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Class	Book	Volume

My 08-15MAttila

or

The HunsATT I LA;

OR,

THE DECLINE OF THE
ROMAN EMPIRE .

BY

G. P. R. JAMES

WITH AN INTRODUCTION

london

GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, Limited
New York: E. P. DUTTON AND CO.8Z3
~3Z3„1-INTRODUCTION.

George Payne Rainsford James, Historiographer
Royal to King William IV., was born in London in the
first year of the nineteenth century, and died at Venice
in 1860. His comparatively short life was exceptionally
full and active. He was historian, politician and tra-
veller, the reputed author of upwards of a hundred
novels, the compiler and editor of nearly half as many
volumes of letters, memoirs, and biographies, a poet and
a pamphleteer, and, during the last ten years of his life,
British Consul successively in Massachusetts, Norfolk
(Virginia), and Venice. He was on terms of friendship
with most of the eminent men of his day. Scott, on
whose style he founded his own, encouraged him to per-
severe in his career as a novelist; Washington Irving
admired him, and Walter Savage Landor composed an
epitaph to his memory. He achieved the distinction of
being twice burlesqued by Thackeray, and two columns
are devoted to an account of him in the new " Dictionary
of National Biography." Each generation follows its
own gods, and G-. P. R. James was, perhaps, too prolific
an author to maintain the popularity which made him
" in some ways the most successful novelist of his time."
But his work bears selection and revival. It poss^e*
the qualities of seriousness and interest; his best
historical novels are faithful in setting and free in move-
ment. His narrative is clear, his history conscientious,
and his plots are well-conceived, English learning and
literature are enriched by the work of this writer, who
made vivid every epoch in the world's history by the
charm of his romance.

" Attila" is a grandiose picture of the stupendous
struggle between the Huns and their allies and the
decadent Rome of Valentinian. Based on Gibbon, and
scrupulously faithful to established fact, the story has,
however, an unusual imaginative license allowed it by the
nature of the subject and the paucity of the historicalir

INTRODUCTION'.

record. It has much that is lurid and sensational, and
mounts occasionally to tragic heights of grandeur and
pathos. In Theodore and Hdica we have the familiar
pair of lovers, the personages of a nineteenth century
novel planted down among the dissolute Romans and the
savage Huns. Interest is divided between their private
vicissitudes and the movements of the terrible Huns,
ravaging, ruining and slaughtering up to the gates of
Rome. The strife is on a gigantic scale; whole nations
form the divisions of Attila's army, his generals are
kings, and his campaigns wars of extermination. The
action ranges over vast areas, from Dacia and Pannonia
to Italy, from the Danube to the Seine, and from rich
and populous Lombardy over the Alpine passes to the
virgin forests of central Europe. And the characters are
multitudinous, even the principal personages are almost
bewildering in number, or would be so but for their
cleavage into strongly marked groups—Attila and his
faithful adherents, his foreign enemies and his domestic
enemies, the pagans and the Christians within the Roman
Empire. Theodore is always the centre of the interest,
and in the hostile camps are found his friends and his
foes. It was an ingenious idea to make this brave young
Roman a spectator of Attila's conquests from the Hunnish
side. Bound to the barbarous chieftain by a mystic tie,
he is immersed in the jealousies and conspiracies that
■suixcund Attila, witnesses from a position of security*the
disasters that befa1! his own unhappy country, and finally
sees happiness and life itself bound up with the destinies
of Attila. That grim monarch, whose will was like fate,
is powerfully outlined. The decisive, indomitable will,
the quickness to wrath, are traits that accord well with
the career of the barbarian who scourged the civilised
world. But they are seldom accompanied by the keen
sense of justice, the patient restraint and the amiability
that he often displays in the earlier episodes of the story.
Once more we find our author more successful in depict-
ing an historical figure than in creating characters. Even
such hasty sketches as that of the dissipated Yalentinian
are lifelike to a degree which the purely romantic person-
ages rarely attain. This is the more striking in that
James never wholly detaches himself from the sentiments
and prejudices of his own day.ATTILA.

CHAPTER 1.

Music was in the air, and loveliness was spread out over the
earth as a mantle.

There was a voice of many waters,—the bland musical
tone of mountain streams singing as they wend their way
over the smooth round pebbles of their hilly bed towards
the sea. And the song of life, too, was heard from every
field, and every glade, and every valley; the trilling of innu-
merable birds, tne hum of insect myriads, the lowing of dis-
tant cattle, winding down from the uplands to pen or fold,
the plaintive, subdued bleating of the patient sheep, the
merry voice of the light-hearted herd as he led home his
flock from the hills, after a long warm southern day in the
maturity of spring. Manifold sweet sounds,—all blended into
one happy harmony, softened by distance, rendered more
melodious to the heart by associations felt but not defined,
and made more touching by the soft evening hour,—filled
the whole air, and spread a calm, bright, contemplative charm
over the listening senses.

The eye, too, could find the same delights as the ear,
equal in depth, similar in character; for though sweet Apri\
had sunk in the warm arms of May, still, even in that land of
the bright south, the reign of summer had not yet begun: not
a leaf, not a flower, not a blade of grass, had lost a hue under
the beams of the sun, and many a balmy and refreshing
shower, during a long and humid spring, had nourished the
verdure and enlivened the bloom.

From the high round knoll upon the left, crowned with the
five tall cypresses, which, perhaps, flourished as seedlings on
that spot in the young and palmy days of Greece, might be
seen that unrivalled view which has never yet found eye to
gaze on it uncharmed,—that view which, or all prospects ine

ATTILA.

the world, has greatest power, when suddenly beheld, to
mak§ the heart beat fast, and the breath come thick with
mingled"feelings of wonder and delight. On one side, at
afoOut'a mile's distance, where the ground sloped gently down
towards the sea, rose the palace of Diocletian, vast and exten-
sive, massy without being heavy, and equally sublime from its
beauty and its dimensions. Clear, upon the bright back-
ground of the evening sky, cut the graceful lines of the
architecture; and, though a sudden break in the outline of
the frieze, with the massy form of a fallen capital rolled for-
ward before the steps of the magnificent portico which fronted
the sea, told that the busy, unceasing, unsparing hand of
man's great enemy had already laid upon that splendid build-
ing the crumbling touch of ruin, yet as it then stood, with
the setting sun behind it, and the deep blue shadows ot the
evening involving all the minute parts of the side that met
the eye, the effects of decay even added to the beauty of the
object, by making the straight lines of the architecture at
once contrast and harmonise with the graceful irregularities
of nature whereby it was surrounded. Several groups of
old and stately trees, too, still more diversified the prospect
on that side ; and through the pillars of the portico might be
caught the distant glistening line of the bright sea where it
met and mingled with the sky.

Behind, and to the right hand, stretching far away to the
north, rose mountain upon mountain, in all the fanciful forms
and positions into which those earth-born giants cast them-
selves in Greece, and over them all was thrown that lustrous
purple which in those lands well deserves the name of the
" magic light of evening."

