tlie
vain Jnlic, departed to the gay metropolis of France. But,
before their departure, before his marriage, St. Amand
endeavoured to appease his conscience by purchasing for
Monsieur Le Tisseur, a much more lucrative and honour-
able office than that he now held. Rightly judging that
Malines could no longer be a pleasant residence for them,
and much less for Lucille, the duties of the post were
to be fulfilled in another town ; and knowing that Monsieur
le Tisseur's delicacy would revolt at receiving such a favour
from his hands, he kept the nature of his negociation a
close secret, and suffered the honest citizen to believe
that his own merits alone had entitled him to so unex-
pected a promotion.
Time went on. This quiet and simple history of humble
affections took its date in a stormy epoch of the world —
the dawning Revolution of France. The family of Lucille
had been little more than a year settled in their new
residence, when Dumouriez led his army into the Nether-
lands. But how meanwhile had tliat year passed for
Lucille ? I have said that her spirit was naturally high ;
that, though so tender, she was not weak ; her very pilgrim-
age to Cologne alone, and at the timid age of seventeen,
proved that there was a strength in her nature no less than
a devotion in her love. The sacrifice she had made
brought its own reward. She believed St. Amand was
happy, and she would not give way to the selfishness of
grief; she had still duties to perform ; she could still com~
THE PTLGRTMS OF THE RHINE. 55
fort her parents, and cheer their age ; she coukl still be
all the world to them ; she felt this, and was consoled.
Only once during the year had she heard of Julie : she
had been seen by a mutual friend at Paris, gay, brilliant,
courted and admired ; of St. Amand she heard nothing.
My tale, dear Gertrude, does not lead me through the
harsh scenes of war. I do not tell you of the slaughter
and the siege, and the blood that inundated those fair
lands, the great battle-field of Europe. The people of the
Netherlands in general were with the cause of Dumouriez,
but the town in which Le Tisseur dwelt, offered some
faint resistance to his arms. Le Tisseur himself, despite
his age, girded on his sword ; the town was carried, and
the fierce and licentious troops of the conqueror poured,
flushed with their easy victory, through its streets. Le
Tisseur's house was filled with drunken and rude troopers ;
Lucille herself trembled in the fierce gripe of one of those
dissolute soldiers, more bandit than soldier, whom the
subtle Dumouriez had united to his army, and by whose
blood he so often saved that of his nobler band ; her
shrieks, her cries were vain, when suddenly the reeking
troopers gave way ; " the Captain ! brave Captain ! " was
shouted forth; the insolent soldier, felled by a powerful
arm, sunk senseless at the feet of Lucille ; and a glorious
form, towering above its fellows, even through its glitter-
ing garb, even in that dreadful hour remembered at a
glance by Lucille, stood at her side ; her protector — her
guardian ! — thus once more she beheld St. Amand !
E 2
56 THE pit/;riais of the riitxe.
The house was cleared in an instant — the door barred.
Shouts, groans, wild snatches of exulting song, the clang
of arms, the tramp of horses, the hurrying footsteps, the
deep music, sounded loud, and blended terribly without ;
Lucille heard them not, — she was on that breast which
never should have deserted her.
Effectiially to protect his friends, St. Amand took up his
quarters at their house; and for two days he was once
more under the same roof as Lucille. He never recurred
voluntarily to Julie ; he answered Lucille's timid inquiry
after her health, briefly, and with coldness, but he spoke
with all the enthusiasm of a long pent and ardent spirit, of
the new profession he had embraced^ Glory seemed now
to be his only mistress, and the vivid delusion of the first
bri2:ht dreams of the Revolution filled his mind, broke from
his tongue, and lighted up those dark eyes which Lucille
had redeemed to day.
She saw him depart at the head of his troop ; she saw
his proud crest glancing in the sun ; she saw his steed
winding through the narrow street ; she saw that his last
glance reverted to her, where she stood at the door; and
as he waved his adieu, she fancied that there was on his
face, that look of deep and grateful tenderness, which
reminded her of the one bright epoch of her life.
She was right ; St. Amand had long since in bitterness
repented of a transient infatuation, had long since dis-
covered the true Florimel from the false, and felt that, in
Julie, Lucille"'s wrongs were avenged. But in the hurry
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 57
and heat of war he plunged that regret — the keenest of
all — which embodies the bitter words, " too late ! "
Years passed away, and in the resumed tranquillity
of Lucille's life the brilliant apparition of St. Amand
appeared as something dreamt of, not seen. The star of
Napoleon had risen above the horizon ; the romance of
his early career had commenced; and the campaign of
Egypt had been the herald of those brilliant and meteoric
successes which flashed forth from the gloom of the Revo-
lution of France.
You are aware, dear Gertrude, how many in the French
as well as the English troops, returned home from Egypt,
blinded with the ophthalmia of that arid soil. Some of the
young men in Lucille's town, who had joined Napoleon's
army, came back, darkened by that fearful affliction,
and Lucille's alms, and Lucille's aid, and Lucille's sweet
voice were ever at hand for those poor sufferers, whose
common misfortune touched so thrilling a chord of her
heart.
Her father was now dead, and she had only her mother
to cheer amidst the ills of age. As one evening they sat at
work together, Madame Le Tisseur said, after a pause —
" I wish, dear Lucille, thou couldst be persuaded to
marry Justin ; he loves thee well, and now that thou art
yet young, and hast many years before thee, thou shouldst
remember that when I die, thou wilt be alone."
" Ah cease, dearest mother, I never can marry now, and
as for love — once taught in the bitter school in which
58 T'lE PILGRIMS OK THE RHINE.
1 Itave learnt the knowledge of myself — I cannot be
deceived again."
*' My Lucille, you do not know yourself; never was
woman loved, if Justin does not love you ; and never
did lover feel with more real warmth how worthily he
loved."
And this was true ; and not of Justin alone, for Lucille's
modest virtues, her kindly temper, and a certain undu-
lating and feminine grace, which accompanied all her
movements, had secured her as many conquests as if she
had been beautiful. She had rejected all offers of marriage
with a shudder ; without even the throb of a flattered
vanity. One memory, sadder, was also dearer to her than
all things ; and something sacred in its recollections made
her deem it even a crime to think of effacing the past by
a new affection.
" I believe," continued Madame Le Tisseur, angrily,
" that thou still thinkest fondly of him, from whom only
in the world thou couldst have experienced ingratitude."
*' Nay, mother," said Lucille, with a blush and a slight
sigh, " Eugene is married to another."
While thus conversing, they heard a gentle and timid
knock at the door — the latch was lifted. " This," said the
rough voice of a commissaire of the town — " this, Monsieur,
is the house of Madame Le Tisseur, and — voila Madcinoi-
selle! " A tall figure, with a shade over his eyes, and wrapped
in a long military cloak, stood in the room. A thrill shot
across Lucille's heart. He stretched out his arms; "Lucille,"
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RfflNE. 59
said that melancholy voice, which had made the music of
her first youth — " where art thou, Lucille ; alas ! she does
not recognise St. Amand."
Thus was it, indeed. By a singular fatality, the burning
suns and the sharp dust of the plains of Egypt had smitten
the young soldier in the flush of his career, with a second —
and this time, with an irremediable — blindness ! He had
returned to France to find his hearth lonely : Julie was no
more — a sudden fever had cut her off in the midst of youth ;
and he had sought his way to Lucille's house, to see if one
hope yet remained to him in the world !
And when, days afterwards, humbly and sadly he re-urged
a former suit, did Lucille shut her heart to its prayer? Did
her pride rememember its wound — did she revert to his
desertion — did she say to the whisper of her yearning love
— " thou hast been before forsaken ? " That voice, and those
darkened eyes, pled to her with a pathos not to be resisted ;
" I am once more necessary to him," was all her thought —
"if I reject him, who will tend him?"" In that thought
was the motive of her conduct; in that thought gushed
back upon her soul, all the springs of checked, but un-
conquered, unconquerable love ! In that thought, she
stood beside him at the altar, and pledged, with a yet
holier devotion than she might have felt of yore, the
vow of her imperishable truth.
And Lucille found, in the future, a reward which the
common world could never comprehend. With his blind-
ness returned all the feelings she had first awakened in
(JO i'Hi: I'lLORI.MS OK TIIK KHINK.
St. Amand's solitary heart ; again he yearned for her step —
again he missed even a moment's absence from his side —
again her voice chased the shadow from his brow — and in
her presence was a sense of shelter and of sunshine. He
no longer sighed for the blessing he had lost ; he reconciled
himself to fate, and entered into that serenity of mood which
mostly characterises the blind. Perhaps after we have seen
the actual world, and experienced its hollow pleasures, we can
resign ourselves the better to its exclusion ; and as the cloister
which repels the ardour of our hope is sweet to our remem-
brance, so the darkness loses its terror, when experience has
wearied us with the glare and travail of the day. It was
something, too, as they advanced in life, to feel the chains
that bound him to Lucille strengthening daily, and to che-
rish in his overflowing heart, the sweetness of increasing
gratitude ; — it was something that he could not see years
wrinkle that open brow, or dim the tenderness of that
touching smile; — it was something that to him she was
beyond the reach of time, and preserved to the verge of
a grave, (which received them both within a few days of
each other,) in all the bloom of her un withering aff'ection
in all the freshness of a heart that never could grow old !
Gertrude, who had broken in upon Trevylyan's story
by a thousand anxious interruptions, and a thousand pretty
apologies for interrupting, was charmed with a tale in which
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 61
true love was made happy at last, although she did not
forgive St. Amand his ingratitude, and although she de-
clared, with a critical shake of the head, that " it was very-
unnatural that the mere beauty of Julie, or the mere want
of it in Lucille, should have produced such an effect upon
him, if he had ever really loved Lucille in his blindness."
As they passed through Malines, the town assumed an
interest in Gertrude's eyes, to which it scarcely of itself
was entitled. She looked wistfully at the broad market-
place ; at a corner of which was one of those out-of-door-
groups of quiet and noiseless revellers, which Dutch art
has raised from the familiar to the picturesque ; and then
glancing to the tower of St. Rembauld, she fancied, amidst
the silence of noon, that she yet heard the plaintive cry of
the blind orphan — " Fido, Fido, why hast thou deserted
me?"
CHAPTER V.
IIOTTERDAM. THF, CHARACTER OF THT DUTCH THEIR RESEMBLANCE TO THE GERMANS
A DISPUTE BETWEEN VANE AND TREVYLYAN, AFTER THE MANNER OF THE ANCIENT
NOVELISTS, AS TO WHICH IS PREFERABLE, THE LIFE OF ACTION OR THE LIFE OF REPOSE"
TREVYLYAN's CONTRAST BETWEEN LITERARY AMBITION AND THE AMBITION OF
PUBLIC LIFE. A CHAPTER TO BE FORGIVEN ONLY BY THOSE WHO FIND RASPELAS
AMUSING.
Our travellers arrived at Rotterdam on a bright and
sunny day. There is a cheerfulness about the operations
of commerce — a life — a bustle — an action M^hich always
exhilarates the spirits at the first glance. Afterwards they
fatigue us; we get too soon behind the scenes, and find
the base and troublous passions which move the puppets
and conduct the drama.
But Gertrude, in whom ill health had not destroyed the
vividness of impression that belongs to the inexperienced,
was delighted at the cheeriness of all around her. As she
leant lightly on Trevylyan's arm, he listened mth a forget-
ful joy to her questions and exclamations at the stir and
liveliness of a city, from which was to commence their
pilgrimage along the Rhine. And indeed the scene was
rife with the spirit of that people at once so active and
so patient — so daring on the sea— so cautious on the land.
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 63
Industry was visible everywhere ; the vessels in the harbour
— the crowded boat, putting off to land — the throng on the
quay, all looked bustling and spoke of commerce. The
city itself, on which the skies shone fairly through light and
fleecy clouds, wore a cheerful aspect. The Church of
St. Lawrence rising above the clean, neat houses, and on
one side, trees thickly grouped, gaily contrasted at once
the waters and the city.
" I like this place," said Gertrude's father, quietly, " it
has an air of comfort."
" And an absence of grandeur," said Trevylyan.
" A commercial people are one great middle class in
their habits and train of mind," replied Vane ; " and gran-
deur belongs to the extremes, — an impoverished people, and
a wealthy despot."
They went to see the statue of Erasmus, and the house
in which he was born. Vane had a certain admiration for
Erasmus which his companions did not share ; he liked the
quiet irony of the sage, and his knowledge of the world ;
and, besides. Vane was of that time of life when philoso-
phers become objects of interest. At first they are teachers,
secondly, friends ; and it is only a few who arrive at the
third stage, and find them deceivers. The Dutch are a
singular people; their literature is neglected, but it has
some of the German vein in its strata, — the patience, the
learning, the homely delineation, and even some traces of
the mixture of the humorous and the terrible, which form
that genius for the grotesque so markedly German, — you
64 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
find this in their legends, and ghost stories. But in Hol-
land activity destroys, in Germany indolence nourishes,
romance.
They stayed a day or two at Rotterdam, and then pro-
ceeded up the Rhine to Gorcum. The banks were flat and
tame, and nothing could be less impressive of its native
majesty than this part of the course of the great river.
" I never felt before," whispered Gertrude, tenderly,
" how much there was of consolation in your presence, for
here I am at last on the Rhine — the blue Rhine, and how
disappointed I should be if you were not by my side."
" But, my Gertrude, you must wait till we have passed
Cologne, before the glories of the Rhine burst upon you."
*' It reverses life, my child," said the moralising Y^-ae,
" and the stream flows through dulness at first, reserving
its poetry for our perseverance."
" I will not allow your doctrine," said Trevylyan, as the
ambitious ardour of his native disposition stirred within
him. " Life has always action; it is our own fault if it ever
be dull; youth has its enterprise, manhood its schemes; and
even if infirmity creep upon age, the mind, the mind still
triumphs over the mortal clay, and in the quiet hermitage,
among books, and from thoughts, keeps the great wheel
within everlastingly in motion. No, the better class of
spirits have always an antidote to the insipidity of a
common career, they have ever energy at will "
" And never happiness ! " answered Vane, after a pause,
as he gazed on the proud countenance of Trevylyan, with
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 65
that kind of calm, half-pitying interest which belonged to a
character deeply imbued with the philosophy of a sad expe-
rience, acting upon an unimpassioned heart : " and in truth,
Trevylyan, it would please me if I could but teach you
the folly of preferring the exercise of that energy, of
which you speak, to the golden luxuries of rest. What
ambition can ever bring an adequate reward ? Not surely
the ambition of letters — the desire of intellectual renown."
" True," said Trevylyan, quietly; " that dream I have
long renounced ; there is nothing palpable in literary fame
— it scarcely soothes the vain, perhaps — it assuredly chafes
the proud. In my earlier years I attempted some works
which gained what the world, perhaps rightly, deemed a
sufticient meed of reputation ; yet was it not sufficient to
recompense myself for the fresh hours I had consumed, for
the sacrifices of pleasure I had made. The subtle aims that
had inspired me were not perceived; the thoughts that had
seemed new and beautiful to me, fell flat and lustreless on
the soul of others ; if I was approved, it was often for what
I condemned myself; and I found that the trite common-
place and the false wit charmed, while the truth fatigued
and the enthusiasm revolted. For men of that genius to
which I make no pretension, who have dwelt apart in the
obscurity of their own thoughts, gazing upon stars that
shine not for the dull sleepers of the world, it must be a
keen sting to find the product of their labour confounded
with a class, and to be mingled up in men's judgment with
the faults or merits of a tribe. Every great genius must
66 THE PITX;RIMS OF THE RHTNE.
deem liimself original and alone in his conceptions ; it is not
enough for him that these conceptions should be approved
as good, unless they are admitted as inventive, if they mix
him with the herd he has shunned, not separate him in fame
as he has been separated in soul. Some Frenchman, the
oracle of his circle, said of the poet of the Phedre, ' Racint>
and the other imitators of Corneille ; ' and Racine, in his
wrath, nearly forswore tragedy for ever. It is in vain to
tell the author that the public is the judge of his works.
The author believes himself above the public, or he would
never have written, and," continued Trevylyan, with enthu-
siasm, " he is above them ; their fiat may crush his glory,
but never his self-esteem. He stands alone and haughty
amidst the wrecks of the temple he imagined he had raised
' TO THE FUTURE,' and retaliates neglect with scorn. But
is this, the life of scorn, a pleasurable state of existence ? Is
it one to be cherished? Does even the moment of fame
counterbalance the years of mortification ? And what is
there in literary fame itself present and palpable to its heir?
His work is a pebble thrown into the deep ; the stir lasts for
a moment, and the wave closes up, to be susceptible no more
to the same impression ? The circle may widen to other
lands and other ages, but around him it is weak and faint.
The trifles of the day, the low politics, the base intrigues,
occupy the tongue, and fill the thought of his cotemporaries ;
he is less rarely conversed of than a mountebank, or a new
dancer ; his glory comes not home to him ; it brings no
present, no perpetual reward, like the applauses that wait
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 67
the actor, or the actor-like mummer of the senate ; and this
which vexes, also lowers him ; his noble nature begins to
nourish the base vices of jealousy, and the unwillingness
to admire. Goldsmith is forgotten in the presence of a
puppet ; he feels it, and is mean ; he expresses it, and is
ludicrous. It is well to say that great minds will not stoop
to jealousy; in the greatest minds it is most frequent*.
Few authors are ever so aware of the admiration they
excite, as to afford to be generous; and this melancholy
truth revolts us with our own ambition. Shall we be demi-
gods in our closet, at the price of sinking below mortality in
the world? No! it was from tiiis deep sentiment of the
unrealness of literary fame, of dissatisfaction at the fruits it
produced, of fear for the meanness it engendered, that I
resigned betimes all love for its career ; and if by the restless
desire that haunts men who think much, to write ever, I
should be urged hereafter to literature, I will sternly teach
myself to persevere in the indifference to its fame."
" You say as I would say," answered Vane, with his
tranquil smile; " and your experience corroborates my
theory. Ambition then is not the root of happiness.
Why more in action than in letters?"
" Because," said Trevylyan, " in action we commonly
* Sec the long list of names furnished by D'Israeli, in that most exquisite work,
" The Literary Character," vol. ii. p. 75. Plato, Xenophon, Chaucer, Corneille,
Voltaire, Dryden, the Caracci, Domenico Venetiano, murdered by liis envious
friend, and the gentle Castillo fliinting away at the genius of Murillo. Let us add
Wordsworth, cold to the lyre of Byron ; and Byron at once stealing from Words-
worth, and ridiculing while he stole.
68 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE,
gain in our life all the honour we deserve : the public judge
of men better and more rapidly than of books. And he
who takes to himself in action a high and pure ambition,
associates it with so many objects, that, unlike literature,
the failure of one is balanced by the success of the other.
He, the creator of deeds, not resembling the creator of
boolvs, stands not alone; he is eminently social; he has
many comrades, and without their aid he could not accom-
plish his design. This divides and mitigates the impatient
jealousy against others. He works for a cause, and knows
early that he cannot monopolise its whole glory; he
shares what he is aware it is impossible to engross. Besides,
action leaves him no time for brooding over disappointment.
The author has consumed his youth in a work, — it fails in
glory. Can he write another work ? Bid him call back
another youth ! But in action the labour of the mind is
from day to day. A week replaces what a week has lost,
and all the aspirant's fame is of the present. It is lipped
by the Babel of the living world ; he is ever on the stage,
and the spectators are ever ready to applaud. Thus per-
petually in the service of others, self ceases to be his world ;
he has no leisure to brood over real or imaginary wrongs,
the excitement whirls on the machine till it is worn
out "
" And kicked aside," said Vane, " with the broken
lumber of men's other tools, in the chamber of their sons'
forgetfulness. Your man of action lasts but for an hour ;
the man of letters lasts for ages."
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 69
" We live not for ages," answered Trevylyan ; " our life
is on earth, and not in the grave."
" But even grant," continued Vane ; " and I for one will
concede the point — that posthumous fame is not worth the
living agonies that obtain it, how are you better off in your
poor and vulgar career of action ? Would you serve the
rulers ? — servility ! The people ? — folly ! If you take the
great philosophical view which the worshippers of the
past rarely take, but which, unknown to them, is their
sole excuse, viz. that the changes which may benefit the
future unsettle the present ; and that it is not the wisdom
of practical legislation to risk the peace of our cotem-
poraries in the hope of obtaining happiness for their poste-
rity — to what suspicions, to what charges are you exposed !
You are deemed the foe of all liberal opinion, and you
read your curses in the eyes of a nation. But take the
side of the people ! What caprice — what ingratitude ! You
have professed so much in theory, that you can never
accomplish sufficient in practice. Moderation becomes a
crime ; to be prudent is to be perfidious. New dema-
gogues, without temperance, because without principle,
outstrip you in the moment of your greatest services.
The public is the grave of a great man's deeds ; it is
never sated ; its maw is eternally open ; it perpetually
craves for more. Where in the history of the world do
you find the gratitude of a people ? You find fervour, it
is true, but not gratitude ; the fervour that exaggerates a
benefit at one moment, but not the gratitude that remem-
F
70 l'"'; I'll.CKlMS OK IMIK RIIIXK.
bers it the next year. Once disappoint them, and all
your actions, all your sacrifices, are swept from their
remembrance for ever; they break the windows of the very
house they have given you, and melt down their medals
into bullets. Who serves man, ruler or peasant, serves
tlie inio-rateful ; and all the ambitious are but types of a
Wolsey or a De Witt."
" And what," said Trevylyan, " consoles a man in the
ills that flesh is heir to, in that state of obscure repose,
that serene inactivity to which you would confine him ? Is
it not his conscience ? Is it not his self acquittal, or his
self approval?"
" Doubtless," replied Vane.
" Be it so," answered the high-souled Trevylyan ; " the
same consolation awaits us in action as in repose. We
sedulously pursue what we deem to be true glory. We
are maligned ; but our soul acquits us. Could it do more
in the scandal and the prejudice that assail us in private
life ? You are silent: but note how much deeper should be
the comfort, how much loftier the self-esteem ; for if calumny
attack us in a wilful obscurity, what have we done to refute
the calumny ? How have we served our species ? Have we
' scorned delight and loved laborious days ? ' Have we
made the utmost of the ' talent ' confided to our care ?
Have we done those good deeds to our race upon which we
can retire, — an ' Estate of Beneficence,' — from the malice
of the world, and feel that our deeds are our defenders?
This is the consolation of virtuous actions ; is it so of — even
virtuous — indolence ? "
THE PI[,r;R[MS OF THE RHINE J [
" You speak as a preacher," said Vane ; " I merely as a
calculator. You of virtue in affliction, I of a life in ease."
" Well then, if the consciousness of perpetual endeavour
to advance our race be not alone happier than the life of
ease, let us see what this vaunted ease really is. Tell me,
is it not another name for enn^d ? This state of quiescence,
this objectless, dreamless torpor, this transition du lit a la
table, de la table an lit ; what more dreary and monotonous
existence can you devise ? Is it pleasure in this inglorious
existence to think that you are serving pleasure ? Is it
freedom to be the slave to self? For I hold," continued
Trevylyan, " that this jargon of ' consulting happiness,' this
cant of living for ourselves, is but a mean as well as a false
philosophy. Why this eternal reference to self? Is self
alone to be consulted ? Is even our happiness, did it truly
consist in repose, really the great end of life ? I doubt if
we cannot ascend higher. I doubt if we cannot say with a
great moralist, ' if virtue be not estimable in itself, we can
see nothing estimable in following it for the sake of a bar-
gain.' But in fact repose is the poorest of all delusions ;
the very act of recurring to self, briiigs about us all those ills
of self from which in the turmoil of the world we can escape.
We become hypochondriacs. Our very health grows an
object of painful possession. We are so desirous to be well
(for what is retirement without health) that we are ever
fancying ourselves ill ; and, like the man in the Spectator,
we weigh ourselves daily, and live but by grains and scruples.
Retirement is happy only for the poet, for to him it is not
r 2
72 TIIK PIIXJRIMS OF THE RIIIXE.
retirement. He secedes from one world but to gain another,
and he finds not ennui in seclusion — why ? — not because
seclusion hath repose, but because it hath occupation. In
one word, then, I say of action and of indolence, grant the
same ills to both, and to action there is the readier escape
or the nobler consolation."
Vane shrugged his shoulders. " Ah, my dear friend,"
said he, tapping his snuff-box with benevolent superiority,
" you are much younger than I am ! "
But these conversations which Trevylyan and Vane often
held together, dull as I fear this specimen must seem to the
reader, had an inexpressible charm for Gertrude. She
loved the lofty and generous vein of philosophy which
Trevylyan embraced, and which, while it suited his ardent
nature, contrasted a demeanour commonly hard and cold
to all but herself. And young and tender as she was, his
ambition infused its spirit into her fine imagination, and
that passion for enterprise which belongs inseparably to
romance. She loved to muse over his future lot, and in
fancy to share its toils and to exult in its triumphs. And
if sometimes she asked herself whether a career of action
might not estrange him from her, she had but to turn her
gaze upon his watchful eye, — and lo, he was by her side
or at her feet !
CHAPTER VI.
-THE TOUR OF THE VIRTUES : * PHILOSOPHER S TALE.
It was a bright and cheery morning as they glided by
GoRCUM. The boats pulling to the shore full of fishermen
and peasants in their national costume ; the breeze, just
curling the waters, and no more ; the lightness of the blue
sky ; the loud and laughing A^oices from the boats, — all con-
tributed to raise the spirit and fill it with that indescribable
gladness which is the physical sense of life.
74 THE I'lLGUTMS OF TITF. KIITNE.
The tower of the cliurcli, with its long windows and its
round dial, rose against the liglit clear sky, and on a bench,
under a green bush facing the water, sate a jolly Hollander,
refreshing the breezes with the fumes of his national weed.
" How little it requires to make a journey pleasant, when
the companions are our friends," said Gertrude as they
sailed along. " Nothing can be duller than these banks ;
nothing more delightful than this voyage."
•' Yet what tries the affections of people for each other
severely as a journey together," said Vane. "That per-
petual companionship from which there is no escaping, that
confinement, in all our moments of ill-humour and listless-
ness, with persons who want us to look amused — ah, it is
a severe ordeal for friendship to pass through ! A post chaise
must have jolted many an intimacy to death."
^ You speak feelingly, dear father," said Gertrude
laughing ; " and 1 suspect with a slight desire to be sar-
castic upon us. Yet, seriously, I should think that travel
must be like life, and that good persons must be always
agreeable companions to each other."
" Good persons ! my Gertrude," answered Vane with a
smile. " Alas, 1 fear the good weary each other quite
as much as the bad. What say you, Trevylyan, would
Virtue be a pleasant companion from Paris to Petersburg
Ah, I see you intend to be on Gertrude's side of the ques-
tion. Well now if I tell you a story, since stories are so
much the fashion with you, in which you shall find that
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 75
the Virtues themselves actually made the experiment of a
tour, will you promise to attend to the moral."
" Oh, dear father, any thing for a story," cried Gertrude ;
" especially from you who have not told us one all the way.
Come, listen, Albert; nay, listen to your new rival."
And, pleased to see the vivacity of the invalid, Vane
began as follows : —
THE TOUR OF THE VIRTUES.
A philosopher's tale.
Once upon a time, several of the Virtues, weary of living
for ever with the bishop of Norwich, resolved to make a
little excursion ; accordingly, though they knew every
thing on earth was very ill prepared to receive them, they
thought they might safely venture on a tour, from West-
minster bridge to Richmond : the day was fine, the wind in
their favour, and as to entertainment, — why there seemed,
according to Gertrude, to be no possibility of any disagree-
ment among the Virtues.
They took a boat at Westminster stairs, and just as they
were about to push off, a poor woman, all in rags, with a
child in her arms, implored their compassion. Charity
put her hand into her reticule, and took out a shilling.
Justice, turning round to look after the baggage, saw the
folly Charity was about to commit. " Heavens ! " cried
Justice, seizing poor Charity by the arm, "what are you
7(1 TlIK l'll,<il<lMS OF TIIK RHINE.
doing ? Have you never read Political Economy ? Don't
you know that indiscriminate almsgiving is only the encou-
ragement to idleness, the mother of vice? You a Virtue,
indeed ! I'm ashamed of you. Get along with you, good
M'oman — yet stay, there is a ticket for soup at the Men-
dicity Society, they'll see if you're a proper object of
compassion." But Charity is quicker than Justice, and
slipping her hand behind her, the poor woman got the
shilling and the ticket for soup too. Economy and Gene-
rosity saw the double gift. " ^yhat waste !" cried Economy,
frowning; " what, a ticket and a shilling! either would
have sufficed."
" Either ! " said Generosity ; " fie ! Charity should have
given the poor creature half a crown, and Justice a dozen
tickets ! " So the next ten minutes were consumed in a
quarrel between the four Virtues, which would have lasted
all the way to Richmond, if Courage had not advised them
to get on shore and fight it out. Upon this, the Virtues
suddenly perceived they had a little forgotten themselves,
and Generosity oifering the first apology, they made it up,
and went on very agreeably for the next mile or two.
The day now grew a little overcast, and a shower seemed
at hand. Prudence, who had a new bonnet on, suggested
the propriety of putting to shore for half an hour ; Courage
was for braving the rain ; but, as most of the Virtues are
ladies. Prudence carried it. Just as they were about to land,
another boat cut in before them very uncivilly, and gave
theirs such a shake, that Charity was all but overboard. The
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 77
company on board the uncivil boat, who evidently thought
the Virtues extremely low persons, for they had nothing
very fashionable about their exterior, burst out laughing
at Charity's discomposure, especially as a large basket full
of buns, which Charity carried with her for any hungry-
looking children she might encounter at Richmond, fell
pounce into the water. Courage was all on fire ; he
twisted his moustache, and would have made an onset on
the enemy, if, to his great indignation. Meekness had not
forestalled him, by stepping mildly into the hostile boat
and offering both cheeks to the foe; this was too much
even for the incivility of the boatmen ; they made their
excuses to the Virtues, and Courage, who is no bully,
thought himself bound discontentedly to accept them. But,
oh, if you had seen how Courage used Meekness after-
wards, you could not have believed it possible that one
Virtue could be so enraged with another ! This quarrel
between the two threw a damp on the party; and they
proceeded on their voyage, when the shower was over, with
any thing but cordiality. I spare you the little squabbles
that took place in the general conversation — how Economy
found fault with all the villas by the way ; and Temper-
ance expressed becoming indignation at the luxuries of
the city barge. They arrived at Richmond, and Temper-
ance was appointed to order the dinner ; meanwhile Hos-
pitality, walking in the garden, fell in with a large party
of Irishmen, and asked them to join the repast.
Imagine the long faces of Economy and Prudence, when
78 'nil^^ IMIXJUIMS OF THE RHINE.
they saw tlie addition to the company. Hospitality was all
spirits, he rubbed his hands and called for champagne with
the tone of a younger brother. Temperance soon grew
scandalised, and Modesty herself coloured at some of the
jokes; but Hospitality, who was now half seas over, called
the one a milksop, and swore at the other as a prude.
Away went the hours; it was time to return, and they
made down to the water-side thoroughly out of temper
with one another. Economy and Generosity quarrelling
all the way about the bill and the waiters. To make up
the sum of their mortification, they passed a boat where all
the company were in the best possible spirits, laughing and
whooping like mad ; and discovered these jolly companions
to be two or three agreeable Vices, who had put themselves
under the management of Good Temper. So you see,
Gertrude, that even the Virtues may fall at loggerheads with
each other, and pass a very sad time of it, if they happen
to be of opposite dispositions, and have forgotten to take
Good Temper along with them.
" Ah ! " said Gertrude, " but you have overloaded your
boat; too many Virtues might contradict one another, but
not a few."
" Voila ce que je veux dire," said Vane ; " but listen to
the sequel of my tale, which now takes a new moral."
At the end of the voyage, and after a long sulky silence.
Prudence said, with a thoughtful air, " My dear friends,
I have been thinking, that as long as we keep so entirely
together, never mixing with the rest of the world, we
thp: pilgrims of the rhine. 79
shall waste our lives in quarrelling amongst ourselves, and
run the risk of being still less liked and sought after than
we already are. You know that we are none of us popular ;
every one is quite contented to see us represented in a
vaudeville, or described in an essay. Charity, indeed, has
her name often taken in vain at a bazaar, or a subscrip-
tion, and the miser as often talks of the duty he owes to
me, when he sends the stranger from his door, or his
grandson to gaol ; but still we only resemble so many wild
beasts, whom every body likes to see, but nobody cares
to possess. Now, I propose, that we should all separate
and take up our abode with some mortal or other for a
year, with the power of changing at the end of that time
should we not feel ourselves comfortable, that is, should
we not find that we do all the good we intend ; let us try
the experiment, and on this day twelvemonths let us all
meet, under the largest oak in Windsor forest, and recount
what has befallen us?" Prudence ceased, as she always
does when she has said enough, and, delighted at the
project, the Virtues agreed to adopt it on the spot. They
were enchanted at the idea of setting up for themselves,
and each not doubting his or her success : for Economy
in her heart thought Generosity no Virtue at all, and Meek-
ness looked on Courage as little better than a heathen.
Generosity, being the most eager and active of all the
Virtues, set off first on his journey. Justice followed, and
kept up with him, though at a more even pace. Charity
never heard a sigh, or saw a squalid face, but she stayed to
80 THE PILGRIMS OF TIJE KHJNK.
cheer and console the sufferer ; a kindness which somewhat
retarded her progress.
Courage espied a travelling carriage, with a man and
his wife in it quarrelling most conjugally, and he civilly
begged he might be permitted to occupy the vacant seat
opposite the lady. Economy still lingered, inquiring for
the cheapest inns. Poor Modesty looked round and
sighed, on finding herself so near to London, where she
was almost wholly unknown; but resolved to bend her
course thither, for two reasons; first, for the novelty of
the thing; and, secondly, not liking to expose herself to
any risks by a journey on the Continent. Prudence,
though the first to project, was the last to execute, and
therefore resolved to remain where she was for that night,
and take daylight for her travels.
The year I'oUed on, and the Virtues, punctual to the
appointment, met under the oak tree ; they all came nearly
at the same time, excepting Economy, who had got into a
return post-chaise, the horses of which having been forty
miles in the course of the morning had foundered by the
way, and retarded her journey till night set in. The Virtues
looked sad and sorrowful, as people are wont to do after
a long and fruitless journey, and somehow or other, such
was the wearing effect of their intercourse with the world,
that they appeared wonderfully diminished in size.
" Ah, my dear Generosity," said Prudence with a sigh,
" as you were the first to set out on your travels, pray let
us hear your adventures first. '"*
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 3j
" You must know, my dear sisters," said Generosity,
" that I had not gone many miles from you before I came
to a small country town, in which a marching regiment was
quartered, and at an open window I beheld, leaning over a
gentleman's chair, the most beautiful creature imagination
ever pictured ; her eyes shone out like two suns of perfect
happiness, and she was almost cheerful enough to have
passed for Good Temper herself. The gentleman, over
whose chair she leant, was her husband; they had been
married six weeks ; he was a lieutenant with a hundred
pounds a year besides his pay. Greatly affected by their
poverty, I instantly determined, without a second thought,
to ensconce myself in the heart of this charming girl.
During the first hour in my new residence, I made many
wise reflections, such as — that Love never was so perfect as
when accompanied by poverty ; what a vulgar error it was
to call the unmarried state ' Single Blessedness ;' how wrong
it was of us Virtues never to have tried the marriage bond,
and what a falsehood it was to say that husbands neglected
their wives, for never was there any thing in nature so
devoted as the love of a husband — six weeks married !
" The next morning, before breakfast, as the charming
Fanny was waiting for her husband, who had not yet finished
his toilet, a poor wretched-looking object appeared at the
window, tearing her hair and wringing her hands ; her hus-
band had that morning been dragged to prison, and her seven
children had fought for the last mouldy crust. Prompted by
me, Fanny, without inquiring further into the matter, drew
from her silken purse a five pound note, and gave it to the
82 Tli^ I'lLOKIMS OF THE RHINE.
beggar, wlio departed more amazed than grateful. Soon after
the lieutenant appeared, — ' What the d 1, another bill ! '
muttered he, as he tore the yellow wafer from a large, square-
folded, bluish piece of paper. ' Oh, ah ! confound the
fellow, he must be paid. I must trouble you, Fanny, for
fifteen pounds to pay this saddler's bill.'
" ' Fifteen pounds, love ? ' stammered Fanny, blushing.
" ' Yes, dearest, that fifteen pounds I gave you yesterday."
" ' I have only ten pounds,' said Fanny, hesitatingly, 'for
such a poor wretched-looking creature was here just now,
that I was obliged to give her five pounds.'
" ' Five pounds ? good God ! ' exclaimed the astonished
husband, ' I shall have no more money these three weeks.'
He frowned, he bit his lips, nay he even wrung his hands,
and walked up and down the room; worse still, he broke
forth with — ' Surely, Madam, you did not suppose, when
you married a lieutenant in a marching regiment, that
he could afford to indulge you in the whim of giving five
pounds to every mendicant who held out her hand to you ?
You did not, I say, Madam, imagine ' but the bride-
groom was interrupted by the convulsive sobs of his wife;
it was their first quarrel, they were but six weeks married .
he looked at her for one moment sternly, the next he was
at her feet. ' Forgive me, dearest Fanny, forgive me, for I
cannot forgive myself. I was too great a wretch to say what
I did; and do believe, my own Fanny, that while I may be
too poor to indulge you in it, I do from my heart admire so
noble, so disinterested, a generosity.' Not a little proud did
I feel to have been the cause of this exemplary husband's
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 88
admiration for his amiable wife, and sincerely did I rejoice
at having taken up my abode with these poor people ; but
not to tire you, my dear sisters, with the minutiae of detail, I
shall briefly say that things did not long remain in this de-
lightful position ; for, before many months had elapsed, poor
Fanny had to bear with her husband's increased and more
frequent storms of passion, unfollowed by any halcyon and
honeymoon suings for forgiveness; — for at my instigation
every shilling went ; and when there were no more to
go, her trinkets, and even her clothes followed. The lieu-
tenant became a complete brute, and even allowed his
imbridled tongue to call me — me, sisters, me — 'heartless
Extravagance.' His despicable brother officers, and their
gossiping wives, were no better, for they did nothing but
animadvert upon my Fanny's ostentation and absurdity,
for by such names had they the impertinence to call me.
Thus grieved to the soul to find myself the cause of all
poor Fanny's misfortunes, I resolved at the end of the year
to leave her, beiug thoroughly convinced, that, however
amiable and praiseworthy I might be in myself, I was
totally unfit to be bosom friend and adviser to the wife of
a lieutenant in a marching regiment, with only a hundred
poimds a year besides his pay."
The Virtues groaned their sympathy with the unfortunate
Fanny; and Prudence, turning to Justice, said, " I long to
hear what you have been doing, for I am certain you cannot
have occasioned harm to any one."
Justice shook her head and said, " Alas, I find that there
are times and places, when even I do better not to appear.
84 TIIK I'lLORIMS OF TIIK RHINE.
as a short account of my adventures will prove to you. No
sooner had I left you than I instantly repaired to India,
and took up my abode with a Brahmin. I was much
shocked by the dreadful inequalities of condition that
reiofned in the several castes, and I lono^ed to relieve the
poor Pariah from his ignominious destiny, — accordingly I
set seriously to work on reform. I insisted upon the ini-
quity of abandoning men from their birth to an irremedi-
able stale of contempt, from which no virtue could exalt
them. The Brahmins looked upon my Brahmin with ineffable
horror. They called me the most wicked of vices ; they saw
no distinction between Justice and Atheism. I uprooted
their society — that was sufficient crime. But the worst
was, that the Pariahs themselves regarded me with suspi-
cion ; they thought it unnatural in a Brahmin to care for a
Pariah ! And one called me ' Madness,' another 'Ambition,'
and a third ' The Desire to innovate.' My poor Brahmin
led a miserable life of it ; when one day, after observing, at
my dictation, that he thought a Pariah's life as much entitled
to respect as a cow's, he was hurried away by the priests,
and secretly broiled on the altar, as a fitting reward for his
sacrilege. I fled hither in great tribulation, persuaded that
in some countries even Justice may do harm."
" As for me," said Charity, not waiting to be asked, " I
grieve to say that I was silly enough to take up my abode
with an old lady in Dublin, who never knew what discretion
was, and always acted from impulse; my instigation was
irresistible, and the money she gave in her drives through
the suburbs of Dublin, was so lavishly spent that it kept
TH-E PILCcRIMK OF THE RHINE, ^5
all the rascals of the city in idleness and whiskey. I found,
to my great horror, tliat I was a main cause of a terrible
epidemic, and that to give alms without discretion was to
spread poverty without help. I left the city when my year
was out, and, as ill-luck would have it, just at the time
when I was most wanted."
" And oh," cried Hospitality, " I went to Ireland also.
I fixed my abode with a Squireen ; I ruined him in a year,
and only left him because he had no longer a hovel to keep
me in."
" As for myself," said Temperance, " I entered the
breast of an English legislator, and he brought in a bill
against alehouses ; the consequence was, that the labourers
took to gin, and I have been forced to confess, that Tem-
perance may be too zealous, when she dictates too vehe-
mently to others."
" Well," said Courage, keeping more in the back-ground
than he had ever done before, and looking rather ashamed
of himself, " that travelling carriage I got into belonged to
a German General and his wife, who were returning to their
own country. Growing very cold as we proceeded, she
wrapped me up in a polonaise; but the cold increasing, I
inadvertently crept into her bosom ; once there I could not
get out, and from thenceforward the poor General had con-
siderably the worst of it. She became so provoking, that I
wondered how he could refrain from an explosion. To do him
justice, he did at last threaten to get out of the carriage, upon
which, roused by me, she collared him — and conquered.
When he got to his own district things grew worse, for every
86 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
aid-de-camp that offended her, she insisted that he mi^ht be
publicly reprehended, and should the poor General refuse,
she would with her own hands confer a caning upon them.
It was useless to appeal to the Archduke ; for if she said it
was hot, the General dared not hint that he thought it cold,
and so far did he carry his dread of this awful dame, that he
never issued a standing order for the army, curtailed a
moustache, or lengthened a coat, without soliciting her
opinion first. The additional force she had gained in me
was too much odds against the poor General, and he died of
a broken heart, six months after my liaison with his wife.
She after this became so dreaded and detested, that a con-
spiracy was formed to poison her; this daunted even me, so
I left her without delay, — et me void."
" Humph ! " said Meekness, with an air of triumph; " I
at least have been more successful than you. On seeing
much in the papers of the cruelties practised by the Turks
on the Greeks, I thought my presence would enable the
poor sufferers to bear their misfortunes calmly. I went to
Greece then, at a moment when a well-planned and prac-
ticable scheme of emancipating themselves from the Turkish
yoke was arousing their youth. Without confining myself
to one individual, I flitted from breast to breast; I meek-
ened the whole nation ; my remonstrances against the
insurrection succeeded, and I had the satisfaction of leaving
a whole people ready to be killed, or strangled, with the
most Christian resignation in the world."
The Virtues, who had been a little cheered by the open-
ing self-complacency of Meekness, would not, to her great
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. QT
astonishment, allow that she had succeeded a whit more
happily than her sisters, and called next upon Modesty for
her confession.