Between the knoll of the cypresses, however, and those
far hills, robed in their golden splendour, lay a wide track of
country gently sloping upwards in a thousand sweeping lines,
with here and there an abrupt rock or insulated mound sud-
denly towering above the rest, while scattered clumps of tall
old trees, rich rounded masses of forest, villas, farms, vine-
yards, and olive grounds, filled up the intervening space ; and
had all been as it seemed,—had all those farms been te-
nanted, had none of those villas been in ruins,—would have
presented a scene of prosperity such as the world has never
known but once.

Still decay had made no very great progress; still the
land was richly cultivated; still the population, though not
dense, was sufficient; and as the eye rail along the innume-
rable little promontories and headlands of the bay, might be
seen, rising up above some slight irregularities of the ground,
a part of the buildings of the small but prosperous town ofatthjl

7

Salona. Close by the side of that knoll of cypresses, break-
ing impetuously from a bank above, dashed on the bright and
sparkling Hyader; now fretting and foaming with the large
rocks amidst which a part of its course was bound; now
prattling playfully with the motley pebbles which in other
parts strewed its bed; now dashing like a fierce steed all in
foam, where it leaped over the crag into the sunshine; and
then, where its clear blue waters spread out uninterrupted
under the cool shadow of a hill, seeming—like time to a
young and happy heart—to stand still in calm and peaceful
enjoyment, even while it was flowing away as quickly as ever.

CHAPTER II.

Under the cypresses, not exactly where the shade fell,—for
the sun near the horizon had lost his meridian heat, and the
western breeze swept over the cool bright waters of the
Adriatic,—were seated three women, and a boy of some four-
teen years of age. They were evidently of the highest race
of the land in which they lived; and had nothing else be-
spoken their rank, the broad deep border of purple, of triple
die, which edged the snowy robe of the eldest of , the party,
would have distinguished her as a Roman lady of patrician
blood. She was scarcely beyond the middle age, and time
had treated her beauty leniently. Somewhat of the elastic
grace, and all the slight pliant outline of early youth, was
gone, but in contour and dignity much, too, had been gained;
and the eye, more calm and fixed, was as bright and lustrous,
the teeth as white and perfect, as ever. The hair, drawn up
and knotted on the crown of the head, was still full and
luxuriant; but, meandering through its dark and wavy
masses, might here and there be seen a line of silver grey;
while the cheek, which had once been as warm and glowing
as the morning dawn of her own radiant land, sorrows calmly
borne, but not the less deeply felt, had rendered as pale as
the twilight of the evening just ere night reigns supreme.

Her dress was plain and unadorned, of the finest materials
and the purest hues; but the gems and ornaments then so
common were altogether absent. The consciousness of
beauty, which she might once have felt, was now altogether
forgotten; its vanity she had never known. As much grace
as health, perfect symmetry of form, and noble education
from infancy, could give, she displayed in every movement;
but it was the calm and matronly grace, where all is ease, and
tranquillity, and self-possession. The same placid charm
reigned in the expression of her countenance. She seemed8

ATTtLA.

to look with benevolence on all. Nay, more, as if the sor-
rows which had reached her in her high station had taught
her that in every bosom, however well concealed, there is, or
will be, some store of grief, some memory, some regret,
some disappointment, there mingled with the gentleness of
her aspect an expression of pity, or, perhaps, its better name
were sympathy, which existed really within, and formed a tie
between her heart and that of every other human thing.

She was, indeed, to use the beautiful words of the poet
Cowley, ukind as the sun's bless'd influence." Yet the
bright dark eye, the proud arching lip, and the expansive
nostrils, seemed to speak of a nature originally less calm, of
days when the spirit was less subdued. Time and grief,
however, are mighty tamers of the most lion-like heart; and
it was with that look of pity, mingling with tender pleasure,
that she gazed down upon a beautiful girl, of, perhaps, thir-
teen years of age, who, leaning fondly on her knees, as the
hymn concluded, looked up in her face for sympathetic feel-
ings, while the sweet sounds still trembled on her full rosy
lips.

Between the matron and the girl there was little resem-
blance, except inasmuch as each was beautiful; and though
the lineaments perhaps, regarded as mere lines, took, in some
degree, the same general form, yet there were too many
shades of difference to admit the idea that those two fair
beings stood in the dear relationship of mother and child,
although the fond, relying, clinging affection displayed in the
looks of the younger, and the tender anxiety of the matron's
smile, as she gazed down upon her companion's face, argued
affections no less strong between them than such a tie might
have produced.

Eudochia—for so was the younger called—offered a lovely
specimen of that sort of beauty which, however rare in Italy
even now, when the native blood of the children of the land
has been mingled with that of many of the fair-haired na-
tions of the north, we find from the writings of Petronius to
have been not uncommon in his days. Her hair was of a
light brown, with a golden gleam upon it, as if, wherever it
bent in its rich wavy curls, it caught and shone in the bright
rays of the sun. Her eyes were of a soft hazel, though the
long sweeping black lashes made them look darker than they
were: but her skin was of that brilliant fairness which did
indeed exceed the

" Expolitum ebtir indieum

and the rose glowed through it on the cheeks as pure and
clear as in those lands where the veiled sun shines most softAimA.

9

raid tenderly. Her features were, indeed, more Greek than
Roman; but her complexion spoke, and not untruly, of a
mixture in her veins of what was then called Barbarian
blood by the proud children of the empire. Her mother
had been the daughter of a German prince in alliance with
Rome ; but the Romans of that day had learned to envy the
noble Paulinus his success with the beautiful child of the
wealthy and powerful Barbarian chief. Too short a time, in-
deed, had their union lasted; for though Eudochia had
drawn her first nourishment from her mother's bosom, yet,
six months after her birth, the fair wife of Paulinus had left
him to mourn her death with two motherless children. He
had continued to hold her memory in solitary affection, filling
up, as is so common with man, the vacant place left by love
in the shrine of his heart with the darker and sterner form
of ambition; and while he led forward his son Theodore in
the same path, he left his daughter on the Dalmatian shore
with one whose kindred blood and generous nature insured to
the fair girl all a mother's tenderness and a mother's care.
For her alone the lips of Eudochia had learned to pronounce
those sweetest of words, my mother,—for her alone had her
heart learned to feel the thrill of filial love.

The affection, however, of the Lady Flavia, for so was
called the elder of whom we have spoken, was divided. For
the love of man, woman has but one place in her heart, but
maternal tenderness has many ; and the agony of Niobe was
not less for every child that died than if she had had but
one. Flavia looked upon Eudochia as her child, and loved
her as such; but the two others, of whom we have said that
group was composed, were in reality her children.