" You know," said that amiable young lady, " that I
went to London in search of a situation. I spent three
months of the twelve in going from house to house, but I
could not get a single person to receive me. The ladies
declared they never saw so old-fashioned a gawkey, and
civilly recommended me to their abigails ; the abigails
turned me round with a stare, and then pushed me down to
the kitchen and the fat scidllon-maids : who assured me, that
' in the respectable families they had had the honour to live
in, they had never even heard of my name.' One young
housemaid, just from the country, did indeed receive me with
some sort of civility; but she very soon lost me in the
servants' hall. I now took refuge with the other sex, as the
least uncourteous. I was fortunate enough to find a young
gentleman of remarkable talents, who welcomed me with
open arms. He was full of learning, gentleness, and
honesty. I had only one rival — Ambition. We both
contended for an absolute empire over him. Whatever
Ambition suggested, I damped. Did Ambition urge him
to begin a book, I persuaded him it was not worth publi-
cation. Did he get up, full of knowledge, and instigated
by my rival to make a speech, (for he was in Parliament,)
I shocked him with the sense of his assurance — I made his
voice droop and his accents falter. At last, with an indig-
nant sigh, my rival left him ; he retired into the country,
Ji8 TIIK PIIX.'RIMS (JF THK RHINE.
took orders, and renounced a career he had fondly hoped
would be serviceable to others ; but finding I did not suffice
for his happiness, and piqued at Jiis melancholy, I left him
before the end of the year, and he has since taken to
drinking- ! "
The eyes of the Virtues were all turned to Prudence.
She was their last hope — " I am just where I set out," said
that discreet Virtue; " I have done neither good nor harm.
To avoid temptation, I went and lived with a hermit, to
whom I soon found that I could be of no use beyond warn-
ing him not to overboil his peas and lentils, not to leave his
door open when a storm threatened, and not to fill his
pitcher too full at the neighbouring spring. I am thus the
only one of you that never did harm ; but only because I
am the only one of you that never had an opportunity of
doing it ! In a word," continued Prudence, thoughtfully,
" in a word, my friends, circumstances are necessary to the
Virtues themselves. Had, for instance. Economy changed
with Generosity, and gone to the poor lieutenant''s wife,
and had I lodged with the Irish Squireen instead of Hospi-
tality, what misfortunes would have been saved to both !
Alas ! I perceive we lose all our efficacy when we are mis-
placed; and then^ though in reality Virtues, we operate as
Vices. Circumstances must be favourable to our exertions,
and harmonious with our nature ; and we lose our very
divinity unless Wisdom directs our footsteps to the home
we should inhabit, and the dispositions we should govern."
The story was ended, and the travellers began to dispute
about its moral. Here let us leave them.
CHAPTER VII.
COLOGNF. THE TRACES OF THE ROMAN YOKE THE CHURCH OF ST. MARIA TREVYI^
YAn's REFLECTIONS ON THE MONASTIC LIFE THE TOMB OF THE THREE KINGS.
AN EVENING EXCURSION ON THE RHINE.
Rome — magnificent Rome ! wherever the pilgrim wends,
the traces of thy dominion greet his eyes. Still, in the heart
of the bold German race, is graven the print of the eagle's
claws ; and amidst the haunted regions of the Rhine, we
pause to wonder at the great monuments of the Italian yoke.
At Cologne our travellers rested for some days. They
were in the city to which the camp of Marcus Agrippa had
given birth : that spot had resounded with the armed tread
of the legions of Trajan. In that city, Vitellius, Sylvanus,
were proclaimed emperors. By that church, did the latter
receive his death.
As they passed round the door, they saw some peasants
loitering on the sacred ground ; and when they noted the
delicate cheek of Gertrude, they uttered their salutations
with more than common respect. Where they then M^ere,
the building swept round in a circular form ; and at its base
G 2
90 IHK Pir/IIUMS OF Till'. KIIINE.
it is supposed, by tradition, to retain something of tlie
ancient Roman masonry. Just before them rose the spire
of a plain and unadorned church — singularly contrasting the
pomp of the old, with the simplicity of the innovating, creed.
The Church of St. Makia occupies the site of the
Roman Capitol ; and the place retains the Roman name ;
and still something in the aspect of the people betrays
the hereditary blood.
Gertrude, whose nature was strongly impressed with the
venerating character, was singularly fond of visiting the old
Gothic churches, which, with so eloquent a moral, unite the
living with the dead.
" Pause for a moment," said Trevylyan, before they
entered the church of St. Mary. " What recollections
crowd upon us. On the site of the Roman Capitol, a
Christian church and a convent are erected ! By whom ?
The mother of Charles Martel — the conqueror of the
Saracen — the arch hero of Christendom itself ! And to these
scenes and calm retreats, to the cloisters of the convent,
once belonging to this church, fled the bruised spirit of a
royal sufferer — the wife of Henry IV. — the victim of
Richelieu — the unfortunate Mary de Medicis. Alas ! the
cell and the convent are but a vain emblem of that desire to
fly to God which belongs to distress ; the solitude soothes,
but the monotony recals, regret. And for my own part, I
never saw, in my frequent tours through Catholic countries,
the still walls in which monastic vanity hoped to shut out
the world, but a melancholy came over me ! What hearts
Tlffi PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 91
at war with themselves ! — what unceasing- regrets ! — what
pinings after the past ! — what long and beautiful years devo-
ted to a moral grave, by a momentary rashness — an impulse
— a disappointment ! But in these churches the lesson is
more impressive and less sad. The weary heart has ceased
to ache — the burning pulses are still — the troubled spirit has
flown to the only rest which is not a deceit. Power and
love — hope and fear — avarice — ambition, they are quenched
at last ! Death is the only monastery — the tomb is the only
cell; and the grave that adjoins the convent is the bitterest
mock of its futility ! "
"Your passion is ever for active life," said Gertrude.
" You allow no charm to solitude ; and contemplation to
you, seems torture. If any great sorrow ever come upon
you, you will never retire to seclusion as its balm. You
will plunge into the world, and lose your individual exis-
tence in the universal rush of life."
"Ah, talk not of sorrow !" said Trevylyan, wildly, — "let
us enter the church."
They went afterwards to the celebrated cathedral, which
is considered one of the noblest ornaments of the architec-
tural triumphs of Germany; but it is yet more worthy of
notice from the Pilgrim of Romance than the searcher after
antiquity, for here, behind the grand altar, is the Tomb of
THE Three Kings of Cologne — the three worshippers,
whom tradition humbled to our Saviour. Legend is rife
with a thousand tales of the relics of this tomb. The Three
Kings of Cologne are the tutelary names of that golden
92 THE PHXiKlMS Oh^ THE RHINE.
superstition, which has often more votaries than the religion
itself from which it springs: and to Gertrude the simple
story of Lucille sufficed to make her for the moment cre-
dulous of the sanctity of the spot. Behind the tomb three
Gothic windows cast their " dim religious light" over the
tesselated pavement and along the Ionic pillars. They
found some of the more credulous believers in the authen-
ticity of the relics kneeling before the tomb, and they
arrested their steps, fearful to disturb the superstition
which is never without something of sanctity when con-
tented with prayer, and forgetful of persecution. The
bones of the Magi are still supposed to consecrate the
tomb, and on the higher part of the monument the artist
has delineated their adoration to the infant Saviour.
That evening came on with a still and tranquil beauty,
and as the sun hastened to its close they launched their
boat for an hour or two's excursion upon the Rhine.
Gertrude was in that happy mood when the quiet of
nature is enjoyed like a bath for the soul, and the pre-
sence of him she so idolised, deepened that stillness into a
more delicious and subduing calm. Little did she dream,
as the boat glided over the water, and the towers of
Cologne rose in the blue air of evening, how few were
those hours that divided her from the tomb ! But, in look-
ing back to the life of one we have loved, how dear is the
thought, that the latter days were the days of light, that
the cloud never chilled the beauty of the setting sun, and
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 93
that if the years of existence were brief, all that existence
has most tender, most sacred, was crowded into that space !
Nothing dark, then, or bitter, rests with our remembrance
of the lost; tee are the mourners, but pity is not for the
mourned — our grief is purely selfish ; when we turn to its
object, the hues of happiness are round it, and that very
love which is the parent of our woe was the consolation —
the triumph — of the departed !
The majestic Rhine M'as calm as a lake; the splashhig
of the oar only broke the stillness, and, after a long pause in
their conversation, Gertrude, putting her hand on Trevyl-
yan's arm, reminded him of a promised story; for he too
had moods of abstraction, which,- in her turn, she loved to
lure him from ; and his voice to her had become a sort of
want, which, if it ceased too long, she thirsted to enjoy.
" Let it be," said she, "a tale suited to the hour; no
fierce tradition — nay, no grotesque fable, but of the tenderer
dye of superstition. Let it be of love, of woman's love — of
the love that defies the grave; for surely even after death
it lives ; and heaven would scarcely be heaven if memory
were banished from its blessings."
" I recollect," said Trevylyan, after a slight pause, " a
short German legend, the simplicity of which touched me
much when I heard it ; but," added he witli a slight smile,
" so much more faithful appears in the legend the love
of the woman than that of the man, that I at least ought
scarcely to recite it.''
" Nay," said Gertrude tenderly, " the fault of the incon-
stant only heightens our gratitude to the faithful."
CHAPTER VIII.
THE SOUL IN PURGATORY ; Oil LOVE STRONGKR THAN DEATH.
The angels strung their harps in Heaven, and their
music went up like a stream of odours to the pavilions
of the Most High. But the harp of Seralim was sweeter
than that of his fellows, and the voice of the Invisible One
(for the angels themselves know not the glories of Jehovah
— only far in the depths of Heaven, they see one Unsleep-
ing Eye watching for ever over creation) was heard saying,
" Ask a gift for the love that burns upon thy song, and
it shall be given thee."
And Seralim answered —
*' There are in that place which men call Purgatory, and
which is the escape from Hell, but the painful porch of
Heaven, many souls that adore Thee, and yet are punished
justly for their sins ; grant me the boon to visit them at
times, and solace their suffering by the hymns of the harp
that is consecrated to Thee ! "
And the voice answered —
" Thy prayer is heard, oh gentlest of the angels ; and
it seems good to Him who chastises biit from love. Go!
Thou hast thy will."
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 95
Then the angel sang the praises of God, and when the
song was done, he rose from his azure throne at the right
hand of Gabriel, and spreading his rainbow wings, he flew
to that melancholy orb, which, nearest to earth, echoes
with the shrieks of souls, that by torture become pure.
There the unhappy ones see from afar the bright courts
they are hereafter to obtain, and the shapes of glorious
beings, who, fresh from the Fountains of Immortality, walk
amidst the gardens of Paradise, and feel that their happi-
ness hath no morrow ; — and this thought consoles amidst
their torments, and makes the true difference between
Purgatory and Hell.
Then the angel folded his wings, and, entering the
crystal gates, sat down upon a blasted rock, and struck
his divine lyre, and a peace fell over the wretched; the
demon ceased to torture, and the victim to wail. As sleep to
the mourners of earth was the song of the angel to the souls
of the purifying star : one only voice amidst the general
stillness seemed not lulled by the angel ; it was the voice of
a woman, and it continued to cry out with a sharp cry —
" Oh, Adenheim — Adenheim, mourn not for the lost ! "
The angel struck chord after chord, till his most skilful
melodies were exhausted, but still the solitary voice, un-
heeding — unconscious even of — the sweetest harp of the
angel choir, cried out —
" Oh, Adenheim — Adenheim, mourn not for the lost ! "
Then Seralim's interest was aroused, and approaching
the spot whence the voice came, he saw the spirit of a
9G 'J' HE PILGKIMS OK I' UK lUilNE.
young and beautiful girl chained to a rock, and the
demons lying idly by. And Seralim said to the demons,
" Doth the song lull ye thus to rest?"
And they answered. " Her care for another is bitterer
than all our torments ; therefore are we idle."
Then the angel approached the spirit, and said in a
voice which stilled her cry — for in what state do we outlive
sympathy ? " Wherefore, oh daughter of earth, wherefore
wailest thou with the same plaintive wail ? and why doth
the harp that soothes the most guilty of thy companions,
fail in its melody with thee?"
" Oh, radiant stranger," answered the poor spirit, " thou
speakest to one who on earth loved God's creature more
than God; therefore is she thus justly sentenced. But I
know that my poor Adenheim mourns ceaselessly for me,
and the thought of his sorrow is more intolerable to me
than all that the demons can inflict."
" And how knowest thou that he laments thee ?" asked
the angel.
" Because I know with what agony I should have
mourned for him" replied the spirit, simply.
The Divine nature of the angel was touched; for love
is the nature of the sons of heaven. " And how," said
he, " can I minister to thy sorrow?"
A transport seemed to agitate the spirit, and she lifted
up her mist-like and impalpable arms, and cried : —
" Give me — oh, give me to return to earth, but for one
little hour, that I may visit my Adenheim ; and that, con-
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE, 97
cealing from him my present sufferings, I may comfort liim
in his own."
" Alas ! " said the angel, turning away his eyes, for
angels may not weep in the sight of others, " I could,
indeed, grant thee tliis boon, but thou knowest not the
penalty. For the souls in Purgatory may return to Earth,
but heavy is the sentence that awaits their return. In
a word, for one hour on earth, thou must add a thousand
years to the tortures of thy confinement here ! "
" Is that all ? " cried the spirit ; " willingly, then, will
I brave the doom. Ah, surely they love not in heaven,
or thou wouldst know, oh Celestial Visitant, that one hour
of consolation to the one we love is worth a thousand,
thousand, ages of torture to ourselves ! Let me comfort and
convince my Adenheim ; no matter what becomes of me."
Then the angel looked on high, and he saw in far-
distant regions, which in that orb none else could discern,
the rays that parted from the all-guarding Eye ; and heard
the Voice of the Eternal One, bidding him act as his
pity whispered. He looked on the spirit, and her shadowy
arms stretched pleadingly towards him : he uttered the
word that looses the bars of the gate of Purgatory ; and
lo, the spirit had re-entered the human world.
It was night in the halls of the Lord of Adenheim ; and
he sate at the head of his glittering board ; loud and long
was the laugh, and merry the jest that echoed round; and
the laugh and the jest of the Lord of Adenheim were
louder and merrier than all.
98 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
And by bis right side sate a beautiful lady ; and ever and
anon he turned from others to whisper soft vows in her ear,
"And oh," said the bright dame of Falkenberg, "thy
words what ladye can believe; didst thou not utter the
same oaths, and promise the same love to Ida, the fair
daughter of Loden ; and now but three little months have
closed upon her grave? "
" By my halidom," quoth the young Lord of Aden-
heim, "thou dost thy l)eauty marvellous injustice. Ida!
Nay, thou mockest me ; / love the daughter of Loden !
why, how then should I be worthy thee? A few gay
words, a few passing smiles — behold all the love Aden-
heim ever bore to Ida. Was it my fault if the poor fool
misconstrued such common courtesy? Nay, dearest lady,
this heart is virgin to thee,'
" And what ! " said the lady of Falkenberg, as she
suffered the arm of Adenheim to encircle her slender
waist, "didst thou not grieve for her loss?'
" Why, verily, yes, for the first week ; but in thy bright
eyes I found ready consolation."
At this moment, the Lord of Adenheim thought he heard
a deep sigh behind him ; he turned, but saw nothing, save
a slight mist that gradually faded away, and vanished in
the distance. Where was the necessity for Ida to reveal
herself?
*
*
*
*
*
#
*
#
#
*
*
*
*
*
*
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 99
"And thou didst not, then, do tliine errand to thy lover?"
said Seralim, as the spirit of the wronged Ida returned to
Purgatory.
" Bid the demons recommence their torture," was poor
Ida's answer.
" And was it for this that tliou hast added a thousand
years to thy doom ? "
" Alas," answered Ida, " after the single hour I have
endured on Earth, there seems to be but little terrible in
a thousand fresh years of Purgatory* ! "
" What! is the story ended?" asked Gertrude.
« Yes."
" Nay, surely the thousand years were not added to
poor Ida's doom; and Seralim bore her back with him
to heaven ?"*
" The legend saith no more. The ^vl•iter was contented
to show ns the perpetuity of woman's love ; — "
" And its reward," added Vane.
" It was not / who drew that last conclusion, Albert,"
whispered Gertrude.
* Tliis story is principally borrowed from a foreign soil. It seemed to the
author worthy of being transferred to an English one, althongh he fears that nnich
of its singular beauty in the original has been lost by the way.
CHAPTER IX.
THF SCFNF.RY OF THE RHINE ANALOGOUS TO THE GEHMAN LITEHAHY GENIUS
THE DRACHENFELS.
On leaving Cologne, the stream winds round among
banks that do not yet fulfil the promise of the Rhine ; but
they increase in interest as you leave Surdt and Godorf.
The peculiar character of the river does not, however, really
appear, until by degrees the Seven Mountains, and " The
TH-E PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. ]0l
Castelled Crag of Drachenfees" above them all,
break upon the eye. Around Neider Cassel and Rheidt,
the vines lie thick and clustering ; and, by the shore, you
see from place to place the islands stretching their green
length along, and breaking the exulting tide. Village rises
upon village, and viewed from the distance as you sail, the
pastoral errors that enamoured us of the village life, crowd
thick and fast upon us. So still do these hamlets seem, so
sheltered from the passions of the world ; as if the passions
were not like winds — only felt where they breathe, and
invisible save by their effects ! Leaping into the broad
bosom of the Rhine comes many a stream and rivulet upon
either side. Spire upon spire rises and sinks as you sail
on. Mountain and city — the solitary island — the castled
steep — like the dreams of ambition, suddenly appear,
proudly swell, and dimly fade away.
" You begin now," said Trevylyan, " to understand the
character of the German literature. The Rhine is an
emblem of its luxuriance, its fertility, its romance. The
best commentary to the German genius is a visit to the
German scenery. The mighty gloom of the Hartz, the
feudal towers that look over vines and deep valleys on the
legendary Rhine ; the gigantic remains of antique power,
profusely scattered over plain, mount, and forest ; the
thousand mixed recollections that hallow the ground; the
stately Roman, the stalwart Goth, the chivalry of the
feudal age, and the dim brotherhood of the ideal world, have
here alike their record and their remembrance. And over
\02 TIIF: PTTXiRlMS OF TTIK RHINE.
such scenes the young German student wanders. Instead of
the pomp and luxury of the English traveller, the thousand
devices to cheat the way, he has but his volume in his hand,
his knapsack at his back. From such scenes he draws and
hives all that various store which after years ripen to
invention. Hence the florid mixture of the German muse —
the classic, the romantic, the contemplative, the philosophic,
and the superstitious. Each the result of actual meditation
over different scenes. Each the produce of separate but
confused recollections. As the Rhine flows, so flows the
national genius, by mountain and valley — the wildest soli-
tude — the sudden spires of ancient cities — the mouldered
castle — the stately monastery — the humble cot. Grandeur
and homeliness, history and superstition, truth and fable,
succeeding one another so as to blend into a whole.
" But," added Trevylyan a moment afterwards, " the
Ideal is passing slowly away from the German mind, a spirit
for the more active and the more material literature is spring-
ing up amongst them. The revolution of mind gathers on,
preceding stormy events ; and the memories that led their
grandsires to contemplate, will urge the youth of the next
generation to dare and to act."
Thus conversing, they continued their voyage, with a
fair wave and beneath a lucid sky.
The vessel now glided beside the Seven Mountains and
the Drachenfels.
The sun slowly progressing to his decline cast his yellow
beams over the smooth waters. At the foot of the mountains
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. JQS
lay a village deeply sequestered in shade ; and above, the
Ruin of the Drachenfels caught the richest beams of the
sun. Yet thus alone, though lofty, the ray cheered not the
gloom that hung over the giant rock : it stood on high, like
some great name on which the light of glory may shine, but
which is associated with a certain melancholy, from the
solitude to which its very height above the level of the
herd condemned its owner !
CHAPTER X.
THE LEGEND OF ROLAND THE ADVENTURES OF NYMPHALIN ON THE ISLAND OF
NONNEWORTH. HER SONG. THE DECAY OF THE FAIRY-FAITH IN ENGLAND.
On the shore opposite the Draehenfels stand the Ruins
OF RoLANDSECK, they are the shattered crown of a lofty
and perpendicular mountain, consecrated to the memory of
the brave Roland ; below, the trees of an island to which
the lady of Roland retired, rise thick and verdant from
the smooth tide.
Tirft PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 105
Nothing' can exceed the wild and eloquent grandeur of
the whole scene. That spot is the pride and beauty of the
Rhine.
The legend that consecrates the tower and the island
is briefly told ; it belongs to a class so common to the
Romaunts of Germany. Roland goes to the wars. A false
report of his death reaches his betrothed. She retires to the
convent in the isle of Nonneworth, and takes the irrevocable
veil. Roland returns home, flushed with glory and hope, to
find that the very fidelity of his aflianced had placed an eter-
nal barrier between them. He built the castle that bears his
name, and which overlooks the monastery, and dwelt there
till his death ; happy in the power at least to gaze, even to
the last, upon those walls which held the treasure he had lost.
The willows droop in mournful luxuriance along the
island, and harmonise with the memory that, through the
desert of a thousand years, love still keeps green and fresh.
Nor hath it permitted even those additions of fiction which,
like mosses, gather by time over the truth that they adorn,
yet adorning conceal, — to mar the simple tenderness of
the legend.
All was still in the island of Nonneworth; the lights
shone through the trees from the house that contained our
travellers. On one smooth spot, M'here the islet shelves
into the Rhine, met the wandering fairies.
" Oh ! Pipalee, how beautiful ! " cried Nymphalin as she
stood enraptured by the wave ; a star-beam shining on her,
with her yellow hair ' dancing its ringlets in the whistling
!()(; TiTK imt,(;kims of the rhine.
wind/ For tlie first time since our departure 1 do not miss
the green fields of England."
" Hist ! " said Pipalee under her breath, " I hear fairy
steps, they must be the steps of strangers."
" Let us retreat into this thicket of weeds," said Nym-
plialin, somewhat alarmed, " the good Lord Treasurer
is already asleep there." They whisked into what to
them was a forest, for the reeds were two feet high,
and there, sure enough, thej^ found the Lord Treasurer
stretched beneath a bulrush, uith his pipe beside him, for
since he had been in Germany he had taken to smoking;
and indeed wild thyme, properly dried, makes very good
tobacco for a fairy. They also found Nip and Trip sitting
very close together. Nip playing with her hair, which was
exceedingly beautiful.
" What do you do here ? " said Pipalee, shortly ; for she
was rather an old maid, and did not like fairies to be too
close to each other.
" Watching my Lord's slumber," said Nip.
" Pshaw," said Pipalee.
" Nay," quoth Trip, blushing like a sea-shell ; " there is
no harm in that, Pm sure."
" Hush," said the Queen, peeping through the reeds.
And now forth from the green bosom of the earth came
a tiny train ; slowly two by two, hand in hand, they swept
from a small aperture, shadowed with fragrant herbs, and
formed themselves into a ring; then came other fairies,
laden with dainties, and presently two beautiful white
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 107
mushrooms sprang up, on wliicli their viands were placed,
and lo there was a banquet ! Oh ! how merry they were ;
wliat gentle peals of laughter, loud as a virgin's sigh; what
jests, what songs ! Happy race ! if mortals could see you
as often as I do, in the soft nights of summer, they would
never be at a loss for entertainment. But as our English
fairies looked on, they saw that these foreign elves were of
a different race from themselves ; they were taller and less
handsome, their hair was darker, they wore moustaches
and had something of a fiercer air. Poor Nymphalin was
a little frightened ; but presently soft music was heard float-
ing along, something like the sound we suddenly hear of a
still night when a light breeze steals through rushes, or
wakes a ripple in some shallow brook dancing over pebbles.
And lo, from the aperture of the earth came forth a fay,
superbly dressed, and of a noble presence. The Queen
started back, Pipalee rubbed her eyes. Trip looked over
Pipalee's shoulder, and Nip, pinching her arm, cried out
amazed, " By the last new star, that is Prince Von Fay-
zenheim!"
Poor Nymphalin gazed again, and her little heart beat
under her bee's-wing boddice as if it would break. The
Prince had a melancholy air, and he sate apart from the
banquet, gazing abstractedly on the Rhine.
" All !" whispered Nymphalin to herself, " does he think
of me?"
Presently the Prince drew forth a little flute, hollowed
from a small reed, and began to play a mournful air.
H
108 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
Nymplialiii listened with delight; it was one he had learnt
in her dominions.
When the air was over, the Prince rose, and approaching
the banqueters, despatched them on different errands ; one
to visit the dwarf of the Drachenfels, another to look after
the grave of Musseus, and a whole detachment to puzzle
the students of Heidelberg. A few launched themselves
upon willow leaves on the Rhine, to cruise about in the
starlight, and another band set out a hunting after the
grey-legged moth. The Prince was left alone; and now
Nymphalin, seeing the coast clear, wrapped herself up in a
cloak made out of a withered leaf; — and only letting her
eyes glow out from the hood, she glided from the reeds, and
the Prince turning round saw a dark fairy figure by his
side. He drew back, a little startled, and placed his hand
on his sword, when Nymphalin, circling round him, sung
the following words : —
THE FAIRY'S REPROACH.
By the glow-worm's lamp in the dewy brake
By the gossamer's airy net ;
By the shifting skin of the faithless snake ;
Oh teach me to forget ;
For none, ah none.
Can teach so well that human spell
As Thou, false one !
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 109
II.
By the fairy dance on the greensward smooth ;
By the winds of the gentle west ;
By the loving stars, when their soft looks soothe
The waves on their mother's breast;
Teach me thy lore !
By which, like withered flowers,
The leaves of buried hours
Blossom no more !
III.
By the tent in the violet's bell ;
By the may on the scented bough;
By the lone green isle where my sisters dwell ;
And thine own forgotten vow :
Teach me to live,
Nor turn with thoughts that pine
For love so false as thine !
— Teach me thy lore.
And one thou lov'st no more
Will bless thee and forgive !
" Surely," said Fayzenheim, faltering, " surely I know
that voice. "
And Nymphalin's cloak dropped off her shoulder. " My
English fairy ! " and Fayzenheim knelt beside her.
I wish you had seen the fay kneel, for you would have
sworn it was so like a human lover, that you would never
H 2
110 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
have sneered at love afterwards. Love is so fairy-like a
part of uSj that even a fairy cannot make it differently from
us, — that is to say when we love truly.
There was great joy in the island that night among the
elves. They conducted Nymphalin to their palace within
the earth, and feasted her sumptuously, and Nip told their
adventures with so much spirit, that he enchanted the merry
foreigners. But Fayzenheim talked apart to Nymphalin,
and told her how he was lord of that island, and how he had
been obliged to return to his dominions by the law of his
tribe, which allowed him to be absent only a certain time in
every year ; '• but, my Queen, I always intended to revisit
thee next spring."
" Thou need'st not have left us so abruptly, " said
Nymphalin, blushing.
" But do thou never leave me ! " said the ardent fairy ;
" be mine, and let our nuptials be celebrated on these shores.
Wouldst thou sigh for thy green island? No! for there
the fairy altars are deserted, the faith is gone from the land,
thou art among the last of an unhonoured and expiring race.
Thy mortal poets are dumb, and Fancy, which was thy
priestess, sleeps hushed in her last repose. New and hard
creeds have succeeded to the fairy lore. Who steals
through the starlit boughs on the nights of June to watch
the roundels of thy tribe ? The wheels of commerce, the
din of trade, have silenced to mortal ear the music of thy
subjects' harps ! And the noisy habitations of men, harsher
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. ] ] |
tlian their dreaming sires, are gathering- round tlie dell and
vale where thy co-mates linger — a few years, and where
will be the green solitudes of England ? "
The Queen sighed, and the Prince, perceiving that he
was listened to, continued —
" Who, in thy native shores, among the children of men,
now claims the fairy's care ? What cradle wouldst thou
tend ? On what maid wouldst thou shower thy rosy gifts ?
What bard wouldst thou haunt in his dreams ? Poesy is
fled the island, why shouldst thou linger behind? Time
hath brought dull customs, that laugh at thy gentle being.
Puck is buried in the hare-bell, he has left no offspring, and
none mourn for his loss ; for night, which is the fairy season,
is busy and garish as the day. What hearth is desolate
after the curfew? What house bathed in stillness at the
hour in which thy revels commence ? Thine empire among
men has past from thee, and thy race are vanishing from the
crowded soil. For, despite our diviner nature, our exist-
ence is linked with man's. Their neglect is our disease,
their forgetfulness our death. Leave then those dull yet
troubled scenes that are closing round the fairy rings of thy
native isle. These mountains, this herbage, these gliding-
waves, these mouldering ruins, these starred rivulets, be
they, O beautiful fairy ! thy new domain. Yet in these lands
our worship lingers ; still can we fill the thought of the
young bard, and mingle with his yearnings after the Beau-
tiful, the Unseen. Hither come the pilgrims of the world,
112 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
anxious only to gather from these scenes the legends of Us ;
ages will pass away ere the Rhine shall be desecrated of
our haunting presence. Come then, my Queen, let this
palace be thine own, and the moon that glances over the
shattered towers of the Dragon Rock witness our nuptials
and our vows ! "
In such words the Fairy Prince courted the young
Queen, and while she sighed at their truth, she yielded to
their charm. Oh ! still may there be one spot on the earth
where the fairy feet may press the legendary soil— still be
there one land where the faith of The Bright Invisible
hallows and inspires! Still glide thou, O majestic and
solemn Rhine, among shades and valleys, from which the
wisdom of belief can call the creations of the younger
world !
CHAPTER XI.
WHEREIN THE RKADER IS M4DE SPECTATOR WITH THE ENGLISH FAIRIES OF THB
SCENES AND BEINGS THAT ARE BENEATH THE EARTH.
During the heat of next day's noon, Fayzenheim took the
Eng-lish visiters throug-h the cool caverns that wind amidst
the mountains of the Rhine. There a thousand wonders
awaited the eyes of the Fairy Queen. I speak not of the
Gothic arch and aisle into which the hollow earth forms
tself, or the stream that rushes with a mighty voice through
the dark chasm, or the silver columns that shoot aloft,
worked by the gnomes from the mines of the mountains of
Taunus; but of the strange inhabitants that from time to
time they came upon. They found in one solitary cell, lined
with dried moss, two misshapen elves, of a larger size than
common, with a plebeian working-day aspect, who were
chatting noisily together, and making a pair of boots : these
were the haus-mannen or domestic elves, that dance into
tradesmen's houses of a night, and play all sorts of undignified
tricks, — Pucks without his graces. They were very civil to
the Queen, for they are good-natured creatures on the whole,
and once liad many relations in Scotland. They then, follow-
114 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
ing the course of a noisy rivulet, came to a hole, from which
the sharp head of a fox peeped out. The Queen was fright-
ened. "Oil, come on," said the Fox, encouragingly, " I am
one of the fairy race, and many are the gambols we of the
brute-elves play in the German world of romance." "Indeed
Mr. Fox," said the Prince, " you only speak the truth; and
how is Mr. Bruin V " Quite well, my prince ; but tired of
his seclusion, for indeed our race can do little or nothing
now in the world, and lie here in our old age, telling stories
of the past, and recalling the exploits we did in our youth;
which, Madam, you may see in all the fairy histories in the
Prince's library."
"Your own love adventures, for instance. Master Fox,"
said the Prince.
The Fox snarled angrily, and drew in his head.
" You have displeased your friend," said Nymphalin.
" Yes — he likes no allusions to the amorous follies of his
youth. Did you ever hear of his rivalry with the Dog, for
the Cat's good graces ?"
"No — that must be very amusing."
" Well, my Queen, when we rest by-and-by, I will
relate to you the history of the Fox's wooing."
The next place they came to was a vast Runic cavern,
covered with dark inscriptions of a forgotten tongue ; and
sitting on a huge stone they found a dwarf with long
yellow hair, his head leaning on his breast, and absorbed in
meditation.
" This is a spirit of a wise and powerful race," whispered
THE PTLGRTMS OF THE RHINE. W,")
Fayzenlieim ; " that has often battled with the fairies ; but
he is of the kindly tribe."
Then the dwarf lifted Ms head with a mournful air, and
gazed upon the bright shapes before him, lighted by the pine
torches that the Prince's attendants carried.
" And what dost thou muse upon, O descendant of the
race of Laurin ?" said the Prince.
" Upon Time ! " answered the dwarf, gloomily. " I see
a river, and its waves are blacl^, flowing from the clouds,
and none knoweth its source. It rolls deeply on, aye
and evermore, through a green valley, which it slowly
swallows up, washing away tower and town, and vanquish-
ing all things; and the name of the river is Time."
Then the dwarf's head sunk on his bosom, and he spoke
no more.
The Fairies proceeded : — " Above us," said the Prince,
rises one of the loftiest mountains of the Rhine; for
mountains are the Dwarfs' home. When the Great Spirit
of all made earth, he saw that the interior of the rocks
and hills were tenantless ; and yet, that a mighty kingdom
and great palaces were hid within them ; a dread and dark
solitude : but lighted at times from the starry eyes of
many jewels; and there was the treasure of the human
world — gold and silver — and great heaps of gems, and a
soil of metals. So God made a race for this vast empire,
and gifted them with the power of thought, and the soul
of exceeding wisdom; so that they want not the merri-
ment and enterprise of the outer world: but musing in
116 THE pit/;rtms or the uiiixe.
these dark eaves is their delight. Their existence rolls away
in the luxury of thought; only from time to time they
appear in the world, and betoken woe or weal to men ;
according to their nature — for they are divided into two
tribes, the benevolent and the wrathful." While the
Prince spoke, they saw glaring upon them from a ledge
in the upper rock a grisly face with a long matted beard.
The Prince gathered himself up, and frowned at the evil
Dwarf, for such it was; but with a wild laugh the face
abruptly disappeared, and the echo of the laugh rang with
a ghastly sound through the long hollows of the earth.
The Queen clung to Fayzenheim's arm. " Fear not,
my Queen," said he; "the evil race hath no power over
our light and aerial nature; with men only they war; and
he whom we have seen was in the old ao^es of the world
one of the deadliest visiters to mankind."
But now they came winding by a passage to a beautiful
recess in the mountain empire ; it was of a circular shape,
and of amazing height, and in the midst of it played a natural
fountain of sparkling waters, and around it were columns
of massive granite, rising in countless vistas, till lost in
the distant shade. Jewels were scattered round, and brightly
played the fairy torches on the gem, the fountain, and
the pale silver, that gleamed at frequent intervals from
the rocks. " Here let us rest," said the gallant Fairy,
clapping his hands — "what, ho! music and the feast."
So the feast was spread by the fountain's side ; and the
courtiers scattered rose-leaves, which they had brought with
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 117
them, for the Prince and his visiter; and amidst the dark
kingdom of the Dwarfs broke the delicate sound of Fairy
lutes. " We have not these evil beings in England," said
the Queen, as low as she could speak; " they rouse my
fear, but my interest also. Tell me, dear Prince, of what
nature was the intercourse of the evil Dwarf with man."
" You know," answered the Prince, " that to every
species of living thing there is something in common ; the
vast chain of sympathy runs through all creation. By that
which they have in common with the beast of the field
or the bird of the air, men govern the inferior tribes ;
they appeal to the common passions of fear and emulation
when they tame the wild steed ; to the common desire of
greed and gain when they snare the fishes of the stream,
or allure the wolves to the pitfall by the bleating of the
lamb. In their turn, in the older ages of the world, it
was by the passions which men had in common with the
demon race, that the fiends commanded or allured them.
The Dwarf, whom you saw, being of that race which is
characterised by the ambition of power and the desire of
hoarding, appealed then in his intercourse with men to the
same characteristics in their own bosoms; to ambition or
to avarice. And thus were his victims made ! But, not
now, dearest Nymphalin;" continued the Prince, with a
more lively air — " not now will we speak of those gloomy
beings. Ho, there ! cease the music, and come hither all
of ye — to listen to a faithful and homely history of the
Dog, the Cat, the Griffin, and the Fox."
CHAPTER XII.
THE WOOING OF MASTER FOX*.
You are aware, my dear Nymphalin, that in the time
of which I am about to speak, there was no particular
enmity between the various species of brutes ; the dog and
the hare chatted very agreeably together, and all the
world knows that the wolf, unacquainted with mutton, had
a particular affection for the lamb. In these happy days,
two most respectable cats, of very old family, had an only
daughter ; never was kitten more amiable, or more seducing;
as she grew up she manifested so many charms, that she in
a little while became noted as the greatest beauty in the
neighbourhood ; need I to you, dearest Nymphalin, describe
* In the excursions of the Fairies, it is the object of the author, to bring before
the reader a rapid phantasmagoria of the various beings that belong to the German
superstitions, so that the work may thus describe the outer and the inner world of
the land of the Rhine. The tale of the Fox's Wooing has been composed to give
the English reader an idea of a species of novel not naturalised amongst us, thougli
frequent among the legends of our Irish neighbours; in which the brutes are the
only characters drawn — drawTi too, with all nice and subtle shades of distinction,
and with as much variety of traits as if they were the creatures of the civilised
world.
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 119
her perfections. Suffice it to say that her skin was of the
most delicate tortoise-shell, that her paws were smoother
than velvet, that her whiskers were twelve inches long at
the least, and that her eyes had a gentleness altogether
astonishing in a cat. But if the young beauty had suitors
in plenty during the lives of Monsieur and Madame, you
may suppose the niunber was not diminished, when, at the
age of two years and a half, she was left an orphan, and sole
heiress to all the hereditary property. In fine, she was the
richest marriage in the whole country. Without troubling
you, dearest Queen, with the adventures of the rest of her
lovers, with their suit, and their rejection, I come at once
to the two rivals most sanguine of success ; — the Dog and
the Fox.
Now the Dog was a handsome, honest, straightforward,
afiecfcionate fellow ; " For my part, " said he, " I don't
wonder at my cousin's refusing Bruin the b^ar, and Gaunt-
grim the wolf ; to be sure they give themselves great airs,
and call themselves ^nohle^' but what then ? Bruin is always
in the sulks, and Gauntgrim always in a passion ; a cat of
any sensibility would lead a miserable life with them : as for
me, I am very good tempered when I'm not put out ; and
I have no fault except that of being angry if disturbed at
my meals. I am young and good-looking, fond of play
and amusement, and altogether as agreeable a husband as
a cat could find in a summer's day. If she marries me, well
and good ; she may have her property settled on herself —
if not, I shall bear her no malice ; and I hope I shan't be
120 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
too much in love to forget that there are other cats in the
workl."
With that the Dog threw his tail over his back, and set
off to his mistress with a gay face on the matter.
Now the Fox heard the Dog talking thus to himself— for
the Fox was always peeping about, in holes and corners,
and he burst out a-laughing when the Dog was out of sight'
" Ho, ho, my fine fellow," said he, "not so fast, if you
please ; you've got the Fox for a rival, let me tell you."
The Fox, as you very well know, is a beast that can
never do any thing without a manoeuvre ; and as, from his
cunning, he was generally very lucky in any thing he
undertook, he did not doubt for a moment that he should
put the Dog's nose out of joint. Reynard was aware that
in love one should always, if possible, be the first in the
field, and he therefore resolved to get the start of the Dog
and arrive before him at the Cat's residence. But this was
no easy matter ; for though Reynard could run faster than
the Dog for a little way, he was no match for him in a
journey of some distance. " However," said Reynard,
" those good-natured creatures are never very wise ; and I
think I know already what will make him bait on his way."
With that, the Fox trotted pretty fast by a short cut in
the woods, and getting before the Dog, laid himself down
by a hole in the earth and began to howl most jnteously.
The Dog, hearing the noise, was very much alarmed ;
" See now," said he, " if the poor Fox has not got himself
into some scrape. Those cunning creatures are always in
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 121
mischief; thank heaven, it never comes into my head to be
cunning. " And the good-natured animal ran off as hard
as he could to see what was the matter with the Fox.
" Oh dear ! " cried Reynard ; " what shall I do, what shall
I do ! my poor little sister has gotten into this hole, and
I can't get her out — she'll certainly be smothered." And
the Fox burst out a-howling more piteously than before.
" But my dear Reynard," quoth the Dog very simply,
" why don't you go in after your sister .f"'
" Ah, you may well ask that," said the Fox; " but, in
trying to get in, don't you perceive that I have sprained
my back, and can't stir ; oh dear ! what shall I do if my
poor little sister gets smothered."
" Pray don't vex yourself," said the Dog ; " I'll get her
out in an instant;" and with that he forced himself with
great difficulty into the hole.
Now no sooner did the Fox see that the Dog was fairly
in, than he rolled a great stone to the mouth of the hole,
and fitted it so tight, that the Dog, not being able to turn
round and scratch against it with his fore-paws, was made
a close prisoner.
" Ha, ha," cried Reynard laughing outside ; " amuse
yourself with my poor little sister, while I go and make
your compliments to Mademoiselle the Cat.*"
With that Reynard set off at an easy pace, never troubling
his head what became of the poor Dog. When he arrived
in the neighbourhood of the beautiful Cat's mansion, he
resolved to pay a visit to a friend of his, an old Magpie
122 THE PILORIMS OF THE RHINE.
that lived in a tree, and was well acquainted with all the
news of the place. " For," thought Reynard, " I may as
well know the weak side of my mistress that is to be, and
get round it at once."
The INIagpie received the Fox with great cordiality,
and inquired what brought him so great a distance from
home.
" Upon my word," said the Fox, " nothing so much as
the pleasure of seeing your ladyship, and hearing those
agreeable anecdotes you tell with so charming a grace ; but,
to let you into a secret — be sure it don't go farther"
" On the word of a Magpie," interrupted the bird.
" Pardon me for doubting you," continued the Fox, " I
should have recollected that a Pie was a proverb for dis-
cretion; but, as I was saying, you know her majesty the
Lioness."
" Surely," said the Magpie bridling.
" Well ; she was pleased to fall in — that is to say — to —
to — take a caprice to your humble servant, and the Lion
grew so jealous that I thought it prudent to decamp; a
jealous Lion is no joke, let me assure your ladyship. But
mum's the word."
So great a piece of news delighted the Magpie. She
could not but repay it in kind, by all the news in her
budget. She told the Fox all the scandal about Bruin and
Gauntgrim, and she then fell to work on the poor young
Cat. She did not spare her foibles, you may be quite sure.
The Fox listened with great attention, and he learnt
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. J^J
enough to convince him, that, however the Magpie exag-
gerated, the Cat M^as very susceptible to flattery, and had
a great deal of imagination.
When the Magpie had finished, she said, " But it must
be very unfortunate for you to be banished from so magni-
ficent a court as that of the Lion."
" As to that," answered the Fox, " I consoled myself for
my exile, with a present his majesty made me on parting,
as a reward for my anxiety for his honour and domestic
tranquillity ; namely, three hairs from the fifth leg of the
Amoronthologosphorns. Only think of that, Ma'am."
" The what ? " cried the Pie, cocking down her left ear.
" The Amoronthologosphorns."
" La ! " said the Magpie, " and what is that very long-
word, my dear Reynard."
'' The Amoronthologosphorns is a beast that lives on the
other side of the river Cylinx, it has five legs, and on the
fifth leg there are three hairs, and whoever has those three
hairs, can be young and beautiful for ever."
" Bless me : I wish you would let me see them," said
the Pie, holding out her claw.
" Would that I could oblige you, Ma'am, but it's as
much as my life's worth to show them to any but the lady
I marry. In fact, they only have an ejSect on the fair sex,
as you may see by myself, whose poor person they utterly
fail to improve ; they are, therefore, intended for a marriage
present, and his majesty, the Lion, thus generously atoned
to me for relinquishing the tenderness of his queen. One
1
124 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
must confess that there was a great deal of delicacy in the
gift. But you'll be sure not to mention it."