Ammian, the boy, was like his mother in features and com-
plexion, but not in character. More of his dead father's
mature had descended to him, more of the wild and daring
dpisrit which, sporting with perils and dangers, contemning
pain, and laughing at fear, found food for a bright and eager
imagination in scenes and circumstances which, to others, were
full of nothing but horror and dismay. His pastime, as a boy,
was to climb the mountains, and spring from rock to rock
across the yawning chasms; to stand gazing down over the
dizzy side of the precipice, and to drink in the sublimity
of the scene below; to dash through the wild waves, when
the south-west wind rolled them in mountains on the shore,
or to mingle with the pagan inhabitants, which still filled
many of the villages near, and to watch without taking part
in those sacrifices which were prohibited under pain of death
by the Christian emperors, but which often took place even
in the open face of day. His mother put no check upon bis10

AtraA.

hazardous pleasures, for she was Koman enough to wish that
her children might never know the name of fear. But yet
her heart sometimes sunk with a chilly dread when she wit-
nessed his wild exploits: for though the qualities which
prompted them were those for which she had loved hit
father, yet she could not forget that the same daring spirit
had led that father to death, by barbarian hands, in the wilds
of Pannonia.

There was one more in the group under the cypresses, and
one that must not be passed over in silence. She, like Eudo-
chia, was reclining by her mother's side; but had the great
Florentine sought, two lovely models from which to depict
night and day, none could have been found equal to these two
beautiful girls. Ildica,* however, was fully two years older
than Eudochia, and those two years made a great difference.
Eudoehia was a child; Ildica was no longer so. Eudochia
was the violet, but Ildica was the rose. Her form, too,
spoke it; youth was in every trace: but there was the
rounded contour, the graceful sweeping lines, which tell that
Nature's brightest effort to produce beauty is full and com-
plete. She was at that age when the causeless blush comes
frequent, and the unbidding sigh is first known; when the
cheek will sometimes glow as if with shame at the innocent
consciousness of loveliness; and her heart tells woman that
she was created for others. Through the transparent cheek
of the Dalmatian girl the eloquent blood played apparent at
every word, and the long lustrous deep black eyes, the very
eyelids of which seemed flooded with light, spoke of feelings
within that snowy bosom which were yet to acquire intensity
and fire. And yet Ildica fancied herself still a child. So
gradual, so calm, had as yet been the transition, as their
years passed away in that remote spot without any of the
cares, the turmoils, the passions, and the follies of courts and
of cities breaking the tranquil current of their days, that she
hardly knew the two years which had effected so great
a change in her being, had passed otherwise than in infancy.
She had never very eagerly sought the light sports and
pastimes of Eudochia, and others of the happy age : she had
always shown a disposition to meditation and to feeling. It
was not that she wanted cheerfulness; far from it: but
it was, that through her very gaiety was seen a train of

* The learned reader will perceive, that I have changed the last syllable
of this name, for the sake of a more regular feminine termination than
the original gives, in sound at least, to an English ear. Let me acknow-
ledge at once, also, that I have followed the same bold plan throughout,
changing everything that did not suit my purpose.ATTXLA,

11

deeper thought. There was a character of greater intensity
in all she did than is usual in'early youth. She loved music,
she loved poetry, she loved every art; and her mother saw
her own mind reflected in that of her daughter, with a shade,
perhaps, of more passionate energy derived from the character
of her father.

Thus sat they by the bright stream of the Hyader, whose
clear water served to mingle with the wine of their light
evening meal, enjoying, with sweet tranquillity of heart, the
loveliness of a scene which, remembered from his earliest
days, had lured Diocletian thither, some century before, from
all the charms of power and empire, to spend his latter hours
in a remote province, and a private station. Simple as that
meal was, consisting of nothing but light cakes of a fine flour,
with some dried fruits and some early strawberries, it was
more delicious to those who ate it, in that fair scene and that
happy hour, than all the innumerable dishes of a Roman sup-
per. Still there seemed something wanting; for—as Eudo-
chia l«y reclining on the Lady Flavians lap, and gazing up in
her expressive face—the eyes of Ildica had followed the
course of the Hyader down towards the sea, and rested with
a longing, anxious look upon the boat that, with slow and
easy motion, as the light but steady wind impelled it over the
waters, steered onward, for some time, towards that part
of the bay near which stood the little village of Aspalathus,
a sort of appendage to the palace of Diocletian. Ammian,
her brother, had remarked it too, and watched it also ; but in
a few minutes its course was changed, and its prow turned
towards one of the islands. Ildica said not a word, but she
bent down her eyes on the grass, and plucked one of the
purple crocuses which checkered the green whereon she sat.

u He will not come to-day," said her brother, as if quite
sure that the same thoughts were in his bosom and his sister's
at that moment; "and, besides, he would not appear in
a solitary boat like that. Ten such boats would not have
held the gorgeous train which followed him when he came
last year to take Theodore away."

" But remember, Ammian, my son," said Flavia, smiling at
the eager looks of her two children, " remember, when last
he came, our cousin Paulinus was sent to Dalmatia on the
Emperor's service, as Count of the Offices, and now he comes
but as a private man to see his daughter. He is not one
of those degraded Romans, who in the present day never
travel without an army of domestics. See, the boat has
changed its course again. It did but bear up against the cur-
rent of wind between the islands. Eudochia, my sweet
child, it is perhaps your father after all."12

ATTILA.

As she spoke, the boat, catching the favourable breeze,
came piore rapidly towards the land, and in a moment after
was hidden from their eyes by the wavy ground whieh
lay between them and the Adriatic. "Run, Aspar, run,"
cried Flavia, to one of the slaves ; " run and see where the
boat lands. Shall we return homeward, Eudochia ? we may
meet him sooner."

Ildica exclaimed, "Oh, yes!" but Eudochia and Ammian
reminded their mother that they had promised to meet
Paulinus on the spot where they had parted from him, even
where they then sat; and, while they waited in the heart-
beating moments of expectation, the light-footed slave again
appeared upon the upland, which he had cleared like a
hunted deer, and stood waving his hand, as if to tell that
their hopes were verified.

For a moment or two he paused, looking back towards the
sea, and then, running forward to the cypresses, he said,—
"Yes, lady, yes! they have reached the shore, and are
coming hither. I saw them spring from the boat to the
landing-place of the palace; and while several ran up
towards the portico bearing baggage, four took the path
between the rocks, which leads up hither by the field of
Eusebius the gardener."

"Was my brother there, good Aspar?" cried Eudochia,
eagerly; "was my brother there, too?"

" I could not distinguish, sweet one," replied the slave;
" the distance was too long for my sight, and the sun was
directly in my eyes ; but the one that came first was slight in
form, and seemed more like your brother than the Count
Paulinus himself. There was the lightness of youth, too, in
his step, as he bounded up over the rocks like a fawn towards
its doe!"

Elavia smiled, and Ildica smiled too; but as she did so
there was a slight, a very slight, change of colour in her
cheek. It grew paler *, but it was not the paleness of either
apprehension or disappointment: it only spoke of some
intense feelings busy at her heart, though what they were
she herself knew not. At that moment the slave exclaimed,
"Lo, lo! he comes!" and all eyes were turned towards the
upland.

CHAPTER III.