" A Magpie gossip, indeed !" quoth the old blab.
The Fox then wished the Magpie good night, and
retired to a hole to sleep off the fatigues of the day, before
he presented himself to the beautiful young Cat.
The next morning, heaven knows how, it was all over
the place, that Reynard the Fox had been banished from
court for the favour shown him by her majesty, and that the
lAon had bribed his departure with three hairs that would
make any lady, whom the Fox married, young and beautiful
for ever.
The Cat was the first to learn the news, and she became
all curiosity to see so interesting a stranger, possessed of
'' qualifications" which, in the language of the day, " M^ould
render any animal happy ! " She was not long without
obtaining her wish. As she was taking a walk in the wood
the Fox contrived to encounter her. You may be sure
that he made her his best bow; and he flattered the poor
maid with so courtly an air that she saw nothing surprising
in the love of the Lioness.
Meanwhile let us see what became of his rival, the Dog.
Ah, the poor creature ! said Nymphalin ; it is easy to
guess that he need not be buried alive to lose all chance of
marrying the heiress.
Wait till the end, answered Fayzenheim. When the
Dog found that he was thus entrapped, he gave himself up
for lost. In vain he kicked with his hind-legs against the
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 1^5
stone, he only succeeded in bruising his paws, and at length
he was forced to lie down, with his tongue out of his mouth,
and quite exhausted. " However," said he, after he had taken
breath, " it won't do to be starved here, without doing my
best to escape ; and if I can't get out one way, let me see
if there is not a hole at the other end;" thus saying, his
courage, which stood him in lieu of cunning, returned, and
he proceeded on with the same straightforward way in which
he always conducted himself. At first the path was exceed-
ingly narrow, and he hurt his sides very much against the
rough stones that projected from the earth. But by degrees
the way became broader, and he now went on with consider-
able ease to himself, till he arrived in a large cavern, where
he saw an immense Griffin sitting on his tail, and smoking a
huge pipe.
The Dog was by no means pleased at meeting so sud-
denly a creature that had only to open his mouth to swallow
him up at a morsel ; however he put a bold face on the
danger, and walking respectfully up to the Griffin, said,
" Sir, I should be very much obliged to you if you would
inform me the way out of these holes into the upper world."
The Griffin took the pipe out of his mouth, and looked
at the Dog very sternly.
" Ho ! wretch," said he, " how comest thou hither ? I
suppose thou wantest to steal my treasure ; but I know
how to treat such vagabonds as you, and I shall certainly
eat you up."
" You can do that if you choose," said the Dog, " but
I 2
126 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
it would be very unhandsome conduct in an animal so
much bigger than myself. For my own part, I never
attack any dog that is not of equal size. I should be
ashamed of myself if I did; and as to your treasure, the
character I bear for honesty is too well known to merit
such a suspicion."
" Upon my word," said the Griffin, who could not help
smiling for the life of him, "you have a singularly free
mode of expressing yourself; — and how, I say, came you
hither?"
Then the Dog, who did not know what a lie was, told
the Griffin his whole history, how he had set off to pay
his court to the Cat, and how Reynard the Fox had
entrapped him into the hole.
When he had finished, the Griffin said to him, " I see,
my friend, that you know how to speak the truth ; I am
in want of just such a servant as you will make me, there-
fore stay with me and keep watch over my treasure when
I sleep."
" Two words to that," said the Dog. " You have hurt
my feelings very much by suspecting my honesty, and I
would much sooner go back into the wood and be avenged
on that scoundrel the Fox, than serve a master who has
so ill an opinion of me ; even if he gave me to keep, much
less to take care of, all the treasures in the world. I pray
you, therefore, to dismiss me, and to put me in the right
way to my cousin the Cat."
" T am not a Griffin of many words," answered the
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 127
master of tlie cavern, " and I give you your choice —
be my servant, or be my breakfast; it is just the same to
me. I give you time to decide till I have smoked out
my pipe."
The poor Dog did not take so long to consider. " It is
true," thought he, " that it is a great misfortune to live in a
cave with a Griffin of so unpleasant a countenance ; but,
probably, if I serve him well and faithfully, he'll take pity
on me some day, and let me go back to earth, and prove
to my cousin what a rogue the Fox is ; and as to the rest,
though I would sell my life as dear as I could, It is im-
possible to fight a Griffin with a mouth of so monstrous
a size ; " — in short, he decided to stay with the Griffin.
" Shake a paw on it," quoth the grim smoker ; and the
Dog shook paws.
" And now," said the Griffin, " I will tell you what
you are to do — look here ; and, moving his tail, he showed
the Dog a great heap of gold and silver, in a hole in the
ground, that he had covered with the folds of his tail ; and,
also, what the Dog thought more valuable, a great heap
of bones of very tempting appearance.
"Now," said the Griffin, "during the day, I can take
very good care of these myself; but at night it is very
necessary that I should go to sleep ; so when I sleep, you
must watch over them instead of me."
" Very well," said the Dog ; " as to the gold and silver
I have no objection ; but I would much rather you would
lock up the bones, for I'm often hungry of a night, and—"
" Hold your tongue," said the Griffin.
128 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. '
" But, sir," said the Dog, after a short silence, "surely
nobody ever comes into so retired a situation. Who are
the thieves, if I may make bold to ask ? "
" Know," answered the Griffin, " that there are a great
many serpents in this neighbourhood, and they are always
trying to steal my treasure ; and, if they catch me napping,
they, not contented with theft, would do their best to sting
me to death. So that I am almost worn out for want of
sleep."
" Ah ! " quoth the Dog, who was fond of a good night's
rest, " I don't envy you your treasure, sir."
At night, the Griffin, who had a great deal of pene-
tration, and saw that he might depend on the Dog, laid
down to sleep in another corner of the cave : and the Dog,
shaking himself well, so as to be quite awake, took w'atch
over the treasure. His mouth M^atered exceedingly at the
bones, and he could not help smelling them now and then ;
but he said to himself, — " A bargain's a bargain, and since I
have promised to serve the Griffin, I must serve him as an
lionest Dog ought to serve."
In the middle of the night, he saw a great snake creeping
in by the side of the cave, but the Dog set up so loud a
bark, that the Griffin awoke, and the snake crept away as
fast as he could. Then the Griffin was very much pleased,
and he gave the Dog one of the bones to amuse liimself
with ; and every night the Dog watched the treasure, and
acquitted himself so well, that not a snake, at last, dared
to make its appearance;— so the Griffin enjoyed an excel-
lent night's rest.
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 129
The Dog- now found himself much more comfortable
than he expected. The Griffin re^idarly gave him one of
the bones for supper ; and, pleased with his fidelity, made
himself as agreeable a master as a Griffin could do. Still,
however, the Dog was secretly very anxious to return to
earth; for having nothing to do during the day, but to
doze on the ground, he dreamt perpetually of his cousin
the Cat's charms ; and, in fancy, he gave the rascal Reynard
as hearty a worry as a Fox may well have the honour of
receiving from a Dog's paws. He awoke panting — alas!
he could not realise his dreams.
One night, as he was watching as usual over the trea-
sure, he was greatly surprised to see a beautiful little black
and white dog enter the cave ; and it came fawning to
our honest friend, wagging its tail with pleasure.
" Ah ! little one," said our Dog, whom, to distinguish,
I will call the watch-Dog, " you had better make the
best of your way back again. See, there is a great Griffin
asleep in the other corner of the cave, and if he wakes,
he will either eat you up, or make you his servant as he
has made me."
" I know what you would tell me," says the little Dog ;
"and I have come down here to deliver you. The stone
is now gone from the mouth of the cave, and you have
nothing to do but to go back with me. Come, brother,
corae."
The Dog was very much excited by this address. " Don't
ask me, my dear little friend," said he, "you must be
aware that I should be too happy to escape out of this cold
130 THE riLCiitiMS of the riiink.
cave, and roll on the soft turf once more; but if 1 leave
my master, the Griffin, those cursed serpents, who are
always on the watch, will come in and steal his treasure —
naj', perhaps, sting him to death." Then the little Dog
came up to the watch-Dog, and remonstrated with him
greatly, and licked him caressingly on both sides of his
face ; and, taking him by the ear, endeavoured to draw him
from the treasure, but the Dog would not stir a step, though
his heart sorely pressed him. At length the little Dog,
finding it all in vain, said, " Well then, if I must leave,
good-bye ; but I have become so hungry in coming down
all this way after you, that I wish you would give me one
of those bones ; they smell very pleasantly, and one out of
so many could never be missed."
" Alas," said the watch-Dog, with tears in his eyes, " how
unlucky I am to have eat up the bone my master gave me,
otherwise you should have had it and welcome. But I
can't give you one of these, because my master has made
me promise to watch over them all, and I have given him
my paw on it. I am sure a dog of your respectable
appearance will say nothing farther on the subject."
Then the little dog answered pettishly, " Pooh, what
nonsense you talk ; surely a great Griffin can't miss a little
bone, fit for me;" and nestling his nose under the watch-
Dog, he tried forthwith to bring up one of the bones.
On this the watch- Dog grew angry, and, though with much
reluctance, he seized the little Dog by the nape of the neck
and threw him off, though wathout hurting him. Suddenly
thi' little dog changed into a monstrous serpent, bigger
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. ]3]
even than the Griffin himself, and the watch-Dog barked
with all his might. The Griffin rose in a great hurry, and
the Serpent sprang upon him ere he was well awake. I
wish, dearest Nymphalin, you could have seen the battle
between the Griffin and tlie Serpent, how they coiled and
twisted, and bit and darted their fiery tongues at each other.
At length, the Serpent got uppermost, and was about to
phuige his tongue into that part of the Griffin which is
unprotected by his scales, when the Dog, seizing him by
the tail, bit him so sharply, that he could not help turning
round to kill his new assailant, and the Griffin, taking advan-
tage of the opportunity, caught the Serpent by the throat
with both claws, and fairly strangled him. As soon as the
Griffin had recovered from the nervousness of the conflict,
he heaped all manner of caresses on the Dog for saving his
life. The Dog told him the whole story, and the Griffin
then explained, that the dead snake was the King of the
Serpents, who had the power to change himself into any
shape he pleased. " If he had tempted you," said he, " to
leave the treasure but for one moment, or to have given
him any part of it, ay, but a single bone, he would have
crushed you in an instant, and stung me to death ere I
could have waked ; but none, no not the most venomous
thing in creation, has power to hurt the honest ! "
" That has always been my belief," answered the Dog ;
" and now, sir, you had better go to sleep again, and leave
the rest to me."
" Nay," answered the Griffin, " I have no longer need of
132 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
a servant, for now that the Kin^r of the Serpents is dead, the
rest will never molest me. It was only to satisfy his avarice
that his subjects dared to brave the den of the Griffin,"
Upon hearing this the Dog was exceedingly delighted ;
and raising himself on his hind- paws, he begged the Griffin
most movingly to let him return to earth, to visit his mis-
tress, the Cat, and worry his rival, the Fox.
" You do not serve an ungrateful master," answered the
Griffin, " You shall return, and I will teach you all the
craft of our race, which is much craftier than the race of
that pettifogger the Fox, so that you may be able to cope
with your rival."
" Ah, excuse me," said the Dog, hastily, " I am equally
obliged to you ; but I fancy honesty is a match for cunning
any day ; and I think myself a great deal safer in being a
dog of honour than if I knew all the tricks in the world."
" Well," said the Griffin, a little piqued at the Dog's
bluntness, " do as you please ; I wish you all possible
success."
Then the Griffin opened a secret door in the side of the
cavern, and the Dog saw a broad path that led at once into
the wood. He thanked the Griffin with all his heart, and
ran wagging his tail into the open moonlight. " Ah, ah !
master Fox," said he, " there's no trap for an honest Dog
that has not two doors to it, cunning as you think yourself."
With that he curled his tail gallantly over his left leg,
and set off on a long trot to the Cat's house. When he
was within sight of it, he stopped to refresh himself by a
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 133
pool of water, and who should be there but our friend the
Magpie.
" And what do ijou want, friend?" said she, rather dis-
dainfully, for the Dog- looked somewhat out of case after
his journey.
" I am going to see my cousin the Cat," answered he.
" Your cousin ! marry come up," said the Magpie ;
" don't you know she is going to be married to Reynard the
Fox. This is not a time for her to receive the visits of a
brute like you."
These words put the Dog in such a passion, that he very
nearly bit the Magpie for her uncivil mode of communi-
cating such bad news. However he curbed his temper,
and, without answering her, went at once to the Cat's
residence.
The Cat was sitting at the window, and no sooner did
the Dog see her than he fairly lost his heart ; never had
he seen so charming a Cat before ; he advanced, wagging
his tail, and with his most insinuating air; when the Cat,
getting up, clapped the window in his face — and lo !
Reynard the Fox appeared in her stead.
" Come out, thou rascal ! '■" said the Dog, showing his
teeth; "come out. I challenge thee to single combat ; I
have not forgiven thy malice, and thou seest that I am no
longer shut up in the cave, and unable to punish thee
for thy wickedness."
" Go home, silly one ; " answered the Fox, sneering ;
" thou hast Jio business here, and as for fighting thee —
134 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
Bah ! " Then the Fox left the window and disappeared.
But the Dog, thoroughly enraged, scratched lustily at the
door, and made such a noise, that presently the Cat herself
came to the window.
" How now!" said she, angrily; "what means all this
rudeness? who are you, and what do you want at my house ?"
" O, my dear cousin," said the Dog, " do not speak so
severely; know that I have come here on purpose to pay
you a visit ; and M^hatever you do, let me beseech you not
to listen to that villain Reynard, you have no conception
what a rogue he is !'"*
" What," said the Cat, blushing, " do you dare to abuse
your betters in this fashion, I see you have a design on
me. Go, this instant, or "
"Enough, Madam;" said the Dog, proudly; " you need
not speak twice to me — farewell."
And he turned away very slowly, and went under a tree,
where he took up his lodgings for the night. But the
next morning there was an amazing commotion in the
neighbourhood; a stranger, of a very different style of
travelling from that of the Dog, had arrived at the dead of
the night, and fixed his abode in a large cavern, hollowed
out of a steep rock. The noise he had made in flying
through the air was so great, that it had awakened every
bird and beast in the parish ; and Reynard, whose bad con-
science never suffered him to sleep very soundly, putting his
head out of the window, perceived, to his great alarm, that
the stranyor was nothing less than a monstrous Griffin.
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. I35
Now the Griffins are tlie richest beasts in the world ;
and that's the reason they keep so close under ground.
Whenever it does happen that they pay a visit above,
it is not a thing to be easily forgotten.
The Magpie was all agitation, — what could the Griffin
possibly want there. She resolved to take a peep at the
cavern, and accordingly she hopped timorously up the rock,
and pretended to be picking up sticks for her nest.
" Hollo, Ma'am," cried a very rough voice, and she saw
the Griffin putting his head out of the cavern, " Hollo, you
are the very lady I want to see ; you know all the people
about here — eh?"
" All the best company, your Lordship, I certainly do,"
answered the Magpie, droi)ping a curtsey.
Upon this the Griffin walked out ; and smoking his pipe
leisurely in the open air, in order to set the Pie at her ease,
continued —
" Are there any respectable beasts of good family settled
in this neighbourhood?"
" O most elegant society, I assure your Lordship," cried
the Pie. " I have lived here myself these ten years, and
the great heiress, the Cat yonder, attracts a vast number of
strangers."
" Humph — heiress, indeed ! much you know about
heiresses!" said the Griffin. "There is only one heiress
in the world, and that's my daughter."
" Bless me, has your Lordship a family ? I beg you a
thousand pardons. But I only saw your Lordship's own
136 THE PTLORTMft OP THE UTITNE.
equipage last night, and did not know you brought any one
with you."
" My daughter went first, and was safely lodged before
I arrived. She did not disturb you, I dare say, as I did ;
for she sails along like a swan ; but I have the gout in ray
left claw, and that's the reason I puff and groan so in taking
a journey."
" Shall I drop in upon Miss Griffin, and see how she is
after her journey ? " said the Pie, advancing.
" I thank you, no; I don't intend her to be seen while I
stay here, it unsettles her ; and Pm afraid of the young
beasts running away with her if they once heard how hand-
some she was ; she"'s the living picture of me, but she's
monstrous giddy ! Not that I should care much if she did
go ofi" with a beast of degree, were I not obliged to pay
her portion, which is prodigious, and I don't like parting
with money, Ma''am, when IVe once got it. Ho, ho, ho ! "
" You are too witty, my Lord. But if you refused your
consent ?" said the Pie, anxious to know the whole family
history of so grand a seigneur.
" I should have to pay the dowry all the same. It was
left her by her uncle the Dragon. But don't let this go
any farther.""
" Your Lordship may depend on my secrecy. I wish
your Lordship a very good morning."
Away flew the Pie, and she did not stop till she got to
the Cat's house. The Cat and the Fox were at breakfast,
and the Fox had his paw on his heart. " Beautiful scene !"
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 137
cried the Pie ; the Cat coloured, and bade the Pie take
a seat.
Then off went the Pie's tongue, glib, glib, glib, chatter,
chatter, chatter. She related to them the whole story of
the Griffin and his daughter, and a great deal more beside,
that the Griffin had never told her.
The Cat listened attentively. Another young heiress in
the neighbourhood might be a formidable rival. " But is
the Griffiness handsome?" said she.
" Handsome ! " cried the Pie ; " oh ! if you could have
seen the father ! — such a mouth, such eyes, such a com-
plexion, and he declares she's the living picture of himself!
But what do you say, Mr. Reynard; you, who have been so
much in the world, have, perhaps, seen the young lady ? "
" Why, I can't say I have," answered the Fox, waking
from a reverie ; " but she must be wonderfuUy rich. I
dare say that fool, the Dog, will be making up to her."
' Ah ! by the way,*" said the Pie, " what a fuss he made
at your door yesterday ; why would not you admit him, my
dear?"
" Oh ! "" said the Cat, demurely, " Mr. Reynard says that
he is a Dog of very bad character, quite a fortune-hunter ;
and hiding the most dangerous disposition to bite under
an appearance of good nature. I hope he won't be quarrel-
some with you, dear Reynard."
" With me ! O the poor wretch, no ! — he might bluster
a little ; but he knows that if Pm once angry Pm a devil at
biting ; — but one should not boast of one's self."
138 THK PILCRIMS OF Till': RHINE.
Ill the evening Reynard felt a strange desire to go and
see the Griffin smoking his pipe ; but what could he do ?
There was the Dog under the opposite tree evidently watch-
ing for him, and Reynard had no wish to prove himself
that devil at biting which he declared he was. At last he
resolved to have recourse to stratagem to get rid of the Dog.
A young Buck of a Rabbit, a sort of provincial fop, had
looked in upon his cousin the Cat, to pay her his respects,
and Reynard, taking him aside, said, " You see that shabby-
looking Dog under the tree. Well, he has behaved very ill
to your cousin the Cat, and you certainly ought to challenge
him — forgive my boldness — nothing but respect for your
character induces me to take so great a liberty ; you know
I would ch?^^ise the rascal myself, but what a scandal it
would make ! If I were already married to your cousin, it
would be a different thing. But you know what a story
that cursed Magpie would hatch out of it ! "
The Rabbit looked very foolish : he assured the Fox that
he was no match for the Dog ; that he was very fond of his
cousin to be sure ; but he saw no necessity to interfere wath
her domestic affairs ; — and, in short, he tried all he possibly
could to get out of the scrape; but the Fox so artfully
played on his vanity — so earnestly assured him that the
Dog was the biggest coward in the world, and would make
a humble apology, and so eloquently represented to him
the glory he would obtain for manifesting so much spirit,
that at length the Rabbit was persuaded to go out and
deliver the challenge.
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 139
" ril be your second," said the Fox ; " and the great field
on the other side the wood, two miles hence, shall be the
place of battle; there we shall be out of observation. You
go first, I'll follow in half an hour — and I say — hark ! — in
case he does accept the challenge, and you feel the least
afraid, I'll be in the field, and take it off your paws with the
utmost pleasure ; rely on me, my dear sir ! "
Away went the Rabbit. The Dog was a little astonished
at the temerity of the poor creature ; but on hearing that
the Fox was to be present, willingly consented to repair to
the place of conflict. This readiness the Rabbit did not at
all relish ; he went very slowly to the field, and seeing no
Fox there, his heart misgave him, and while the Dog was
putting his nose to the ground to try if he coald track the
coming of the Fox, the Rabbit slipped into a burrow, and
left the Dog to walk back again.
Meanwhile the Fox was already at the rock ; he walked
very soft-footedly, and looked about with extreme caution,
for he had a vague notion that a Griffin Papa would not be
very civil to Foxes.
Now there were two holes in the rock, one below, one
above, an upper story and an under ; and while the Fox
was peering out, he saw a great claw from the upper rock
beckoning to him
" Ah, ah ! " said the Fox, " that's the wanton young
Griffiness, I'll swear."
He approached, and a voice said —
" Charming Mr. Reynard ! Do you not think you could
140 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
deliver an unfortunate Griffiness from a barbarous confine-
ment in this rock?"
" Oil heavens ! " cried the Fox, tenderly, " what a beau-
tiful voice ! and, ah, my poor heart, what a lovely claw !
Is it possible that I hear the daughter of my lord, the great
Griffin ? "
" Hush, flatterer ! not so loud, if you please. My father
is taking an evening stroll, and is very quick of hearing.
He has tied me up by my poor wings in the cavern, for he
is mightily afraid of some beast running away with me.
You know I have all my fortune settled on myself."
" Talk not of fortune," said the Fox ; " but how can I
deliver you ? Shall I enter and gnaw the cord ? "
" Alas ! " answered the Griffiness, " it is an immense
chain I am bound with. However, you may come in and
talk more at your ease."
The Fox peeped cautiously all round, and seeing no sign
of the Griffin, he entered the lower cave and stole up stairs
to the upper story ; but as he went on, he saw immense
piles of jewels and gold, and all sorts of treasure, so that
the old Griffin might well have laughed at the poor Cat
being called an heiress. The Fox was greatly pleased at
such indisputable signs of wealth, and he entered the upper
cave, resolved to be transported with the charms of the
Griffiness.
There was, however, a great chasm between the landing
place and the spot where the young lady was chained, and
he found it impossible to pass ; the cavern was very dark,
THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 141
but lie saw enough of the figure of the Gi'iffiness to perceive,
in spite of her petticoat, that she was the image of her father,
and the most hideous heiress that the earth ever saw !
However, he swallowed his disgust, and poured forth
such a heap of compliments that the Griffiness appeared
entirely won. He implored her to fly with him the first
moment she was unchained.
" That is impossible," said she, " for my father never
unchains me except in his presence, and then I cannot
stir out of his sight."
" The wretch ! " cried Reynard, " what is to be done ? '
" Why, there is only one thing I know of," answered
the Griffiness, " which is this — I always make his soup for
him, and if 1 could mix something in it that would put him
fast to sleep before he had time to chain me up again, I
might slip down and carry off all the treasure below on my
back."
" Charming ! " exclaimed Reynard, " what invention !
what wit ! I will go and get some poppies directly."
" Alas ! " said the Griffiness, " poppies have no effect
upon Griffins ; the only thing that can ever put my father
fast to sleep is a nice yoimg cat boiled up in his soup ; it is
astonishing what a charm that has upon him. But where to
get a cat? it must be a maiden cat too ! "
Reynard was a little startled at so singular an opiate.
" But," thought he, " Griffins are not like the rest of the
world, and so rich an heiress is not to be won by ordinary
means."
K 2
142 THE IMIXiRlMS OF THE RHINE.
*' I do know a cat, a maiden cat," said he, after a short
pause, " but I feel a little repugnance at the thought of
having her boiled in the Griffin's soup. Would not a dog
do as well ? "
" Ah, base thing ! " said the Griffiness, appearing to
weep, "you are in love with the Cat, I see it; go and marry
her, poor dwarf that she is, and leave me to die of grief."
In vain the Fox protested that he did not care a straw
for the Cat ; nothing could now appease the Griffiness,
but his positive assurance that, come what would, poor
puss should be brought to the cave, and boiled for the
Griffin's soup.
" But how will you get her here ? " said the Griffiness.
" Ah, leave that to me," said Reynard. " Only put a
basket out of the window, and draw it up by a cord ; the
moment it arrives at the window, be sure to clap your claw
on the Cat at once, for she is terribly active."
" Tush ! " answered the heiress, " a pretty Griffiness I
should be if I did not know how to catch a cat ! "
" But this must be when your father is out?" said
Reynard.
" Certainly, he takes a stroll every evening at sunset."
" Let it be to-morrow, then," said Reynard, impatient
for the treasure.
This being arranged, Reynard thought it time to decamp ;
he stole down the stairs again, and tried to filch some of
the treasure by the way, but it was too heavy for him to
carry, and he was forced to acknowledge to himself that it
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. I43
M'^as impossible to get the treasure without taking the Grif-
finess (whose back seemed prodigiously strong) into the
bargain.
He returned home to the Cat, and when he entered her
house, and saw how ordinary every thing looked after the
jewels in the Griffin's cave, he quite wondered how he had
ever thought the Cat had the least pretensions to good
looks.
However, he concealed his wicked design, and his mistress
thought he had never appeared so amiable.
" Only guess," said he, " where I have been ? to our
new neighbour the Griffin, a most charming person, tho-
roughly affable, and quite the air of the court. As for that
silly Magpie, the Griffin saw her character at oiice ; and it
was all a hoax about his daughter; he has no daughter
at all. You know, my dear, hoaxing is a fashionable
amusement among the great. He says he has heard of
nothing but your beauty, and on my telling him we were
going to be married, he has insisted upon giving a great
ball and supper in honour of the event. In fact he is a
gallant old fellow and dying to see you. Of course I was
obliged to accept the invitation."
"You could not do otherwise," said the unsuspecting
young creature, who, as I before said, was very susceptible
to flattery.
" And only think how delicate his attentions are," said
the Fox. " As he is very badly lodged for a beast of his
rank, and his treasure takes up the whole of the ground
floor, he is forced to give the fete in the upper story, so he
]44 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
hangs out a basket for his guests, and draws them up with
his own claw. How condescending ! But the great are so
amiable ! "
The Cat, brought up in seclusion, was all delight at the
idea of seeing such high life, and the lovers talked of nothing
else all the next day. When Reynard, towards evening,
putting his head out of the window, saw his old friend the
Dog lying as usual and watching him very grimly, " Ah,
that cursed creature, I had quite forgotten him ; what is to
be done now ? he would make no bones of me if he once
saw me set foot out of doors."
With that, the Fox began to cast in his head how he
should get rid of his rival, and at length he resolved on a
very notable project ; he desired the Cat to set out first and
wait for him at a turn in the road a little way off, " For,""
said he, " if we go together we shall certainly be insidted
by the Dog ; and he will know that, in the presence of a
lady, the custom of a beast of my fashion will not suffer
me to avenge the affront. But when I am alone, the crea-
ture is such a coward that he would not dare say his soul's
his own ; leave the door open and I'll follow directly."
The Cat's mind was so completely poisoned against her
cousin that she implicitly believed this account of his
character, and accordingly, with many recommendations
to her lover not to sully his dignity by getting into any
sort of quarrel with the Dog, she set off first.
The Dog went up to her very humbly, and begged her
to allow him to say a few words to her ; but she received
him so haughtily, that his spirit was up; and he walked
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 145
back to the tree more tlian ever enraged against his rivah
But what was his joy when he saw that the Cat had left
the door open ; " Now, wretch," thought he, " you cannot
escape me ! " So he walked briskly in at the back door.
He was greatly surprised to find Reynard lying down
in the straw, panting as if his heart would break, and
rolling his eyes in the pangs of death.
" Ah, friend," said the Fox, with a faltering voice, " you
are avenged, my hour is come; I am just going to give
up the ghost ; put your paw upon mine, and say you
forgive me."
Despite his anger, the generous Dog could not set tooth
on a dying foe.
" You have served me a shabby trick," said he ; " you
have left me to starve in a hole, and you have evidently
maligned me with my cousin : certainly I meant to be
avenged on you; but if you are really dying, that alters
the aifair."
"Oh, oh!" groaned the Fox very bitterly; "I am
past help; the poor Cat is gone for Doctor Ape, but he'll
never come in time. What a thing it is to have a bad
conscience on one's deathbed. But, wait till the Cat
returns, and I '11 do you full justice with her before
I die."
The good-natured Dog was much moved at seeing his
mortal enemy in such a state, and endeavoured as well
as he could to console him.
"Oh, oh!" said the Fox, "I am so parched in the
146 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
throat, 1 am burning;" and lie hung his tongue out of his
mouth, and rolled his eyes more fearfully than ever.
" Is there no water here ? " said the Dog, looking round.
" Alas, no ! — yet stay — yes, now I think of it, there is
some in that little hole in the wall ; but how to get at it —
it is so high, that I can't, in my poor weak state, climb
up to it; and I dare not ask such a favour of one I have
injured so much."
" Don't talk of it," said the Dog; " but the hole's very
small, I could not put my nose through it."
" No; but if you just climb up on that stone, and thrust
your paw into the hole, you can dip it into the water, and
so cool my poor parched mouth. Oh, what a thing it is
to have a bad conscience ! "
The Dog sprang upon the stone, and, getting on his
hind-legs, thrust his front paw into the hole; -when sud-
denly Reynard pulled a string that he had concealed under
the straw, and the Dog found his paw caught tight to the
Avail in a running noose.
"Ah, rascal," said he turning round; but the Fox
leapt up gaily from the straw, and fastening the string
with his teeth to a nail in the other end of the wall,
walked out, crying, " Good-by, my dear friend; have a
care how you believe hereafter in sudden conversions!" —
So he left the Dog on his hind-legs to take care of the house.
Reynard found the Cat waiting for him where he had
appointed, and they walked lovingly together till they came
to the cave ; it was now dark, and they saw the basket
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 14,7
waiting below; the Fox assisted the poor Cat into it.
" There is only room for one," said he; "you must go
first ! " up rose the basket ; the Fox heard a piteous mew,
and no more.
" So much for the Griffin's soup !" thought he.
He waited patiently for some time, when the Griffiness,
M'aving her claw from the window, said cheerfully, " All's
right, my dear Reynard; my papa has finished his soup,
and sleeps as sound as a rock ! All the noise in the world
would not wake him now, till he has slept ofi" the boiled
Cat — which won't be these twelve hours. Come and assist
me in packing up the treasure, I should be sorry to leave
a single diamond behind."
" So should I," quoth the Fox; "stay, Fll come round
by the lower hole : why, the door's shut ! pray, beautiful
Griffiness, open it to thy impatient adorer."
" Alas, my father has hid the key ! I never know where
he places it, you must come up by the basket; see, I let
it down for you."
The Fox was a little lotli to trust himself in the same
conveyance that had taken his mistress to be boiled; but
the most cautious grow rash when money's to be gained,
and avarice can trap even a Fox. So he put himself as
comfortably as he could into the basket, and up he went
in an instant. It rested, however, just before it reached
the window, and the Fox felt, with a slight shudder, the
claw of the Griffiness stroking his back.
" Oh, what a beautiful coat," quoth she, caressingly.
148 'flll^ PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
" You are too kind," said the Fox, " but you can feel it
more at your leisure when I am once up. Make haste, 1
beseech you."
" Oh, M'hat a beautiful bushy tail. Never did I feel such
a tail ! "
" It is entirely at your service, sweet Griffiness," said
the Fox ; " but pray let me in. Why lose an instant ? "
" No, never did I feel such a tail. No wonder you are
so successful with the ladies."
*' Ah, beloved Griffiness, my tail is yours to eternity,
but you pinch it a little too hard."
Scarcely had he said this, when down dropped the basket,
but not with the Fox in it ; he found himself caught by the
tail, and dangling half way down the rock, by the help of
the very same sort of pulley wherewith he had snared the
Dog. I leave you to guess his consternation ; he yelped
out as loud as he could, — for it hurts a Fox exceedingly to be
hanged by his tail with his head downwards, — when the door
of the rock opened, and out stalked the Griffin himself,
smoking his pipe, with a vast crowd of all the fashionable
beasts in the neighbourhood.
" Oho, brother," said the Bear, laughing fit to kill him-
self, " who ever saw a fox hanged by the tail before?"
" You'll have need of a physician," quoth Doctor Ape..
" A pretty match, indeed ; a Griffiness for such a creature
as you," said the Goat strutting by him.
The Fox grinned with pain, and said nothing. But tliat
which hurt him most was the compassion of a dulj fool of
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. I49
a Donkey, wlio assured him with great gravity, that he saw
nothing at all to laugh at in his situation !
" At all events," said the Fox at last, " cheated, gulled,
betrayed as I am, I have played the same trick to the Dog,
go and laugh at him, gentlemen, he deserves it as much as
I can, I assure you."
" Pardon me," said the Griffin, taking the pipe out of
his mouth ; " one never laughs at the honest."
" And see," said the Bear, " here he is."
And indeed the Dog had, after much effort, gnawed the
string in two, and extricated his paw; the scent of the
Fox had enabled him to track his footsteps, and here he
arrived, burning for vengeance and finding himself already
avenged.
But his first thought was for his dear cousin. " Ah,
where is she," he cried movingly ; " without doubt that
villain Reynard has served her some scurvy trick."
" I fear so indeed, my old friend," answered the Griffin,
" but don't grieve ; after all she was nothing particular.
You shall marry my daughter the Griffiness, and succeed to
all the treasure, ay, and all the bones that you once guarded
so faithfully."
" Talk not to me," said the faithful Dog. " I want
none of your treasure, and, though I don't mean to be rude,
your Griffiness may go to the devil. I wall run over the
world but I will find my dear cousin."
" See her then," said the Griffin ; and the beautiful Cat,
more beautiful than ever, rushed out of the cavern and threw
herself into the Dog's paws.
150 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
A pleasant scene this for tlie Fox ! — he knew enough
of the female heart to know that a soft tongue may excuse
many little infidelities, — but to be boiled alive for a
Griffin's soup ! — no, the offence was inexpiable !
" You understand me, Mr. Reynard," said the Griffin.
" I have no daughter, and it was me you made love to.
Knowing what sort of a creature a Magpie is, I amused
myself with hoaxing her, — the fashionable amusement at
court, you know."
The Fox made a mighty struggle, and leaped on the
ground, leaving his tail behind him. It did not grow again
in a hurry.
" See," said the Griffin, as the beasts all laughed at the
figure Reynard made running into the wood, " the Dog
beats the Fox, with the ladies, after all ; and cunning as
he is in every thing else, the Fox is the last creature that
should ever think of making: love ! "
" Charming," cried Nymphalin, clasping her hands, " it
is just the sort of story I like."
" And I suppose, sir," said Nip, pertly, " that the Dog
and the Cat lived very happily ever afterwards. Indeed
the married felicity of a Dog and Cat is proverbial ! ""
" I dare say they lived much the same as any other
married couple," answered the Prince.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE TOMB OF A FATHER OF MANY CHILDREN.
The feast being now ended, as well as the story, the
fairies wound their way homeward by a different path, till
at length a red steady light glowed through the long
basaltic arches upon them, like the Demon Hunters' fires
in the Forest of Pines.
The Prince sobered in his pace, " You approach," said
he, in a grave tone, " the greatest of our temples ; you will
witness the tomb of a mighty founder of our race ! " An
awe crept^over the Queen, in despite of herself. Tracking
the fires in silence, they came to a vast space, in the midst
of which was a lone grey block of stone, such as the
traveller finds amidst the dread silence of Egyptian Thebes.
And on this stone lay the gigantic figure of a man —
dead, but not deathlike, for invisible spells had preserved
the flesh and the long hair for untold ages ; and beside him
lay a rude instrument of music, and at his feet was a sword
and a hunter's spear ; and above the rock wound, hollowed
and roofless, to the upper air, and daylight came through,
sickened and pale, beneath red fires that burnt everlast-
152 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
ingly around him, on such simple altars as belong to a
savage race. But the place was not solitary, for many
motionless, but not lifeless, shapes sate on large blocks
of stone beside the tomb. There, was the wizard wrapt
in his long black mantle, and his face covered with his
hands — there, was the uncouth and deformed dwarf, gib-
bering to himself — there, sate the household elf — there,
glowered from a gloomy rent in the wall, with glittering
eyes and shining scale, the enormous dragon of the North.
An aged crone in rags, leaning on a staff, and gazing
malignantly on the visiters, with bleared but fiery eyes,
stood opposite the tomb of the gigantic dead. And now
the fairies themselves completed the group ! But all was
dumb and unutterably silent; the silence that floats over
some antique city of the desert, when, for the first time
for a hundred centuries, a living foot enters its desolate
remains ; the silence that belongs to the dust of eld, — deep,
solemn, palpable, and sinking into the heart with a leaden
and death-like weight. Even the English Fairy spoke not ;
she held her breath, and gazing on the tomb, she saw in
rude vast characters,
THE TEVTON.
" We are all that remains of his religion ! " said the
Prince, as they turned from the dread temple.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE fairy's cave, AND THE FAIRy's WISH.
It was evening; and the fairies were dancing- beneath
the twilight star.
" And why art thou sad, my violet," said the Prince,
"for thine eyes seek the ground?"
" Now that I have found thee," answered the Queen,
" and now that I feel what happy love is to a fairy, I sigh
over that love which I have lately witnessed among mortals,
but the bud of whose happiness already conceals the worm.
For well didst thou say, my Prince, that we are linked
with a mysterious affinity to mankind, and whatever is
pure and gentle amongst them, speaks at once to our
sympathy, and commands our vigils."
"And most of all," said the German Fairy, "are they
who love under our watch; for love is the golden chain
that binds all in the universe ; love lights up alike the star
and the glow-worm ; and wherever there is love in men's
lot, lies the secret affinity with men, and with things
divine."
"But with the human race," said Nymphalin, "there
154 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
is no love that outlasts the hour, for either death ends,
or custom alters; when the blossom comes to fruit, it is
plucked, and seen no more ; and therefore, when I behold
true love sentenced to an early grave, I comfort myself
that I shall not at least behold the beauty dimmed, and the
softness of the heart hardened into stone. Yet, my Prince,
while still the pulse can beat, and the warm blood flow, in
that beautiful form, which I have watched over of late, let
me not desert her; still let my influence keep the sky fair,
and the breezes pure ; still let me drive the vapour from
the moon, and the clouds from the faces of the stars ; still
let me fill her dreams with tender and brilliant images,
and glass in the mirror of sleep, the happiest visions of
fairy land; still let me pour over her eyes that magic,
which suffers them to see no fault in one in whom she
has garnered up her soul ! And as death comes slowly on,
still let me rob the spectre of its terror, and the grave of
its sting ; — so that, all gently and unconscious to herself,
life may glide into the Great Ocean where the shadows
lie ; and the spirit, without guile, may be severed from
its mansion without pain ! "
The wish of the Fairy was fulfilled.
CHAPTER XV.
THE BANKS OF THE RHINE, FROM THE DRACHENFELS TO BROHI, : AN INCIDENT THAT
SUFFICES IN THIS TALE FOR AN EPOCH.
From the Drachenfels commences the true glory of the
Rhine; and, once more, Gertrude's eyes conquered the
languor that crept gradually over them, as she gazed on
the banks around.
Fair blew the breeze, and just curled the waters; and
Gertrude did not feel the vulture that had fixed its talons
within her breast. The Rhine widens, like a broad lake,
between the Drachenfels and Unkel; villages are scattered
over the extended plain on the left; on the right is the
Isle of Werth and the houses of Oberwinter; the hills
are covered with vines ; and still Gertrude turned back
with a lingering gaze to the lofty crest of the Seven
Hills.
On, on — and the spires of Unkel rose above a curve in
the banks, and on the opposite shore stretched those won-
drous basaltic columns which extend to the middle of the
river, and when the Rhine runs low, you may see them
like an engulfed city beneath the waves. You then view
L
156 THE PTT.CRTMS OF THE RHINE.
the ruins of Okkenfels, and hear the voice of the pastoral
Gasbach pouring its waters into the Rhine. From amidst
the clefts of the rocks tlie vine peeps luxuriantly forth,
and gives a richness and colouring to what Nature, left to
herself, intended for the stern.
" But turn your eye backward to the right," said Tre-
vylyan ; " those banks were formerly the special haunt of
the bold robbers of the Rhine, and from amidst the entan-
gled brakes that then covered the ragged cliffs, they rushed
upon their prey. Those feudal days were worth the living
in ; and a robber's life amidst these mountains, and beside
this mountain stream, must have been the very poetry of
the spot carried into action."
They rested at Brohl, a small town between two moun-
tains. On the summit of one you see the grey remains of
Rheinech. There is something weird and preternatural
about the aspect of this place ; its soil betrays signs that,
in the former ages, (from which even tradition is fast fading
away,) some volcano here exhausted its fires. The stratum
of the earth is black and pitchy, and the springs beneath
it are of a dark and graveolent water. Here the stream of
the Brohlbach falls into the Rhine, and in a valley rich
with oak and pine, and full of caverns, which are not
without their traditionary inmates, stands the castle of
Schweppenbourg, which our party failed not to visit.
Gertrude felt fatigued on their return, and Trevylyan
sate by her in the little inn, while Vane went forth, with
the curiosity of science, to examine the strata of the soil.
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. I57
They conversed in the frankness of their affianced tie
upon those topics which are only for lovers : upon the
bright chapter in the history of their love; their first
meeting; their first impressions; the little incidents in
their present journey — incidents noticed by themselves
alone ; that life vAthin life which two persons know toge-
ther, — which one knows not without the other, — which
ceases to both the instant they are divided.
" I know not what the love of others may be," said
Gertrude, " but ours seems different from all of which I
have read. Books tell us of jealousies and misconstruc-
tions, and tlie necessity of an absence, the sweetness of a
quarrel; but ive, dearest Albert, have had no experience
of these passages in love. We have never misunderstood
each other ; we have no reconciliation to look back to.
When was there ever occasion for me to ask forgiveness
from you? Our love is made up only of one memory —
unceasing kindness ! — a harsh thought, a wronging thought,
never broke in upon the happiness we have felt and feel."
" Dearest Gertrude," said Trevylyan, " that character
of our love is caught from you ; you, the soft, the gentle,
have been its pervading genius ; and the well has been
smooth and pure, for you were the spirit that lived within
its depths."
And to such talk succeeded silence still more sweet — the
silence of the hushed and overflowing heart. The last
voices of the birds, — the sun slowly sinking in the west, —
the fragrance of descending dews, — filled them with that
l2
158 THE PTLCRTJIS OF THE RHINE
deep and mysterious sympathy which exists between Love
and Nature.
It was after such a silence — a long silence that seemed
but as a moment — that Trevylyan spoke, but Gertrude
answered not; and, yearning once more for her sweet
voice, he turned and saw that she had fainted away.
This was the first indication of the point to which her
increasing debility had arrived. Trevylyan's heart stood
still, and then beat violently ; a thousand fears crept over
him, he clasped her in his arms, and bore her to the open
window. The setting sun fell upon her countenance, from
which the play of the young heart and warm fancy had fled,
and in its deep and still repose the ravages of disease were
fully visible to the agonised heart of Trevylyan. Oh God !
what were then his emotions ! — his heart was like stone ;
but he felt a rush as of a torrent to his temples; — his eyes
grew dizzy — he was stunned by the greatness of his despair.