The lower edge of the sun's broad golden disk touched,
or seemed to touch, the rippling waters of the Adriatic, and
sea and sky were all in one general glow, when the form
of the expected guest rose over the slope, and, with joyfulATTILA.

18

arms outstretched towards the group under the cypresses, he
appeared clear and defined upon tne bright expanse behind
him. The figure was that of a youth of eighteen or nineteen
years of age, tall for his time of life, and of that form which
promises great after-strength. As he stood there, indeed,
with his figure partly concealed by the mantle which fell
from his shoulders, and with the smooth features, the unfur-
rowed brow, and beardless chin of youth, turned from the
searching rays of the sun, one might have attributed to him
many more years than he had in reality numbered; but there
was the bounding joy of boyhood still in his steps, as,
followed by three persons, amongst whom the eye of Flavia
sought in vain for Paulinus, he sprang across the sloping
ground to meet so many that he loved. To Flavia his first
salute was given in the warm, the touching, the affectionate
kiss of filial love; calling her, as he did so, by the tender
name which his heart always willingly granted to her who
had watched his infancy and formed his boyhood, "My
mother! " His next glance was, certainly, to Ildica, but his
words and his embrace were given, first, to his sister Eudo-
chia, and then even to Ammian, whom he also called 44 his
brother."

The words, however, were few, and the embrace short, ere
he turned to Ildica, and took her hand. But his aspect was
for a moment timid and uncertain, as if he knew not well in
what words and what manner he was to greet her. Her eye,
however, was full of light; her lip smiled with the irre-
pressible spirit of joy; her breath seemed to come short with
some thrilling emotion in her bosom; and Theodore, growing
bolder as her hand touched his, drew her, too, to his arms,
and pressed a warmer kiss upon her lips. To her he would
not say 44 My sister!" though he began those words which he
had so often used towards her; but he stopped short, and his
lips murmured, 44 My—my Ildica!"

If any one marked the agitation of either of those two
young and happy beings, it was amongst the slaves; for
Eudochia and Ammian had no eyes as yet for the slighter in-
dications of the heart's inmost feelings; and Flavia, without
any other observation, asked, eagerly, "But where is Pau-
linus? Where is your father, Theodore?"

44Alas! my mother," replied the youth, 44he has been
disappointed, and would not make me a sharer therein.
Obliged to go into Cappadocia by the Emperor's commands,
he proceeds from Cesarea to escort the Empress Eudoxia
to Jerusalem. But he has promised, if Fate be propitious, to
join us all here on his return. He would not let me bear
him company; but having given me the charge of someATTILAu

slight business at Salona, left me to hasten hither, and wait
his coming."

"Let us return homeward, then, Theodore," said the
matron, 44 and you shall tell us all the news wherewith our
young and ever active mind is loaded. I am sure you have
not yet learned, my son, to value all the things of the world
according to their real lightness, and to suffer what the idle
multitude call great events, to pass you by as matters which
have been acted over and over again a thousand times
already, and to be enacted still a million times more in the
ages yet to come. Heaven forbid that you should have
acquired, since you left us, such sorrowful wisdom! though
your father writes to me that you have become a man,
whereas you left us a boy. But you linger as if you would
fain stay here."

441 ordered the boat to come round hither," replied the
youth, 44 when I found you were all here; and I would
willingly gaze again upon all these lovely things. I have
beheld many lands, dear Ildica," he added, turning naturally
towards her with whom his heart held the nearest com-
munion,—44 I have beheld many lands since I left you all on
this very spot; Athens, the city of Constantine, Ida, and
Olympus. My feet have even trodden Tempe; and yet there
is no scene so beautiful to my eyes as that lovely sea, with
Bratia, and Bubua, and Olyntha, rising like living sapphires
from its golden bosom, and those grand Autariatian hills,
leading up the soul's flight to heaven."

44 And now, Theodore," said Flavia, with a smile, 44 tell us
what tidings you bring; and first, before one word of the
wide public news, say, what of your father ? How is he in
health ? How fares he at the court ? Is he as much loved
as ever ? "

441 had forgotten," replied Theodore, " in the joy of coming
back,—in the dream-like and scarcely certain feeling of being
here once more amongst you all,—I had forgotten everything
else. Paulinus is well, my mother; and his favour with the
Emperor and Empress higher than ever, though he is not
loved by Chrysapheus; but he fears him not.—Here Zeno!"
he continued, addressing one of the servants who had followed
him, and who had now mingled with the slaves of Flavia,—
44give me the case which I bade you bring;" and from a
richly-chased silver casket, which the slave laid beside him,
he drew forth a string of large and perfect pearls. 44 These,
Eudochia," he said, throwing them over his sister's neck,
" these from the Empress, for her god-daughter ; and this,"
he added, taking the rich collar of emeralds which lay below,
—44 and this from my father, Paulinus, for his dear Ildica.ATTILA*

Many were the messages of love," he continued, as he placed
the splendid present sent by his father in the hand of the
beautiful girl whom it was to adorn, and, with the playfulness
of boyhood not yet passed away, twined, smiling, the links of
emeralds round her arm,—" Many were the messages of love
my father bade me give to all; and to you, my mother, I
dear this letter: but let me be the first to tell you that your
possession of the palace is confirmed by the Emperor, and
that the estates withheld from you by an unjust judge are
restored."

" Thank you, my son, thank you," replied Flavia, opening
the thread with which the letter was bound round; " but
this light is too faint to enable me to decipher your father's
epistle. Let us to the boat, my Theodore, and so home-
ward ; for I long to learn more of what has passed at By-
zantium, and the twilight is every moment getting a greyer
hue."

The youth lingered no longer, but rose with all the rest;
and while Flavia, talking to Ammian, who often looked be-
hind, led the way over the upland and down the path towards
the sea, Theodore followed, at some little distance, with Eu-
dochia clinging to his left arm, and with his right hand clasp-
ing that of Ildica. As they went wandering onward through
the sweet-smelling copses of myrtle, which sheltered the
grounds of a neighbouring garden from the east wind, Eudo-
chia asked a thousand questions of her brother, and mar-
velled much that he had grown so tall and strong in the
short absence of nine months. Ildica saiu nof a word ; but
she listened to the tones of his voice as he repL&d to his
sister; she felt the touch of his hand as it held hers; she saw
the brother of her love—the more than brother—returned
from a far distance and a long absence; and a new happiness,
that she had never known before, filled her heart with emo-
tions too intense for speech. Did she know what she felt ?
Did she investigate the nature of the busy, tumultuous sensa-
tions that then possessed her bosom ? Neither! the absence
of one with whom she had dwelt in affection from her infancy
had, indeed, taught her that there were strange feelings in
her heart, different from any that she had ever experienced
before: but, oh! sweet and happy skill of woman, she had
closed her eyes against all investigation of what those feelings
were, lest she should find anything mingling with them which
might render them less blessed. It was not for her to dis-
cover for herself that which was reserved for another to
explain.