For the last week he had taken hope for his companion,
Gertrude had seemed so much stronger, for her happiness
had given her a false support ; and though there had been
moments when watching the bright hectic come and go, and
her step linger, and the breath heave short, he had felt the
hope suddenly cease, yet never had he known till now that
fulness of anguish, that dread certainty of the worst which
the calm, fair face before him struck into his soul : and,
mixed with this agony as he gazed, was all the passion of the
most ardent love ! For there she lay in his arms, the gentle
breath rising from lips where the rose yet lingered, and the
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. I59
long, rich, hair, soft and silken as an infant's, stealing from
its confinement : every thing that belonged to Gertrude's
beauty was so expressively soft, and pure, and youthful !
Scarcely seventeen, she seemed much younger than she
was ; her figure had sunken from its roundness, but still
how light, how lovely were its wrecks ! — the neck whiter
than snow, — the fair small hand ! Her weight was scarcely
felt in the arms of her lover, — and he, — what a contrast !
was in all the pride and flower of glorious manhood ! — his
was the lofty brow, the wreathing hair, the haughty eye, the
elastic form; and upon this frail, perishable thing had he
fixed all his heart, all the hopes of his youth, the pride of
Iiis manhood, his schemes, his energies, his ambition !
" Oh Gertrude ! " cried he, " is it — is it thus — is there
indeed no hope ? " '
And Gertrude now slowly recovering, and opening her
eyes upon Trevylyan's face, the revulsion was so great, his
emotions so overpowering, that, clasping her to his bosom,
as if even death should not tear her away from him, he
wept over her in an agony of tears ; not those tears that
relieve the heart, but the fiery rain of the internal storm,
a sign of the fierce tumult that shook the very core of his
existence, not a relief.
Awakened to herself, Gertrude, in amazement and alarm,
threw her arms around his neck, and looking wistfully into
his face, implored him to speak to her.
" Was it my illness, love?" said she; and the music of
her voice only conveyed to him the thought of how soon it
IGO THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINK.
would be dumb to him for ever ; " luiy," slie continued,
winningly, "it was but the heat of the day; I am better
now — I am well ; there is no cause to be alarmed for me ; ''
and, with all the innocent fondness of extreme youth, she
kissed tlie burning tears from his eyes.
There was a playfulness, an innocence in this poor girl,
so unconscious as yet of her destiny, which rendered her
fate doubly touching ; and which to the stern Trevylyan,
hackneyed by the world, made her irresistible charm ; and
now, as she put aside her hair, and looked up gratefully,
yet pleadingly, into his face, he could scarce refrain from
pouring out to her the confession of his anguish and
despair. But the necessity of self-controul — the necessity
of concealing from her a knowledge which might only, by
impressing her imagination, expedite her doom, while it
would embitter to her mind the unconscious enjoyment
of the hour, nerved and manned him. He checked by
those violent efforts which men only can make, the evi-
dence of his emotions ; and endeavoured, by a rapid torrent
of words, to divert her attention from a weakness, the
causes of which he could not explain. Fortunately Vane
soon returned, and Trevylyan, consigning Gertrude to his
care, hastily left the room.
Gertrude sunk into a reverie.
" Ah, dear father !" said she, suddenly, and after a pause,
" if I indeed were worse than 1 have thought myself of late
— if I were to die now, what would Trevylyan feel ? Pray
God, I may live for his sake ! "
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. IQl
" My child, do not talk tlius, you are better, much better
than you were. Ere the autumn ends, Trevylyan's happi-
ness will be your lawful care. Do not think so despondently
of yourself."
" I thought not of myself," sighed Gertrude, " but of
himf'
CHAPTER XVI.
GERTRUDE THE EXCURSION TO HAMMERSTEIN — THOUGHTS.
The next day they visited the environs of Brohl. Ger-
trude was unusually silent, for her temper, naturally sunny
and enthusiastic, was accustomed to light up every thing she
saw. Ah, once how bounding was that step ! — how undulating
the young graces of that form ! — how playfully once danced
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. {63
the ringlets on that laughing cheek ! — But she clung to Tre-
vylyan's proud form with a yet more endearing tenderness
than was her wont, and hung yet more eagerly on his words ;
her hand sought his, and she often pressed it to her lips, and
sighed as she did so. Something that she would not tell,
seemed passing within her, and sobered her playful mood.
But there was this noticeable in Gertrude : whatever took
away from her gaiety, increased her tenderness. The
infirmities of her frame never touched her temper. She
was kind — gentle — loving to the last.
They had crossed to the opposite banks, to visit The
Castle of Hammerstein. The evening was transparently
serene and clear ; and the warmth of the sun yet lingered
upon the air, even though the twilight had past, and the
moon risen, as their boat returned by a lengthened passage
to the village. Broad and straight jflows the Rhine in this
part of its career. On one side lay the wooded village of
Namedy, the hamlet of Fornech, backed by the blue rock of
Kruzborner Ley, the mountains that shield the myste-
rious Brohl; and on the opposite shore they saw the mighty
rock of Hammerstein, with the green and livid ruins
sleeping in the melancholy moonlight. Two towers rose
haughtily above the more dismantled wrecks. How changed
since the alternate banners of the Spaniard and the Swede
waved from their ramparts, in that great war in which the
gorgeous Wallenstein won his laurels ! — And in its mighty-
calm, flowed on the ancestral Rhine, the vessel reflected on
its smooth expanse, and, above, girded by thin and shadowy
164 TFIK PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
clouds, the moon cast her sliadows upon rocks covered with
verdure, and brought into a dim light the twin spires of
Andernach, tranquil in the distance.
" How beautiful is this hour ! " said Gertrude, with a low
voice: "surely we do not live enough in the night — one
half the beauty of the world is slept away. What in the
day can equal the holy calm, the loveliness and the stillness
which the moon now casts over the earth? These," she
continued, pressing Trevylyan's hand, " are hours to
remember ; and you^ — will you ever forget them ? "
Something there is in recollections of such times and
scenes that seem not to belong to real life, but are rather
an episode in its history ; they are like some wandering
into a more ideal world; they refuse to blend with our
ruder associations ; they live in us, apart and alone, to be
treasured ever, but not lightly to be recalled. There are
none living to whom we can confide them — who can sym-
pathise with what then we felt ? — it is this that makes poetry,
and that page which we create as a confidant to ourselves,
necessary to the thoughts that weigh upon the breast. We
write, for our writing is our friend, the inanimate paper
is our confessional; we pour forth on it the tlioughts that
we could tell to no private ear, and are relieved, — are con-
soled. And, if genius has one prerogative dearer than the
rest, it is that which enables it to do honour to the dead —
to revive the beauty, the virtue that are no more ; to wreath
chaplets that outlive the day, round the urn which were
else forgotten by the world .'
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. J 55
When the poet mourns, in his immortal verse, for the
dead, tell me not that fame is in his mind ! — it is filled by
thoughts, by emotions that shut the living from his soul.
He is breathing to his genius — to that sole and constant
friend, which has grown up with him from his cradle — the
sorrows too delicate for human sympathy; and when after-
wards he consigns the confession to the crowd, it is indeed
from the hope of honour; — honour not for himself, but for
the beins: that is no more.
CHAPTER XVII.
LETTER FROM TREVYLYAN TO .
" Coblcritz.
"I AM obliged to you, my dear friend, for your letter,
which, indeed, I have not, in the course of our rapid
journey, had the leisure, perhaps the heart, to answer
before. But we are staying in this town for some days,
and I write now in the early morning, ere any one else
in our hotel is awake. Do not tell me of adventure, of
politics, of intrigues ; my nature is altered. I threw down
your letter, animated and brilliant as it was, with a sick
and revolted heart. -But I am now in somewhat less
dejected spirits, Gertrude is better — yes, really better —
there is a physician here who gives me hope ; my care is
perpetually to amuse and never to fatigue her, never to per-
mit her thoughts to rest upon herself. For I have imagined
that illness cannot, at least in the unexhausted vigour of
our years, fasten upon us irremediably, unless we feed it
with our own belief in its existence. You see men of the
most delicate frames engaged in active and professional
pursuits, who literally have no time for illness. Let them
THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 167
become idle — let them take care of themselves — let them
think of their health — and they die ! The rust rots the steel
which use preserves : and, thank heaven, although Gertrude,
once during our voyage, seemed roused, by an inexcusable
imprudence of emotion on my part, into some suspicion
of her state, yet it passed away; for she thinks rarely
of herself — I am ever in her thoughts and seldom from
her side, and you know too the sanguine and credulous
nature of her disease! — But, indeed, I now hope more
than I have done since 1 knew her.
" When, after an excited and adventurous life, which had
comprised so many changes in so few years, I found my-
self at rest in the bosom of a retired and remote part of
the country, and Gertrude and her father were my only
neighbours, I was in that state of mind in which the
passions, recruited by solitude, are accessible to the purer
and more divine emotions. I was struck by Gertrude's
beauty ; I was charmed by her simplicity. Worn in the
usages and fashions of the world, the inexperience, the
trustfulness, the exceeding youth of her mind, charmed
and touched me ; but when I saw the stamp of our national
disease in her bright eye and transparent cheek, I felt my
love chilled while my interest was increased. I fancied
myself safe, and I went daily into the danger ; I imagined
so pure a light could not burn, and I was consumed. Not
till my anxiety grew into pain, my interest into terror, did
1 know the secret of my own heart; and at the moment
that I discovered this secret, I discovered also that Ger-
163 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
trude loved me ! What a destiny was mine ! what happi-
ness, yet what misery ! Gertrude was my own — but for
what period ? I might touch that soft hand — I might
listen to the tenderest confession from that silver voice — I
might press my kisses upon her fragrant lips, — but all the
while my heart spoke of passion my reason whispered of
death. You know that I am considered of a cold and
almost callous nature, that I am not easily moved into
affections, but my very pride bowed me here into weak-
ness. There was so soft a demand upon my protection,
so constant an appeal to my anxiety. You know that my
father's quick temper burns within me, that I am hot, and
stern, and exacting; but one hasty word, one thought of
myself, here were inexcusable. So brief a time might
be left for her earthly happiness, — could I embitter one
moment ? All that feeling of uncertainty which should
in prudence have prevented my love, increased it almost
to a preternatural excess. That which it is said mothers
feel for an only child in sickness, I feel for Gertrude. My
existence is not ! I exist in her !
" Her illness increased upon her at home ; they have
recommended travel. She chose the course we were to
pursue, and fortunately it was so familiar to me, that I have
been enabled to brighten the way. 1 am ever on the watch
that she shall not know a weary hour ; you would almost
smile to see how I have roused myself from my habitual
silence ; and to find me — me the scheming and worldly actor
of real life — plunged back into the early romance of my
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. IQQ
boyhood, and charming the chiUlish delight of Gertrude
with the invention of fables and the traditions of the Rhine.
" But I believe I have succeeded in my object ; if not,
what is left to me ? Gertrude is better ! in that sentence
what visions of hope dawn upon me ! I wish you could
have seen Gertrude before we left England; you might
then have understood my love for her. Not that we have
not, in the gay capitals of Europe, paid our brief vows to
forms more richly beautiful; not that we have not been
charmed by a more brilliant genius, — by a more tutored
grace. But there is that in Gertrude which J never saw
before ; the union of the childish and the intellectual, an
etlierial simplicity, a temper that is never dimmed, a ten-
derness—oh God ! let me not speak of her virtues, for
they only tell me how little she is suited to the earth.
" You will direct to me at Mayence, whither our course
now leads us, and your friendship will make indulgence
for my letter being so little a reply to yours.
" Your sincere friend,
"A. G, Tkevylyain."
CHAPTER XVITI.
COBLENTZ. — EXCURSION TO THE MOUNTAINS OF TAUNUS ; ROMAN TOWER IN THE VALLEY
OF EHRF.NBREITSTEIN. TRAVEL, ITS PLEASURES ESTIMATED DIFFERENTLY BY THE
YOUNG AND THE OLD. THE STUDENT OF HEIDELBERG; HIS CRITICISMS ON GERMAN
LITERATURE.
Gertrude had, indeed, apparently rallied during their
stay at Coblentz ; and a French physician established in the
town (who adopted a peculiar treatment for consumption,
which had been attended with no ordinary success,) gave her
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 171
father and Trevylyan a sanguine assurance of lier ultimate
recovery. The time they passed within the white walls of
Coblentz, was, therefore, the happiest and most cheerful part
of their pilgrimage. They visited the various places in its
vicinity ; but the excursion which most delighted Gertrude,
was one to the mountains of Taunus.
They took advantage of a beautiful September day ; and,
crossing the river, commenced their tour from the Thal, or
valley, of Ehrenbreitstein. They stopped on their way
to view the remains of a Roman Tower in the valley, for
the whole of that district bears frequent witness of the
ancient conquerors of the world. The mountains of Taunus
are still intersected with the roads which the Romans cut to
the mines that supplied them with silver. Roman urns, and
inscribed stones, are often found in these ancient places.
The stones, inscribed with names utterly unknown — a type
of the uncertainty of fame ! — the urns, from which the dust
is gone — a very satire upon life !
Lone, grey, and mouldering, this tower stands aloft in
the valley ; and the quiet Vane smiled to see the blue
uniform of a modern Prussian, with his white belt and
lifted bayonet, by the spot which had once echoed to the
clang of the Roman arms. The soldier was paying a
momentary court to a country damsel, whose straw hat and
rustic dress did not stifle the vanity of the sex; and this
rude and humble gallantry, in that spot, was another moral
in the history of human passions. Above, the ramparts of
a modern rule frowned down upon the solitary tower, as if
172 TTTF, PTT.ORTMS OF THE RHINE.
in the v^aiii insolence with which present power looks upon
past decay; the living race upon ancestral greatness. And
indeed, in this respect, rightly! — for modern times have no
parallel to that degradation of human dignity stamped upon
the ancient world, by the long sway of the imperial harlot,
all slavery herself, yet all tyranny to earth; — and, like her
own Messalina, at once a prostitute and an empress !
They continued their course by the ancient baths of Ems,
and keeping by the banks of the romantic Lahn, arrived at
Holzapfel.
" Ah," said Gertrude, one day, as they proceeded to the
springs of the Carlovingian Wisbaden, " surely perpetual
travel with those we love must be the happiest state of
existence. If home has its comforts it also has its cares ;
but here we are at home with Nature, and the minor evils
vanish almost before they are felt."
" True," said Trevylyan, " we escape from * the little,'
which is the curse of life ; the small cares that devour us
up, the grievances of the day. We are feeding the divinest
part of our nature, — the appetite to admire."
" But of all things wearisome," said Vane, " a succession
of changes is the most. There can be a monotony in variety
itself As the eye aches in gazing long at the new shapes of
the kaleidoscope, the mind aches at the fatigue of a constant
alternation of objects ; and we delightedly return to rest,
which is to life what green is to the earth."
In the course of their sojourn among the various baths
of Taunus, they fell in, by accident, with a German
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 173
student of Heidelberg-, wlio was pursuing the pedestrian
excursions so peculiarly favoured by his tribe. He was
tamer and gentler than the general herd of those young
wanderers, and our party were much pleased with his enthu-
siasm, because it was unaffected. He had been in England,
and spoke its language almost as a native.
" Our literature," said he, one day, conversing with
Vane, " has two faults — we are too subtle and too homely.
We do not speak enough to the broad comprehension of
mankind ; we are for ever making abstract qualities of flesh
and blood. Our critics have turned your Hamlet into an
allegory; they will not even allow Shakspeare to paint
mankind, but insist on his embodying qualities. They turn
poetry into metaphysics, and truth seems to them shallow,
unless an allegory, which is false, can be seen at the bottom.
Again, too, with our most imaginative works we mix a
homeliness that we fancy touching, but which in reality is
ludicrous. We eternally step from the sublime to the
ridiculous — we want taste.'"'
" But not, I hope, French taste. Do not govern a
Goethe, or even a Richter, by a Boileau !" said Trevylyan.
" No, but Boileau's taste was false. Men, who have
the reputation for good taste, often acquire it solely because
of the want of genius. By taste, I mean a quick tact into
the harmony of composition, the art of making the whole
consistent with its parts, the concinnitas — Schiller alone
of our authors has it; — but we are fast mending; and, by
following shadows so long we have been led at last to the
174 THE PILORIATS OF THE RHINE.
substance. Our past literature is to us what astrology was
to science, false but ennobling, and conducting us to the
true language of the intellectual heaven."
Another time the scenes they passed, interspersed with
the ruins of frequent monasteries, leading them to converse
on the monastic life, and the various additions time makes
to religion, the German said : " Perhaps one of the works
most wanted in the world, is the history of Religion. We
have several books, it is true, on the subject, but none that
supply the want I allude to. A German ought to write it;
for only a German would probably have the requisite learn-
ing. A German only too is likely to treat the mighty
subject with boldness, and yet with veneration ; without the
shallow flippancy of the Frenchman, without the timid sec-
tarianism of the English. It would be a noble task, to
trace the winding mazes of antique falsehood ; to clear up
the first glimmerings of divine truth; to separate Jehovah's
word from man's invention ; to vindicate the All-merciful
from the dread creeds of bloodshed and of fear : and watch-
ing in the great Heaven of Truth the dawning of the True
Star, follow it — like the Magi of the east — till it rested above
the real God. Not indeed presuming to such a task," con-
tinued the German, with a slight blush, " I have about me
an humble essay, which treats only of one part of that august
subject; which, leaving to a loftier genius the history of the
true religion, may be considered as the history of a false
one; — of such a creed as Christianity supplanted in the
north ; or such as may perhaps be found among the fiercest
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. I75
of the savage tribes. It is a fiction — as you may conceive ;
but j^et, by a constant reference to the early records of
human learning, I have studied to weave it up from truths.
If you would like to hear it — it is very short — "
" Above all things," said Vane ; and the German drew
a manuscript neatly bound, from his pocket.
" After having myself criticised so insolently the faults of
our national literature," said he, smiling, " you will have a
right to criticise the faults that belong to so humble a dis-
ciple of it. But you will see that, though I have commenced
with the allegoric, or the supernatural, I have endeavoured
to avoid the subtlety of conceit, and the obscurity of design
which I blame in the wilder of our authors. As to the
style, I wished to suit it to the subject; it ought to be,
unless I err, rugged and massive ; hewn, as it were, out
of the rock of primseval language. But you. Madam; —
doubtless you do not understand German."
" Her mother was an Austrian," said Vane; " and she
knows at least enough of the tongue to understand you ; so
pray begin."
Without further preface, the German then commenced
the story, which the reader will find translated* in the
next chapter.
* Nevertheless I beg to state seriously, tliat the German student is an impostor;
had he taken any other tale of mine, I would have borne it ; but one of niy very
best — Ah, sgelrrat !
CHAPTER XIX.
THE FALLEN STAR ; OR, THE HISTORY OF A FALSE RELIGION.
" And the Stars sate, each on his ruby throne, and
watched with sleepless eyes upon the world. It was the
night ushering in the new year, a night on which every
Star receives from the Archangel that then visits the uni-
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 177
versal galaxy, its peculiar charge. The destinies of men and
empires are then portioned forth for the coming year, and,
unconsciously to ourselves, our fates become minioned to
the stars. A hushed and solemn night is that in which the
dark Gates of Time open to receive the ghost of the Dead
Year, and the young and radiant Stranger rushes forth
from the clouded chasms of Eternity. On that night, it is
said, that there is to the Spirits that we see not, a privilege
and a power; the dead are troubled in their forgotten
graves, and men feast and laugh, while demon and angel
are contending for their doom.
It was night in heaven ; all was unutterably silent, the
music of the spheres had paused, and not a sound came from
the angels of the stars; and they who sate upon those
shining thrones were three thousand and ten, each resem-
bling each. Eternal youth clothed their radiant limbs with
celestial beauty, and on their faces was written the dread
of calm, that fearful stillness which feels not, sympathises
not with the dooms over which it broods. War, tempest,
pestilence, the rise of empires, and their fall, they ordain,
they compass, unexultant and uncompassionate. The fell
and thrilling crimes that stalk abroad when the world sleeps,
the parricide with his stealthy step, and horrent brow, and
lifted knife ; the unwifed mother that glides out and looks
behind, and behind, and shudders, and casts her babe upon
the river, and hears the wail, and pities not — the splash, and
does not tremble ; — these the starred kings behold — to
these they lead the unconscious step ; but the guilt blanches
not their lustre, neither doth remorse wither their unwrin-
M
]78 TTTK PTT.fiRTMS OF TTTE RHINE,
kled youth. Each Star wore a kingly diadem; round the
loins of each was a graven belt, graven with many and
mighty signs ; and the foot of each was on a burning ball,
and the right arm drooped over the knee as they bent down
from their thrones ; they moved not a limb or feature, save
the finger of the right hand, which ever and anon moved
slowly pointing, and regulated the fates of men as the hand
of the dial speaks the career of time.
One only of the three thousand and ten wore not the
same aspect as his crowned brethren ; a Star, smaller than
the rest, and less luminous; the countenance of this Star
was not impressed with the awful calmness of the others ;
but there were sullenness and discontent upon his mighty
brow.
And this Star said to himself, — " Behold ! I am created
less glorious than my fellows, and the Archangel apportions
not to me the same lordly destinies. Not for me are the
dooms of kings and bards, the rulers of empires, or, yet
nobler, the swayers and harmonists of souls. Sluggish
are the spirits and base the lot of the men I am ordained to
lead through a dull life to a fameless grave. And where-
fore ? — is it mine own fault, or is it the fault which is not
mine, that I was woven of beams less glorious than my
brethren ? Lo ! when the Archangel comes, I will bow
not my crowned head to his decrees. I will speak, as the
ancestral Lucifer before me : he rebelled because of his
glory, / because of my obscurity ; he from the ambition of
pride, and / from its discontent."
And while the Star was thus communing with himself,
TITE PIT,GRT:vrS OF THE RHINE. 179
the upward heavens were parted as by a long river of light,
and adown that stream swiftly, and without sound, sped the
Archangel Visiter of the Stars ; his vast limbs floated in
the liquid lustre, and his outspread wings, each plume the
glory of a sun, bore him noiselessly along ; but thick clouds
veiled his lustre from the eyes of mortals, and while above
all was bathed in the serenity of his splendour, tempest
and storm broke below over the children of the earth :
" He bowed the heavens and came down, and darkness was
under his feet."
And the stillness on the faces of the Stars became yet
more still, and the awfulness was humbled into awe. Right
above their thrones paused the course of the Archangel ;
and his wings stretched from east to west, overshadowing.
Math the shadow of light, the immensity of space. Then
forth, in the shining stillness, rolled the dread music of his
voice : and, fulfilling the heraldry of God, to each Star he
appointed the duty and the charge, and each Star bowed
his head yet lower as it received the fiat, while his throne
rocked and trembled at the Majesty of the Word. But at
last, when each of the Brighter Stars had, in succession,
received the mandate, and the viceroyalty over the nations
of the earth, the purple and diadems of kings ; — the Arch-
angel addressed the lesser Star as he sate apart from his
fellows : —
" Behold," said the Archangel, " the rude tribes of the
north, the fishermen of the river that flows beneath,
and the hunter of the forests, that darken the mountain
M 2
IQO THE PTI-GRTMS OF THE RHINE.
tops with verdure ! these be thy charge, and their destinies
thy care. Nor deem thou, O Star of the sullen beams,
that thy duties are less glorious than the duties of thy
brethren ; for the peasant is not less to thy master and
mine than the monarch ; nor doth the doom of empires rest
more upon the sovereign than on the herd. The passions and
the heart are the dominion of the Stars, a mighty realm ; —
nor less mighty beneath the hide that garbs the shepherd,
than the jewelled robes of the eastern kings."
Then the Star lifted his pale front from his breast, and
answered the Archangel : —
" Lo ! " he said, " ages have past, and each year thou
hast appointed me to the same ignoble charge. Release
me, I pray thee, from the duties that I scorn ; or, if thou
wilt that the lowlier race of men be my charge, give unto
me the charge not of many, but of one, and suffer me to
breathe unto him the desire that spurns the valleys of life,
and ascends its steeps. If the humble are giv^en to me, let
there be amongst them one whom I may lead on the mission
that shall abase the proud; for, behold, oh Appointer of
the Stars, as I have sate for uncounted years upon my
solitary throne, brooding over the things beneath, my spirit
hath gathered wisdom from the changes that shift below.
Looking upon the tribes of earth, 1 have seen how the
multitude are swayed, and tracked the steps that lead
weakness into power; and fain would I be the ruler of
one who, if abased, shall aspire to rule.""
As a sudden cloud over the face of noon was the change
on the brow of the Archangel.
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. IQj
" Proud and melancholy Star," said the Herald, " thy
wish would war with the courses of the invisible destiny,
that, throned far above, sways and harmonises all ; the source
from which the lesser rivers of fate are eternally gushing
through the heart of the universe of things. Thinkest thou
that thy wisdom of itself can lead the peasant to become a
king?^'
And the crowned Star gazed undauntedly on the face of
the Archangel, and answered,
" Yea ! — grant me but one trial ! "
Ere the Archangel could reply, the furthest centre of
the heaven was rent as by a thunderbolt ; and the Divine
herald covered his face with his hands, and a voice low and
sweet, and mild with the consciousness of unquestionable
power, spoke forth to the repining Star.
" The time has arrived when thou mayest have thy wish.
Below thee, upon yon solitary plain, sits a mortal, gloomy
as thyself, who, born under thy influence, may be moulded
to thy will."
The voice ceased as the voice of a dream. Silence was
over the seas of space, and the Archangel, once more borne
aloft, slowly soared away into the farther heaven, to pro-
mulgate the Divine bidding to the Stars of far distant
worlds. But the soul of the discontented Star exulted
within itself ; and it said, " I will call forth a king from the
valley of the herdsman, that shall trample on the kings sub-
ject to my fellows, and render the charge of the contemned
Star more glorious than the minions of its favoured bre-
182 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
thren ; thus shall I revenge neglect — thus shall I prove my
claim hereafter to the heritage of the great of earth ! "
*****
*****
*****
At that time, though the world had rolled on for ages,
and the pilgrimage of man had passed through various
states of existence, which our dim traditionary knowledge
has not preserved, yet the condition of our race in the
northern hemisphere, was then what loe, in our imperfect
lore, have conceived to be among the earliest.
* * * * *
*****
*****
By a rude and vast pile of stones, the masonry of arts
forgotten, a lonely man sate at midnight, gazing upon
the heavens, a storm had just passed from the earth — the
clouds had rolled away, and the high stars looked down
upon the rapid waters of the Rhine ; and no sound save the
roar of the waves, and the dripping of the rain from the
mighty trees, was heard around the ruined pile ; the white
sheep lay scattered on the plain, and slumber with them.
He sate watching over the herd, lest the foes of a neighbour-
ing tribe seized them unawares, and thus he communed with
himself: " The king sits upon his throne, and is honoured by
a warrior race, and the warrior exults in the trophies he has
won; the step of the huntsman is bold upon the mountain
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 183
top, and his name is sung at niglit round the pine fires, by
the lips of the bard ; and the bard himself hath honour in
the hall. But I, who belong not to the race of kings, and
whose limbs can bound not to the rapture of war, nor scale
the eyries of the eagle and the haunts of the swift stag;
whose hand can string not the harp, and whose voice is
harsh in the song ; / have neither honour nor command,
and men bow not the head as I pass along ; yet do I feel
within me the consciousness of a great power that should
rule my species — not obey. My eye pierces the secret
hearts of men — I see their thoughts ere their lips proclaim
them ; and I scorn, while I see, the weakness and the vices
which I never shared — I laugh at the madness of the warrior
— I mock within my soul at the tyranny of kings. Surely
there is something in man's nature more fitted to command
— more worthy of renown, than the sinews of the arm, or
the swiftness of the feet, or the accident of birth !""
As Morven, the son of Osslah, thus mused within himself,
still looking at the heavens, the solitary man beheld a Star
suddenly shooting from its place, and speeding through the
silent air, till it, as suddenly, paused, right over the mid-
night river, and facing the inmate of the pile of stones.
As he gazed upon the Star strange thoughts grew slowly
over him. He drank, as it were, from its solemn aspect,
the spirit of a great design. A dark cloud rapidly passing
over the earth, snatched the Star from his sight ; but left to
his awakened mind the thoughts and the dim scheme that
had come to him as he gazed.
\Sl THE Plir.RIMS OF THE RHINE.
When the sun arose one of his brethren relieved him of
his charge over the herd, and he went away, but not to his
father's home. Musingly he plunged into the dark and
leafless recesses of the winter forest ; and shaped, out of his
wild thoughts, more palpably and clearly, the outline of his
daring hope. While thus absorbed, he heard a great noise
in the forest, and, fearful lest the hostile tribe of the Alrich
might pierce that way, he ascended one of the loftiest pine
trees, to whose perpetual verdure the winter had not denied
the shelter he sought, and, concealed by its branches, he
looked anxiously forth in the direction whence the noise had
proceeded. And it came — it came, with a tramp and a crash,
and a crushing tread upon the crunched boughs and matted
leaves that strewed the soil — it came — it came, the monster
that the world now holds no more — the mighty Mammoth
of the North ! Slowly it moved in its huge strength along,
and its burning eyes glittered through the gloomy shade;
its jaws, falling apart, showed the grinders with which it
snapped asunder the young oaks of the forest; and the vast
tusks, which curved downward to the midst of its massive
limbs, glistened white and ghastly, curdling the blood of
one destined hereafter to be the dreadest ruler of the men
of that distant age.
The livid eyes of the monster fastened on the form of
the herdsman, even amidst the thick darkness of the pine.
It paused — it glared upon him — its jaws opened, and a low
deep sound, as of gathering thunder, seemed to the son of
Osslah as the knell of a dreadful grave. But after glaring
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 135
on him for some moments, it again, and calmly, pursued
its terrible way, crashing the boughs as it marched along,
till the last sound of its heavy tread died away upon
his ear*.
Ere yet however Morven summoned the courage to
descend the tree, he saw the shining of arms through the
bare branches of the wood, and presently a small band
of the hostile Alrich came into sight. He was perfectly
hidden from them ; and, listening as they passed him, he
heard one say to another, —
" The night covers all things ; why attack them by day ? "
And he who seemed the chief of the band, answered,
" Right. To night, when they sleep in their city, we
will upon them. Lo ! they will be drenched in wine, and
fall like sheep into our hands."
" But where, O chief," said a third of the band, " shall
our men hide during the day ? for there are many hunters
among the youth of the Oestrich tribe, and they might see
us in the forest unawares, and arm their race against our
cominof."
" I have prepared for that," answered the chief. " Is
not the dark cavern of Oderlin at hand ? Will it not shelter
us from the eyes of the victims ? *"
Then the men laughed, and, shouting, they went their
way adown the forest.
* The critic will perceive that this sketch of the beast, whose race has perished,
is maiuly iutcudcd to designate the remote period of the world in which the tale
is cast.
186 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
When they were gone, Morven cautiously descended,
and, striking into a broad path, hastened to a vale that lay
between the forest and the river in which was the city
where the chief of his country dwelt. As he passed
by the warlike men, giants in that day, who thronged the
streets, (if streets they might be called,) their half garments
parting from their huge limbs, the quiver at their backs,
and the hunting spear in their hands, they laughed and
shouted out, and, pointing to him, cried, " Morven, the
woman, Morven, the cripple, what dost thou among men ?"
For the son of Osslah was small in stature and of slender
strength, and his step had halted from his birth; but he
passed through the warriors unheedingly. At the outskirts
of the city he came upon a tall pile in which some old men
dwelt by themselves, and counselled the king when times
of danger, or when the failure of the season, the famine or
the drought, perplexed the ruler, and clouded the savage
fronts of his warrior tribe.
They gave the counsels of experience, and when expe-
rience failed, they drew, in their believing ignorance,
assurances and omens from the winds of heaven, the
changes of the moon, and the flights of the wandering birds.
Filled (by the voices of the elements, and the variety of
mysteries which ever shift along the face of things, unsolved
by the wonder which pauses not, the fear which believes,
and that eternal reasoning of all experience, which assigns
causes to effect) with the notion of superior powers, they
assisted their ignorance by the conjectures of their super-
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE- IgJ
stition. But as yet^ they knew no craft and practised no
voluntary delusion ; they trembled too much at the mys-
teries which had created their faith to seek to belie them.
They counselled as they believed, and the bold dream had
never dared to cross men thus worn and grey with age,
of governing their warriors and their kings by the wisdom
of deceit.
The son of Osslah entered the vast pile with a fearless
step, and approached the place at the upper end of the
hall where the old men sat in conclave.
" Howj base-born and craven-limbed," cried the eldest,
who had been a noted warrior in his day; " darest thou
enter unsummoned amidst the secret councils of the wise
men ? Knowest thou not, scatterling, that the penalty is
death?"
" Slay me, if thou wilt,"'' answered Morven, " but hear!
As I sate last night in the ruined palace of our ancient
kings, tending, as my father bade me, the sheep that grazed
around, lest the fierce tribe of Alrich should descend unseen
from the mountains upon the herd, a storm came darkly on,
and when the storm had ceased, and I looked above on
the sky, I saw a Star descend from its height towards me,
and a voice from the Star said, ' Son of Osslah, leave thy
herd and seek the council of the wise men, and say unto
them, that they take thee as one of their number, or that
sudden will be the destruction of them and theirs.' But I
had courage to answer the voice, and I said, ' Mock not
the poor son of the herdsman. Behold they will kill me if
I utter so rash a word, for I am poor and valueless in the
188 THE PlLCIlilMS OF THK RHINE.
eyes of the tribe of Oestricli, and tlie great in deeds and the
grey of hair alone, sit in the council of the wise men."'
" Then the voice said, ' Do my bidding, and I will give
thee a token that thou comest from the Powers that sway
the seasons and sail upon the eagles of the winds. Say
unto the wise men that this very night, if they refuse to
receive thee of their band, evil shall fall upon them, and
the morrow shall dawn in blood.'
" Then the voice ceased, and the cloud passed over the
Star; and I communed with myself, and came, O dread
fathers, mournfully unto you. For I feared that ye would
smite me because of my bold tongue, and that ye would
sentence me to the death, in that I asked what may scarce
be given even' to the sons of kings."
Then the grim elders looked one at the other, and
marvelled much, nor knew they what answer they should
make to the herdsman's son.
At length one of the wise men said, " Surely there must
be truth in the son of Osslah, for he would not dare to
falsify the great lights of Heaven. If he had given unto
men the words of the Star, verily we might doubt the
truth. But who would brave the vengeance of the Gods
of Night?"
Then the elders shook their heads approvingly ; but one
answered and said —
" Shall we take the herdsman's son as our equal ? No."
The name of the man who thus answered was Darvan,
and his words were pleasing to the elders.
But Morven spoke out: "Of a truth, O councillors of
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 189
kings, I look not to be an equal with yourselves. Enough
if I tend the gates of your palace, and serve you as the
son of Osslah may serve ; " and he bowed his head humbly
as he spoke.
Then said the chief of the elders, for he was wiser than
the others, " But how Milt thou deliver us from the evil
that is to come; doubtless the Star has informed thee of
the service thou canst render to us if we take thee into
our palace, as well as the ill that will fall on us if we
refuse."
Morven answered meekly, " Surely, if thou acceptest
thy servant, the Star will teach him that which may requite
thee; but as yet he knows only what he has uttered."
Then the sages bade him withdraw, and they communed
with themselves, and they differed much ; but though fierce
men, and bold at the war-cry of a human foe, they shud-
dered at the prophecy of a Star. So they resolved to take
the son of Osslah, and suffer him to keep the gate of the
council hall.
He heard their decree and bowed his head, and went to
the gate, and sate down by it in silence.
And the sun went down in the west, and the first stars
of the twilight began to glimmer, when Morven started
from his seat, and a trembling appeared to seize his limbs.
His lips foamed ; an agony and a fear possessed him ; he
writhed as a man whom the spear of a foeman has pierced
with a mortal wound, and suddenly fell upon his face on
the stony earth.
The elders approached him ; wondering, they lifted him
190 '"fTF: PILORTMS OF TITE THTTXR
lip. He slowly recovered as from a swoon ; his eyes rolled
wildly.
" Heard ye not the voice of the Star ?" he said.
And the chief of the elders answered, " Nay, we heard
no sound."
Then Morven sighed heavily.
" To me only the word was given. Summon instantly,
O councillors of the king, summon the armed men, and all
the youth of the tribe, and let them take the sword and
the spear, and follow thy servant. For lo ! the Star hath
announced to him that the foe shall fall into our hands as
the wild beast of the forests."
The son of Osslah spoke with the voice of command,
and the elders were amazed. " Why pause ye?" he cried.
" Do the gods of the night lie ? On my head rest the
peril if I deceive ye."
Then the elders communed together ; and they went
forth and summoned the men of arms, and all the young
of the tribe ; and each man took the sword and the spear,
and Morven also. And the son of Osslah walked first, still
looking up at the Star ; and he motioned them to be silent
and move with a stealthy step.
So they Avent through the thickest of the forest, till they
came to the mouth of a great cave, overgrown with aged
and matted trees, and it was called the cave of Oderlin,
and he bade the leaders place the armed men on either
side the cave, to the right and to the left, among the
bushes.
So they watched silently till the night deepened, when
THE PTLGRTMS OF THE RHINE. jgx
they heard a noise in the cave and the sound of feet, and
forth came an armed man ; and the spear of Morven
pierced him, and he fell dead at the mouth of the cave.
Another and another, and both fell ! Then loud and long
M'as heard the war-cry of Alrieh, and forth poured, as a
stream over a narrow bed, the river of armed men. And
the sons of Oestrich fell upon them, and the foe were sorely
perplexed and terrified by the suddenness of the battle and
the darkness of the night ; and there was a great slaughter.
And when the morning came, the children of Oestrich
counted the slain, and found the leader of Alrieh and the
chief men of the tribe amongst them, and great was the
joy thereof. So they M^ent back in triumph to the city,
and they carried the brave son of Osslah on their shoul-
ders, and shouted forth " Glory to the servant of the Star."
And Morven dwelt in the council of the wise men.
Now the king of the tribe had one daughter, and she
was stately amongst the women of the tribe, and fair to
look upon. And Morven gazed upon her with the eyes of
love, but he did not dare to speak.
Now the son of Osslah laughed secretly at the foolish-
ness of men ; he loved them not, for they had mocked
him ; he honoured them not, for he had blinded the wisest
of their elders. He shunned their feasts and merriment,
and lived apart and solitary. The austerity of his life
increased the mysterious homage which his commune with
the Stars had won him, and the boldest of the warriors
bowed his head to the favourite of the gods.
192 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
One day he was wandering by the side of the river, and
he saw a large bird of prey rise from the waters, and give
chace to a hawk that had not yet gained the full strength of
its wings. From his youth the solitary Morven had loved to
watch, in the great forests and by the banks of the mighty
stream, the habits of the things which nature has submitted
to man ; and looking now on the birds, he said to himself,
" Thus is it ever ; by cunning or by strength each thing
wishes to master its kind.*" While thus moralising, the
larger bird had stricken down the hawk, and it fell terrified
and panting at his feet. Morven took the hawk in his
hands, and the vulture shrieked above him, wheeling nearer
and nearer to its protected prey ; but Morven scared away
the vulture, and placing the hawk in his bosom he carried
it home, and tended it carefully, and fed it from his hand
until it had regained its strength ; and the hawk knew him,
and followed him as a dog. And Morven said, smiling to
himself, " Behold, the credulous fools around me put faith
in the flight and motion of birds. I will teach this poor
hawk to minister to my ends." So he tamed the bird, and
tutored it according to its nature; but he concealed it
carefully from others, and cherished it in secret.
The king of the country was old and like to die,
and the eyes of the tribe were turned to his two sons, nor
knew they which was the worthier to reign. And Morven
passing through the forest one evening, saw the younger of
the two, who was a great hunter, sitting mournfully under
an oak, and looking with musing eyes upon the ground.
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. |93
"Wherefore musest thou, O swift-footed Siror?" said
the son of Osslah, " and wherefore art thou sad ? "
" Thou canst not assist me," answered the Prince,
sternly ; " take thy way."
" Nay," answered Morven, " thou knowest not what thou
sayest ; am I not the favourite of the Stars ? "
" Away, I am no greybeard whom the approach of
death makes doting; talk not to me of the Stars; I know
only the things that my eye sees and my ear drinks in.""
" Hush," said Morven, solemnly, and covering his face ;
" Hush ! lest the heavens avenge thy rashness. But,
behold, the Stars have given unto me to pierce the secret
hearts of others; and I can tell thee the thoughts of thine."
" Speak out, baseborn."
" Thou art the younger of two, and thy name is less
known in war than the name of thy brother; yet wouldst
thou desire to be set over his head, and to sit on the high
seat of thy father."
The yoimg man turned pale. " Thou hast truth in thy
lips," said he, with a faltering voice.
" Not from me, but from the Stars, descends the truth."
" Can the Stars grant my wish ? "
" They can ; let us meet to-morrow." Thus saying,
Morven passed into the forest.
The next day, at noon, they met again.
" Thave consulted the gods of night, and they have given
me the power that I prayed for, but on one condition."
" Name it."
N
194 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
" That tliou sacrifice thy sister on their altars ; thou
must build up a heap of stones, and take thy sister into the
wood, and lay her on the pile, and plunge thy sword into
her heart; so only shalt thou reign."
The Prince shuddered, and started to his feet, and shook
his spear at the pale front of Morven.
" Tremble," said the son of Osslah, with a loud voice ;
"hark to the gods that threaten thee with death, that
thou hast dared to lift thine arm against their servant ! "
As he spoke, the thunder rolled above ; for one of the
frequent storms of the early summer was about to break.
The spear dropped from the Prince's hand ; he sate down
and cast his eyes on the ground.
" Wilt thou do the bidding of the Stars, and reign ? "
said Morven.
" I will ! " cried Siror, with a desperate voice.
" This evening, then, when the sun sets, thou wilt lead
her hither, alone; I may not attend thee. Now, let us
pile the stones."
Silently the huntsman bent his vast strength to the
fragments of rock that Morven pointed to him, and they
built the altar, and went their way.
And beautiful is the dying of the great sun, when the
last song of the birds fades into the lap of silence ; when
the islands of the cloud are bathed in light, and the first
star springs up over the grave of day !
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 19,5
" Whither leadest thou my steps, my brother," said Orna,
"and why doth thy lip quiver? and why dost thou turn
away thy face ? "
" Is not the forest beautiful ; does it not tempt us forth,
my sister ? "
" And wherefore are those heaps of stone piled to-
gether ? "
" Let others answer, / piled them not.''
" Thou tremblest, brother : we will return."
" Not so ; by those stones is a bird that my shaft pierced
to day; a bird of beautiful plumage that I slew for thee."
" We are by the pile ; where hast thou laid the bird? "
" Here ! " cried Siror, and he seized the maiden in his
arms, and casting her on the rude altar, he drew forth his
sword to smite her to the heart.
Right over the stones rose a giant oak, the growth of
immemorial ages ; and from the oak, or from the heavens,
broke forth a loud and solemn voice, " Strike not, son of
kings, the Stars forbear their own ; the maiden thou shalt
not slay ; yet shalt thou reign over the race of Oestrich ;
and thou shalt give Orna as a bride to the favourite of the
Stars. Arise, and go thy way ! "
The voice ceased ; the terror of Orna had overpowered
for a time the springs of life ; and Siror bore her home
through the wood in his strong arms.
" Alas ! " said Morven, when at the next day he again
met the aspiring Prince ; " alas ! the Stars have ordained me
n2
196 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
a lot which my lieart desires not; for I, lonely of life, and
crippled of shape, am insensible to the fires of love ; and
ever, as thou and thy tribe know, I have shunned the
eyes of women, for the maidens laughed at my halting step
and my sullen features ; and so in my youth I learned
betimes to banish all thoughts of love ; but since they told
me, (as they declared to thee,) that only through that mar-
riage, thou, O beloved Prince ! canst obtain thy father's
plumed crown, I yield me to their will."
" But," said the Prince, " not until I am king can I give
thee my sister in marriage, for thou knowest that my sire
would smite me to the dust, if I asked him to give the
flower of our race to the son of the herdsman Osslah."
" Thou speakest the words of truth. Go home and fear
not ; but when thou art king the sacrifice must be made,
and Orna mine. Alas ! how can I dare to lift my eyes to
her! But so ordain the dread Kings of the Night! — who
shall gainsay their word ? "
" The day that sees me king, sees Orna thine,"
answered the Prince.
Morven walked forth, as was his wont, alone, and he said
to himself, " The king is old, yet may he live long between
me and mine hope ! " and he began to cast in his mind how
he might shorten the time. Thus absorbed, he wandered
on so unheedingly, that night advanced, and he had lost his
path among the thick woods, and knew not how to regain
his home ; so he lay down quietly beneath a tree, and
rested till day dawned ; then hunger came upon him, and
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 197
he searched among the bushes for such simple roots as
those with which, for he was ever careless of food, he was
used to appease the cravings of nature.
He found, among other more familiar herbs and roots, a
red berry of a sweetish taste, which he had never observed
before. He ate of it sparingly, and had not proceeded far
in the wood before he found his eyes swim, and a deadly
sickness come over him. For several hours he lay con-
vulsed on the ground expecting death ; but the gaunt spare-
ness of his frame, and his unvarying abstinence, prevailed
over the poison, and he recovered slowly, and after great
anguish ; but he went with feeble steps back to the spot
where the berries grew, and, plucking several, hid them in
his bosom, and by nightfall regained the city.
The next day he went forth among his father's herds,
and seizing a lamb, forced some of the berries into its
stomach, and the lamb, escaping, ran away, and fell down
dead. Then Morven took some more of the berries and
boiled them down, and mixed the juice with wine, and he
gave the wine in secret to one of his father's servants, and
the servant died.
Then Morven sought the king, and coming into his
presence alone, he said unto him, " How fares my lord .'' "
The king sate on a couch, made of the skins of wolves,
and his eye was glassy and dim, but vast were his aged
limbs, and huge was his stature, and he had been taller by
a head than the children of men, and none living could
bend the bow he had bent in youth. Grey, gaunt, and
198 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
worn, as some mighty bones that are dug at times from
the bosom of the earth, — a relic of the strength of old.
And the king said faintly, and with a ghastly laugh —
" The men of my years fare ill. What avails my
strength ? Better had I been born a cripple like thee, so
should I have had nothing to lament in growing old."
The red flush passed over Morven's brow ; but he bent
humbly —
" O king, what if I could give thee back thy youth?
what if I could restore to thee the vigour which distin-
guished thee above the sons of men, when the warriors
of Alrich fell like grass before thy sword?"
Then the king uplifted his dull eyes, and he said —
*' What meanest thou, son of Osslah ; surely I hear
much of thy great wisdom, and how thou speakest nightly
with the Stars. Can the gods of the night give unto thee
the secret to make the old young?"
" Tempt them not by doubt," said Morven, reverently.
" All things are possible to the rulers of the dark hour; and,
lo ! the Star that loves thy servant spake to him at the
dead of night, and said, ' Arise and go unto the king ;
and tell him that the Stars honour the tribe of Oestrich,
and remember how the king bent his bow against the sons
of Alrich ; wherefore, look thou under the stone that lie
to the right of thy dwelling — even beside the pine-tree ;
and thou shalt see a vessel of clay, and in the vessel thou
wilt find a sweet liquid, that shall make the king thy
master forget his age for ever.' Therefore, my lord, when
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 199
the morning rose 1 went fortli, and looked under the stone,
and behold the vessel of clay; and I have brought it
hither, to my lord, the king."
" Quick— slave— quick ! that I may drink and regain
my youth !"
" Nay, listen, oh king : further said the Star to me —
" ' It is only at night, when the Stars have power, that
this their gift will avail ; wherefore the king must wait till
the hush of the midnight, when the moon is high, and then
may he mingle the liquid with his wine. And he must
reveal to none that he hath received the gift from the hand
of the servant of the Stars. For they do their work in
secret, and when men sleep ; therefore they love not the
babble of mouths, and he who reveals their benefits shall
surely die.' "
" Fear not," said the king, grasping the vessel ; " none
shall know — and behold, I will rise on the morrow ; and
my two sons — wrangling for my crown — verily I shall be
younger than they ! "
Then the king laughed loud ; and he scarcely thanked
the servant of the Stars, neither did he promise him
reward; for the kings in those days had little thought, —
save for themselves.
And Morven said to him, " Shall I not attend my lord?
for without me perchance the drug might failof its eifect.""
" Ay," said the king ; •■* rest here."
" Nay," replied Morven ; " thy servants will marvel
and talk much, if they see the son of Osslah sojourning in
200 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
thy palace. So would the displeasure of the gods of night
perchance be incurred. Suffer that the hinder door of the
palace be unbarred, so that at the night hour, when tlie
moon is midway in the heavens, I may steal unseen into
thy chamber, and mix the liquid with thy wine."
" So be it," said the king ; " thou art wise, though thy
limbs are crooked and curt; and the Stars might have
chosen a taller man." Then the king laughed again ; and
Morven laughed too, but there was danger in the mirth
of the son of Osslah.
The night had begun to wane, and the inhabitants of
Oestrich were buried in deep sleep, when hark ! a sharp
voice was heard crying out in the streets, " Woe, woe !
Awake, ye sons of Oestrich — woe ! " Then forth, wild, —
haggard, — alarmed, — spear in hand, rushed the giant sons
ot the rugged tribe, and they saw a man on a height
in the middle of the city, shrieking " Woe ! " and it
was Morven, the son of Osslah! And he said unto
them as they gathered round him, " Men and war-
riors, tremble as ye hear. The Star of the West hath
spoken to me, and thus said the Star. ' Evil shall fall upon
the kingly house of Oestrich, yea, ere the morning dawn ;
wherefore go thou mourning into the streets, and wake the
inhabitants to woe." So I rose and did the bidding of
the Star." And while Morven was yet speaking, a servant
of the king's house ran up to the crowd, crying loudly —
«' The king is dead." So they went into the palace and
found the king stark upon his couch, and his huge
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. gQl
limbs all cramped and crippled by the pangs of death, and
his hands clenched as if in menace of a foe — the Foe of all
living flesh ! Then fear came on the gazers, and they
looked on Morven with a deeper awe than the boldest
warrior would have called forth ; — and they bore him back
to the council-hall of the wise men, wailing and clashing
their arms in woe, and shouting ever and anon, " Honour
to Morven the Prophet ; " and that was the first time the
word Prophet was ever used in those countries.
At noon on the third day from the king's death, Siror
sought Morven, and he said, " Lo, my father is no more,
and the people meet this evening at sunset to choose his
successor, and the warriors and the young men will surely
choose my brother, for he is more known in war. Fail
me not, therefore."
" Peace, boy," said Morven, sternly, " nor dare to
question the truth of the gods of night."
For Morven now began to assume on his power among
the people, and to speak as rulers speak, even to the sons
of kings. And the voice silenced the fiery Siror, nor dared
he to reply.
" Behold," said Morven, taking up a chaplet of coloured
plumes ; " wear this on thy head, and put on a brave face,
for the people like a hopeful spirit, and go down with thy
brother to the place where the new king is chosen, and
leave the rest to the Stars. But above all things forget not
that chaplet, it has been blessed by the gods of night."
The Prince took the chaplet and returned home.
OQO THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
It was evening, and the warriors and chiefs of the tribe
were assembled in the place where the new king was to be
elected. And the voices of the many favoured Prince
Voltoeh, the brother of Siror, for he had slain twelve foemen
with his spear, and verily in those days that was a great
virtue in a king.
Suddenly there was a shout in the streets, and the people
cried out, " Way for Morven the prophet, the prophet."
For the people held the son of Osslah in greater respect
even than did the chiefs. Now, since he had become of
note, Morven had assumed a majesty of air which the son
of the herdsman knew not in his earlier days, and albeit his
stature was short and limbs halted, yet his countenance was
grave and high. He only of the tribe wore a garment that
swept the ground, and his head was bare, and his long black
hair descended to his girdle, and rarely was change or
human passion seen in his calm aspect. He feasted not,
nor drank wine, nor was his presence frequent in the
streets. He laughed not, neither did he smile, save when
alone in the forest, — and then he laughed at the follies of
his tribe.
So he walked slowly through the crowd, neither turning
to the left nor to the right, as the crowd gave way ; and he
supported his steps with a staff of the knotted pine.
And when he came to the place where the chiefs were
met, and the two princes stood in the centre, he bade the
people around him proclaim silence ; then mounting on a
huge fragment of rock, he thus spake to the multitude.
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. gQS
" Princes, Warriors, and Bards ! ye, O council of the
wise men, and ye, O hunters of the forests, and snarers
of the fishes of the streams; harken to Morven, the son
of Osslah. Ye know that I am lowly of race, and weak
of limb ; but did I not give into your hands the tribe of
Alrich, and did ye not slay them in the dead of night
with a great slaughter? Surely, ye must know this of
himself did not the herdsman's son ; surely he was but
the agent of the bright gods that love the children of
Oestrich. Three nights since, when slumber was on the
earth, was not my voice heard in the streets? Did I not
proclaim woe to the kingly house of Oestrich? and verily
the dark arm had fallen on the bosom of the mighty, that
is no more. Could I have dreamt this thing merely in a
dream, or was I not as the voice of the bright gods that
watch over the tribes of Oestrich ? Wherefore, O men and
chiefs, scorn not the poor herdsman son of Osslah, but listen
to his words, for are they not the wisdom of the Stars ?
Behold, last night I sate alone in the valley, and the
trees were hushed around and not a breath stirred; and
I looked upon the Star that counsels the son of Osslah;
and I said, ' Dread conqueror of the cloud, thou that bathest
thy beauty in the streams and piercest the pine boughs
with thy presence ; behold thy servant grieved because the
mighty one hath passed away, and many foes surround the
houses of my brethren ; and it is well that they should
have a king valiant and prosperous in war ; the cherished
of the Stars. Wherefore, O Star, as thou gavest into our
204 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
liands the warriors of Alricli, and didst warn us of the
fall of the oak of our tribe, wherefore I pray thee give
unto the people a token that they may choose that king
whom the gods of the night prefer!' Then a low voice,
sweeter than the music of the bard, stole along the silence.
' Thy love for thy race is grateful to the Stars of night :
go then, son of Osslah, and seek the meeting of the chiefs
and the people to choose a king, and tell them not to
scorn thee because thou art slow to the chace, and little
known in war ; for the Stars give thee wisdom as a recom-
pense for all. Say unto the people that as the wise men
of the council shape their lessons by the flight of birds, so
by the flight of birds shall a token be given unto them, and
they shall choose their kings. For, saith the Star of night,
the birds are the children of the winds, they pass to and
fro along the ocean of the air, and visit the clouds that
are the war-ships of the gods. And their music is but
broken melodies which they glean from the harps above.
Are they not the messengers of the storm? Ere the stream
chafes against the bank, and the rain descends, know ye
not, by the wail of birds and their low circles over the
earth, that the tempest is at hand ? Wherefore, wisely do
ye deem that the children of the air are the fit interpreters
between the sons of men and the lords of the world
above. Say then to the people and the chiefs, that they
shall take, from among the doves that nest in the roof of
the palace, a white dove, and they shall let it loose in the
air, and verily the gods of the night shall deem the dove
TriE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 205
as a prayer coming from the people, and they shall send
a messenger to grant the prayer and give to the tribes of
Oestrich a king worthy of themselves.**
" With that the Star spoke no more."
Then the friends of Voltoch murmured among them-
selves, and they said, " Shall this man dictate to us who
shall be king?" But the people and the warriors shouted,
" Listen to the Star; do we not give or deny battle accord-
ing as the bird flies, — shall we not by the same token
choose him by whom the battle should be led ? " And the
thing seemed natural to them, for it was after the custom
of the tribe. Then they took one of the doves that built
in the roof of the palace, and they brought it to the spot
where Morven stood, and he, looking up to the Stars and
muttering to himself, released the bird.
There was a copse of trees at a little distance from
the spot, and as the dove ascended a hawk suddenly
rose from the copse and pursued the dove; and the dove
was terrified, and soared circling high above the crowd,
when lo, the hawk, poising itself one moment on its wings,
swooped with a sudden swoop, and, abandoning its prey,
alighted on the plumed head of Siror.
" Behold," cried Morven in a loud voice, "behold your
king ! "
" Hail, all hail the king ! " shouted the people ; " All hail
the chosen of the Stars ! "
Then Morven lifted his right hand, and the hawk left the
OQQ THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
prince, and alighted on Morven^'s shoulder. " Bird of the
gods ! " said he, reverently, " hast thon not a secret message
for my ear?" Then the hawk put its beak to Morven's ear,
and Morven bowed his head submissively ; and the hawk
rested with Morven from that moment and would not be
scared away. And Morven said, "The Stars have sent me
this bird, that> in the day-time when I see them not, we
may never be without a councillor in distress.""
So Siror was made king, and Morven the son of Osslah
was constrained by the king's will to take Orna for his
wife ; and the people and the chiefs honoured Morven the
prophet above all the elders of the tribe.
One day Morven said unto himself, musing, " Am I not
already equal with the king? nay, is not the king my ser-
vant ? did I not place him over the heads of his brothers ?
am I not therefore more fit to reign than he is ? shall I not
push him from his seat? It is a troublous and stormy
office to reign over the wild men of Oestrich, to feast in the
crowded hall, and to lead the warriors to the fray. Surely if
I feasted not, neither went out to war, they might say, this
is no king, but the cripple Morven ; and some of the race of
Siror might slay me secretly. But can I not be greater far
than kings, and continue to choose and govern them, living
as now at mine own ease ? Verily the Stars shall give me a
new palace, and many subjects."
Among the wise men was Darvan ; and Morven feared
him, for his eye often sought the movements of the son of
Osslah.
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 207
And Morven said, " It were better to trust this man
than to blind, for surely I want a helpmate and a friend."
So he said to the wise man as he sate alone watching
the setting sun,
" It seemeth to me, O Darvan ! that we ought to build
a great pile in honour of the Stars, and the pile should be
more glorious than all the palaces of the chiefs and the
palace of the king; for are not the Stars our masters ? and
thou and I should be the chief dwellers in this new palace,
and we will serve the gods of night, and fatten their altars
with the choicest of the herd, and the freshest of the fruits
of the earth."
And Darvan said, '' Thou speakest as becomes the servant
of the Stars. But will the people help to build the pile,
for they are a warlike race and they love not toil? "
And Morven answered, " Doubtless the Stars will ordain
the work to be done. Fear not."
" In truth thou art a wondrous man, thy words ever
come to pass," answered Darvan ; " and I wish thou
wouldst teach me, friend, the language of the Stars."
*' Assuredly if thou servest me, thou shalt know,"
answered the proud Morven ; and Darvan was secretly
wroth that the son of the herdsman should command the
service of an elder and a chief.
And when Morven returned to his wife he found her
weeping much. Now she loved the son of Osslah with an
exceeding love, for he was not savage and fierce as the men
she had known, and she was proud of his fame among the
208 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
tribe; and lie took her in his arms and kissed her, and asked
her why she wept. Then she told him that her brotlier tlie
kin^ liad visited her and had spoken bitter words of Morven ;
" He taketh from me the affection of my people," said Siror,
" and blindeth them with lies. And since he hath made me
king, what if he take my kingdom from me ? Verily a new
tale of the Stars might undo the old." And the king had
ordered her to keep watch on Morven's secrecy, and to see
whether truth was in him when he boasted of his commune
with the Powers of Night.
But Orna loved Morven better than Siror, therefore she
told her husband all.
And Morven resented the king's ingratitude, and was
troubled much, for a king is a powerful foe ; but he com-
forted Orna, and bade her dissemble, and complain also of
him to her brother, so that he might confide to her unsus-
pectingly whatsoever he might design against Morven.
There was a cave by Morven's house in which he kept
the sacred hawk, and wherein he secretly trained and nur-
tured other birds against future need, and the door of the
cave was always barred. And one day he was thus engaged
when he beheld opposite a chink in the wall, that he had
never noted before, and the sun came playfully in ; and
while he looked he perceived the sunbeam was darkened,
and presently he saw a human face peering in. And
Morven trembled, for he knew he had been watched. He
ran hastily from the cave, but the spy had disappeared
amongst the trees, and Morven went straight to the
TH& PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 209
chamber of Darvan and sate himself down. And Darvan
did not return home till late, and he started and turned
pale when he saw Morven. But Morven greeted him as
a brother, and bade him to a feast, which, for the first time,
he purposed giving at the full of the moon, in honour of
the Stars. And going out of Darvan's chamber he returned
to his wife, and bade her rend her hair, and go at the
dawn of day to the king her brother, and complain bitterly
of Morven's treatment, and pluck the black plans from
the breast of the king. " For surely," said he, " Darvan
hath lied to thy brother, and some evil waits me that I
would fain know."
So the next morning Orna sought the king, and she
said, " The herdsman's son hath reviled me, and spoken
harsh words to me ; shall I not be avenged?"
Then the king stamped his feet and shook his mighty
sword. " Surely thou shalt be avenged, for I have learnt
from one of the elders that which convinceth me the man
hath lied to the people, and the base-born shall surely die.
Yea, the first time that he goeth alone into the forest my
brother and I will fall upon him, and smite him to the
death." And with this comfort Siror dismissed Orna.
And Orna flung herself at the feet of her husband. " Fly
now, O my beloved — fly into the forests afar from my
brethren, or surely the sword of Siror will end thy days."
Then the son of Osslah folded his arms, and seemed
buried in black thoughts ; nor did he heed the voice of
Orna, until again and again she had implored him to fly.
Q
210 THE FILCH I MS OF THE RHINE.
" Fly ! " he said at length. " Nay, I was doubting what
punishment the Stars should pour down upon our foe.
Let warriors fly. Morven the prophet conquers by arms
mightier than the sword."
Nevertheless Morven was perplexed in his mind, and
knew not how to save himself from the vengeance of the
king. Now, while he wasm using hopelessly, he heard a
roar of waters ; and behold the river, for it was now the
end of Autumn, had burst its bounds, and was rushing
along the valley to the houses of the city. And now the
men of the tribe, and the women, and the children, came
running, and with shrieks, to Morven's house, crying,
" Behold the river has burst upon us, save us, O ruler
of the Stars."
Then the sudden thought broke upon Morven, and he
resolved to risk his fate upon one desperate scheme.
And he came out from the house calm and sad, and he
said "Ye know not what ye ask; I cannot save ye from
this peril ; ye have brought it on yourselves."
And they cried, " How, O son of Osslah ? we are igno-
rant of our crime."
And he answered, " Go down to the king's palace and
wait before it, and surely I will follow ye, and ye shall
learn wherefore ye have incurred this punishment from the
gods." Then the crowd rolled murmuring back, as a
receding sea ; and, when it was gone from the place, Morven
went alone to the house of Darvan, which was next his
own : and Darvan was greatly terrified, for he was of a
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. '211
great age, and had no children, neither friends, and he
feared that he could not of himself escape the waters.
And Morven said to him, soothingly, " Lo, the people
love me, and I will see that thou art saved, for verily
thou hast been friendly to me, and done me much service
with the king."
And, as he thus spake, Morven opened the door of the
house and looked forth, and saw that they were quite
alone ; then he seized the old man by the throat, and ceased
not his gripe till he was quite dead. And, leaving the body
of the elder on the floor, Morven stole from the house, and
shut the gate. And as he was going to his cave, he mused a
little while, when, hearing the mighty roar of the waves
advancing, and afar off the shrieks of women, he lifted up
his head, and said, proudly, " No ! in this hour terror alone
shall be my slave ; I will use no art save the power of my
soul." He shut the gate, and, leaning on his pine stafi",
he strode down to the palace. And it was now evening,
and many of the men held torches, that they might see
each other's faces in the universal fear. Red flashed the
quivering flames on the dark robes and pale front of Morven ;
and he seemed mightier than the rest, because his face
alone was calm amidst the tumult. And louder, and hoarser,
came the roar of the waters; and swift rushed the shades
of night over the hastening tide.
And Morven said in a stern voice, " Where is the king ;
and wherefore is he absent from his people in the hour of
dread ? " Then the gate of the palace opened ; and, behold ,
o 2
>212 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
Siror was sitting in the hall by the vast pine fire, and his
brother by his side, and his chiefs around him ; for they
would not deign to come amongst the crowd at the bidding
of the herdsman's son.
Then Morven, standing on a rock above the heads of
the people, {the same rock whereon he had proclaimed
the king,) thus spake : —
" Ye desired to know, O sons of Oestrich, wherefore the
river hath burst its bounds, and this peril hath come upon
you. Learn then that the Stars resent as the foulest of
human crimes, an insult to their servants and delegates
below. Ye are all aware of the manner of life of Morven,
whom ye have surnamed the Prophet ! He harms not man
or beast ; he lives alone ; and, far from the wild joys of the
warrior tribe, he worships in awe and fear the Powers of
Night. So is he able to advise ye of the coming danger, — so
is he able to save ye from the foe. Thus are your hunts-
men swift, and your warriors bold ; and thus do your cattle
bring forth their young, and the earth its fruits. What
think ye, and what do ye ask to hear? Listen, men of
Oestrich ! they have laid snares for my life ; and there are
amongst you those who have whetted the sword against the
bosom that is only filled with love for ye all. Therefore
have the stern lords of heaven loosened the chains of the
river — therefore doth this evil menace ye. Neither will
it pass away until they who dug the pit for the servant
of the Stars are buried in the same."
Then, by the red torches, the faces of the men looked
THE PTT/JRTMS OF THE RHINE. OjQ
fierce and threatening ; and ten tliousand voices shouted
forth, " Name them who conspired against thy life, O
holy prophet, and surely they shall be torn limb from
limb."
And Morven turned aside, and they saw that he wept
bitterly ; and he said,
"Ye have asked me, and I have answered ; but now scarce
will ye believe the foe that I have provoked against me ; and
by the heavens themselves, I swear, that if my death would
satisfy their fury, nor bring down upon yourselves, and your
children's children, the anger of the throned Stars, gladly
would I give my bosom to the knife. Yes," he cried, lifting
up his voice, and pointing his shadowy arm towards the hall
where the king sate by the pine fire — "yes, Thou whom
by my voice the Stars chose above thy brother — yes, Siror,
the guilty one, take thy sword, and come hither — -strike,
if thou hast the heart to strike, the Prophet of the Gods ! "
The king started to his feet, and the crowd were
hushed in a shuddering silence.
Morven resumed : —
" Know then, O men of Oestrich, that Siror, and Voltoch
his brother, and Darvan, the elder of the wise men, have
purposed to slay your prophet, even at such hour as when
alone he seeks the shade of the forest to devise new bene-
fits for you. Let the king deny it, if he can ! "
Then Voltoch, of the giant limbs, strode forth from the
hall, and his spear quivered in his hand.
" Rightly hast thou spoken, base son of my father"'s
214 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE-
herdsman, and for thy sins shalt thou surely die ; for thou
liest when thou speakest of thy power with the Stars, and
thou laughest at the folly of them who hear thee; wherefore
put him to death."
Then the chiefs in the hall clashed their arms, and rushed
forth to slay the son of Osslah.
But he, stretching his unarmed hands on high, exclaimed,
" Hear him, O dread ones of the night — hark how he
blasphemeth ! "
Then the crowd took up the word, and cried, " He
blasphemeth — he blasphemeth against the prophet ! "
But the king and the chiefs, who hated Morven, because
of his power with the people, rushed into the crowd ; and
the crowd were irresolute, nor knew they how to act, for
never yet had they rebelled against their chiefs, and they
feared alike the prophet and the king.
And Siror cried, " Summon Darvan to us, for he hath
watched the steps of Morven, and he shall lift the veil from
my people's eyes." Then three of the swift of foot started
forth to the house of Darvan.
And Morven cried out with a loud voice, " Hark, thus
saith the Star who, now riding through yonder cloud,
breaks forth upon my eyes — ' For the lie that the elder hath
uttered against my servant, the curse of the Stars shall fall
upon him.' Seek, and as ye find him, so may ye find ever
the foes of Morven and the gods ! "
A chill and an icy fear fell over the crowd, and even the
cheek of Siror grew pale ; and Morven, erect and dark
THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. ^15
above the waving torches, stood motionless with folded
arms. And hark — far and fast came on the war-steeds
of the wave — they heard them marching to the land, and
tossing their white manes in the roaring wind.
" Lo, as ye listen," said Morven, calmly, " the river
sweeps on — haste, for the Gods will have a victim, be it
your prophet or your king,"
" Slave," shouted Siror, and his spear left his hand, and
far above the heads of the crowd sped hissing beside the
dark form of Morven, and rent the trunk of the oak behind.
Then the people, wroth at the danger of their beloved
seer, uttered a wild yell, and gathered round him with
brandished swords, facing their chieftains and their king.
But at that instant, ere the war had broken forth among the
tribe, the three warriors returned, and they bore Darvan on
their shoulders, and laid him at the feet of the king, and
they said tremblingly, " Thus found we the elder in the
centre of his own hall." And the people saw that Darvan
was a corpse, and that the prediction of Morven was thus
verified. " So perish the enemies of Morven and the
Stars ! " cried the son of Osslah. And the people echoed
the cry. Then the fury of Siror was at his height, and
waving his sword above his head he plunged into the
crowd, " Thy blood, base-born, or mine ! "
" So be it ! " answered Morven, quailing not. " People,
smite the blasphemer. Hark how the river pours down
upon your children and your hearths. On, on, or ye
perish."
216 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE.
And Siror fell, pierced by live hundred spears.
" Smite ! smite ! " cried Morven, as the chiefs of the royal
house gathered round the king. And the clash of swords,
and the gleam of spears, and the cries of the dying, and the
yell of the trampling people, mingled with the roar of the
elements, and the voices of the rushing wave.
Three hundred of the chiefs perished that night by the
swords of their own tribe. And the last cry of the victors
was, " Morven the prophet, — Morven the king ! "
And the son of Osslah, seeing the waves now spreading
over the valley, led Orna his wife, and the men of Oestrich,
their M^omen, and their children, to a high mount, where
they waited the dawning sun. But Orna sate apart and
wept bitterly, for her brothers were no more, and her race
had perished from the earth. And Morven sought to
comfort her in vain.
When the morning rose, they saw that the river had
overspread the greater part of the city, and now stayed its
course among the hollows of the vale. Then Morven said
to the people, " The Star Kings are avenged, . and their
wrath appeased. Tarry only here until the waters have
melted into the crevices of the soil." And on the fourth
day they returned to the city, and no man dared to name
another, save Morven, as the king.
But Morven retired into his cave and mused deeply, and
then, assembling the people, he gave them new laws, and he
made them build a mighty temple in honour of the Stars,
and made them heap within it all that the tribe held most
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
217
precious. And he took unto him fifty children from the
most famous of the tribe ; and he took also ten from among-
the men who had served him best, and he ordained that they
should serve the Stars in the great temple; — and Morven
was their chief. And he put away the crown they pressed
upon him, and he chose from among the elders a new king.
And he ordained that henceforth the servants only of the
Stars in the great temple should elect the king and the
rulers, and hold council, and make war : but he suffered
the king to feast, and to hunt, and to make merry in the
banquet halls. And Morven built altars in the temple,
and was the first who in the North sacrificed the beast and
the bird, and afterwards human flesh, upon the altars. And
he drew auguries from the entrails of the victim, and made
schools for the science of the prophet, and Morven's piety
was the wonder of the tribe, in that he refused to be a king.
And Morven, the high-priest, was ten thousand times
mightier than the king. He taught the people to till the
ground, and to sow the herb, and by his wisdom, and the
valour that his prophecies instilled into men, he conquered
all the neighbouring tribes. And the sons of Oestrich
spread themselves over a mighty empire, and with them
spread the name and the laws of Morven. And in every
province which he conquered, he ordered them to build a
temple to the Stars.
But a heavy sorrow fell upon the years of Morven. The
sister of Siror bowed down her head, and survived not long
the slaughter of her race. And she left Morven childless.
218 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
And he mourned bitterly and as one distraught, for her
only in the world had his heart the power to love. And
he sate down and covered his face, saying-,
" Lo ! I have toiled and travailed, and never before in
the world did man conquer what I have conquered. Verily
the empire of the iron thews and the giant limbs is no
more ! I have founded a new power, that henceforth shall
sway the lands ; the empire of a plotting brain and a com-
manding mind. But, behold ! my fate is barren, and I feel
already that it will grow neither fruit nor tree as a shelter
to mine old age. Desolate and lonely shall I pass unto my
grave. O Orna ! my beautiful ! my loved ! none were like
unto thee, and to thy love do I owe my glory and my life !
Would for thy sake. O sweet bird ! that nestled in the dark
cavern of my heart ; — would for thy sake that thy brethren
had been spared, for verily with my life would I have pur-
chased thine. Alas ! only when I lost thee, did I find that
thy love was dearer to me than the fear of others:" and
Morven mourned night and day, and none might comfort
him.
But from that time forth he gave himself solely up to
the cares of his calling ; and his nature and his affections?
and whatever there was yet left soft in him, grew hard like
stone ; — and he was a man without love, and he forbade love
and marriage to the priests.
Now in his latter years there arose other prophets, for
the world had grown wiser even by Morven's wisdom, and
some did say unto themselves, " Behold Morven, the herds-
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 219
man's son, is a king of kings ; this did the Stars for their
servant ; shall we not also be servants to the Stars ? "
And they wore black garments like Morven, and went
about prophecy ing of what the Stars foretold them. And
Morven was exceeding wroth ; for he, more than other men,
knew that the prophets lied; wherefore he went forth
against them with the ministers of the temple, and he took
them, and burnt them by a slow fire ; for thus said Morven
to the people : — " A true prophet hath honour, but /only
am a true prophet; — to all false prophets there shall be
surely death."
And the people applauded the piety of the son of
Osslah.
And Morven educated the wisest of the children in the
mysteries of the temple, so that they grew up to succeed
him worthily.
And he died full of years and honour, and they carved
his effigy on a mighty stone before the temple, and the
effigy endured for a thousand ages, and whoso looked on
it trembled ; for the face was calm with the calmness of
unspeakable awe.
And Morven was the first mortal of the North that
made Religion the stepping-stone to Power. — Of a surety
Morven was a great man !
It was the last night of the old year, and the Stars sate,
each upon his ruby throne, and watched with sleepless eyes
220 THE riT,GRlMS of the RHINE.
upon the world. Tlie night was dark and troubled, the
dread winds were abroad, and, fast and frequent, hurried
the clouds beneath the thrones of the kings of night. And
ever and anon fiery meteors flashed along the depths of
heaven, and were again swallowed up in the grave of dark-
ness. But, far below his brethren, and with a lurid haze
around his orb, sate the discontented Star that had watched
over the hunters of the north.
And on the lowest abyss of space there was spread a
thick and mighty gloom, from which, as from a cauldron,
rose columns of wreathing smoke ; and still, when the great
winds rested for an instant on their paths, voices of woe and
laughter, mingled with shrieks, were heard booming from
the abyss to the upper air.
And now, in the middest night, a vast figure rose slowly
from the abyss, and its wings threw blackness over the
world. High upward to the throne of the discontented
Star, sailed the fearful shape, and the Star trembled on his
throne, when the form stood before him face to face.
And the shape said — " Hail, brother ! — all hail ! "
" I know thee not," answered the Star; " thou art not
the Archangel that visitest the kings of night."
And the shape laughed loud. " I am the fallen Star of
the Morning — I am Lucifer, thy brother ! Hast thou not,
O sullen king, served me and mine ? — and hast thou not
wrested the earth from thy Lord that sittest above, and
given it to me, by darkening the souls of men with the
religion of fear ? Wherefore come, brother, come — thou
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 221
hast a throne prepared beside my own in the fiery
gloom — Come ! The heavens are no more for thee."
Then the Star rose from his throne, and descended to
the side of Lucifer. For ever hath the spirit of discontent
had sympathy with the soul of pride. And they sank slowly
down to the gulf of gloom.
It was the first night of the new year, and the Stars sate,
each on his ruby throne, and watched with sleepless eyes
upon the world. But sorrow dimmed the bright faces of the
kings of night, for they mourned in silence and in fear for
a fallen brother.
And the gates of the heaven of heavens flew open with a
golden sound, and the swift Archangel fled down on his
silent wings ; and the Archangel gave to each of the Stars,
as before, the message of his Lord, and to each Star was his
appointed charge. And when the heraldry seemed done,
there came a laugh from the abyss of gloom, and half way
from the gulf rose the lurid shape of Lucifer the Fiend.
" Thou countest thy flock ill, O radiant shepherd !
Behold ! one Star is missing from the three thousand and
ten ! "
" Back to thy gulf, false Lucifer, the ^throne of thy
brother hath been filled."
And lo ! as the Archangel spake, the Stars beheld a
young and all lustrous stranger on the throne of the erring
Star ; and his face was so soft to look upon, that the dimmest
of human eyes might have gazed upon its splendour
unabashed; but the dark Fiend alone was dazzled by its
222 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
lustre, and with a yell that shook the flaming pillars of the
universe he plunged backward into the gloom.
Then, far and sweet from the Arch Unseen, came forth
the Voice of God —
" Behold ! on the throne of the Discontented Star sits
the Star of Hope ; and he that breathed into mankind the
Religion of Fear, hath a successor in him who shall teach
earth the Religion of Love."
And evermore the Star of Fear dwells with Lucifer, and
the Star of Love keeps vigil in heaven !
CHAPTER XX.
GELNHAUSEN.— THE POWER OF LOVE IN SANCTIFIED PLACES. A PORTRAIT OF FRE-
DERIC BARBAROSSA. THE AMBITION OF MEN FINDS NO ADEQUATE SYMPATHY IN
WOMEN.
" You made me tremble for you more than once,"
said Gertrude to the Student ; " I feared you were about
to touch upon ground really sacred, but your end re-
deemed all."
" The false religion always tries to counterfeit the garb,
the language, the aspect, of the true," answered the Ger-
man; "for that reason, I purposely suffered my tale to
occasion that very fear and anxiety you speak of, conscious
that the most scrupulous would be contented when the
whole was finished."
This German was one of a new school, of which Eng-
land as yet knows nothing. We shall see, hereafter,
what it will produce.
The Student left them at Freidberg, and our travellers
proceeded to Gelnhausen ; a spot interesting to lovers, for
here Frederic the First was won by the beauty of Gela;
and, in the midst of an island vale he built the Imperial
Palace — in honour to the lady of his love. The spot
2'24 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
is, indeed, well chosen of itself: the mountains of the
llhinegeburg close it in, with the green gloom of woods,
and the glancing waters of the Kinz.
" Still, wherever we go," said Trevylyan, " we find
all tradition is connected with love; and hittory, for that
reason, hallows less than romance."
" It is singular," said Vane, moralising, " that love makes
but a small part of our actual lives, but is yet the master-
key to our sympathies. The hardest of us, who laugh at
the passion when they see it palpably before them, are
arrested by some dim tradition of its existence in the
past. It is as if life had few opportunities of bringing
out certain qualities within us, so that they always remain
untold and dormant, susceptible to thought, but deaf
to action ! "
" You refine and mystify too much," said Trevylyan,
smiling ; " none of us have any faculty, any passion,
uncalled forth, if we have really loved, though but for
a day."
Gertrude smiled, and, drawing her arm within his,
Trevylyan left Vane to philosophise on passion ; — a fit
occupation for one who had never felt it.
" Here let us pause," said Trevylyan, afterwards, as
they visited the remains of the ancient palace, and the sun
glittered on the scene, " to recal the old chivalric day of
the gallant Barbarossa; — let us suppose him commencing
the last great action of his life; let us picture him as
setting out for the Holy Land, Imagiuc him issuing from
TITE PILORTMS OF THE RHINE. 225
those walls on his white charger; his fiery eye somewhat
dimmed by years, and his hair blanched; but nobler from
the impress of time itself; — the clang of arms; the tramp
of steeds; banners on high; music pealing from hill to
liill; the red cross and the nodding plume; the sun, as now
glancing on yonder trees; and thence reflected from the
burnished arms of the crusaders ; — but, Gela, "
"Ah," said Gertrude, ^'^ she. must be no more, for she
would have outlived her beauty, and have found that glory
had now no rival in his breast. Glory consoles men for the
death of the loved ; but glory is infidelity to the living."
" Nay, not so, dearest Gertrude," said Trevylyaii,
quickly, "for my darling dream of Fame is the hope of
laying its honours at your feet ! And if ever, in future
years, I should rise above the herd, I should only ask if
your step were proud, and your heart elated."
" I was wrong," said Gertrude, with tears in her eyes,
" and, for your sake, I can be ambitious."
Perhaps there, too, she was mistaken ; for one of the
common disappointments of the heart is, that women have
so rarely a sympathy in our better and higher aspirings.
Their ambition is not for great things ; they cannot under-
stand that desire " which scorns delight, and loves laborious
days." If they love us, they usually exact too much.
They are jealous of the ambition to which we sacrifice so
largely, and which divides us from them ; and they leave
the stern passion of great minds to the only solitude which
affection cannot share. To aspire is to be alone !
p
CHAPTER XXI.
VIEW OF EHRENBRRITSTEIN A NEW ALAHM IN GFRTRUDe's HEALTH.
TRARBACH.
Another time our travellers proceeded from Coblentz
to Treves, following the course of the Moselle. They
stopped on the opposite bank below the bridge that unites
Coblentz with the Petersberg, to linger over the superb
view of Ehrenbreitstein which you may there behold.
It was one of those calm noonday scenes which impress
upon us their own bright and voluptuous tranquillity.
There stood the old herdsman leaning on his staff, and
the quiet cattle knee-deep in the gliding waters. Never
did stream more smooth and sheen, than was at that hour
the surface of the Moselle, mirror the images of the pas-
toral life. Beyond, the darker shadows of the bridge,
and of the walls of Coblentz, fell deep over the waves,
chequered by the tall sails of the craft that were moored
around the harbour. But clear against the sun rose the
spires and roofs of Coblentz, backed by many a hill sloping
away to the horizon. High, dark, and massive, on the
opposite bank, swelled the towers and rock of Ehrenbreit-
stein, a type of that great chivalric spirit — the honour
THE PIT.ORIMS OF THE RHINE. 327
that the rock arrogates for its name, — which demands so
many sacrifices of blood and tears, but which ever creates
in the restless heart of man a far deeper interest than the
more peaceful scenes of life by which it is contrasted.
There, still — from the calm waters, and the abodes of
common toil and ordinary pleasure — turns the aspiring
gaze ! still as we gaze on that lofty and immemorial rock,
we recal the famine and the siege; and own that the
more daring crimes of men have a strange privilege in
hallowing the very spot which they devastate !
Below, in green curves and mimic bays covered with
herbage, the gradual banks mingled with the water ; and,
just where the bridge closed, a solitary group of trees,
standing thick and dark in the thickest shadow, gave that
melancholy feature to the scene, which resembles the one
dark thought that often forces itself into our sunniest hours.
Their boughs stirred not; no voice of birds broke the
stillness of their gloomy verdure ; the eye turned from
them, as from the sad moral that belongs to existence.
In proceeding to Trarbach, Gertrude was seized with
another of those fainting fits which had so terrified Trevylyan
before; they stopped an hour or two at a little village, but
Gertrude rallied with such apparent rapidity, and so
strongly insisted on proceeding, that they reluctantly con-
tinued their way. This event would have thrown a gloom
over their journey, if Gertrude had not exerted herself
to dispel the impression she had occasioned, and so light,
p2
228 '''HI*' IMLGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
SO cheerful, were her spirits, that she, for the time at least,
succeeded.
They arrived at Trarbach late at noou. This now small
and humble town is said to have been the Thronus Bacchi
of the ancients. From the spot where the travellers halted
to take, as it were, their impression of the town, they saw
before them, the little hostelry, a poor pretender to the
Thronus Bacchi, with the rude sign of the Holy Mother
over the door. The peaked roof, the sunk window, the
grey walls, chequered with the rude beams of wood so
common to the meaner houses on the continent, bore
something of a melancholy and unprepossessing aspect.
Right above, with its Gothic windows and venerable spire,
rose the church of the town ; and, crowning the summit
of a green and almost perpendicular mountain, scowled
the remains of one of those mighty castles, which make
the never-failing frown on a German landscape.
The scene was one of quiet and of gloom ; the exceed-
ing serenity of the day, contrasted, with an almost un-
pleasing brightness, the poverty of the town, the thinness
of the population, and the dreary grandeur of the ruins
that overhung the capital of the perished race of the bold
Counts of Spanheim.
They passed the night at Trarbach, and continued their
journey next day. At Treves, Gertrude was for some
days seriously ill ; and when they returned to Coblentz,
her disease had evidently received a rapid and alarming
increase.
CHAPTER XXII,
THE DOUBLF, LIFE. TREVYLYAN's FATE. SORROW THE PARENT OF FAME.
NIEDERLAHNSTEIN.— DREAMS.
There are two lives to each of us,— gliding on at the
same time scarcely connected with each other ! — the life of
our actions — the life of our minds; the external and the
inward history ; the movements of the frame — the deep and
ever restless workings of the heart ! They who have loved
know that there is a diary of the affections, which we might
keep for years without having occasion even to touch
upon the exterior surface of life, our busy occupations — the
mechanical progress of our existence ; — yet by the last are
we judged, the first is never known. History reveals men's
deeds, men's outward characters, but not themselves. There
is a secret self that hath its own life " rounded by a dream "
unpenetrated, unguessed. What passed within Trevylyan,
hour after hour, as he watched over the declining health
of the only being in the world whom his proud heart had
been ever ^destined to love ! His real record of the time
was marked by every cloud upon Gertrude's brow, every
smile of her countenance, every, the faintest, alteration
230 THE PILGRIMS OF TIIK RHINE.
in her disease : yet, to the outward seeming, all this vast
current of varying eventful emotion lay dark and uncon-
jectured. He filled up, with wonted regularity, the colour-
ings of existence, and smiled and moved as other men.
For still, in the heroism with which devotion conquers self,
he sought only to cheer and gladden the young heart on
which he had embarked his all; — and he kept the dark
tempest of his anguish for the solitude of night.
That was a peculiar doom which Fate had reserved for
him ; and casting him, in after years, on the great sea of
public strife, it seemed as if she were resolved to tear from
his heart all yearnings for the land. For him there was to
be no green and sequestered spot in the valley of house-
hold peace. His bark was to know no haven, and his soul
not even the desire of rest. For action is that Lethe in
which we alone forget our former dreams, and the mind
that, too stern not to wTcstle with its emotions, seeks
to conquer regret, must leave itself no leisure to look
behind. Who knows what benefits to the world may have
sprung from the sorroM's of the benefactor ? As the harvest
that gladdens mankind in the suns of autumn was called
forth by the rains of spring, so the griefs of youth may
make the fame of maturity.
Gertrude, charmed by the beauties of the river, desired
to continue the voyage to Mayence. The rich Trevylyan
persuaded the physician who had attended her, to accom-
pany them, and they once more pursued their way along
the banks of the feudal Rhine. For what the Tiber is to the
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 231
classic, the Rhine is to the chivah-ic, age. The steep rock
and the grey dismantled tower, the massive and rude pictu-
resque of the feudal days, constitute the great features of
the scene ; and you might almost fancy, as you glide along,
that you are sailing back adown the River of Time, and
the monuments of the pomp and power of old, rising, one
after one, upon its shores !