The slaves followed slowly till they approached the shore;
and then, running forward to make up for their tardiness byATTILA,

momentary alacrity, they officiously aided the boatmen to
push the boat close up to some grey rocks, which, shining
through the clear blue water for many a foot below the ripple
that checkered the surface, afforded a sort of natural pier for
the party to embark. Flavia and her companions took their
seats in the stern, and six or seven of the slaves placed them-
selves in the bow, the rest proceeding along the shore towards
the palace. Ammian, leaning over the side in his fanciful
mood, gazed down upon the small waves as they were dashed
from the path of the boat; and then, catching a rippling
gleam of yellow light tinging the crest of one of those tiny
billows, he looked up to the heavens, where, just in that
spot of deep sky towards which the streamer of the apluslrum
turned, calm, and large, and bright, rose Hesperus above the
world. He gazed upon it for several minutes with a look of
rapt enjoyment, as if for the time he had forgotten everything
in the universe but that one bright solitary star. Ildica had
hitherto sat between her mother and Theodore, listening in
silence to the brief and broken tales of his late travels which
he was telling; but as a pause ensued, she fixed her eyes
upon Ammian, and watched him with a soft smile, as if she
knew what was passing in his thoughts, and waited to see
what turn the fancy would take. From time to time her
eyes appealed to Theodore, and then turned again to her
brother, till at length her sweet musical voice, speaking her
pure native tongue, but slightly touched and softened by the
Greek accent, was heard breaking the momentary silence
which had fallen upon them all.

"SLxg % Ammian," she said, speaking to his unuttered
thoughts, " sing it! Theodore will hear it well pleased. It is
my mother's poetry, written since you left us, Theodore : sing
it, Ammian!"

The boy looked up into his sister's eyes with a gay smile,
and then poured suddenly forth in song a voice clear and
melodious as her own. The first two stanzas he sung alone ;
but at the end of the second, and of each that succeeded, all
those who knew the music took up the first as a chorus, send-
ing sweet harmony over the twilight waters, while the rowers
with their oars kept time to his,

SONG TO THE EVENING STAR.

1.

Hesperus ! Hesperus! in thy bright hand

Bearing thy torch, lit at day's parting beams,

Shed thy sweet influence o'er our dear land,

Soothe thou our slumbers, and brighten our dreams.

17

2.

fiesperus ! Hesperus 1 each, closing flower
Yields thee the sigh of her odorous breath,)

Thine, too, the nightingale's musical hour,

Thine be the offering of song and of wreath.

Hesperus 1 Hesperus! &c.

3.

Hesperus ! Hesperus ! holding thy way,

Lone, but serene, 'twixt the day and the night,

Guide all our hearts with the same even sway,

Soften each sorrow and calm each delight.

Hesperus J Hesperus 1 &<*

* 4.

Hesperus ! Hesperus! Hesperus ! star of repose !

Herald of rest to the labours of day !

Through worlds and through ages, where'er thy light glows,
Honour and thanks shall attend on thy ray.

Hesperus ! Hesperus ! &c.

1	CHAPTER IV.

It was more than an hour after the boat had reached the
landing-place, and, fatigued with a long, bright, happy day,
Ammian and Eudochia had sought the repose of hearts at
ease; while Flavia, sitting with her daughter and Theodore
in the small chamber near the great Corinthian hall in the
palace of Diocletian, busied herself with manifold questions
in regard to those friends of other years, in Constantinople
and in Rome, from whom she had voluntarily separated her-
self, in order to lead her children up to years of free agency,
at a distance from the luxury and corruption of either great
metropolis. The anecdotes which he had to relate, the little
traits and rumours which he had collected, concerning those
whom she had once loved dearly, seemed of greater interest
to the Lady Flavia than even the news of more personal im-
portance which he told her. Yet that news imported that
the cession of a portion of Illyria by Valentinian to Theodo-
sius, was completely defined,—that the dwelling in which
she had found a home, by the interest of Paulinus, was now
fully transferred from the monarch of the west, who had
shown a strong disposition to despoil her of her lands in dis-
tant provinces, to the chief of the eastern empire, who, on
the contrary, had hitherto given her kindly aid and protec-
tion ; and that her possession of that sweet spot, near which
many of the estates of her dead husband lay, was confirmed
to her by the hand of Theodosius himself.

The lamp had been placed at her right hand, in order that18

ATTItA.

she might peruse the letter of Paulinus ; but still she had not
proceeded to that task. What were the feelings which staid
her, it were difficult to sgy; but the open pages lay unread
by her side ; and though she more than once took them up,
as if to begin, she laid them down again as often, and asked
some new question. At length, as the moonlight found its
way through the half-drawn curtains of the door, she once
more raised the letter, saying, " Well, I will read it now," and
her eye again fixed upon the first few words.

" Notwithstanding, gentle Flavia," so the epistle ran, " the
desire I had expressed to keep hidden from my son, and our
sweet Ildica, our hopes and purposes, yet feelings that I can-
not well explain, but which I will now attempt to depict, have
induced me, sure of your consent and approbation, to tell
him, ere he left me,—perhaps for the last time,—that it was
my wish and hope, if his own heart seconded my desire, that
he should, in his twentieth year, choose the one we both so
dearly love for his bride."

Flavia raised her eyes to her daughter, and the son of
Paulinus, who had, in the occcupation which had just em-
ployed her, a fair excuse for speaking in low and gentle mur-
murs. They had farther drawn back the curtains, and were
gazing from the door upon the moonbeams which lighted up
the great h^all; and a bright warm smile upon the mother's
face told that her own heart took kindly part in the fond
feelings which were so busy in theirs. She turned to the
letter again, however, without comment, and read on. " I
am about," continued Paulinus, " to travel through the pro-
vinces, and the will of God may require that I shall never
return. I know not why, but I have a sadness upon me. As
the sun goes down, small objects cast long shadows; and I
have fancied, that I once, and only once, beheld a cold look
in the eye of the Emperor towards me, a triumphant smile
on the countenance of Chrysapheus; yet, if ever omens were
infallible, they would be the smiles of qur enemies and the
coldness of our friends. Nevertheless, let me acknowledge
all my weakness,—weakness which philosophy cannot con-
quer, and which it were wisdom to conceal from any other
eye than thine, oh, thou that hast been as a sister to my
widowed heart, as a mother to my orphan children. Before
any evil augury could be drawn from the looks of others, my
own heart seemed to feel the coming on of fate. There has
been a shadow on my spirit, an apprehension of coming evil,
a sensation of neighbouring danger, such as domestic animals
feel when near a lion, even without seeing it."