Vane and Du e, the physician, at the farther end of
the vessel, conversed upon stones and strata, in that singular
pedantry of science which strips nature to a skeleton, and
prowls among the dead bones of the world, unconscious of
its living beauty.
They left Gertrude and Trevylyan to themselves, and
" bending o'er the vessel's laving side," they indulged in
silence the melancholy with which each was imbued. For
Gertrude began to waken, though doubtingly and at inter-
vals, to a sense of the short span that was granted to her
life ; and over the loveliness around her there floated that sad
and ineffable interest which springs from the presentiment
of our own death. They passed the rich island of Ober-
werth, and Hocheim, famous for its ruby grape, and saw,
from his mountain bed, the Lahn bear his tribute of fruits
and corn into the treasury of the Rhine. Proudly rose The
Tower of Niederlahnstein, and deeply lay its shadow
along the stream. It was late noon ; the cattle had sought
the shade from the slanting sun, and, far beyond, the holy
castle of Marksburg raised its battlements above mountains
covered with the vine. On the water two boats had been
232 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
drawn alongside each other ; and from one, now moving to
the land, the splash of oars broke the general stillness of
the tide. Fast by an old tower the fishermen were busied
in their craft, but the sound of their voices did not reach
the ear. It was life, but a silent life ; suited to the
tranquillity of noon.
" There is something in travel," said Gertrude, " which
constantly, even amidst the most retired spots, impresses us
with the exuberance of life. We come to these quiet nooks
and find a race whose existence we never dreamed of. In
their humble path they know the same passions and tread
the same career as ourselves. The mountains shut them
out from the great world, but their village is a world in
itself. And they know and need no more of the turbulent
scenes of remote cities, than our own planet recks of the
inhabitants of the distant stars. What then is death, but
the forge tfulness of some few hearts added to the general
unconsciousness of our existence that pervades the uni-
verse? The bubble breaks in the vast desert of the air
without a sound."
" Why talk of death?" said Trevylyan, with a writhing
smile ; " these sunny scenes should not call forth such
melancholy images,"
" Melancholy," repeated Gertrude, mechanically. " Yes,
death is indeed melancholy when we are loved ! "
They stayed a short time at Niederlahnstein, for Vane
was anxious to examine the minerals that the Lahn brings
into the Rhine ; and the sun was waning towards its close
the: pilgrims of the rhine. ^SS
as they renewed their voyage. As they sailed slowly on,
Gertrude said, " How like a dream is this sentiment of
existence, when, without labour or motion, every change
of scene is brought before us; and if I am with you,
dearest, I do not feel it less resembling a dream, for I
have dreamt of you lately more than ever. And dreams
have become a part of my life itself."
" Speaking of dreams," said Trevylyan, as they pursued
that mysterious subject ; " I once during my former resi-
dence in Germany fell in with a singular enthusiast, who
had taught himself what he termed, ' A System of Dream-
ing.' When he first spoke to me upon it, I asked him
to explain what he meant, which he did somewhat in the
followinsf words."
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE LIFE OF DREAMS.
*' I WAS born," said he, " with many of the sentiments
of the poet, but without the language to express them;
my feelings were constantly chilled by the intercourse of
the actual world. My family, mere Germans, dull and
unimpassioned — had nothing in common with me ; nor did
I out of my family find those with whom I could better
sympathise. I was revolted by friendships — for they were
susceptible to every change ; I was disappointed in love —
for the truth never approciclied to my ideal. Nursed early
in the lap of Romance, enamoured of the wild and the
adventurous, the commonplaces of life were to me inex-
pressibly tame and joyless. And yet indolence, which
belongs to the poetical character, was more inviting than
that eager and uncontemplative action which can alone
wring enterprise from life. Meditation was my natural
element. I loved to spend the noon reclined by some
shady stream, and in a half sleep to shape images from
the glancing sunbeams ; a dim and unreal order of philo-
sophy, that belongs to our nation, was my favourite intel-
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 235
lectual pursuit. And I sought amongst the Obscure and
the Recondite the variety and emotion I could find not
in the Familiar. Thus constantly watching the operations
of the inner-mind, it occurred to me at last, that sleep
having its own world, but as yet a rude and fragmentary
one, it might be possible to shape from its chaos, all those
combinations of beauty, of power, of glory, and of love,
which were denied to me in the world in which my frame
walked and had its being. So soon as this idea came upon
me, I nursed and cherished, and mused over it, till 1 found
that the imagination began to effect the miracle I desired.
By brooding ardently, intensely, before I retired to rest,
over any especial train of thought, over any ideal crea-
tions; by keeping the body utterly still and quiescent
during the whole day; by shutting out all living adven-
ture, the memory of which might perplex and interfere
with the stream of events that I desired to pour forth into
the wilds of sleep, I discovered at last, that I could lead
in dreams a life solely their own, and utterly distinct from
the life of day. Towers and palaces, all my heritage and
seigneury, rose before me from the depths of night; I
quaffed from jewelled cups the Falernian of imperial
vaults; music from harps of celestial tone filled up the
crevices of air ; and the smiles of immortal beauty flushed
like sunlight over all. Thus the adventure and the glory,
that I could not for my waking life obtain, was obtained
for me in sleep. I wandered with the gryphon and the
gnome ; I sounded the horn at enchanted portals ; I con-
03() THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
quered in the knightly lists; I planted my standard over
battlements huge as the painter's birth of Babylon itself.
" But I was afraid to call forth one shape on whose loveli-
ness to pour all the hidden passion of my soul. I trembled
lest my sleep should present me some image which it could
never restore, and, waking from which, even the new world
I had created might be left desolate for ever. I shuddered
lest I should adore a vision which the first ray of morning
could smite to the grave.
" In this train of mind I began to ponder whether it might
not be possible to connect dreams together ; to supply the
thread that was wanting ; to make one night continue the
history of the other, so as to bring together the same shapes
and the same scenes, and thus lead a connected and harmo-
nious life, not only in the one half of existence, but in the
other, the richer and more glorious,'half. No sooner did this
idea present itself to me, than I burned to accomplish it. I
had before taught myself that Faith is the great creator; that
to believe fervently is to make belief true. So I would not
suffer my mind to doubt the practicability of its scheme. I
shut myself up then entirely by day, refused books, and
hated the very sun, and compelled all my thoughts (and
sleep is the mirror of thought) to glide in one direction, the
direction of my dreams, so that from night to night the
imagination might keep up the thread of action, and I
might thus lie down full of the past dream and confident of
the sequel. Not for one day only, or for one month, did I
pursue this system, but I continued it zealously and sternly
\^-
THE PIIX;RTMS of the RHINE. 2.37
till at length it began to succeed. Who shall tell,"" cried
the enthusiast, — I see him now with his deep, bright, sunken
eyes, and his wild hair thrown backward from his brow,
" the rapture I experienced, when first, faintly and half
distinct, I perceived the harmony I had invoked dawn upon
my Qi.eams. At first there was only a partial and desultory
connection between them; my eye recognised certain
shapes, my ear certain tones common to each ; by degrees
these augmented in number, and were more defined in
outline. At length one fair face broke forth from amono^
the ruder forms, and night after night appeared mixing with
them for a moment and then vanishing, just as the mariner
watches, in a clouded sky, the moon shining through the
drifting rack, and quickly gone. My curiosity was now
vividly excited, the face, with its lustrous eyes and seraph
features, roused all the emotions that no living shape had
called forth. I became enamoured of a dream, and as the
statue to the Cyprian was my creation to me ; so from this
intent and unceasing passion, I at length worked out my
reward. My dream became more palpable ; I spoke with it ;
I knelt to it ; my lips were pressed to its own ; we exchanged
the vows of love, and morning only separated us with the
certainty that at night we should meet again. Thus then,"
continued my visionary, " I commenced a history utterly
separate from the history of the world, and it went on
alternately with my harsh and chilling history of the day,
equally regular and equally continuous. And what, you
ask, was that history ? Methought I was a prince in some
238 'THE PTT,ORTMS OF THE RHINE.
southern island that had no features in common with the
colder north of my native home. By day I looked upon
the dull walls of a German town, and saw homely or squalid
forms passing before me ; the sky was dim and the sun
cheerless. Night came on with her thousand stars, and
brought me the dews of sleep. Then suddenly there was a
new world ; the richest fruits hung from the trees in clusters
of gold and purple. Palaces of the quaint fashion of the
sunnier climes, with spiral minarets and glittering cupolas,
were mirrored upon vast lakes sheltered by the palm tree
and banana. The sun seemed of a different orb, so mellow
and gorgeous were his beams ; birds and winged things of all
hues fluttered in the shining air ; the faces and garments of
men were not of the northern regions of the world, and
their voices spoke a tongue which, strange at first, by
degrees I interpreted. Sometimes I made war upon
neighbouring kings; sometimes I chased the spotted pard
through the vast gloom of oriental forests ; my life was at
once a life of enterprise and pomp. But above all there was
the history of my love ! I thought there were a thousand
difficulties in the way of attaining its possession. Many
were the rocks I had to scale, and the battles to wage, and
the fortresses to storm in order to win her as my bride. But
at last," (continued the enthusiast) " she is won, she is my
own ! Time in this wild world, which I visit nightly,
passes not so slowly as in this, and yet an hour may be
the same as a year. This continuity of existence, this
successive series of dreams, so different from the broken
THE PTT,GRTMS OF THE RHINE. 339
incoherence of other men's sleep, at times bewilders me
with strange and suspicious thoughts. What if this glo-
rious sleep be a real life, and this dull waking the true
repose ? Why not ? What is there more faithful in the
one than in the other? And there have I garnered and
collected all of pleasure that I am capable of feeling. I
seek no joy in this world — I form no ties, I feast not,
nor love, nor make merry — I am only impatient till the
hour when I may re-enter my royal realms and pour
my renewed delight into the bosom of my bright Ideal.
There then have I found all that the world denied me ;
there have I realised the yearning and the aspiration
within me ; there have I coined the untold poetry into the
Felt— the Seen!"
I found, continued Trevylyan, that this tale was
corroborated by inquiry into the visionary's habits. He
shunned society ; avoided all unnecessary movement or
excitement. He fared with rigid abstemiousness, and only
appeared to feel pleasure as the day departed, and the
hour of return to his imaginary kingdom approached. He
always retired to rest punctually at a certain hour, and
would sleep so soundly, that a cannon fired under his win-
dow would not arouse him. He never, which may seem
singular, spoke or moved much in his sleep, but was pecu-
liarly calm, almost to the appearance of lifelessness ; but,
discovering once that he had been watched in sleep, he
was wont afterwards carefully to secure the chamber from
intrusion. His victory over the natural incoherence of
240 TTIK PTT/iRTMS OF THE RHINE.
sleep had, when I first knew him, lasted for some years ;
possibly wliat imagination first produced was afterwards
continued by habit.
1 saw him again a few months subsequent to this con-
fession, and he seemed to me much changed. His healtli
was broken, and his abstraction had deepened into gloom.
I questioned him of the cause of the alteration, and
he answered me with great reluctance —
"She is dead," said he, " my realms are desolate! A
serpent stung her, and she died in these very arms.
Vainly, when I started from my sleep in horror and
despair, vainly did I say to myself, — This is but a dream.
I shall see her again. A vision cannot die ! Hath it flesh
that decays? is it not a spirit — bodiless — indissoluble?
With what terrible anxiety I awaited the night. Again I
slept, and the dream lay again before me — dead and
withered. Even the ideal can vanish. I assisted in the
burial ; I laid her in the earth"; I heaped the monumental
mockery over her form. And never since hath she, or
aught like her, revisited my dreams. I see her only when
I wake ; thus to wake is indeed to dream ! But,"" con-
tinued the Visionary, in a solemn voice, " I feel myself
departing from this world, and with a fearful joy ; for I
think there may be a land beyond even the land of sleep,
where I shall see her again, — a land in which a vision itself
may be restored."
And in truth, concluded Trevylyan, the dreamer
died shortly afterwards, suddenly, and in his sleep. One
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 241
of those strange dreams, that ever and anon perplex with
dark bewilderment the history of men ; and which did
actually with him, what fate hath metaphorically with so
many, made his existence, his love, his power, and his
death, the results of a delusion, and the produce of a
dream !
" There are indeed singular varieties in life," said Vane,
who had heard the latter part of Trevylyan's story ; " and
could the German have bequeathed to us his art, what a
refuge should we not possess from the ills of earth ! The
dungeon and disease, poverty, affliction, shame, would
cease to be the tyrants of our lot; and to sleep we should
confine our history and transfer our emotions."
" But most of all," said Trevylyan, " would it be a
science worth learning to the poet, whose very nature is a
pining for the ideal — for that which earth has not — for that
which the dreamer found. — Ah, Gertrude," whispered the
lover, " what his kingdom and his bride were to him, art
thou to me !"
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE BROTHERS.
The banks of the Rhine now shelved away into sweeping
plains, and on their right rose the once imperial city of
Boppart. In no journey of similar length do you meet with
such striking instances of the mutability and shifts of power.
To find, as in the Memphian Egypt, a city sunk into a heap
of desolate ruins ; the hum, the roar, the mart of nations
hushed into the silence of ancestral tombs, is less humbling
to our human vanity than to mark, as along the Rhine, the
kingly city dwindled into the humble town or the dreary
village; decay without its grandeur, change without the
awe of its solitude ! On the site on which Drusus raised
his Roman tower, and the kings of the Franks their palaces,
Trade now dribbles in tobacco-pipes, and transforms into
an excellent cotton factory the antique nunnery of Konings-
berg! So be it; it is the progressive order of things — the
world itself will soon be one excellent cotton factory !
" Look !" said Trevylyan, as they sailed on, " at yonder
mountain with its two traditionary Castles of Lieben-
STEIN AND SXERNFELS *."
• Vide Illnstratcd Title.
THE PlLGiilMS OF TlIK RHINE. -243
Massive and huge the ruins swelled above the green
rock, at the foot of" which lay, in happier security from
time and change, the clustered cottages of the peasant, with
a single spire rising above the quiet village.
" Is there not, Albert, a celebrated legend attached to
those castles ? " said Gertrude, " I think I remember to
have heard their name in coimexion with your profession
of tale-teller."
" Yes," said Trevylyan, " the story relates to the last
lords of those shattered towers, and "'
" You will sit here, noarc'- to me, and begin," inter-
rupted (Tcrtrudc, in her tone of childlike command —
"• Come.'
"" *-^:rf->'
%f'-
THE BROTHERS.
You must imagine, then, dear Gertrude, said Trevy-
lyan, a beautiful summer day, and by the same faculty,
that none possess so richly as yourself, for it is you who
• This tale is, in reality, founded on the beautiful tradition which belongs to
liicbenstein ;iiid Stciiifels.
TH^, PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 245
can kindle something- of that divine spark even in me,
you must rebuild these shattered towers in the pomp of old ;
raise the gallery and the hall ; man the battlement with
warders, and give the proud banners of ancestral chivalry to
wave upon the walls. But above, sloping half down the
rock, you must fancy the hanging gardens of Liebenstein,
redolent with flowers, and basking in the noonday sun.
On the greenest turf underneath an oak, there sate three
persons, in the bloom of youth. Two of the three were
brothers; the third was an orphan girl, whom the lord of
the opposite Tower of Sternfels had bequeathed to the pro-
tection of his brother, the chief of Liebenstein. The castle
itself and the demesne that belonged to it, passed away
from the female line, and became the heritage of Otho, the
orplian's cousin, and the younger of the two brothers now
seated on the turf.
" And oh," said the elder, whose name was Warbeck,
" you have twined a chaplet for my brother ; have you not,
dearest Leoline, a simple flower for me ? "
The beautiful orphan — (for beautiful she was, Gertrude,
as the heroine of the tale you bid me tell ought to be, —
should she not have to the dreams of my fancy your lustrous
hair, and your sweet smile, and your eyes of blue, that are
never, never silent? Ah, pardon me, that in a former tale,
I denied the heroine the beauty of your face, and remember
that, to atone for it, I endowed her with the beauty of your
mind) — the beautiful orphan blushed to her temples, and
culling from the flowers in her lap the freshest of the roses,
began weaving them into a wreath for Warbeck.
q2
246 I'lIE PILfJRlMS OF THK RHINE.
" It would be better," said the gay Otlio, " to make my
sober brother a chaplet of the rue and cypress ; the rose is
much too brii>-ht a flower for so serious a knight."
Leoline held up her hand reprovingly.
" Let him laugh, dearest cousin," said Warbeck, gazing
passionately on her changing cheek ; " and thou, Leoline,
believe that the silent stream runs the deepest."
At this moment, they heard the voice of the old chief,
their father, calling aloud for Leoline ; for ever, when he
returned from the chace, he wanted her gentle presence;
and the hall was solitary to him, if the light sound of her
step, and the music of her voice, were not heard in m' elcome.
Leoline hastened to her guardian, and the brothers were
left alone.
Nothing could be more dissimilar than the features and
the respective characters of Otho and Warbeck. Otho's
countenance was flushed with the brown hues of health ; his
eyes were of the brightest hazel ; his dark hair wreathed in
short curls round his open and fearless brow ; the jest ever
echoed on his lips, and his step was bounding as the foot of
the hunter of the Alps. Bold and light was his spirit ; and if
at times he betrayed the haughty insolence of youth, he felt
generously, and though not ever ready to confess sorrow
for a fault, he was at least ready to brave peril for a friend
But Warbeck's frame, though of equal strength, was
more slender in its proportions than that of his brother ; the
fair long hair, that characterised his northern race, hung on
either side of a countenance calm and pale, and deeply
impressed with thought, even to sadness. His features, more
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 247
majestic and regular than Otho's, rarely varied in their
expression. More resolute even than Otho, he was less
impetuous ; more impassioned, he was also less capricious.
The brothers remained silent after Leoline had left them.
Otho carelessly braced on his sword, that he had laid aside
on the grass; but Warbeck gathered up the flowers that
had been touched by the soft hand of Leoline, and placed
them in his bosom.
The action disturbed Otho; he bit his lip, and changed
colour ; at length he said, with a forced laugh, —
"It must be confessed, brother, that you carry your
affection for our fair cousin to a de^^ree that even relation-
ship seems scarcely to warrant."
" It is true," said Warbeck, calmly, " I love her with a
love surpassing that of blood."
" How," said Otho, fiercely, " do you dare to think of
Leoline as a bride ? "
" Dare ! " repeated Warbeck, turning yet paler than
his wonted hue.
" Yes, I have said the word ! Know, Warbeck, that I,
too, love Leoline ; I, too, claim her as my bride ; and
never, while I can wield a sword, never, while I wear the
spurs of knighthood, will I render my claim to a living
rival. Even,'' he added, (sinking his voice,) " though that
rival be my brother ! "
Warbeck answered not ; his very soul seemed stunned ;
he gazed long and wistfully on his brother, and then,
turning his face away, ascended the rock without uttering
a single word.
•24,8 THE I'lLGKIMS OF THE RHINE.
This silence startled Otho. Accustomed to vent every
emotion of his own, he could not comprehend the forbear-
ance of his brother; he knew his high and brave nature too
well to imagine that it arose from fear. Might it not be
contempt, or, might he not, at this moment, intend to seek
their father; and, the first to proclaim his love for the
orphan, advance, also, the privilege of the elder born. As
these suspicions flashed across him, the haughty Otho
strode to his brother's side, and laying his hand on his
arm, said, —
" Whither goest thou ; and dost thou consent to sur-
render Leoline?"
" Does she love thee, Otho ? "" answered Warbeck
breaking silence at last, and his voice spoke so deep an
anguish, that it arrested the passions of Otho, even at
their height.
"It is thou who art now silent," continued Warbeck ;
" speak; doth she love thee, and has her lip confessed it ? '
" I have believed that she loved me," faltered Otho ;
" but she is of maiden bearing, and her lip, at least, has
never told it."
" Enough," said Warbeck, " release your hold."
" Stay,"" said Otho, his suspicions returning ; " stay — yet
one word; dost thou seek my father. He ever honoured
thee more than me ; wilt thou own to him thy love, and
insist on thy right of birth ? By my soul and my hope of
heaven, do it, and one of us two must fall ! "
"Poor boy,"" answered Warbeck, bitterly, "how little
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 249
thou canst read the heart of one who loves truly. Thinkest
thou, I would wed her if she loved thee? Thinkest thou
I could, even to be blest myself, give her one moment's
pain ? Out on the thought — away ! "
" Then wilt not thou seek our father ? " said Otho,
abashed.
" Our father ! — has our father the keeping of Leoline's
affection ? " answered Warbeck ; and shaking off his bro-
ther's grasp, he sought the way to the castle.
As he entered the hall, the voice of Leoline thrilled
upon him ; she was singing to the old chief one of the
simple ballads of the time, that the warrior and the hunter
loved to hear. He paused lest he should break the spell,
(a spell stronger than a sorcerer's to him,) and gazing upon
Leoline's beautiful form, his heart sank within him. His
brother and himself had each that day, as they sate in the
gardens, given her a flower; his flower was the freshest
and the rarest ; his he saw not, — but she wore his brother's
in her bosom !
The chief, lulled by the music and wearied with the
toils of the chace, sank into sleep as the song ended, and
Warbeck, coming forward, motioned to Leoline to follow
him. He passed into a retired and solitary walk, and
when they were a little distance from the castle, Warbeck
turned round, and taking Leoline's hand gently, said —
" Let us rest here for one moment, dearest cousin ; I
tave much on my heart to say to thee."
" And what is there," answered Leoline, as they sate on
250 THK PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
a mossy bank, with tlie broad Rhine glancing below,
" what is there that my kind Warbeck would ask of me ?
Ah ! would it might be some favour, something in poor
Leoline's power to grant; for ever from my birth you
have been to me most tender, most kind. You, I have
often heard them say, taught my first steps to walk ; you
formed my infant lips into language ; and, in after years,
when my wild cousin was far away in the forests at the
chace, you would brave his gay jest and remain at home,
lest Leoline should be weary in the solitude. Ah, would
I could repay you ! "
Warbeck turned away his cheek ; his heart M^as very full,
and it was some moments before he summoned courage
to reply,
"My fair cousin,'''' said he, "those were happy days;
but they were the days of childhood. New cares and new
thoughts have now come on us. But I am still thy friend,
Leoline, and still thou wilt confide in me thy young
sorrows and th}^ young hopes, as thou ever didst. Wilt
thou not, Leoline?"
"Canst thou ask me?" said Leoline; and£Warbeck,
gazing on her face, saw that though her eyes were full
of tears, they yet looked steadily upon his ; and he knew
that she loved him only as a sister.
He sighed, and paused again ere he resumed. " Enough,"
said he, "now to my task. Once on a time, dear cousin,
there lived among these mountains a certain chief who had
two sons, and an orphan like thyself dwelt also in his halls
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE, 251
And the elder son — but no matter, let us not waste words
on him ! — the younger son, then, loved the orphan dearly —
more dearly than cousins love ; and, fearful of refusal,
he prayed the elder one to urge his suit to the orphan.
Leoline, my tale is done. Canst thou not love Otho as
he loves thee ?'"
And now lifting his eyes to Leoline, he saw that she
trembled violently, and her cheek was covered with
blushes.
"Say," continued he, mastering himself ; "is not that
flower (his present) a token that he is chiefly in thy
thouQfhts."
" Ah, Warbeck ! do not deem me ungrateful, that I
wear not your's also : but "
" Hush ! " said Warbeck, hastily ; " I am but as thy
brother, is not Otho more ? He is young, brave, and
beautiful. God grant that he may deserve thee, if thou
givest him so rich a gift as thy affections."
" I saw less of Otho in my childhood," said Leoline,
evasively; " therefore, his kindness of late years seemed
stranger to me than thine."
" And thou wilt not then reject him ? Thou wilt be
his bride?"
" And thy sister ; " answered Leoline.
" Bless thee, mine own dear cousin; one brother's kiss
then, and farewell ! Otho shall thank thee for himself."
He kissed her forehead calmly, and turning away,
plunged into the thicket; then — nor till then, he gave
252 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
vent to such emotions, as, had Leoline seen them, Otho's
suit had been lost for ever ; for passionately, deeply as in
her fond and innocent heart she loved Otho, the happiness
of Warbeck was not less dear to her.
When the young knight had recovered his self-pos-
session he went in search of Otho. He found him alone
in the wood, leaning with folded arms against a tree, and
gazing moodily on the ground. Warbeck's noble heart was
touched at his brother's dejection.
" Cheer thee, Otho," said he ; " I bring thee no bad
tidings ; I have seen Leoline — I have conversed with her
— nay start not — she loves thee ! she is thine ! "
"Generous — generous Warbeck!" exclaimed Otho;
and he threw himself on his brother's neck. " No, no,
said he, this must not be ; thou hast the elder claim. — I
resign her to thee. Forgive me my waywardness, brother,
forgive me ! "
" Think of the past no more," said Warbeck ; " the love
of Leoline is an excuse for greater offences than thine :
and now, be kind to her ; her nature is soft and keen.
/ know her well ; for I have studied her faintest wish.
Thou art hasty and quick of ire ; but remember, that a
word wounds where love is deep. For my sake as for
hers, think more of her happiness than thine own; now
seek her — she waits to hear from thy lips the tale that
sounded cold upon mine."
With that he left his brother, and, once more re-entering
the castle, he went into the hall of his ancestors. His father
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 253
still slept ; lie put his hand on his grey hair, and blessed
him ; then stealing up to his chamber, he braced on his
helm and armour, and thrice kissing the hilt of his sword,
said with a flushed cheek —
" Henceforth be tliou my bride !" Then passing from
the castle, he sped by the most solitary paths down the
rock, gained the Rhine, and hailing one of the numerous
fishermen of the river, won the opposite shore ; and alone
but not sad, for his high heart supported him, and Leoline
at least was happy, he hastened to Frankfort.
The town was all gaiety and life, arms clanged at every
corner, the sounds of martial music, the wave of banners,
the glittering of plumed casques, the neighing of war-
steeds, all united to stir the blood and inflame the sense.
St. Bertrand had lifted the sacred cross along the shores
of the Rhine, and the streets of Frankfort witnessed with
what success !
On that same day Warbeck assumed the sacred badge,
and was enlisted among the knights of the Emperor
Conrad.
We must suppose some time to have elapsed, and Otho
and Leoline were not yet wedded ; for in the first fervour
of his gratitude to his brother, Otho had proclaimed to his
father and to Leoline the conquest Warbeck had obtained
over himself; and Leoline, touched to the heart, would not
consent that the wedding should take place immediately.
" Let him, at least," said she, " not be insulted by a pre-
mature festivity, and give him time, amongst the lofty
254 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
beauties he will gaze upon in a far country, to forget,
Otho, that he once loved her \vho is the beloved of thee."
The old chief applauded this delicacy; and even Otho,
in the first flush of his feelings towards his brother, did
not venture to oppose it. They settled, then, that the
marriage should take place at the end of a year.
Months rolled away, and an absent and moody gloom
settled upon Otho's brow. In his excursions with his gay
companions among the neighbouring towns, he heard of
nothing but the glory of the crusaders, of the homage paid
to the heroes of the Cross by the courts they visited, of the
adventure of their life, and the exciting spirit that animated
their war. In fact, neither minstrel nor priest suffered the
theme to grow cold ; and the fame of those who had
gone forth to the holy strife, gave at once emulation and
discontent to the youths who had remained behind.
" And my brother enjoys this ardent and glorious life,"
said the impatient Otho ; " while I, whose arm is as strong,
and whose heart is as bold, lano-uish here listenino" to the
dull tales of a hoary sire and the silly songs of an orphan
girl." His heart smote him at the last sentence, but he
had already begun to weary of the gentle love of Leoline.
Perhaps when he had no longer to gain a triumph over a
rival, the excitement palled, or perhaps his proud spirit
secretly chafed at being conquered by his brother in
generosity, even when outshining him in the success of
love.
But poor Leoline, once taught that she was to consider
THE PIT/iRIMS OF THE RHINE. 255
Otlio her betrothed, surrendered her heart entirely to his
controuL His wild spirit, his dark beauty, his daring valour,
won wliile they awed her ; and in the fitfulness of his nature
were those perpetual springs of hope and fear, that are the
fountains of ever agitated love. She saw with increasing
grief the change that was growing over Otho's mind ; nor
did she divine the cause. " Surely I have not offended
him," thought she.
Among the companions of Otho was one who possessed
a singular sway over him. He was a knight of that
mysterious order of the Temple, which exercised at one
time so preat a command over the minds of men.
A severe and dangerous wound in a brawl with an English
knight had confined the Templar at Frankfort, and pre-
vented his joining the crusade. During his slow recovery he
had formed an intimacy with Otho, and, taking up his resi-
dence at the castle of Liebenstein, had been struck with the
beauty of Leoline, Prevented by his oath from marriage,
he allowed himself a double licence in love, and doubted not,
could he disengage the young knight from his betrothed, that
she would add a new conquest to the many he had already
achieved. Artfully therefore he painted to Otho the various
attractions of the Holy Cause; and, above all, he failed
not to describe, with glowing colours, the beauties, who, in
the gorgeous East, distinguished with a prodigal favour the
warriors of the Cross. Dowries, unknown in the more sterile
mountains of the Rhine, accompanied the hand of these
beauteous maidens, and even a prince's daughter was not
256 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
deemed, he said, too lofty a marriage for the heroes who
might win kingdoms for themselves.
" To me," said the Templar, " such hopes are eternally
denied. But you, were you not already betrothed, what
fortunes might await you ! "
By such discourses the ambition of Otho was perpetually
aroused; they served to deepen his discontent at his present
obscurity, and to convert to distaste the only solace it
afforded in the innocence and affection of Leoline.
One night, a minstrel sought shelter from the storm in
the halls of Liebenstein. His visit was welcomed by the
chief, and he repaid the hospitality he had received by the
exercise of his art. He sung of the chace, and the gaunt
hound started from the hearth. He sung of love, and Otho
forgetting his restless dreams, approached to Leoline, and
laid himself at her feet. Louder then and louder rose the
strain. The minstrel sung of war ; he painted the feats of
the crusaders ; he plunged into the thickest of the battle ;
the steed neighed; the trump sounded; and you might
have heard the ringing of the steel. But when he came to
signalise the names of the boldest knights, high among the
loftiest sounded the name of Sir Warbeck of Liebenstein.
Thrice had he saved the imperial banner ; two chargers
slain beneath him, he had covered their bodies M'ith the
fiercest of the foe. Gentle in the tent and terrible in the
fray, the minstrel should forget his craft ere the Rhine
should forget its hero. The chief started from his seat.
Leoline clasped the minstrel's hand.
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 257
" Speak, you have seen him, he lives, he is honoured ? "
" I, myself, am but just from Palestine, brave chief and
noble maiden. I saw the gallant knight of Liebenstein
at the right hand of the imperial Conrad. And he, ladye,
was the only knight whom admiration shone upon without
envy, its shadow. Who then, (continued the minstrel,
once more striking his harp,) who then would remain
inglorious in the hall ? Shall not the banners of his sires
reproach him as they wave ; and shall not every voice from
Palestine strike shame into his soul ? "
" Right," cried Otho, suddenly, and flinging himself
at the feet of his father. " Thou hearest what my brother
has done, and thine aged eyes weep tears of joy. Shall /
only dishonour thine old age with a rusted sword. — No !
grant me like my brother to go forth with the heroes of
the Cross ! "
" Noble youth," cried the harper, " therein speaks the
soul of Sir Warbeck ; hear him. Sir Knight ; hear the
noble youth."
" The voice of Heaven cries aloud in his voice," said
the Templar, solemnly.
" My son, I cannot chide thine ardour," said the old
chief, raising him with trembling hands; "but Leoline,
thy betrothed ! "
Pale as a statue, with ears that doubted their sense as
they drank in the cruel words of her lover, stood the orphan.
She did not speak, she scarcely breathed; she sank into her
seat, and gazed upon the ground, till, at the speech of
258 THE PILGRIMS OF TIIK RHINK.
the chief, both maiden pride and maiden tenderness restored
her consciousness, and she said —
" 7, uncle ; shall I bid Otlio stay, when his wishes bid
him depart ? "
"He will return to thee, noble ladye, covered with glory,"
said the harper: but Otho said no more. The touching
voice of Leoline went to his soul ; he resumed his seat in
silence ; and Leoline, going up to him, whispered gently,
"Act as though I were not;"" and left the hall to commune
with her heart and to weep alone.
" I can wed her before I go," said Otho suddenly, as he
sate that night in the Templar's chamber.
" Why, that is true ! and leave thy bride in the first
week — a hard trial."
" Better than incur the chance of never calling her mine.
— Dear, kind, beloved Leoline ! "
" Assuredly she deserves all from thee ; and, indeed,
it is no small sacrifice, at thy years and with thy mien, to
renounce for ever all interest among the noble maidens
thou wilt visit. Ah, from the galleries of Constantinople
what eyes will look down on thee, and what ears, learning
that thou art Otho the bridegroom, will turn away, caring
for thee no more. A bridegroom without a bride ! Nay,
man, much as the Cross wants warriors, I am enough tliy
friend to tell thee, if thou weddest, stay peaceably at home,
and forget in the chace the labours of war, from which thou
wouldst strip the ambition of love."
" 1 would I knew what were best," said Otho irresolutely.
THF/PILORIiM.S OF THE RHINE. 259
" My brother — lia, shall he for ever outshine me ! —
but Leoiine, how will she grieve — she who left him
for me ! "
" Was that thy fault ? " said the Templar gaily. " It
may many times chance to thee again to be preferred to
another. Troth, it is a sin that the conscience may walk
lightly enough under. But sleep on it, Otho ; my eyes
grow heavy."
The next day Otho sought Leoiine, and proposed to her
that their wedding should precede his parting, but so
embarrassed was he, so divided between two wishes, that
Leoiine, offended, hurt, stung by his coldness, refused the
proposal at once ; she left him lest he should see her weep,
and then — then she repented even of her just pride !
But Otho, striving to appease his conscience with the
belief that her's now was the sole fault, busied himself in
preparations for his departure. Anxious to outshine his
brother, he departed not as Warbeck, alone and unattended,
but levying all the horse, men, and money that his domain
of Sternfels — which he had not yet tenanted — would
afford, he repaired to Frankfort at the head of a glittering
troop.
The Templar, affecting a relapse, tarried behind, and
promised to join him at that Constantinople of which he
had so loudly boasted. Meanwhile he devoted his whole
powers of pleasing to console the unhappy orphan. The
force of her simple love was, however, stronger than all his
arts. In vain he insinuated doubts of Otho ; she refused to
R
260 TTIE IMlXiUIMS OF THP: RHINE.
hear them : in vain he poured with the softest accents into
her ear the witchery of flattery and song : she turned heed-
lessly away ; and only pained by the courtesies that had
so little resemblance to Otho, she shut herself up in her
chamber, and pined in solitude for her forsaker.
The Templar now resolved to attempt darker arts to
obtain power over her, when fortunately he was summoned
suddenly away by a mission from the Grand Master, of so
high import, that it could not be resisted by a passion
stronger in his breast than love — the passion of ambition.
He left the castle to its solitude ; and Otho peopling it no
more with his gay companions, no solitude could be more
unfrequently disturbed.
Meanwhile though, ever and anon, the fame of Warbeck
reached their ears, it came unaccompanied with that of
Otho ; of him they heard no tidings : and thus the love of
the tender orphan was kept alive by the perpetual restless-
ness of fear. At length the old chief died, and Leoline
was left utterly alone.
One evening as she sate with her maidens in the hall, the
ringing of a steed's hoofs was heard in the outer court ; a
horn sounded, the heavy gates were unbarred, and a knight
of a stately mien and covered with the red mantle of the
Cross entered the hall ; he stopped for one moment at the
entrance, as if overpowered by his emotions; in the next he
had clasped Leoline to his breast !
" Dost thou not recognise thy cousin Warbeck?" He
doffed his casque, and she saw that majestic brow which,
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 261
unlike Otho's, had never changed or been clouded in its
aspect to her.
" The war is suspended for the present,*" said he. " I
learnt my father's death, and I have returned home to hang
up my banner in the hall, and spend my days in peace."
Time and the life of camps had worked their change
upon Warbeck's face ; the fair hair, deepened in its shade,
was worn from the temples, and disclosed one scar that
rather aided the beauty of a countenance that had always
something high and martial in its character ; but the calm
it once wore had settled down into sadness ; he conversed
more rarely than before, and though he smiled not less
often, or less kindly, the smile had more of thought,
and the kindness had forgot its passion. He had apparently
conquered a love that was so early crossed, but not that
fidelity of remembrance which made Leoline dearer to him
than all others, and forbade him to replace the images he
had graven upon his soul.
The orphan's lips trembled with the name of Otho,
but a certain recollection stifled even her anxiety. War-
beck hastened to forestall her questions.
" Otho was well,"" he said, " and sojourning at Constan-
tinople ; he had lingered there so long that the crusade had
terminated without his aid ; doubtless now he would speedily
return — a month, a week, nay, a day, might restore him to
her side."
Leoline was inexpressibly consoled, yet something
seemed untold. Why, so eager for the strife of the sacred
11 2
262 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
Tomb, had lie thus tarried at Constantinople ? 8he won-
dered, she wearied conjecture, but slie did not dare to
search farther.
The generous Warbeck concealed from her that Otho
led a life of the most reckless and indolent dissipation ;
wasting- his wealth in the pleasures of the Greek court, and
only occupying his ambition with the wild schemes of
founding a principality in those foreign climes, which the
enterprises of the Norman adventurers had rendered so
alluring to the knightly bandits of the age.
The cousins resumed their old friendship, and Warbeck
believed that it was friendship alone. They walked again
among the gardens in which their childhood had strayed ;
they sate again on the green turf whereon they had woven
flowers; they looked down on the eternal mirror of the
Rhine ; — ah ! could it have reflected the same unawakened
freshness of their life's early spring !
The grave and contemplative mind of Warbeck had not
been so contented with the honours of war, but that it had
sought also those calmer sources of emotion which were
yet found among the sages of the east. He had drunk at
the fountain of the wisdom of those distant climes, and had
acquired the habits of meditation which M^ere indulged by
those wiser tribes from which the crusaders brought back
to the north the knowledge that was destined to enlighten
their posterity. Warbeck, therefore, had little in common
with the ruder chiefs around; he summoned them not to
his board, or attended at their noisy wassails. Often late
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 263
at night, in yon shattered tower, his lonely lamp shone
still over the mighty stream, and his only relief to lone-
liness was the presence and the song of his soft cousin.
Months rolled on, when suddenly a vague and fearful
rumour reached the castle of Liebenstein. Otho was
returning home to the neighbouring tower of Sternfels;
but not alone. He brought back with him a Greek bride of
surprising beauty, and dowered with almost regal wealth.
Leoline was the first to discredit the rumour ; Leoline was
soon the only one who disbelieved.
Bright in the summer noon flashed the array of horse-
men ; far up the steep ascent wound the gorgeous caval-
cade ; the lonely towers of Liebenstein heard the echo of
many a laugh and peal of merriment. Otho bore home his
bride to the hall of Sternfels.
That night there was a great banquet in Otho's castle ;
the lights shone from every casement, and music swelled
loud and ceaselessly within.
By the side of Otho, glittering with the prodigal jewels
of the East, sate the Greek. Her dark locks, her flashing
eye, the false colours of her complexion, dazzled the eyes of
her guests. On her left hand sate the Templar.
" By the holy rood," quoth the Templar gaily, though
he crossed himself as he spoke, " we shall scare the owls to
night on those grim towers of Liebenstein. Thy grave
brother. Sir Otho, will have much to do to comfort his
cousin when she sees what a gallant life she would have
led with thee."
" Poor damsel ! " said the Greek, with affected pity,
264. THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
" doubtless she will now be reconciled to the rejected one.
I hear he is a knight of a comely mien."
" Peace ! " said Otho, sternly, and quaffing a large
goblet of wine.
The Greek bit her lip, and glanced meaningly at the
Templar, who returned the glance.
" Nought but a beauty such as thine can win my
pardon," said Otho, turning to his bride, and gazing
passionately in her face.
The Greek smiled.
Well sped the feast, the laugh deepened, the wine
circled, when Otho's eye rested on a guest at the bottom
of the board, whose figure was mantled from head to foot,
and whose face was covered by a dark veil.
" Beshrew me," said he aloud ; " but this is scarce
courteous at our revel; will the stranger vouchsafe to
unmask?"
These words turned all eyes to the figure, and they who
sate next it perceived that it trembled violently ; at length
it rose, and walking slowly, but with grace, to the fair
Greek, it laid beside her a wreath of flowers.
" It is a simple gift, ladye," said the stranger, in a voice
of such sweetness, that the rudest guest was touched by
it ; " but it is all I can offer, and the bride of Otho
should not be without a gift at my hands. May ye both
be happy ! "
Witli these words, the stranger turned and passed from
the hall silent as a shadow.
" Bring back the stranger!'" cried the Greek, recovering
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 265
her surprise. Twenty guests sprang up to obey her
mandate.
"No, no!" said Otho, waving his hand impatiently;
" Touch her not, heed her not at your peril."
The Greek bent over the flowers to conceal her anger,
and from amongst them dropped the broken half of a ring.
Otho recognised it at once ; it was the half of that ring
which he had broken with his betrothed. Alas, he required
not such a sign to convince him, that that figure so full of
ineffable grace, that touching voice, that simple action so
tender in its sentiment, that gift, that blessing, came only
from the forsaken and forgiving Leoline !
But Warbeck, alone in his solitary tower, paced to and
fro with agitated steps. Deep, undying wrath at his
brothers baseness, mingled with one burning, one delicious
hope. He confessed now that he had deceived himself
when he thought his passion was no more; was there any
longer a bar to his union with Leoline ?
In that delicacy which was breathed into him by his
love, he had forborne to seek, or to offer her the insult
of consolation. He felt that the shock should be borne
alone, and yet he pined, he thirsted, to throw himself at
her feet.
Nursing these contending thoughts, he was aroused by
a knock at his door ; he opened it — the passage was
thronged by Leoline's maidens; pale, anxious, weeping.
Leoline had left the castle, but with one female attendant ;
none knew whither; — they knew too soon. From the hall
266 '''m*' pil(;klms ok the khine.
of Sternfels she had passed over in the dark and inclement
night, to the valley in which the convent of Bornhofen
offered to the weary of spirit and the broken of heart, a
refuge at the shrine of God.
At daybreak, the next morning, Warbeck was at the
convent's g'ate. He saw Leoline : what a change one
night of suffering had made in that face, which was the
fountain of all loveliness to him. He clasped her in his
arms; he wept; he urged all that love could urge: he
besought her to accept that heart, which had never wronged
her memory by a thought. " Oh Leoline, didst thou not
say oiice that these arms nursed thy childhood ; that this
voice soothed thine early sorrows ! Ah, trust to them again
and for ever. From a love that forsook thee turn to the
love that never swerved."
" No," said Leoline ; " No. What would the chivalry
of which thou art the boast ; what would they say of thee,
if thou weddest one affianced and deserted, who tarried
years for another, and brought to thine arms only that
heart which he had abandoned ? No ; and even if thou, as
I know thou wouldst be, wert callous to such wrong of
thy high name, shall I bring to thee a broken heart, and
bruised spirit? shalt thou wed sorrow and not joy? and
shall sighs that will not cease, and tears that may not be
dried, be the only dowry of thy bride ? Thou, too, for
whom all blessings should be ordained? No, forget me;
forget thy poor Leoline ! She hath nothing but prayers
for thee/'
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 26T
In vain Warbeck pleaded ; in vain he urged all that
passion and truth could urge ; the springs of earthly love
were for ever dried up in the orphan's heart, and her
resolution was immoveable — she tore herself from his arms,
and the gate of the convent creaked harshly on his ear.