Flavia laid down the page, murmuring, " And is it so,
Paulinus! alas, and is it so ?—Go forth, my children," sheAfTitA.

id

added, abruptly, seeing them still standing in the doorway;
" you seemed as if you longed to taste the moonlight air. Go
forth! It is a grand sight to gaze upon the waters of the
Adriatic from that noble portico. It expands the heart, it
elevates the mind, it raises the soul to the God who made all
things. Go forth, then, my children! I would willingly be
alone,"

They needed no second bidding; for she told them to do
that which had lain as a longing at their hearts ever since
she had begun to read. Not a year before, when they had
last parted, they would have waited no command,—nay, no
permission; but would at once, in the unconscious liberty of
the young heart, have bounded forth to enjoy the scenes they
loved, in the society that they loved not less—that of each
other. But a change had come over their feelings since then,
rendering all their intercourse more sweet, a thousand times
more sweet, but more timid also. Theodore, indeed, knew
why ; for hi3 father's parting words—the solemn sanction
which Paulinus had given to his future union with Ildica, in
case death should prevent a father's lips from pronouncing
the blessing at their marriage feast,—had opened his eyes to
the nature of his own sensations. No sooner had the few
first words been uttered by Paulinus, than he had felt at
once that his love for Ildica was more than fraternal affec-
tion ; that it was different—how different!—from that which
he experienced towards Eudocliia; how different from that
which he entertained towards any other human being ! With
Ildica, the knowledge was more vague : it was more a sensa-
tion than a certainty. So long as Theodore had been with
her she had gone on treating him as a brother ; but with the
feelings of her heart changing towards him, still as imper-
ceptibly, but still as completely, as the green small berry
changes to the purple grape, the verdant bud to the ex-
panded and to the yellow leaf. So long as he had been with
her she had felt no alteration though it took place ; but during
his absence she meditated on those things long and deeply;
and on his return, she met him with not less affection, but
with deep and timid emotions, mingling a consciousness with
her every look, which was sweet to the eye that saw it, and
that wished it to be so.

Theodore raised the curtain, and Ildica passed out; but ere
she had taken two steps in that grand moonlight hall, Theo-
dore's hand clasped hers, and he led her on through all those
splendid apartments,—which have been, even in ruins, the
wonder and the admiration of all after-days,—to the vast co*
lonnade, six hundred feet in length, which fronted and over-
looked the beautiful Adriatic. As they passed, in the variousATTltA.

apartments of the slaves and domestics were to be seen lights,
and to be heard many a gay voice laughing; and at the end
of the principal street of the palace, for it had its streets as
well as corridors, two or three groups were seen playing in
the moonlight with polished pieces of bone, or with loud and
vehement gesticulations disputing about their game. Theo-
dore almost feared that the portico itself might be tenanted by
some such party; and his heart had anticipated an hour of
lonely wandering with her he loved so eagerly, that he might
not have brooked disappointment with old and stoical patience.
That portico, however, was considered by the general inhabit-
ants of the palace, and those also of the neighbouring village,
as in some degree sacred ground. It was there that the great
Emperor, after having conquered and reigned in glory through
the piime of life, after having satisfied the vengeful zeal of
his counsellors against the Christian sects, which now, in spite
of all his persecutions, peopled the whole land, after having
made his name awful by deeds of blood, not less than by deeds
of magnificence, had been accustomed to sit self-stripped of
his power, and to gaze out, after having been an emperor,
upon nearly the same scene which his eyes beheld before he
was anything but a slave. Although little more than a cen-
tury had elapsed since the death of Diocletian, his fate and
history, his acts and his character, had been strangely dis-
torted by tradition; and though the peasantry had not learned
to look upon him as a bad man, or to execrate him as a tyrant,
yet the extraordinary vicissitudes which he had hewn out for
himself, the vague legends of his acts during life, and the
mystery attaching to his death, surrounded his memory with
a fearful awe, which held the people of the neighbourhood
aloof from the spot for which he had shown such peculiar
fondness, when Night covered the world with her dim and
fanciful shades.

The portico was vacant; happy sounds rose up from the
shore, where the fishermen were lingering beside their boats ;
and a merry laugh, or snatches of some light song, were heard
from the neighbouring village, sinking into the hearts of Ildica
and Theodore with the power of a charm, waking associations
of sweet domestic joy, dim and undefined, but thrilling—
potent—overpowering. Oh! who can tell the many magic
avenues through which all the external things of the wide
universe find, at some time or other, means of communicating
with the inmost heart—avenues, the gates of which are shut,
till, at some cabalistic word of grief or joy, or hope or fear,
they suddenly fly open; and we find in our bosom a thousand
sweet and kindred fellowships, with things which had never
Jearned to touch or agitate us before.ATTILA.

21

Glad and cheerful, yet calm,were the sounds that broke occa-
sionally upon the listening ear of night; and grand and solemn,
but still gentle, was the scene which lay stretched beneath the
risen moon; but the sensations which were in the breasts of
the two, rendered those sounds and sights a thousand-fold
sweeter, a thousand-fold more dear; and in return, the gay
distant voices, and the calm wide moonlight sea, seemed to
draw forth and render intense even to overwhelming, in the
souls of Theodore and Ildica,

*' Into the mighty vision passing,*

the inborn joy of all the new emotions to which that day had
given life within their hearts. They paused and listened to
the melody of innocent mirth, and paused and gazed upon the
bright world before them. Ildica's hand trembled in that of
Theodore, and her heart beat quick; but he felt that she was
his, and that she was agitated; and with the gentleness of
true affection, though without any definite plan for sparing
her, he took the very means of telling bis first tale of love, so
as to agitate as little as possible the young and tender being,
all whose deepest feelings were given to him alone.

" Hark 1" he said, " hark, dear Ildica! how gay and sweet
those merry voices sound! Some lover come back from wan»
dering, like me, tells the glad story of his journey done to the
ear of her who has watched for him in absence."

Ildica grew more calm, and raised her eyes, too, to Theo-
dore, not without some feeling of surprise, so different was
his tone, so much more manly were his words, than when they
had parted. There had been, up to that moment, one thing,
perhaps, wanting in her love towards him—the conscious
feeling of man's ascendancy: she had loved, with passion deep,
sincere, and ardent; but she had loved as a girl, and looked
upon him still as the companion of her early sports. His
words and tone—the words and tone of one who had mingled
with and taken his place amongst men—put the last rose to
the wreath. She felt that thenceforth to him she could cling for
protection—to him she could turn for guidance and direction.

But Theodore went on. u Some lover," he said, u or per-
haps some husband, Ildica, returned from the labours of the
day to home and happiness, and sweet domestic love! Oh,
dear Ildica, since I have been away, often have I, in wander-
ing through different provinces, lodged in the dwellings of
traders in the towns, or in the cottages of shepherds and la-
bourers in the mountains and the plains; and the most beau-
tiful, the most blessed thing that I have ever seen has been
found as often, if not oftener, in the hut of the herd or the
house of the common merchant, as in the marble palaces ot22

attila.

tlie Cassars, and within the walls of imperial cities. Oh, that
sweet domestic love ! that blessing—that bright blessing I
which, like the glorious light of the sun, shines alike on every
condition, and on every state, cheering, enlivening, enlighten-
ing, all who shut it not out from their own dark hearts by
vices and by crimes. Hark, hark! dear Ildica, how those gay
voices seem to chime to my words, speaking of love, and
joy, and hope ! Oh, Ildica, dear Ildica! may not such things
be also for you and me ? "

Ildica sunk down on the stone seat by which they had been
standing, but she left her hand still in his, and he felt ifc
tremble. Nor did he himself speak unmoved ; for his ardent
nature, and the first breaking forth of those dear and trea-
sured thoughts, shook his whole frame, and scarcely daring to
trust his lips with farther words, he placed himself by her
side, murmuring only, " Dearest Ildica!" She answered only
with a long-drawn agitated sigh, and, gliding his arm round
her soft waist, he drew her gently to his bosom.