A new and stern emotion now wholly possessed him ;
naturally mild and gentle, when once aroused to anger,
he cherished it with the strength of a calm mind. Leo-
line's tears, her sufferings, her wrongs, her uncomplaining
spirit, the change already stamped upon her face, all cried
aloud to him for vengeance. " She is an orphan," said he,
bitterly ; " she hath none to protect, to redress her, save
me alone. My father's charge over her forlorn youth
descends of right to me. What matters it whether her
forsaker be my brother ? he is her foe. Hath he not crushed
her heart? Hath he not consigned her to sorrow till the
grave ? And with what insult ; no warning, no excuse ; with
lewd wassailers keeping revel for his new bridals in the
hearing, — before the sight, — of his betrothed. Enough ! the
time hath come, when, to use his own words, ' One of us
two must fall ! ' " He half drew his glaive as he spoke, and
thrusting it back violently into the sheath, strode home to
his solitary castle. The sound of steeds and of the hunting
horn met him at his portal; the bridal train of Sternfels,
all mirth and gladness, were panting for the chase.
That evening a knight in complete armour entered the
banquet-hall of Sternfels, and defied Otho, on the part of
Warbeck of Liebenstein, to mortal combat.
268 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
Even tlie Templar was startled by so unnatural a chal-
lenge ; but Otlio, reddening, took up the gage, and the
day and spot were ifixed. Discontented, wroth with himself,
a savage gladness seized him; — he longed to wreak his
desperate feelings even on his brother. Nor had he ever
in his jealous heart forgiven that brother his A'irtues and
his renown.
At the appointed hour the brothers met as foes. War-
beck's visor was up, and all the settled sternness of his soul
was stamped upon his brow. But Otho, more willing to
brave the arm than to face the front of his brother, kept his
visor down; the Templar stood by him with folded arms.
It was a study in human passions to his mocking mind.
Scarce had the first trump sounded to this dread conflict,
when a new actor entered on the scene. The rumour of
so unprecedented an event had not failed to reach the
convent of Bornhofen ; — and now, two by two, came the
sisters of the holy shrine, and the armed men made way, as
with trailing garments and veiled faces they swept along
into the very lists. At that moment one from amongst
them left her sisters, and with a slow majestic pace, paused
not till she stood right between the brother foes.
" Warbeck," she said in a hollow voice, that curdled up
his dark spirit as it spoke, " is it thus thou wouldst prove
thy love, and maintain thy trust over the fatherless orphan
that thy sire bequeathed to thy care ? Shall I have murder
on my soul?"" At that question she paused, and those who
heard it, wore struck dumb and shuddered. " The murder
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 269
of one man by tlie hand of his own brother ! — Away,
Warbeck ! / commancV
" Shall I forget thy wrongs, Leoline?" said Warbeck.
" Wrongs ! they united me to God ! they are for-
given, they are no more; earth has deserted me, but
heaven hath taken me to its arms ; — shall I murmur at the
change? And thou, Otho — (here her voice faltered) — thou,
does thy conscience smite thee not — wouldst thou atone
for robbing me of hope by barring against me the future"?
Wretch that I should be, could I dream of mercy — could
I dream of comfort, if thy brother fell by thy sword in my
cause ? Otho, I have pardoned thee, and blessed thee and
thine. Once, perhaps, thou didst love me ; remember how
I loved thee — cast down thine arms."
Otho gazed at the veiled form before him. Where had
the soft Leoline learned to command ! — He turned to his
brother ; he felt all that he had inflicted upon both ; and
casting his sword upon the ground, he knelt at the feet
of Leoline, and kissed her garment with a devotion that
votary never lavished on a holier saint.
The spell that lay over the warriors around was broken ;
there was one loud cry of congratulation and joy. " And
thou, Warbeck ! " said Leoline, turning to the spot where,
still motionless and haughty, Warbeck stood.
" Have I ever rebelled against thy will?" said he, softly;
and buried the point of his sword in the earth. — " Yet,
Leoline, yet," added he, looking at his kneeling brother,
" yet art thou already better avenged than by this steel ! "
270 'I'HIi PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
" Thou art ! thou art ! " cried Otho, smiting his breast ;
and slowly, and scarce noting the crowd that fell back from
his path, Warbeck left the lists.
Leoline said no more; her divine errand was fulfilled;
she looked long and wistfully after the stately form of the
knight of Liebenstein, and then, with a slight sigh, she
turned to Otho; " This is the last time we shall meet on
earth. Peace be with us all."
She then, with the same majestic and collected bear-
ing, passed on towards the sisterhood ; and as, in the same
solemn procession, they glided back towards the convent,
there was not a man present, no, not even the hardened
Templar, who would not, like Otho, have bent his knee to
Leoline.
Once more Otho plunged into the wild revelry of the age ;
his castle was thronged with guests, and night after night
the lighted halls shone down athwart the tranquil Rhine.
The beauty of the Greek, the wealth of Otho, the fame of
the Templar, attracted all the chivalry from far and near.
Never had the banks of the Rhine known so hospitable
a lord as the knight of Sternfels. Yet gloom seized him in
the midst of gladness, and the revel was welcome only as
the escape from remorse. The voice of scandal, however,
soon began to mingle with that of envy at the pomp of
Otho. The fair Greek, it was said, weary of her lord,
lavished her smiles on others; the young and the fair were
always most acceptable at the castle ; and, above all, her
guilty love for the Templar scarcely affected disguise. Otho
THE PILCKI.MS OF THE RHINE. 271
alone appeared unconscious of the rumour ; antl though
he had begun to neglect his bride, he relaxed not in his
intimacy with the Templar.
It was noon, and the Greek was sitting in her bower
alone with her suspected lover; the rich perfumes of the
East mingled with the fragrance of flowers, and various
luxuries, unknown till then in those northern shores, gave
a soft and effeminate character to the room.
" I tell thee," said the Greek petulantly, " that he begins
to suspect; that I have seen him watch thee, and mutter as
he watched, and play with the hilt of his dagger. Better
let us fly ere it is too late, for his vengeance would be
terrible were it once roused against us. Ah, why did I
ever forsake my own sweet land for these barbarous shores !
There, love is not considered eternal, and inconstancy a
crime worthy death."
" Peace, pretty one,"" said the Templar carelessly ; " thou
knowest not the laws of our foolish chivalry. Thinkest thou
I could fly from a knight's halls like a thief in the night ?
Why verily, even the red cross would not cover such dis-
honour. If thou fearest that thy dull lord suspects, why
let us part. The emperor hath sent to me from Frankfort.
Ere evening I might be on my way thither."
" And I left to brave the barbarian's revenge alone ? Is
this thy chivalry ? "
" Nay, prate not so wildly," answered the Templar.
" Surely, when the object of his suspicion is gone, thy
woman's art and thy Greek wiles can easily allay the jealous
272 THE i>ii>(;Rnis of the Rhine.
fiend. Do I not know thee, Glycera? Why thou wouldst
fool all men — save a Templar."
" And thou, cruel, wouldst thou leave me ? " said the
Greek weeping, " how shall I live without thee ? "
The Templar laughed slightly. " Can such eyes ever
weep without a comforter? But farewell; I must not be
found with thee. To-morrow I depart for Frankfort ; we
shall meet again."
As soon as the door closed on the Templar, the Greek
rose, and pacing the room, said, "Selfish, selfish; how
could I ever trust him ? Yet I dare not brave Otho alone.
Surely it was his step that disturbed us in our yesterday's
interview. Nay, I will fly. I can never want a com-
panion."
She clapped her hands; a young page appeared; she
threw herself on her seat and wept bitterly.
The page approached, and love was mingled with his
compassion.
" Why weepest thou, dearest lady?" said he; "is there
aught in which Conrade's services — services — ah, thou hast
read his heart — his devotion may avail ? "
Otho had wandered out the whole day alone ; his vassals
had observed that his brow was more gloomy than its wont,
for he usually concealed whatever might prey within.
Some of the most confidential of his servitors he had con-
ferred with, and the conference had deepened the shadow
on his countenance. He returned at twilight; the Greek
did not honour the repast with her presence. She was
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 273
unwell, and not to be disturbed. The gay Templar was
the life of the board.
" Thou carriest a sad brow to-day, Sir Otho," said he ;
" good faith, thou hast caught it from the air of Lieben-
stein."
" I have something troubles me," answered Otho, forcing
a smile, " which I would fain impart to thy friendly bosom.
The night is clear and the moon is up, let us forth alone
into the garden."
The Templar rose, and he forgot not to gird on his
sword as he followed the knight.
Otho led the way to one of the most distant terraces that
overhung the Rhine.
" Sir Templar," said he, pausing, " answer me one
question on thy knightly honour. Was it thy step that
left my lady's bower yester eve at vesper ? "
Startled by so sudden a query, the wily Templar faltered
in his reply.
The red blood mounted to Otho's brow ; " Nay, lie not,
sir knight; these eyes, thanks to God, have not witnessed,
but these ears have heard from others of, my dishonour."
As Otho spoke, the Templar's eye, resting on the water,
perceived a boat rowing fast over the Rhine ; the distance
forbade him to see more than the outline of two figures
within it. " She was right,'"' thought he ; " perhaps that
boat already bears her from the danger."
Drawing himself up to the full height of his tall stature,
the Templar replied haughtily —
274 TJIli PILORIMS OF TIIF. KIIINE.
*' Sir Otho of Sternfels, if thou hast deigned to question
thy vassals, obtain from them only an answer. It is not to
contradict such minions that the knights of the Temple
pledge their word."
" Enough," cried Otho, losing patience, and striking the
Templar with his clenched hand ; " draw, traitor, draw."
Alone in his lofty tower Warbeck watched the night
deepen over the heavens, and communed mournfully with
himself. " To what end," thought he, " have these strong
affections, these capacities of love, this yearning after
sympathy, been given me? Unloved and unknown 1 walk
to my grave, and all the nobler mysteries of my heart are
for ever to be untold."
Thus musing, he heard not the challenge of the warder
on the wall, or the unbarring of the gate below, or the
tread of footsteps along the winding stair; the door was
thrown suddenly open, and Otho stood before him.
" Come," he said, in a low voice trembling with passion;
" come, I will show thee that which shall glad thine heart.
Twofold is Leoline avenged."
Warbeck looked in amazement on a brother he had
not met since they stood in arms each against the other's
life, and he now saw that the arm that Otho extended to
him dripped with blood, trickling drop by drop upon the
floor.
" Come," said Otho, " follow me ; it is my last prayer.
Come, for Leoline's sake, come."
At that name Warbeck hesitated no longer ; he girded
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 275
on his sword, and followed his brother down the stairs and
throngh the castle gate. The porter scarcely believed his
eyes when he saw the two brothers, so long divided, go
forth at that hour alone, and seemingly in friendship.
Warbeck, arrived at that epoch in the feelings when
nothing stuns, followed with silent steps the rapid strides
of his brother. The two castles, as you are aware, are
scarce a stone's throw from each other. In a few minutes
Otho paused at an open space in one of the terraces of
Sternfels, on which the moon shone bright and steady.
"Behold," he said, in a ghastly voice, "behold!" and
Warbeck saw on the sward the corpse of the Templar,
bathed with the blood that even still poured fast and warm
from his heart.
"Hark!" said Otho. "He it was who first made me
waver in my vows to Leoline ; he persuaded me to wed
yon whited falsehood. Hark ! he, who had thus wronged
my real love, dishonoured me with my faithless bride, and
thus — thus — thus " — as grinding his teeth, he spurned again
and again the dead body of the Templar — " thus Leoline
and myself are avenged ! ''
" And thy wife ? " said Warbeck, pityingly.
a Fled — fled with a hireling page. It is well ! she
was ' not worth ; the sword that was once belted on— by
Leoline*."
The tradition, dear Gertrude, proceeds to tell us that
Otho, though often menaced by the rude justice of the
s
276 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
flay for the death of the Templar, defied and escaped the
menace. On the very night of his revenge a long delirious
illness seized him ; the generous Warbeck forgave, forgot
all, save that he had been once consecrated by Leoline's
love. He tended him through his sickness, and, when he
recovered, Otho was an altered man. He forswore the
comrades he had once courted, the revels he had once led.
The halls of Sternfels were desolate as those of Lieben-
stein. The only companion Otho sought was Warbeck,
and Warbeck bore with him. They had no subject in
common, for on one subject Warbeck at least felt too
deeply ever to trust himself to speak ; yet did a strange
and secret sympathy reunite them. They had at least a
common sorrow ; often they were seen wandering together
by the solitary banks of the river, or amidst the woods,
without apparently interchanging word or sign. Otho died
first, and still in the prime of youth ; and Warbeck was
now left companionless. In vain the imperial court wooed
him to its pleasures ; in vain the camp proffered him the
oblivion of renown. Ah ! could he tear himself from a
spot where morning and night he could see afar, amidst
the valley, the roof that sheltered Leoline, and on which
every copse, every turf, reminded him of former days ? His
solitary life, his midnight vigils, strange scrolls about his
chamber, obtained him by degrees the repute of cultivating
the darker arts ; and shunning, he became shunned by, all.
But still it was sweet to hear from time to time of the
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 277
increasing sanctity of her in whom he had garnered up his
lost thoughts of ^ earth. She it was who healed the sick ;
she it was who relieved the poor ; and the superstition of
that age brought pilgrims from afar to the altars that she
served.
Many years afterwards, a band of lawless robbers, who,
ever and anon, broke from their mountain fastnesses, to pil-
lage, and to desolate the valleys of the Rhine ; who spared
neither sex nor age ; neither tower not hut ; nor even the
houses of God himself; laid waste the territories round
Bornhofen, and demanded treasure from the convent. The
abbess, of the bold lineage of Rudesheim, refused the sacri-
legious demand ; the convent was stormed ; its vassals
resisted ; the robbers, enured to slaughter, won the day ;
already the gates were forced, when a knight at the head
of a small but hardy troop, rushed down from the mountain
side, and turned the tide of the fray. Wherever his sword
flashed, fell a foe. Wherever his war-cry sounded, was a
space of dead men in the thick of the battle. The fight was
won ; the convent saved ; the abbess and their sisterhood
came forth to bless their deliverer. Laid under an aged
oak, he was bleeding fast to death ; his head was bare and
his locks were grey, but scarcely yet with years. One
only of the sisterhood recognised that majestic face ; one
bathed his parched lips ; one held his dying hand ; and in
Leoline's presence past away the faithful spirit of the last
Lord of Liebenstein !
s 2
278 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE,
* Oh ! " said Gertrude, through her tears, " surely you
must have altered the facts, — surely — surely — it must
have been impossible for Leoline, with a woman's heart,
to have loved Othomore than Warbeek?"
" My child,"" said Vane, " so think women when they
read a tale of love, and see the whole heart bared before
them ; but not so act they in real life — when they see
only the surface of character, and pierce not its depths —
until it is too late ! "
CHAPTER XXV.
The immortality of the soul. — a common incident not before described. —
trevylyan and gertrude.
The day now grew cool as it waned to its decline, and
the breeze came sharp upon the delicate frame of the
suiFerer. They resolved to proceed no further; and as
they carried with them attendants and baggage, which
rendered their route almost independent of the ordinary
accommodation, they steered for the opposite shore, and
landed at a village beautifully sequestered in a valley, and
where they fortunately obtained a lodging not often met
with in the regions of the picturesque.
When Gertrude, at an early hour, retired to bed. Vane
and Du e fell into speculative conversation upon the
nature of man. Vane's philosophy was of a quiet and
passive scepticism ; the physician dared more boldly, and
rushed from doubt to negation. The attention of Trevylyan,
as he sate apart and musing, was arrested in despite of him-
self He listened to an argument in which he took no
share ; but which suddenly inspired him with an interest in
that awful subject, which in the heat of youth and the
280 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
occupations of the world had never been so prominently
called forth before.
" Great God ! " thought he, with unutterable anguish,
as he listened to the earnest vehemence of the Frenchman,
and the tranquil assent of Vane ; " if this creed were
indeed true, — if there be no other world — Gertrude is
lost to me eternally, — through the dread gloom of death
there would break forth no star!"
That is a peculiar incident that perhaps occurs to us all at
times, but which I have never found expressed in books; —
viz. to hear a doubt of futurity at the very moment in which
the present is most overcast; and to find at once this world
stripped of its delusion, and the next of its consolation.
It is perhaps for others, rather than ourselves, that the fond
heart requires an Hereafter. The tranquil rest, the shadow,
and the silence, the mere pause of the wheel of life, have
no terror for the wise, who know the due value of the
world —
" After the billows of a stormy sea,
Sweet is at last the haven of repose ! "
But not so when that stillness is to divide us eternally
from others ; when those we have loved with all the passion,
the devotion, the watchful sanctity of the weak human
heart, are to exist to us no more ! — when, after long years
of desertion and widowhood on earth, there is to be no
hope of re-union in that Invisible beyond the stars ; when
the torch, not of life only, but of love, is to be quenched in
the Dark Fountain ; and the grave, that we would fain hope
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE, 281
is the great restorer of broken ties, is but the dumb seal
of hopeless — utter — inexorable separation ! And it is this
thought — this sentiment, which makes religion out of woe,
and teaeheth belief to the mourning heart, that in the
gladness of united affections felt not the necessity of a
heaven ! To how many is the death of the beloved, the
parent of faith !
Stung by his thoughts Trevylyan rose abruptly, and
stealing from the lowly hostelry, walked forth amidst the
serene and deepening night ; from the window of Gertrude's
room the light streamed calm on the purple air.
With uneven steps and many a pause, he paced to and
fro beneath the window, and gave the rein to his thoughts.
How intensely he felt the all that Gertrude was to him ;
how bitterly he foresaw the change in his lot and character
that her death would work out ! For who that met him
in later years ever dreamt that emotions so soft, and yet so
ardent, had visited one so stern? Who ever could have
believed that time was, when the polished and cold Tre-
vylyan had kept the vigils he now held, below the chamber
of one so little like himself as Gertrude, in that remote and
solitary hamlet ; shut in by the haunted mountains of the
Rhine, and beneath the moonlight of the romantic North.
While thus engaged, the light in Gertrude's room was
suddenly extinguished ; it is impossible to express how much
that trivial incident affected him ! It was like an emblem
of what was to come; the light had been the only evi-
dence of life that broke upon that hour, and he was now
282 TIIl^ PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
left alone with the shades of night. Was not this like the
herald of Gertrude's own death ; the extinction of the only
living ray that broke upon the darkness of the world?
His anguish, his presentiment of utter desolation, in-
creased. He groaned aloud ; he dashed his clenched hand
to his breast — large and cold drops of agony stole down his
brow. " Father," he exclaimed with a struggling voice,
*' let this cup pass from me ! Smite my ambition to the
root ; curse me with poverty, shame, and bodily disease ;
but leave me this one solace, this one companion of
my fate ! "
At this moment Gertrude's window opened gently, and
he heard her accents steal soothingly upon his ear.
" Is not that your voice, Albert?" said she, softly; " I
heard it just as I laid down to rest, and could not sleep
while you were thus exposed to the damp night air.
You do not answer ; surely it is your voice ; when did
I mistake it for another's ?*"
Mastering with a violent effort his emotions, Trevylyan
answered, with a sort of convulsive gaiety —
" Why come to these shores, dear Gertude, unless you
are honoured with the chivalry that belongs to them ? What
wind, what blight, can harm me while within the circle of
your presence ; and what sleep can bring me dreams so
dear as the waking thought of you ? "
" It is cold," said Gertrude, shivering; " come in, dear
Albert, I beseech you, and I will thank you to-morrow."
Gertrude's voice was choked by the hectic cough, that
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 283
went like an arrow to Trevylyan''s heart ; and lie felt that
in her anxiety for him she was now exposing her own
frame to the unwholesome night.
He spoke no more, but hurried within the house ; and
when the grey light of morn broke upon his gloomy
features, haggard from the want of sleep, it might have
seemed, in that dim eye and fast sinking cheek, as if the
lovers were not to be divided, — even by death itself.
CHAPTER XXVI.
IN WHICH THE READER WILL LEARN HOW THE FAIRIES WERE RECEIVED BY THE
SOVEREIGNS OF THE MINES THE COMPLAINT OF THE LAST OF THE FAUNS.
THE RED HUNTSMAN THE STORM. DEATH.
In the deep valley of Eliventhal, the metal kings — the
Prince of the Silver Palaces, the Gnome Monarch of the
dull Lead Mine, the President of the Copper United States,
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 285
held a court to receive the fairy wanderers from the island
of Nonnewerth.
The Prince was there, in a gallant hunting suit of oak
leaves, in honour to England ; and wore a profusion of fairy-
orders, which had been instituted from time to time, in
honour of the human poets that had celebrated the spiritual
and etherial tribes. Chief of these, sweet Dreamer of the
Midsummer Night's Dream, was the badge crystallised
from the dews that rose above the whispering reeds of
Avon, on the night of thy birth — the great epoch of the
intellectual world ! Nor wert thou, oh beloved Musseus, nor
thou, dim-dreaming Tieck; nor were ye, the wild imaginer
of the bright-haired Undine, and the wayward spirit that
invoked for the gloomy Manfred the witch of the breathless
Alps, and the spirits of earth and air ;— nor were ye without
the honours of fairy homage ! Your memory may fade from
the heart of man, and the spells of newer enchanters may-
succeed to the charm you once wove over the face of the
common world ; but still in the green knolls of the haunted
valley and the deep shade of forests, and the starred
palaces of air, ye are honoured by the beings of your
dreams, as demigods and kings ! Your graves are tended
by invisible hands, and the places of your birth are
hallowed by no perishable worship.
Even as I write * ; far away amidst the hills of Caledon,
» It was just at the time the author was finishing this work, that the
Great Master of his art was drawing to ihe close of his career.
286 THE PILGKIMS OF THE RHINE.
and by the forest thou hast clothed with immortal verdure ;
thou, the waker of " the Harp by lone GlenfiUan's spring,"
art passing from the earth which thou hast " painted with
delight." And such are the chances of mortal fame ! Our
children's children may raise new idols on the site of thy
holy altar, and cavil where tlieir sires adored; but for thee
the mermaid of the ocean shall wail in her coral caves ; and
the sprite that lives in the waterfalls shall mourn ! Strange
shapes shall hew thy monument in the recesses of the lonely
rocks ; ever by moonlight shall the fairies pause from their
roundel when some wild note of their minstrelsy reminds
them of thine own ; — ceasing from their revelries, to weep
for the silence of that mighty lyre, which breathed alike a
revelation of the mysteries of spirits and of men !
The King of the Silver Mines sate in a cavern in the
valley, through which the moon just pierced and slept in
shadow on the soil shining with metals wrought into
unnumbered shapes ; and below him, on a humbler throne,
with a grey beard and downcast eye, sate the aged King
of the Dwarfs that preside over the dull realms of lead,
and inspire the verse of , and the prose of !
And there too, a fantastic household elf, was the President
of the Copper Republic — a spirit that loves economy and
the Uses, and smiles sparely on the Beautiful. But, in the
centre of the cave, upon beds of the softest mosses, the
untrodden growth of ages, reclined the fairy visiters —
Nymphalin seated by her betrothed. And round the walls
of the cave Mere dwarf attendants on the sovereigns of
THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 287
the metals, of a thousand odd shapes, and fantastic gar-
ments. On tlie abrupt ledges of the rocks the bats, charmed
to stillness but not sleep, clustered thickly, watching the
scene with fixed and amazed eyes : and one old grey owl,
the favoarite of the witch of the valley, sat blinking in a
corner, listening with all her might that she might bring
home the scandal to her mistress.
" And tell me, Prince of the Rhine-Island Fays," said
the King of the Silver Mines, " for thou art a traveller,
and a fairy that hath seen much, how go men's alfairs in
the upper world ? As to ourself, we live here in a stupid
splendour, and only hear the ne\vs of the day when our
brother of lead pays a visit to the English printing press
or the President of Copper goes to look at his improve-
ments in steam engines.
" Indeed," replied Fayzenheim, preparing to speak, like
^^neas in the Carthaginian court; " indeed, your majesty,
I know not much that will interest you in the present
aspect of mortal affairs, except that you are quite as much
honoured at this day as when the Roman conqueror bent
his knee to you among the mountains of Taunus ; and a
vast number of little round subjects of yours are constantly
carried about by the rich, and pined after with hopeless
adoration by the poor. But, begging your majesty's par-'
don, may I ask what has become of your cousin, the King
of the Golden Mines? I know very well that he has no
dominion in these valleys, and do not therefore wonder at
his absence from your court this night, but I see so little of
288 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
his subjects on earth that 1 should fear his empire was well
nigh at an end, if I did not recognise everywhere the most
servile homage paid to a power now become almost
invisible."
The King of the Silver Mines fetched a deep sigh.
" Alas, prince," said he, " too well do you divine the
expiration of my cousin's empire. So many of his subjects
have from time to time gone forth to the world, pressed
into military service and never returning, that his kingdom
is nearly depopulated. And he lives far off in the distant
parts of the earth in a state of melancholy seclusion ; the
age of gold has passed, the age of paper has commenced- "
" Paper," said Nymphalin, who was still somewhat of
a precieuse ; "paper is a wonderful thing. What pretty
books the human people write upon it."
" Ah ! that's what I design to convey," said the Silver
King. "It is the age less of paper money than paper
government, the press is the true bank." The lord trea-
surer of the English fairies pricked up his ears at the word
*' bank." For he was the Attwood of the fairies : he had a
favourite plan of making money out of bulrushes, and had
written four large bees'-wings-fuU upon the true nature
of capital.
While they were thus conversing, a sudden sound as of
some rustic and rude music broke along the air, and closing
its wild burthen, they heard the following song : —
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 289
THE COMPLAINT OF THE LAST FAUN.
I.
The moon on the Latmos mountain
Her pining vigil keeps ;
And ever the silver fountain
In the Dorian valley weeps.
But gone are Endymion's dreams ; —
And the crystal lymph
Bewails the nymph
Whose beauty sleeked the streams !
II.
Round Aready's oak, its green
The Bromian ivy weaves;
But no more is the satyr seen
Laughing out from the glossy leaves.
Hushed is the Lycian lute,
Still grows the seed
Of the Moenale reed,
But the pipe of Pan is mute !
III.
The leaves in the noon-day quiver ; —
The vines on the mountains wave; —
And Tiber rolls his river
As fresh by the Sylvan's cave ;
But my brothers are dead and gone ; —
And far away
From their graves I stray,
And dream of the Past alone !
290 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
IV.
And the sun of the north is chill; —
And keen is the northern gale ; —
Alas for the song on the Argive hill ;
And the dance in the Cretan vale ! —
The youth of the earth is o'er,
And its breast is rife
With the teeming life
Of the golden Tribes no more !
V.
My race are more blest than I,
Asleep in their distant bed ;
'Twere better, be sure, to die
Than to mourn for the buried Dead ; —
To rove by the stranger streams,
At dusk and dawn
A lonely faun,
The last of the Grecian's dreams.
As the song ended a shadow crossed the moonlight, that
lay white and lustrous before the aperture of the cavern »
and Nymphalin, looking up, beheld a graceful, yet gro-
tesque figure standing on the sward without, and gazing on
the group in the cave. It was a shaggy form, with a goat's
legs and ears ; but the rest of its body, and the height of
the stature, like a man's. An arch, pleasant, yet malicious
smile, played about its lips ; and in its hand it held the
pastoral pipe of which poets have sung ; — they would find
it difficult to sing; to it !
" And who art thou ? " said Fayzenheim, with the air of
a hero.
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 291
" I am the last lingering wanderer of the race which the
Romans worshipped : hither I followed their victorious steps,
and in these green hollows have I remained. Sometimes in
the still noon, when the leaves of spring bud upon the
whispering woods, I peer forth from my rocky lair, and
startle the peasant with my strange voice and stranger
shape. Then goes he home, and puzzles his thick brain
with mopes and fancies, till at length he imagines me, the
creature of the south, one of his northern demons, and his
poets adapt the apparition to their barbarous lines.''"'
" Ho ! " quoth the Silver King, " surely thou art the
origin of the fabled Satan of the cowled men living whilome
in yonder ruins, M'ith its horns and goatish limbs : and the
harmless Faun has been made the figuration of the most
implacable of fiends. But why, O wanderer of the south,
lingerest thou in these foreign dells ? "Why returnest thou
not to the mountains of Achaia, or the wastes around the
yellow course of the Tiber ? "
" My brethren are no more," said the poor Faun; " and
the very faith that left us sacred and unharmed is departed.
But here all the spirits not of mortality are still honoured ;
and I wander, mourning for Silenus ; though amidst the
vines that should console me for his loss."
" Thou hast known great beings in thy day," said
the Leaden King, who loved the philosophy of a truism
(and the history of whose inspirations I shall one day
write).
" Ah, yes," said the Faun, " my birth was amidst the
freshness of the world, when the flush of the universal
292
THE PIIXJRIMS OF THE RHINE.
life coloured all things with divinity; when not a tree but
had its Dryad — not a fountain that was without its Nymph.
I sate by the grey throne of Saturn, in his old age, ere yet
he was discrowned; (for he was no visionary ideal, but the
arcli monarch of the pastoral age;) and heard from his lips
the history of the world's birth. But those times are gone
for ever — they have left harsh successors."
" It is the age of paper,"" muttered the Lord Treasurer,
shaking his head,
" What ho, for a dance ! " cried Fayzenheim, too royal
for moralities, and he whirled the beautiful Nymphalin into
a waltz. Then forth issued the fairies, and out went the
dwarfs. And the Faun leaning against an aged elm, ere yet
the midniffht waned, the elves danced their charmed round
to the antique minstrelsy of his pipe— the minstrelsy of the
Grecian world !
" Hast thou seen yet, my Nymphalin," said Fayzen-
heim in the pauses of the dance ; " the recess of the
Hartz, and the red form of its mighty hunter?"
" It is a fearful sight," answered Nymphalin ; " but
with thee I should not fear."
« Away, then," cried Fayzenheim ; " let us away, at
the first cock-crow, into those shagged dells, for there
is no need of night to conceal us, and the unwitnessed
blush of morn, or the dreary silence of noon, is, no less
than the moon's reign, the season for the sports of the
superhuman tribes."
Nymphalin, charmed with the proposal, readily assented,
and at the last hour of night, bestriding the starbeams of
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 293
the many-titled Friga, away sped the fairy cavalcade to
the gloom of the mystic Hartz.
Fain would I relate the manner of their arrival in the
thick recesses of the forest; how they found the Red
Hunter seated on a fallen pine beside a wide chasm in
the earth, with the arching boughs of the wizard oak
wreathing above his head as a canopy, and his bow and
spear lying idle at his feet. Fain would I tell of the recep-
tion which he deigned to the fairies, and how he told them
of his ancient victories over man ; how he chafed at the
gathering invasions of his realm, and how joyously he
gloated of some great convulsion in the northern states,
which, rapt into moody reveries in these solitary woods,
the fierce demon broodingly foresaw. All these fain would
I narrate, but they are not of the Rhine, and my story will
not brook the delay. While thus conversing with the
fiend, noon had crept on and the sky had become overcast
and lowering; the giant trees waved gustily to and fro,
and the low gatherings of the thunder announced the
approaching storm. Then the Hunter arose and stretched
his mighty limbs, and seizing his spear, he strode rapidly
into the forest to meet the things of his own tribe that
the tempest wakes from their rugged lair.
A sudden recollection broke upon Nymphalin. " Alas,
alas ! " she cried, wringing her hands ; " what have I
done ! In journeying hither with thee, I have forgotten my
office. I have neglected my watch over the elements, and
my human charge is at this hour, perhaps, exposed to all
the fury of the storm."
T
294 TfTR PTI.ORTMS OF TTTK RTTTNE.
'• CliOGV thee, my Nymplialin," said the prince, " we
will lay the tempest," and he waved his sword and
muttered the charms which curb the winds and roll back the
marching thunder; but for once the tempest ceased not at
his spells ; and now, as the fairies sped along the troubled
air, a pale and beautiful form met them by the way,
and the fairies paused and trembled. For the power of
that Shape could vanquish even them. It was the form of
a Female, with golden hair, crowned with a chaplet of
withered leaves ; her bosoms, of an exceeding beauty, lay
bare to the wind, and an infant was clasped between them,
hushed into a sleep so still, that neither the roar of the
thunder,^ nor the livid lightning flashing from cloud to
cloud, could even ruffle, much less arouse, the slumberer.
And the face of the Female was unutterably calm and sweet,
(though with a something of severe,) there was no line or
wrinkle in her hueless brow ; care never wrote its defacing
characters upon that everlasting beauty. It knew no
sorrow or change ; ghost-like and shadowy floated on that
Shape through the abyss of Time, governing the world
with an unquestioned and noiseless sway. And the children
of the green solitudes of the earth — the lovely fairies of
my tale, shuddered as they gazed and recognised — the
form of DEATH !
DEATH VINDICATED.
" And why,"" said the beautiful Shape, with a voice soft as
the last sighs of a dying babe : " why trouble ye the air with
spells ; mine is the hour and the empire, and the storm is
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 295
the creature of my power. Far yonder to the west it sweeps
over the sea, and the ship ceases to vex the waves ; it
smites the forest, and the destined tree, torn from its roots,
feels the winter strip tlie gladness from its boughs no
more ! — The roar of the elements is the herald of eternal
stillness to their victims ; and they who hear the progress
of my power, idly sluidder at the coming of peace. And
thou, O tender daughter of the faery kings, why grievest
tliou at a mortaPs doom ? Knowest thou not that sorrow
Cometh with years, and that to live is to mourn ? Blessed
is the flower tiiat, nipped in its early spring, feels not the
blast that one by one scatters its blossoms around it, and
leaves but the barren stem. Blessed are the young wdiom I
clasp to my breast, and lull into the sleep which the storm
cannot break, nor the morrow arouse to sorrow or to toil.
The heart that is stilled in the bloom of its first emotions, —
that turns with its last throb to the eye of love, as yet
unlearned in the possibility of change, — has exhausted
already the wine of life, and is saved only from the lees.
As the mother soothes to sleep the wail of her troubled
child, I open my arms to the vexed spirit, and my bosom
cradles the unquiet to repose ! "
The fairies answered not, for a chill and a fear lay over
them, and the Shape glided on; ever as it passed away
through the veiling clouds, they heard its low voice singing
amidst tiie roar of the storm, as the dirge of the water-
sprite over the vessel it hath lured into the whirlpool or
the shoals.
CHAPTER XXVII.
THURMBERG. A STORM UPON THE RHINE THE RUINS OF RHEINFELS. PERIL UNFELT
BY LOVE THE ECHO OF THE LURLEI-BERG. ST. GOAR. KAUB, GUTENFELS, AND
FFALZGRAPENSTEIN A CERTAIN VASTNESS OF MIND IN THE FIRST HERMITS.
THE SCENERY OF THE RHINE TO BACHARACH.
Our party continued their voyage the next day, which was
less bright than any they had yet experienced. The clouds
swept on dull and heavy, suffering the sun only to break
forth at scattered intervals; they wound round the curving
bay which the Rhine forms in that part of its course ; and
gazed upon the ruins of Thurmberg with the rich gar-
dens that skirt the banks below. The last time Trevylyan
had seen those ruins soaring against the sky, the green
foliage at the foot of the rocks, and the quiet village
sequestered beneath, glassing its roofs and solitary tower
upon the wave, it had been with a gay summer troop of
light friends, who had paused on the opposite shore during
the heats of noon, and, over wine and fruits, had mimicked
the groups of Boccaccio, and intermingled the lute, the
jest, the momentary love, and the laughing tale*.
* Vide Frontispiere of Tlmrmberg.
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 397
What a difiference now in his thoughts — in the object of
the voyage — in his present companions ! The feet of years
fall noiseless ; we heed, we note them not, till tracking the
same course we passed long since, we are startled to find
how deep the impression they leave behind. To revisit the
scenes of our youth is to commune with the ghost of our-
selves.
At this time the clouds gathered rapidly along the
heavens, and they were startled by the first peal of the thun-
der. Sudden and swift came on the storm, and Trevylyan
trembled as he covered Gertrude's form with the rude boat-
cloaks they had brought with them ; the small vessel began
to rock wildly to and fro upon the waters. High above them
rose the vast dismantled Ruins of Rheinfels, the light-
ning darting through its shattered casements and broken
arches, and brightening the gloomy trees that here and there
clothed the rocks, and tossed to the angry wind. Swift
wheeled the water birds over the river, dipping their
plumage in the white foam, and uttering their discordant
screams. A storm upon the Rhine has a grandeur it is
in vain to paint. Its rocks, its foliage, the feudal ruins that
everywhere rise from the lofty heights — speaking in cha-
racters of stern decay of many a former battle against time
and tempest ; the broad and rapid course of the legendary
river all harmonise with the elementary strife ; and you
feel that to see the Rhine only in the sunshine is to be
unconscious of its most majestic aspects. What baronial
war had those ruins witnessed ! From the rapine of
298 '^"K PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
the lordly tyrant of those battlements rose the first Con-
federation of the Rhine— the great strife between the new-
time and the old — the town and the castle — the citizen and
the chief. Grey and stern those ruins breasted the storm
— a type of the antique opinion which once manned them
with armed serfs ; and, yet in ruins and decay, appeals from
the victorious freedom it may no longer resist !
Clasped in Trevylyan's guardian arms, and her head
pillowed on his breast, Gertrude felt nothing of the storm
save its grandeur; and Trevylyan's voice whispered cheer
and courage to her ear. She answered by a smile, and a
sigh, but not of pain. In the convulsions of nature we forget
our own separate existence, our schemes, our projects, our
fears ; our dreams vanish back into their cells. One passion
only the storm quells not, and the presence of Love mingles
with the voice of the fiercest storms, as with the whispers
of the southern wind. So she felt, as they were thus
drawn close together, and as she strove to smile away
the anxious terror from Trevylyan's gaze — a security, a
delight; for peril is sweet even to the fears of woman
when it impresses upon her yet more vividly that she is
beloved.
" A moment more and we reach the land,'** murmured
Trevylyan.
" I wish it not," answered Gertrude, softly. But ere
they got into St. Goar the rain descended in torrents, and
even the thick coverings round Gertrude's form were not
sufficient protection against it. Wet and dripping she
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 299
reached the inn : but not then, nor for some days, was she
sensible of the shock lier decaying health had received.
The storm lasted but a few hours, and the sun afterwards
broke forth so brightly, and the stream looked so inviting,
that they yielded to Gertrude's earnest wish, and, taking a
larger vessel, continued their course ; they passed along the
narrow and dangerous defile of the Gewirre, and the fear-
ful whirlpool of the " Bank ; " and on the shore to the left
the enormous rock of Lurlei rose, huge and shapeless, on
their gaze. In this place is a singular echo, and one of the
boatmen wound a horn, which produced an almost super-
natural music — so wild, loud, and oft reverberated was its
sound.
The river now curved along in a narrow and deep channel
amongst rugged steeps, on which the westering sun cast
long and uncouth shadows : and here the hermit, from
whose sacred name the town of St. Goar derived its own,
fixed his abode and preached the religion of the Cross.
" There was a certain vastness of mind," said Vane, "in the
adoption of utter solitude in which the first enthusiasts of
our religion indulged. The remote desert, the solitary rock,
the rude dwelling hollowed from the cave, the eternal com-
mune with their own hearts, with nature, and their dreams
of God, all make a picture of severe and preterhuman
grandeur. Say what we will of the necessity and charm of
social life, there is a greatness about man when he dispenses
with mankind."
" As to that," said l)u e, shrugging his shoulders
300 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
" tlicrc was probably very good wine in the neighbour-
hood, and the females' eyes about Oberwesel are singu-
larly blue."
They now approached Oberwesel, another of the once
imperial towns, and behind it beheld the remains of the
castle of the illustrious family of Schomberg : the ancestors
of the old hero of the Boyne. A little further on, from
the opposite shore, the castle of Gutenfels rose above the
busy town of Kaub.
" Another of those scenes," said Trevylyan, " celebrated
equally by love and glory, for the castle's name is derived
from that of the beautiful ladye of an emperor's passion ;
and below, upon a ridge in the steep, the great Gustavus
issued forth his command to begin battle with the Spaniards."
" It looks peaceful enough now,"" said Vane, pointing to
the craft that lay along the stream, and the green trees droop-
ing over a curve in the bank. Beyond, in the middle of the
stream itself, stands the lonely castle of Pfalzgrafenstein,
sadly memorable as a prison to the more distinguished
of criminals. How many pining eyes may have turned from
those casements to the vine-clad hills of the free shore ; how-
many indignant hearts have nursed the deep curses of hate
in the dungeons below, and longed for the wave, that dashed
against the grey walls, to force its way within and set them
free!
Here the Rhine seems utterly bounded, shrunk into one
of those delusive lakes into which it so frequently seems to
change its course ; and as you proceed, it is as if the waters
SAXraDER-S A CT
302 '•'11''" I'lUJRlMS OF THE RHINE.
were silently overflowing their channel and forcing their
way into the clefts of the mountain shore. Passing the
Werth Island on one side, and the castle of Stahleck on
the other, our voyagers arrived at Bacharach, wdiich,
associating the feudal recollections with the classic, takes
its name from the god of the vine ; and, as Du e
declared with peculiar emphasis, quaffing a large goblet
of the peculiar liquor, " richly deserves the honour ! "
CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE VOYAGE TO BINGEN.-^THE SIMPLE INCIDENTS IN THIS TALE EXCUSED. THE SITUA-
TION AND CHARACTER OF GERTRUDE. THE CONVERSATION OF THE LOVERS IN THE
TEMPLE. A FACT CONTRADICTED. THOUGHTS OCCASIONED BY A MADHOUSE AMONGST
THE MOST BEAUTIFUL LANDSCAPES OF THE RHINE.
The next day they again resumed their voyage, and
Gertrude's spirits were more cheerful than usual ; the air
seemed to her lighter, and she breathed with a less effort :
once more hope entered the breast of Trevylyan ; and, as
the vessel bounded on, their conversation was steeped in
no sombre hues. When Gertrude's health permitted, no
temper was so gay, yet so gently gay, as hers ; and now
the naive sportiveness of her remarks called a smile to
the placid lip of Vane, and smoothed the anxious front
of Trevylyan himself; as for Du e, who had much
of the boon companion beneath his professional gravity,
he broke out every now and then into snatches of French
songs and drinking glees, which he declared were the
result of the air of Bacharach. Thus conversing, the
ruins of Furstenberg, and the echoing vale of Rheindeibach,
glided past their sail. Then the old town of Lorch, on
the opposite bank, (where the red wine is said first to have
304 'rilR PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
been made,) with the green island before it in the water.
Winding round, the stream showed castle upon castle alike
in ruins, and built alike upon scarce accessible steeps.
Then came the chapel of St. Clements, and the opposing
village of Asmannshausen ; the lofty Rosseil, built at the
extremest verge of the cliff; and now the tower of Hatto,
celebrated by Southey's ballad; and the ancient town of
Bingen. Here they paused for some while from their
voyage, with the intention of visiting more minutely the
Rheingau, or valley of the Rhine.