44 Oh, Theodore, is not this wrong?" she asked, but with-
out attempting to free herself from his embrace.

44 Wrong, my Ildica? wrong, my beloved?" he exclaimed*,
u oh, no! God forbid that I should ever seek to make you do
or feel aught that is evil! No, no, dearest, my father's bless-
ing will attend our union; he has premised, he has given it:
our dear mother's consent was spoken to him long ago !"

44 Indeed !" cried Ildica.

44 Yes, indeed," he said, pressing her again closer to his
bosom, from which she had partly raised herself as she spoke.
44 Yes, indeed, Ildica! Joyful did my father's words sound in
my ear as he told me that if I could win your love, I might
hope for your hand. Nothing now is wanting to my happi-
ness but one dear word from my Ildica's sweet lips. Oh,
speak it, beloved! Speak it; and say you will be mine."
She could not find voice to utter the deep feelings of her
heart; but her cheek sunk glowing upon his shoulder, and
their lips met in the first dear long thrilling kiss of happy and
acknowledged love.

CHAPTER V.

From a dream of happiness such as mortal beings know but
once on this side of the grave—a dream of happiness in which
all the brightest, noblest, most joyful feelings of the fresh,
unsullied, unexhausted heart of youth burst forth, like the
streams ot the Nile from a thousand beautiful sources, Ildica
and Theodore woke at length, and prepared to return to theATTILA.

23

side of her mother, to make her a sharer in their joy, and tell
her how Idlest, how supremely blest, they felt. Clinging close
together in attitudes of tenderness, from which Attic sculptors
might have learned yet another grace, they rose and moved
along the portico. They moved, however, but slowly, lin-
gering still for some fond word, some affectionate caress, or
pausing in the scene, hallowed for ever in their eyes by the
first spoken words of love, to gaze over it again and again be-
tween the colossal pillars of the portico. Over that scene,
however, had by this time come a change, one of those sudden,
inexplicable alterations not uncommon in southern climates.
The moon, which by this time had wandered on far enough
to warn them that the crowded moments had flown quickly
away, was still hanging over the Adriatic, and pouring forth
that glorious flood of light which makes the stars all " veil
their ineffectual fires;" but the sky was no longer without
clouds, and catching the light upon their round but not fleecy
edges, the large heavy masses of electric vapour swept slow
over the lower part of the sky, between the bright orb and
the islands that slept beneath her beams. Theodore and
Ildica paused to mark them, as slowly contorting itself into
hard and struggling forms, one particular mass lay writhing
upon the horizon, like some giant Titan wrestling with agony
on his bed of torture. At the same time, the breeze which
was balmy, though calm, during the evening, became oppres-
sively hot, with a faint phosphoric smell in the air, and a deep
silence seemed to spread over the whole world. The cigala
was still, the voices on the shore had ceased, the merry laugh
no longer resounded from the open cottage door, and the
nightingale, which had prolonged her song after all the rest
was silent, ceased also, and left a solemn hush over the whole
universe.

" What strange forms that cloud is taking," said Theodore,
called even from the thoughts of his own happiness by the
sudden alteration of the scene ; " and how quiet everything
is. Doubtless there will be a storm to-night. Alas! for
those who are upon the treacherous sea."

u But your father," said Ildica, " he goes by land, Theo-
dore. Isitnotso?"

u Not so, dearest," replied Theodore; " he visits first An-
tioeh, and then proceeds by land; but it is not for him I
fear, as I heard of his landing while I was on the journey
hither; but those strange clouds, and the heat of the air,
must surely augur thunder to-night; and I saw a whole fleet
of boats this morning at Tragurium ready to put to sea."

"It is, indeed, warm," said Ildica; 441 feel almost faint
with the i^at. Had we lived a few centuries ago, Theodore*24

ATTILA.

we might have drawn evil auguries for ourselves and for
the ftite of our affection from those hard clouds, and the
dull and almost mournful silence which has fallen over the
world."

" Out upon auguries, my beloved," he replied, " we hold a
better faith, and place our trust in God, who made our hearts
and formed us for each other. We will confide in Him, my
Ildica; and for those who do so, signs and portents are but
proofs of his power, which should strengthen, not shake our
jaith."

As he spoke he turned to lead her into the palace ; but at
that moment the low, sad howling of a dog broke the stillness
of the night; and a figure, the face of which was turned from
the moonlight, but which Ildica at once recognised as her
mother, appeared at the end of the colonnade, and advanced
towards them. Ildica and Theodore hastened to meet her,
and each took and kissed one of her fair hands. " Give us
your blessing, O my mother!" said the youth; " we have
been very happy. I have told Ildica how I love her. I have
told her what hopes my father has given me; and she
has promised to share my lot and make my home joyful."

" Bless you, my children, bless you!" repliedFlavia, while
Ildica hid her face on her mother's bosom, and Theodore
again pressed his lips upon her hand. " Ye are young lovers,
indeed; but still my blessing be upon you ; and oh! may God
grant that in the course of that love which is made to render
us happy, you may be more fortunate than the parents of
either! Your father, Theodore, and I have both lost those
we loved as fondly as you love one another ; but may better
fate be yours, my children! may you never lose each other;
but go on in the same warm affections through a long life,
and death scarcely separate you, till we all meet again in
heaven."

Elavia raised her eyes towards the sky, and for a moment
remained in silence, though her lips still moved. The next
instant, however, she added, " I came cut to seek you, not
because I thought you long absent, nor because I had any
cause of fear; but I know not how or why it is I have a pain-
ful, apprehensive anxiety hangs upon me to-night which will
not let me rest. Perhaps it is the sultry heat of the atmo-
sphere ; the air has grown very oppressive ; even the animals
seem to feel it. Your sister's dog, Theodore, would not rest
in her usual place by my feet, but ran out through the cur-
tains ; and Aspar told me as I passed that it had fled to the
garden. How the cattle, too, are lowing in the village stalls!
Do you not hear them ? Does the wind come from Bratia ? "

" Nearly," replied Theodore; " but cast way melancholy,ATTILA.

25

my deaj mother. Oh! that Ildica and I could give you a
share of our happiness!"

uYou do! you do, dear youth!" replied Flavia; "I do
share in your happiness ; and this melancholy will pass away
again. Those who have known much grief are subject to
such thick-coming fancies ; and the first touch of deep sorrow
brushes off the bloom of hope, crushes the firm confidence of
the heart, and leaves shrinking apprehension to tremble at
every breath. But let us in: there is a storm coming on."