It must occur to every one of my readers that, in
undertaking, as now, in these passages in the history of
Trevylyan, scarcely so much a tale as an episode in real
life, it is very difficult to offer any interest save of the most
simple and unexciting kind. It is true that to Trevylyan
every day, every hour, had its incident; but what are
those incidents to others ? A cloud in the sky, a smile from
the lip of Gertrude ; these were to him far more full of
events than had been the most varied scenes of his former
adventurous career; but the history of the heart is not
easily translated into language ; and the world will not
readily pause from its business to watch the alternations in
the cheek of a dying girl.
In the immense sum of human existence, what is a single
unit ? Every sod on which we tread is the grave of some
former being : yet is there something that softens, without
enervating the heart, in tracing in the life of another those
emotions that all of us have known ourselves. For who
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 305
is tliere that has not, in his progress through life, felt all
its ordinary business arrested, and the varieties of fate
commuted into one chronicle of the aflFections ? Who has
not watched over the passing away of some being, more to
him, at that epoch, than all the world ? And this unit, so
trivial to the calculation of others, of what inestimable value
was it not to him? Retracing in another such recollec-
tions, shadowed and mellowed down by time, we feel the
wonderful sanctity of human life ; we feel what emotions
a single being can awake ; what a world of hope may be
buried in a single grave. And thus we keep alive within
ourselves the soft springs of that morality which unites us
with our kind, and sheds over the harsh scenes and turbu-
lent contests of earth the colouring of a common love.
There is often, too, in the time of year in which sucii
thoughts are presented to us, a certain harmony with the
feelings they awaken. As I write, I hear the last sighs
of the departing summer, and the sere and yellow leaf is
visible in the green of nature. But, when this book goes
forth into the world, the year will have past through a
deeper cycle of decay; and the first melancholy signs of
winter have breathed into the Universal Mind, that sadness
which associates itself readily with the memory of friends,
of feelings, that are no morCo The seasons, like ourselves,
track their course, by something of beauty, or of glory,
that is left behind. As the traveller in the land of
Palestine sees tomb after tomb rise before him, the land-
marks of his way, and the only signal of the holiness of
306 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
the soil; thus the memory wanders over the most sacred
spots in its various world, and traces them but by the
graves of the Past.
It was now that Gertrude began to feel the shock her
frame had received in the storm upon the Rhine. Cold
shiverings frequently seized her; her cough became more
hollow, and her form trembled at the slightest breeze.
Vane grew seriously alarmed; he repented that he had
yielded to Gertrude's wish of substituting the Rhine for
the Tiber or the Arno ; and would even now have hurried
across the Alps to a warmer clime, if Du e had not
declared that she could not survive the journey, and that
her sole chance of regaining her strength was rest. Ger-
trude herself, however, in the continued delusion of her
disease, clung to the belief of recovery, and still supported
the hopes of her father, and soothed, with secret talk of the
future, the anguish of her betrothed. The reader may
remember that, the most touching passage in the ancient
tragedians, the most pathetic part of the most pathetic of
human poets — the pleading speech of Iphigenia, when,
imploring for her prolonged life, she impresses you with so
soft a picture of its innocence and its beauty ; and in this
Gertrude resembled the Greek's creation — that she felt at
the verge of death, all the flush, the glow, the loveliness
of life. Her youth was filled with hope, and many-coloured
dreams ; she loved, and the hues of morning slept upon the
yet disenchanted earth. The heavens to her were not as the
common sky ; the wave had its peculiar music to her ear, and
THE PTT.GRTMS OF THE RHINE. :307
the rustling leaves a pleasantness that none, whose heart is
not bathed in the love and sense of beauty, could discern.
Therefore it was, in future years, a thought of deep grati-
tude to Trevylyan, that she was so little sensible of her
danger ; that the landscape caught not the gloom of the
grave ; and that, in the Greek phrase, " death found her
sleeping amongst flowers."
At the end of a few days, another of those sudden turns
common to her malady, occurred in Gertrude's health ; her
youth and her happiness rallied against the encroaching
tyrant; and for the ensuing fortnight she seemed once
more within the bounds of hope. During this time, they
made several excursions into the Rheingau, and finished
their tour at the ancient Heidelberg
One morning, in these excursions, after threading
the wood of Niederwald, they gained that small and
fairy temple, which, hanging lightly over the mountain's
brow, commands one of the noblest landscapes of earth.
There, seated side by side, the lovers looked over the
beautiful world below ; far to the left, lay the happy islets,
in the embrace of the Rhine, as it wound along the low and
curving meadovv^s that stretch away towards Nieder Ingel-
heim and Mayence. Glistening in the distance, the opposite
Nah swept by the Mause tower, and the ruins of Klopp,
crowning the ancient Bingen, into the mother tide. There,
on either side the town, were the mountains of St. Roch
and Rupert, with some old monastic ruin, saddening in the
sun. But nearer, below the temple, contrasting all the
other features of landscape, yawned a dark and rugged gulf,
308 '^'^^- PIL<^KTMS OF THE RTITXE.
girt by cragged elms and mouldering towers, the very
prototype of the abyss of time — black and fathomless
amidst ruin and desolation.
" I think, sometimes," said Gertrude, " as, in scenes like
these, we sit together, and, rapt from the actual world see
only the enchantment that distance lends to our view — I
think sometimes, what pleasure it will be hereafter to recal
these hours. If ever you should love me less, I need only
to whisper to you, ' The lihine,"' and will not all the feelings
you have now for me, return ? "
" Ah ! there will never be occasion to recal my love for
you, it can never decay."
" What a strange thing is life," said Gertrude ; " how
unconnected, how desultory seem all its links. Has this
sweet pause from trouble, from the ordinary cares of life —
has it any thing in common with your past career — with
your future? You will go into the great world; in a few
years hence these moments of leisure and musing will be
denied to you ; tlie action that you love and court is a
jealous sphere ; it allows no wandering, no repose. These
moments wdll then seem to you but as yonder islands that
stud the Rhine — the stream lingers by them for a moment,
and then hurries on in its rapid course; they vary, but
they do not interrupt, the tide."
" You are fanciful, my Gertrude, but your simile might
be juster. Rather let these banks be as our lives, and
this river the one thought that flows eternally by both,
blessing each with undying freshness."
Gertrude smiled ; and, as Trevylyan's arm encircled her,
• r? THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 309
she sunk her beautiful face upon his bosom, he covered it
with his kisses, and she thought at the moment, tliat, even
had she passed death, that embrace could have recalled
her to life.
They pursued their course to Mayence, partly by land,
partly along the river. One day, as returning from the
vine-clad mountains of Johannisberg, which commands
the whole of the Rheingau, the most beautiful valley in
the world, they proceeded by water to the town of Ellfeld,
Gertrude said —
" There is a thought in your favourite poet which you
have often repeated, and which I cannot think true,
' In nature there is nothing melancholy.'
lo me it seems as if a certain melancholy were inseparable
from beauty ; in the sunniest noon there is a sense of soli-
tude and stillness which pervades the landscape, and even
in the flush of life inspires us with a musing and tender
sadness. Why is this?""
" I cannot tell,'" said Trevylyan, mournfully, " but I
allow that it is true.""
" It is as if,"" continued the romantic Gertrude, " the
spirit of the world spoke to us in the silence, and filled us
with a sense of our mortality — a whisper from the religion
that belongs to nature, and is ever seeking to unite the
earth with the reminiscences of Heaven. Ah, what without
a Heaven would be even love ! a perpetual terror of the
separation that must one day come ! If," she resumed.
310 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
solemnly, after a momentary pause, and a shadow settled
on her young face, " if it be true, Albert, that I must
leave you soon "
" It cannot — it cannot," cried Trevylyan, wildly ; " be
still, be silent, I beseech you."
" Look yonder," said Du e, breaking seasonably in
upon the conversation of the lovers ; " on that hill to the
left, what once was an abbey is now an asylum for the
insane. Does it not seem a quiet and serene abode for the
unstrung and erring minds that tenant it ? What a mystery
is there in our conformation ! — those strange and bewil-
dered fancies which replace our solid reason, what a moral
of our human weakness do they breathe ! "
It does indeed induce a dark and singular train of
thought, when, in the midst of these lovely scenes, we
chance upon this lone retreat for those on whose eyes
Nature, perhaps, smiles in vain ! Or is it in vain ? They
look down upon the broad Rhine, w'itli its tranquil isles ;
do their wild illusions endow the river with another
name, and people the valleys with no living shapes ? Does
the broken mirror within reJElect back the countenance of
real things, or shadows and shapes, crossed, mingled, and
bewildered, — the phantasma of a sick man's dreams ? Yet,
perchance, one memory unscathed by the general ruin of
the brain, can make even the beautiful Rhine more beau-
tiful than it is to the common eye ; — can calm it with the
hues of departed love, and bid its possessor walk over its
vine-clad mountains with the beings that have ceased to he !
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. QH
There, perhaps, the self-made monarch sits upon his throne
and claims the vessels as his fleet, the waves and the valleys
as his own. There, the enthusiast, blasted by the light
of some imaginary creed, beholds the shapes of angels, and
watches in the clouds round the setting sun, the pavilions
of God. There the victim of forsaken or perished love,
mightier than the sorcerers of old, evokes the dead, or
recals the faithless by the philtre of undying fancies. Ah,
blessed art thou, the winged power of Imagination that
is within us! — conquering even grief — brightening even
despair. Thou takest us from the world when reason can
no longer bind us to it, and givest to the maniac the inspira-
tion and the solace of the bard ! Thou, the parent of the
purer love, lingerest like love, when even ourself forsakes
us, and lightest up the shattered chambers of the heart
with the glory that makes a sanctity of decay !
CHAPTER XXIX.
Ff.LFELD MAYENCE HEIDELBERG. A CONVERSATION BETWEEN VANE AND THE
GEllMAN STUDENT THE RUINS OF THE CASTLE OF HEIDELBERG AXD ITS SOLI-
TARY HABITANT.
It was now the full moon; light clouds were bearing-
up towards the opposite banks of the Rhine, but over the
Gothic Towers of Ellfeld the sky spread blue and clear;
the river danced beside the old grey walls with a sunny
wave, and close at hand a vessel crowded with passengers,
and loud with eager voices, gave a merry life to the scene.
On the opposite bank the hills sloped away into the far
horizon, and one slight skiff in the midst of the waters
broke the solitary brightness of the noonday calm.
The town of Ellfeld was the gift of Otho the First to the
church; not far from thence is the crystal spring, that
gives its name to the delicious grape of Markbrunner.
" Ah ! " quoth Du e, " doubtless the good Bishops
of Mayence made the best of the vicinity ! "
They stayed some little time at this town, and visited the
ruins of Scharfenstein ; thence proceeding up the river, they
passed NiederWalluf, called the Gate of the Rheingau, and
the luxuriant garden of Schierstein ; thence, sailing by the
m:
'^^
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 313
castle seat of the Prince Nassau Usingen, and passing two
long and narrow isles, they arrived at Mayence, as the sun
shot his last rays upon the waters, gilding the proud cathe-
dral-spire, and breaking the mists that began to gather
behind, over the rocks of the Rheingau.
Ever-memorable Mayence ! — memorable alike for free-
dom and for song — within those walls how often woke the
gallant music of the Troubadour; and how often beside
that river did the heart of the maiden tremble to the lay !
Within those walls the stout Walpoden first broached the
great scheme of the Hanseatic league ; and, more than all,
O memorable Mayence, thou canst claim the first inven-
tion of the mightiest engine of human intellect,— the great
leveller of power, — the Demiurgus of the moral world —
The Press ! Here too lived the maligned hero of the
greatest drama of modern genius, the traditionary Faust,
illustratina: in himself the fate of his successors in dis-
pensing knowledge — held a monster for his wisdom, and
consigned to the penalties of hell as a recompense for the
benefits he had conferred on earth !
At Mayence, Gertrude heard so much and so constantly
of Heidelberg, that she grew impatient to visit that
enchanting town, and as Du e considered the air of
Heidelberg more pure and invigorating than that of
Mayence, they resolved to fix within it their temporary
residence. Alas ! it was the placed estined to close their
brief and melancholy pilgrimage, and to become to the
heart of Trevylyan the holiest spot which the earth con-
u 2
314 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE,
tained; — the Kaaba of the world ! But Gertrude, uncon-
scious of her fate, conversed gaily as their carriage rolled
rapidly on, and, constantly alive to every new sensation,
she touched with her characteristic vivacity on all they
had seen in their previous route. There is a great charm
in the observations of one new to the world, if we our-
selves have become somewhat tired of " its hack sights
and sounds ;" we hear in their freshness a voice from our
own youth.
In the haunted valley of the Neckar, the most crystal
of rivers, stands the town of Heidelberg. The shades of
evening gathered round it as their heavy carriage rattled
along the antique streets, and not till the next day was
Gertrude aware of all the unrivalled beauties that environ
the place-
Vane, who was an early riser, went forth alone in the
morning to reconnoitre the town ; and as he was gazing
on the tower of St. Peter, he heard himself suddenly
accosted ; he turned round and saw the German Student,
whom they had met among the mountains of Taunus,
at his elbow.
" Monsieur has chosen well in coming hither," said
the Student; "and I trust our town will not disappoint
his expectations."
Vane answered with courtesy, and the German offering
to accompany him in his walk, their conversation fell
naturally on the life of an University, and the current
education of the German people.
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 325
" It is surprising," said the Student, " that men are
eternally inventing new systems of education, and yet
persevering in the old. How many years ago is it since
Fichte predicted, in the system of Pestalozzi, the rege-
neration of the German people? What has it done? We
admire — we praise, and we blunder on in the very
course Pestalozzi proves to be erroneous. Certainly," con-
tinued the Student, " there must be some radical defect
in a system of culture in which genius is an exception,
and dulness the result. Yet here, in our German univer-
sities, every thing proves that education without equitable
institutions avails little in the general formation of cha-
racter. Here the young men of the colleges mix on
the most equal terms, they are daring, romantic, ena-
moured of freedom even to its madness; they leave the
university, no political career continues the train of mind
they had acquired ; they plunge into obscurity ; live
scattered and separate, and the student inebriated with
Schiller sinks into the passive priest or the lethargic
baron. His college career, so far from indicating his
future life, exactly reverses it, he is brought up in one
course in order to proceed in another. And this I hold
to be the universal error of education in all countries ; they
conceive it a certain something to be finished at a certain
age. They do not make it a part of the continuous history
of life, but a wandering from it."
" You have been in England ? " asked Vane.
" Yes; I travelled over nearly the whole of it on foot.
316 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
1 was poor at that time, and imagining there was a sort of
masonry between all men of letters, I inquired at each
town for the savans, and asked money of them as a matter
of course."
Vane almost laughed outright at the simplicity and naive
unconsciousness of degradation with which the Student
proclaimed himself a public beggar.
" And how did you generally succeed ? "
" In most cases I was threatened with the stocks, and
twice I was consigned by the jiir/e de paix to the village
police, to be passed to some mystic Mecca they were pleased
to entitle * a parish." Ah," (continued the German with
much bonhomniie,) " it was a pity to see in a great nation
so much value attached to such a trifle as money. But
what surprised me greatly was the tone of your poetry.
Madame de Stael, who knew perhaps as much of England
as she did of Germany, tells us that its chief character is the
chevalresque ; and excepting only Scott, who, by the way, is
not English, I did not find one chivalrous poet among you.
Yet," continued the Student, " between ourselves, I fancy
that in our present age of civilisation, there is an unexamined
mistake in the general mind as to the value of poetry. It
delights still as ever, but it has ceased to teach. The prose
of the heart enlightens, touches, rouses, far more than
poetry. Your most philosophical poets would be common-
place if turned into prose. Childe Harold, seemingly so
profound, owes its profundity to its style; in reality it
contains nothing that is new, except the mechanism of its
'^^^^mr^T:^'
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 317
diction. Verse cannot contain the refining subtle thoughts
which a great prose writer embodies ; the rhyme eternally
cripples it ; it properly deals with the common problems of
human nature which are now hackneyed, and not with the
nice and philosophising corollaries which may be drawn
from them. Thus, though it would seem at first a paradox,
commonplace is more the element of poetry than of prose.
And, sensible of this, even Schiller wrote the deepest of
modern tragedies, his Fiesco, in prose."
This sentiment charmed Vane, who had nothing of the
poet about him ; and he took the Student to share their
breakfast at the inn, with a complacency he rarely expe-
rienced at the re-meeting with a new acquaintance.
After breakfast, our party proceeded through the town
towards the wonderful castle which is its chief attraction,
and the noblest wreck of German grandeur.
And now pausing, the mountain yet unsealed, the stately
ruin frowned upon them, girt by its massive walls and
hanging terraces, round which from place to place clung
the dwarfed and various foliage. High at the rear rose the
huge mountain, covered, save at its extreme summit, with
dark trees, and concealing in its mysterious breast the sha-
dowy beings of the legendary world. But towards the ruins,
and up a steep ascent, you may see a few scattered sheep
thinly studding the broken ground. Aloft, above the ram-
parts, rose, desolate and huge, the Palace of the Electors
OF THE Palatinate. In its broken walls you may trace the
tokens of the lightning that blasted its ancient pomp, but
318 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE.
still leaves in the vast extent of pile a fitting monument of
the memory of Charlemagne. Below, in the distance,
spread the plain far and spacious, till the shadowy river,
with one solitary sail upon its breast, united the melancholy
scene of earth with the autumnal sky.
" See,"" said Vane, pointing to two peasants who were
conversing near them on the matters of their little trade,
utterly unconscious of the associations of the spot, " see !
after all that is said and done about human greatness, it is
always the greatness of the few. Ages pass, and leave
the poor herd, the mass of men, eternally the same —
hewers of wood and drawers of water. The pomp of
princes has its ebb and flow, but the peasant sells his fruit
as gaily to the stranger on the ruins, as to the emperor in
the palace."
" Will it be always so?" said the Student.
" Let us hope not, for the sake of permanence in
glory," said Trevylyan, "had a people built yonder palace,
its splendour would never have past away."
Vane shrugged his shoulders, and Du e took snuflF.
But all the impressions produced by the castle at a dis-
tance, are as nothing when you stand within its vast area,
and behold the architecture of all ages blended into one
mighty ruin ! 'J'he rich hues of the masonry, the sweeping
fa9ades — every description of building which man ever
framed for war or for luxury — is here ; all having only the
common character, ruin. The feudal rampart, the yawn-
ing fosse, the rude tower, the splendid arch — the strength
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 3^9
of a fortress, the magnificence of a palace — all united
strike upon the soul like the history of a fallen empire in
all its epochs.
" There is one singular habitant of these ruins," said
the Student, " a solitary painter, who has dwelt here some
twenty years, companioned only by his Art. No other
apartment but that which he tenants is occupied by a
human being."
" What a poetical existence ! " cried Gertrude, enchanted
with a solitude so full of associations.
" Perhaps so," said the cruel Vane, ever anxious to
dispel an illusion ; " but more probably custom has dead-
ened to him all that overpowers ourselves with awe ; and
he may tread among these ruins rather seeking to pick up
some rude morsel of antiquity, than feeding his imagina-
tion with the dim traditions that invest them with so
august a poetry."
" Monsieur's conjecture has something of the truth in
it," said the German, — " but then the painter is a French-
man."
There is a sense of fatality in the singular mournfulness
and majesty which belong to the ruins of Heidelberg;
contrasting the vastness of the strength with the utterness
of the ruin. It has been twice struck with lightning, and
is the wreck of the elements, not of man ; during the great
siege it sustained, the lightning is supposed to have struck
the powder magazine by accident.
What a scene for some great imaginative work ! What
S20 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
a mocking interference of the wrath of nature in the puny
contests of men ! One stroke of " the red right arm "
above us, crushing the triumph of ages, and laughing to
scorn the power of the beleaguers and the valour of the
besieged.
They passed the whole day among these stupendous
ruins, and felt, as they descended to their inn, as if they
had left the caverns of some mighty tomb.
CHAPTER XXX.
NO PART OF THE EARTH REALLY SOLITARY THE SONG OF THE FAIRIES THE
SACRED SPOT. THE WITCH OF THE EVIL WINDS. THE SPELL AND THE DUTY
OF THE FAIRIES.
But in what spot of the world is there ever utter
solitude ? The vanity of man supposes that loneliness is his
absence ! , Who shall say what millions of spiritual beings
glide invisibly among scenes apparently the most deserted ?
Or what know we of our own mechanism, that we should
deny the possibility of life and motion to things that we
cannot ourselves recognise.
At moonlight, in the Great Court of Heidelberg, on
the borders of the shattered basin overgrown with weeds,
the following song was heard by the melancholy shades that
roam at night through the mouldering halls of old, and the
gloomy hollows in the mountain of Heidelberg.
SONG OF THE FAIRIES IN THE RUINS OF HEIDELBERG.
From the woods and the glossy green,
With the wild thyme strewn ;
From the rivers whose crisped stream
Is kissed by the trembling moon ; —
322 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
While the dwarf looks out from his mountain cave,
And the Erl king from his lair,
And the water nymph from her moaning wave, —
We skirr the limber air.
There"'s a smile on the vine-clad shore,
A smile on the castled heights.
They dream back the days of yore,
And they smile at our roundel rites !
Our roundel rites !
Lightly we tread these halls around.
Lightly tread we ;
Yet hark ! we have scared wath a single sound
The moping owl on the breathless tree,
And the goblin sprites !
Ha ! ha ! we have scared with a single sound
The old grey owl on the breathless tree.
And the goblin sprites !
" They come not," said Pipalee, " yet the banquet is
prepared, and the poor Queen will be glad of some refresh-
ment."
" What a pity ! all the rose-leaves will be overbroiled,"
said Nip.
" Let us amuse ourselves with the old painter," quoth
Trip, springing over the ruins.
"Well said," cried Pipalee and Nip; and all three, leaving
my Lord Treasurer amazed at their levity, whisked into the
painter's apartment. Permitting them to throw the ink over
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 323
their victim's papers, break liis pencils, mix his colours, mis-
lay his night-cap, and go whiz against his face in the shape
of a great bat, till the astonished Frenchman began to think
the pensive goblins of the place had taken a sprightly fit —
we hasten to a small green spot some little way from
the town, in the valley of the Neckar, and by the banks of
its silver stream. It was circled round by dark trees, save
on that side bordered by the river. The wild flowers sprang
profusely up from the turf which yet was smooth and singu-
larly green. And there was the German fairy describing a
circle round the spot, and making his elvish spells. And
Nymphalin sat, droopingly in the centre, shading her face,
which was bowed down as the head of a water-lily, and
weeping crystal tears.
There came a hollow murmur through the trees, and a
rush as of a mighty wind, and a dark form emerged from
the shadow and approached the spot.
The face was wrinkled and old, and stern with a malevo-
lent and evil aspect. The frame was lean and gaunt, and
supported by a stafi", and a short grey mantle covered its
bended shoulders.
" Things of the moon-beam," said the Form in a shrill
and ghastly voice, " what want ye here, and why charm
ye this spot from the coming of me and mine ? "
" Dark Witch of the Blight and Blast," answered the
fairy, " thou that nippest the herb in its tender youth,
and eatest up the core of the soft bud ; behold, it is but a
small spot that the fairies claim from thy demesnes, and on
321 THE Pn-(!RIMS OF THE RHINE.
which, through frost and heat, they will keep the herbage
green and the air gentle in its sighs ! "
*' And wherefore, Oh dweller in the crevices of the
earth, wherefore wouldst thou guard this spot from the
curses of the Seasons ? "
" We know by our instinct,"" answered the fairy, " that
this spot will become the grave of one whom the fairies love ;
hither, by an unfelt influence, shall we guide her yet living
steps ; and in gazing upon this spot, shall the desire
of quiet, and the resignation to death steal upon her
soul. Behold, throughout the universe, all things at war
with one another : the lion with the lamb ; the serpent with
the bird ; and even the gentlest bird itself, with the moth
of the air, or the worm of the humble earth ! What
then to men, and to the spirits transcending men, is
so lovely and so sacred as a being that harmeth none?
what so beautiful as Innocence ? what so mournful as its
untimely tomb ? and shall not that tomb be sacred? shall it
not be our peculiar care ? May we not mourn over it as
at the passing away of some fair miracle in Nature ; too
tender to endure ; too rare to be forgotten ? It is for this,
O dread Waker of the Blast, that the fairies would con-
secrate this little spot ; for this they would charm away
from its tranquil turf the wandering Ghoul and the evil
Children of the Night. Here, not the ill-omened owl, nor
the blind bat, nor the unclean worm shall come. And thou
shouldst have neither will nor power to nip the flowers of
spring, or sear the green herbs of summer. Is it not,
THK PILGRIMS OF THE RHIXE. S25
(lark Motiier of the Evil Winds, is it not oicr immemorial
office, to tend the grave of Innocence, and keep fresh the
flowers ronnd the resting place of Virgin Love ? "
Then the witch drew her cloak round her, and muttered
to herself, and without farther answer turned away among
the trees and vanished, as the breath of the east wind,
which goeth with her as her comrade, scattered the melan-
choly leaves along her path !
CHAPTER XXXI.
GERTRUDE AND TREVYLYAN, WHEN THE FORMER IS AWAKENED TO THE
APPROACH OF DEATH.
The next day Gertrude and her companions went along
tlie banks of the haunted Neckar. She had passed a sleep-
less and painful night, and her evanescent and child-like
spirits had sobered down into a melancholy and thoughtful
mood. She leant back in an open carriage with Trevylyan,
ever constant by her side, while Du e and Vane rode
slowly in advance. Trevylyan tried in vain to cheer
her : even his attempts (usually so eagerly received) to
charm her duller moments by tale or legend, were, in
this instance, fruitless. She shook her head gently —
pressed his hand, and said, " No, dear Trevylyan — no, —
even your art fails to-day, but your kindness, never ! "
and pressing his hand to her lips, she burst passionately
into tears.
Alarmed and anxious, he clasped her to his breast, and
strove to lift her face, as it drooped on its resting place,
and kiss away its tears.
" Oh ! " said she, at lengtli, " do not despise my
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 327
weakness, I am overcome by my own thoughts ; I look
upon the world and see that it is fair and good, I look
upon you, and I see all that I can venerate and adore.
Life seems to me so sweet, and the earth so lovely, can
you wonder then that I should shrink at the thought
of death ? Nay, interrupt me not, dear Albert ; the thought
must be borne and braved. I have not cherished, I have
not yielded to it through my long-increasing illness, but
there have been times when it has forced itself upon me
and now, noio more palpably than ever. Do not think me
weak and childish, I never feared death till I knew you ;
but to see you no more — never again to touch this dear
hand — never to thank you for your love — never to be
sensible of your care — to lie down and sleep, and 7iever,
neve?', once more to dream of you ! — Ah ! that is a bitter
thought ! but I will brave it — yes, brave it, as one worthy
of your regard."
Trevylyan, choked by his emotions, covered his own
face with his hands, and leaning back in the carriage,
vainly struggled with his sobs.
" Perhaps," she said, yet ever and anon clinging to the
hope that had utterly abandoned him. " Perhaps, I may
yet deceive myself; and my love for you, which seems
to me as if it could conquer death, may bear me up against
this fell disease ; — the hope to live uith you — to watch you
— to share your high dreams, and oh, above all, to soothe
you in sorrow and sickness, as you have soothed me — has
not that hope something that may support even this sink-
X
328 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
ing frame ? And who shall love thee as I love ? who see
thee as I have seen ? who pray for thee in gratitude and
tears as I have prayed? Oh, Albert, so little am 1 jealous
of you, so little do I think of myself in comparison, that I
could close my eyes happily on the world, if I knew that
what I could be to thee, another will be !"
" Gertrude," said Trevylyan ; and lifting up his colour-
less face, he gazed upon her with an earnest and calm
solemnity. " Gertrude, let us be united at once ! if fate
must sever us, let her cut the last tie too ; let us feel at
least that on earth we have been all in all to each other ;
let us defy death, even as it frowns upon us. Be mine
to-morrow — this day — oh God ! be mine ! "
Over even that pale countenance, beneath whose hues
the lamp of life so faintly fluttered, a deep, a radiant flash
passed one moment, lighting up the beautiful ruin with the
glow of maiden youth, and impassioned hope, and then died
rapidly away.
"No, Albert;" she said, sighing; "No! it must not
be : far easier would come the pang to you, while yet we
are not wholly united ; and for my own part, 1 am selfish,
and feel as if I should leave a tenderer remembrance on
your heart, thus parted ; — tenderer, but not so sad. Nor
would 1 wish you to feel yourself widowed to my memory,
or cling like a blight to your fair prospects of the future.
Remember me rather as a dream ; as something never
wholly won, and therefore asking no fidelity but that of
kind and forbearing thoughts. Do you remember one
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. g29
evening as we sailed along the Rhine — ah, happy, happy
hour ! that we heard from the banks a strain of music,
not so skilfully played as to be worth listening to for
itself, but, suiting as it did, the hour and the scene, we
remained silent, that we might hear it the better ; and
when it died insensibly upon the waters, a certain melan-
choly stole over us ; we felt that a something that softened
the landscape had gone, and we conversed less lightly than
before. Just so, my own loved — my own adored Trevylyan,
just so is the influence that our brief love — your poor
Gertrude's existence, should bequeath to your remembrance.
A sound — a presence — should haunt you for a little while,
but no more, ere you again become sensible of the glories
that court your way ! "
But as Gertrude said this, she turned to Trevylyan, and
seeing his agony, she could refrain no longer ; she felt that
to soothe was to insult ; and throwing herself upon his
breast they mingled their tears together.
x2
CHAPTER XXXII.
A SPOT TO BE BURIED IN.
On their return homeward, Du e took the third
seat in the carriage, and endeavoured, with his usual
vivacity, to cheer the spirits of his companions; and such
was the elasticity of Gertrude's nature, that with her, he,
to a certain degree, succeeded in his kindly attempt.
Quickly alive to the charms of scenery, she entered by
degrees into the external beauties which every turn in
the road opened on their view; and the silvery smooth-
ness of the river, that made the constant attraction of the
landscape; the serenity of the time, and the clearness of the
heavens, assisted by those spells which Nature ever exer-
cises over her votaries, tended to tranquillise a mind that,
like the sun-flower, so instinctively turned from the shadow
to the light.
Once Du e stopped the carriage in a spot of herb-
age, bedded among the trees, and said to Gertrude, " We
are now in one of the many places along the Neckar
which your favourite traditions serve to consecrate; amidst
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. ggj
yonder copses, in the early ages of Christianity, there
dwelt a hermit, who, though young in years, was renowned
for the sanctity of his life. None knew whence he came,
or for what cause he had limited the circle of life to the
seclusion of his cell. He rarely spoke, save when his
ghostly advice, or his kindly prayer was needed; he lived
upon herbs, and the wild fruits which the peasants brought
to his cave ; and every morning, and every evening, he
came to this spot to fill his pitcher from the water of the
stream. But here, he was observed to linger long after his
task was done, and to sit gazing upon the walls of a
convent which then rose upon the opposite side of the
bank, though now e"en its ruins are gone. Gradually
his health gave way Deneath the austerities he practised;
and one evening he was found by some fishermen, insen-
sible, on the turf. They bore him for medical aid to the
opposite convent; and one of the sisterhood, the daughter
of a prince, was summoned to tend the recluse. But,
when his eyes opened upon hers, a sudden recognition
appeared to seize both. He spoke — but words in some other
tongue ; and the sister threw herself on the couch of the
dying man, and shrieked forth a name, the most famous
in the surrounding country, the name of a once noted
minstrel, who, in those rude times, had mingled the poet
with the lawless chief, and was supposed, years since, to
have fallen in one of the desperate frays between prince
and outlaw, which were then common ; storming the very
castle which held her— now the pious nun, then the beauty
332 'I'lll^ PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
and presider over the tournament and gaillard. In her
arms the spirit of the hermit passed away. She survived
but a few hours, and left conjecture busy with a history to
which it never obtained further clue. Many a troubadour,
in later times, furnished forth in poetry the details which
truth refused to supply; and the place where the hermit
at sunrise and sunset ever came to gaze upon the convent,
became consecrated by song."
The place invested with this legendary interest was
impressed with a singular aspect of melancholy quiet ; wild
flowers yet lingered on the turf, whose grassy sedges
gently overhung the Neckar, that murmured amidst them
with a plaintive music. Not a wind stirred the trees; but,
at a little distance from the place, the spire of a church rose
amidst the copse; and, as they paused, there suddenly
arose from the holy building the bell that summons to the
burial of the dead. It came on the ear in such harmony
with the spot, with the hour, with the breathing calm, that
it thrilled to the heart of each with an inexpressible
power. It was like the voice of another world — that
amidst the solitude of nature summoned the lulled spirit
from the cares of this ; — it invited, not repulsed, and had
in its tone more of softness than of awe.
Gertrude turned, with tears starting to her eyes, and
laying her hand on Trevylyan's, whispered : — " In such
a spot, so calm, so sequestered, yet in the neighbourhood
of the house of God, would I wish this broken frame to
be consigned to rest ! "
CHAPTER THE LAST.
THE CONCLUSION OF THIS TALE.
From that day Gertrude's spirit resumed its wonted
cheerfulness, and for the ensuing week she never reverted
to her approaching fate; she seemed once more to have
grown unconscious of its limit. Perhaps she sought, anxious
for Trevylyan to the last, not to throw additional gloom
over their earthly separation; or, perhaps, once steadily
regarding the certainty of her doom, its terrors vanished.
The chords of thought, vibrating to the subtlest emotions,
may be changed by a single incident, or in a single hour;
a sound of sacred music, a green and quiet burial place,
may convert the form of death into the aspect of an angel.
And therefore wisely, and with a beautiful lore, did the
Greeks strip the grave of its unreal gloom; wisely did
they body forth the great principle of rest by solemn and
lovely images — unconscious of the northern madness that
made a Spectre of Repose !
But while Gertrude's spirit resumed its healthful tone,
\\ex frame rapidly declined, and a few days now could do
the ravage of months a little while before.
One evening, amidst the desolate ruins of Heidelberg,
334 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
Trevylyan, who had gone forth alone, to indulge the
thoughts whicli he strove to stifle in Gertrude's presence,
suddenly encountered Vane. That calm and almost cal-
lous pupil of the adversities of the world, was standing
alone, and gazing upon the shattered casements and riven
tower, through which the sun now cast its slant and part-
ing ray.
Trevylyan, who had never loved this cold and unsus-
ceptible man, save for the sake of Gertude, felt now almost
a hatred creep over him, as he thought in such a time, and
with death fastening upon the flower of her house, he
could yet be calm, and smile, and muse, and moralise, and
play the common part of the world. He strode slowly up
to him, and standing full before him, said with a hollow
voice and writhing smile; " You amuse yourself plea-
santly, sir: this is a fine scene; — and to meditate over
griefs a thousand years hushed to rest, is better than
watching over a sick girl, and eating away your heart
with fear."
Vane looked at him quietly, but intently, and made no
reply.
" Vane ! " continued Trevylyan, with the same preter-
natural attempt at calm ; " Vane, in a few days all will
be over, and you and I, the things, the plotters, the false
men of the world, will be left alone — left by the sole Being
that graces our dull life, that makes, by her love, either
of us worthy of a thought !"
Vane started, and turned away his face. " You are
cruel," said he, with a faltering voice.
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. So5
" What, man ! " shouted Trevylyan, seizing him abruptly
by the arm, " can ^ou feel ? Is your cold heart touched ?
Come, then," added he, with a wild laugh, " come, let us
be friends ! "
Vane drew himself aside, with a certain dignity, that im-
pressed Trevylyan even at that hour. " Some years hence/'
said he, " you will be called cold as I am ; sorrow will
teach you the wisdom of indifference — it is a bitter school,
sir, a bitter school ! But think you that I do indeed see
unmoved my last hope shivered — the last tie that binds me
to my kind ? No, no ! I feel it as a man may feel ; I
cloak it as a man grown grey in misfortune should do !
My child is more to me than your betrothed to you ; for
you are young and wealthy, and life smiles before you;
but I — no more — sir — no more."
" Forgive me," said Trevylyan, humbly ; " I have
wronged you ; but Gertrude is an excuse for any crime of
love ; and now listen to my last prayer — give her to me —
even on the verge of the grave. Death cannot seize her in
the arms — in the vigils — of a love like mine."
Vane shuddered. " It were to wed the dead," said he —
" No ! "
Trevylyan drew back, and without another word, hurried
away ; he returned to the town ; he sought, with methodical
calmness, the owner of the piece of ground on which Gertrude
had wished to be buried. He purchased it, and that very
night he sought the priest of a neighbouring church, and
directed it should be consecrated according to the due rite
and ceremonial.
SSG THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
The priest, an aged and pious man, was struck by the
request, and the air of him who made it.
" Shall it be done forthwith, sir ? " said he, hesitating.
" Forthwith," answered Trevylyan, with a calm smile —
" a bridegroom, you know, is naturally impatient."
For the next three days, Gertrude was so ill as to be
confined to her bed. All that time, Trevylyan sate outside
her door, without speaking, scarcely lifting his eyes from
the ground. The attendants passed to and fro — he heeded
them not ; perhaps as even the foreign menials turned aside
and M'iped their eyes, and prayed God to comfort him, he
required compassion less at that time than any other.
There is a stupefaction in woe, and the heart sleeps without
a pang when exhausted by its afflictions.
But on the fourth day Gertrude rose, and was carried
down (how changed, yet how lovely ever !) to their com-
mon apartment. During those three days the priest had
been with her often, and her spirit, full of religion from
her childhood, had been unspeakably soothed by his com-
fort. She took food from the hand of Trevylyan ; she
smiled upon him as sweetly as of old. She conversed with
him, though with a faint voice and at broken intervals.
But she felt no pain ; life ebbed away gradually, and
without a pang. " My father," she said to Vane, whose
features still bore their usual calm, whatever might have
passed within, " I know that you will grieve, when I am
gone, more than the world might guess ; for I only know
what you were years ago, ere friends left you and fortune
frowned, — and ere my poor mother died. But do not,
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 337
do not believe that hope and comfort leave you witli me.
Till the heaven pass away from the earth, there shall be
comfort and hope for all."
They did not lodge in the town, but had fixed their
abode on its outskirts, and within sight of the Neckar;
and from the window they saw a light sail gliding gaily
by, till it passed, and solitude once more rested upon the
waters.
" The sail passes from our eyes," said Gertrude, pointing
to it, " but still it glides on as happily though we see it no
more ; and I feel — yes, father, I feel — I know that it is so
with tis. We glide down the river of time from the eyes
of men, but we cease not the less to be ! "
And now, as the twilight descended, she expressed a
wish, before she retired to rest, to be left alone with Tre-
vylyan. He was not then sitting by her side, for he would
not trust himself to do so; but with his face averted, at a
little distance from her. She called him by his name ; he
answered not nor turned. Weak as she was, she raised
herself from the sofa, and crept gently along the floor till
she came to him, and sank in his arms.
" Ah, unkind ! " she said, " unkind for once ! Will you
turn away from me ? Come, let us look once more on the
river ; see, the night darkens over it. Our pleasant voyage,
the type of our love, is finished, our sail may be unfurled
no more. Never again can your voice soothe the lassitude
of sickness with the legend and the song — the course is
run, the vessel is broken up, night closes over its frag-
ments ; but now, in this hour, love me, be kind to me as
338 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
ever. Still let me be your own Gertrude — still let me
close my eyes this night as before, with the sweet con-
sciousness that I am loved."
" Loved ! — Oh Gertrude ! speak not to me thus ! ""
" Come, that is yourself again I" and she clung with
weak arms caressingly to his breast; " and now," she said
more solemnly, " let us forget that we are mortal ; let
us remember only that life is a part, not the whole of our
career ; let us feel in this soft hour, and while yet we are
unsevered, the presence of The Eternal that is within us,
so that it shall not be as death, but as a short absence; and
when once the pang of parting is over, you must think only
that we are shortly to meet again. What ! you turn from
me still? See, I do not weep or grieve, I have conquered
the pang of our absence, will you be outdone by me ?
Do you remember, Albert, that you once told me how
the wisest of the sages of old, in prison, and before
death, consoled his friends with the proof of the immor-
tality of the soul. Is it not a consolation ? — does it not
suffice ; or will you deem it wise from the lips of wisdom,
but vain from the lips of love ? "
" Hush, hush ! " said Trevylyan wildly, " or I shall think
you an angel already."
But let us close this commune, and leave unrevealed the
last sacred words that ever passed between them upon earth.
When Vane and the physician stole back softly into the
room, Trevylyan motioned to them to be still; " She sleeps,"
he whispered; " hush ! " And in truth, wearied out by her
own emotions, and lulled by the belief that she had soothed
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 339
one with whom her heart dwelt now, as ever, she had fallen
into sleep, or, it may be, insensibility, on his breast. There
as she lay, so fair, so frail, so delicate, the twilight deep-
ened into shade, and the first star, like the hope of the
future, broke forth upon the darkness of the earth.
Nothing could equal the stillness without, save that which
lay breathlessly within. For not one of the group stirred or
spoke ; and Trevylyan, bending over her, never took his
eyes from her face, watching the parted lips, and fancying
that he imbibed the breath. Alas, the breath was stilled !
from sleep to death she had glided without a sigh : happy,
most happy in that death ! — Cradled in the arms of unchanged
love, and brightened in her last thought by the consciousness
of innocence, and the assurances of heaven !
Trevylyan, after long sojourn on the continent, returned
to England. He plunged into active life, and became what
is termed, in this age of little names, a distinguished and
noted man. But what was mainly remarkable in his future
conduct, was his impatience of rest. He eagerly courted
all occupations, even of the most varied and motley kind.
Business, — letters, — ambition, — pleasure. He suffered no
pause in his career; and leisure to him was as care to
others. He lived in the world like other men, discharging
its duties, fostering its affections, and fulfilling its career.
But there was a deep and wintry change within him — the
340 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
sunlight of his life was gone ; the loveliness of romance had
left the earth. The stem was proof as heretofore to the
blast, but the green leaves were severed from it for ever,
and the bird had forsaken its boughs. Once he had idolised
the beauty that is born of song; the glory and the ardour that
invest such thoughts as are not of our common clay ; but
the well of enthusiasm was dried up, and the golden bowl
was broken at the fountain. With Gertrude the poetry
of existence was gone. As she herself had described her
loss, a music had ceased to breathe along the face of things ;
and though the bark might sail on as swiftly, and the
stream swell with as proud a wave, a something that had
vibrated on the heart was still, and the magic of the voyage
was no more.
And Gertrude sleeps on the spot where she wished her
last couch to be made ; and far — oh, far dearer is that small
spot on the distant banks of the gliding Neckar to Tre-
vylyan's heart, than all the broad lands and fertile fields of
his ancestral domain. The turf too preserves its emerald
greenness ; and it would seem to me that the field flowers
spring up by the sides of the simple tomb even more pro-
fusely than of old. A curve in the bank breaks the tide of
the Neckar ; and therefore its stream pauses, as if to linger
reluctantly, by that solitary grave, and to mourn among
the rustling sedges ere it passes on. And I have thought,
when I last looked upon that quiet place, — when I saw the
turf so fresh, and the flowers so bright of hue, that aerial
hands might indeed tend the sod ; that it was by no imagi-
nary spells that I summoned the fairies to my tale ; that
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE.
341
on truth, and with vigils constant though unseen, they yet
kept from all polluting footsteps, and from the harsher
influence of the seasons, the grave of one who so loved their
race ; and who, in her gentle and spotless virtue, claimed
kindred with the Beautiful Ideal of the world. Is there one
of us who has not known some beina: for whom it seemed
not too wild a phantasy to indulge such dreams ?
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