As she spoke there was a low melancholy sound came rush-
ing over the waters of the Adriatic; the clouds, which had
before past so slow and silently along, seemed now agitated
by some unknown cause, and rushed in dark black volumes
over the moon; while here and there, amidst the clefts and
rents of their dark canopy, looked out a calm bright star.
But still the mourning sound increased; and the bending
branches of the olives down below told that the breath of the
tempest was already felt. The next instant, ere the lovers
and Flavia could escape from the colonnade, the blast of the
hurricane struck the building and shook the massy structure
to its foundations. Behind the shelter of a pillar the two
women escaped; but Theodore, strong and active as he was,
found himself dashed forward against the wall of the palace ;
while leaves, and flowers, and broken boughs of trees were
whirled about in the air, and strewed the marble pavement of
the portico. It lasted but for a moment, however, dying;
away as it came with a low moan; while a few large drops of
rain followed as if the punished demon of the storm fulfilled
his allotted task of destruction with tears and with regret.

uFlavia! Ildica! you are not hurt?" cried Theodore,
springing towards them.

44 No! no!" replied Flavia, " we are safe; though it was a
fearful gale. But let us in, Theodore; it may return. Hark!
Good God! what is this ? "

Well might she so exclaim. The wind had gone by ; even
its murmur had ceased; when suddenly there rose a roar from
the earth as if ten thousand war-chariots had met in the
shock of battle. The lightning burst forth from the clouds,
and flashed along amidst the innumerable dark gigantic pil-
lars of the colonnade, lighting the whole of its vast extent
with the blue and ghastly glare; the thunder rolled from the
zenith to the horizon with a peal which would have deafened
the ear to the loudest voice. But the lightning flashed, and
the thunder roared, scarcely seen or heard; for below,
around, was a more dreadful visitation still. The earth shook
beneath their feet; the pavement rose and fell like the waves
of the sea; the enormous columns tottereci and reeled; the26

ATTILA.

walls of massive stone bent to and fro ; while the roar of the
earthquake and the echoing of the thunder were rendered
more terrific by the crash of falling building, and the shrieks
both from the interior of the palace and the more distant vil-
lage. Theodore cast his arms round Ildica and her mother;
and, staggering along, hurried them down the steps across
the level in front of the palace, and out of danger of its
shaken walls. It was the impulse of the moment which made
him act and Flavia yield; but she paused ere they were
many steps from the building, exclaiming, "My children!
Theodore, my children ! Your sister and Ammian! I must
go back."

u And I will go too!" said Ildica, in a voice so calm that it
made her lover turn suddenly to gaze upon her who seemed
to have lost the timid girl in the first moment of danger and
/ horror.

" No! no!" he exclaimed. " Dear mother, hear me! There
will be a second shock, doubtless, but it will be some minutes
ere it comes. .Hasten with Ildica beyond the golden gate and
up the side of the hill out of reach of all buildings ! I will
seek Ammian and Eudochia, and join you in a moment. Fly,
fly, dear mother! I leave in your charge what I value more
than life. Save her!"

Flavia hesitated; but that moment a slave with a torch
rushed out into the portico seeking them, while the motion of
the ground subsided and all became still. It was the swift
runner, Aspar, who came up, crying, " Fly, lady! Fly, dear
mistress! the worst shock is never first; fly to the hills,
fly!"

u Away with them, Aspar, beyond the golden gate," cried
Theodore, breaking from them; "I will join you instantly!
Away, away!"

Thus saying, he darted from them, rushed through the por-
tico, and crossed the side avenue, while the wild clamour
from the principal street of the palace echoed through the
long halls and galleries; and the deep darkness in which that
part of the building was plunged, rendered the distant sound
of wailing and of terror more frightful. On, on he went,
though fragments of stone and cement obstructed his way,
and crumbled under his feet, showing that even the first shock
had been severe enough to shake that strong and massive
fabric through every part. But Theodore still hurried for-
ward, till at length, in his haste, as he pa&sed the spot where
he and Ildica had seen the slaves playing on the pavement, he
stumbled over a large soft body, and stooping down he felt,
with horror, beneath his touch, the yet warm form of a man
with the newly-fallen capital of a neighbouring column lyingATTILA.

27

with crushing weight upon his loins. The long hair floating
on his shoulders showed Theodore that the unhappy being
had been a slave ; but still the instinctive benevolence of the
youthful heart made him pause a moment to ascertain if life
were extinct. He spoke, but not a tone answered; he lifted
the hand, in which life's soft warmth yet lingered, but not
even a convulsive movement of the fingers told that one spark
of the immortal fire still glowed in the mortal body. All was
motionless, insensible, lifeless ; and Theodore hurried on.

The gates of the Cyzicene hall were open; the glare of
lights and the sound of voices came from within ; and Theo-
dore instantly entered as the shortest way to the apartments
occupied by Vlavia and her household. Never, perhaps, did
terror in all its forms present itself more awfully than in that
grand and splendid chamber. There, as a general point of
meeting, had collected eighty or ninety of the slaves ami do -
mestics of both sexes. Fear had not yet had time to sub-
side ; and with pale and haggard faces, livid lips, and wide
anxious eyes, they remained, some clinging to the columns
which had so lately been shaken like reeds; some kneeling
in the midst, and uttering the confused and terrified prayer;
some cast down upon the pavement in utter sell-abandonment;
some hiding their eyes in their garments, as if they could
shut out the approaching horrors that they feared to witness;
some gazing wildly up to the roof, which they expected mo-
mently to fall upon them. Large fragments of the beautiful
paintings which had covered the walls were now seen dashed
about upon the floor; and a wide rent in the solid masonry
over the door showed how insecure was the shelter which
those terrified beings had sought from the night of the earth-
quake.

In the midst stood, gathered together in the hour of dan*
ger, three dusky Numidians, with a servant from the neigh-
bouring Pentapolis, who, in happier times, had been too near
akin to the dark Africans to live with them in amity, but who
now clung to them for support; while a gigantic slave, from
the Porphyry mountains, one of the few who looked the un-
usual dangers of the night in the face with calm determina-
tion, was seen in the front, crushing out under his large foot
a torch which one of his more terrified companions had let
fall. There were two or three others who stood near, and
with arms folded on their chests, and dark brows full of stern
resolution, gazed towards the door as if waiting what horror
was to come next.

In the hands of some of the bolder slaves were the torches
which gave light to the hall; and the moment Theodore en-
tered, one started from the group, exclaiming, in tones ofATTILA.

eager—ay, and affectionate inquiry—though they were but
slaves, "The Lady Flavia? Where is the Lady Flavia?
Where is the Lady Flavia ? "

He spoke as an old servant might speak to a boy he had
known from infancy; but Theodore was no longer a boy ; for,
the last nine months and the last few hours together, had
made him a man in mind as well as in body, and he replied
with that prompt tone of commanding courage which won in-
stant obedience.

" She is safe," he cried, gazing round him. " Up, up, ali
of you! Lie not there in prostrate terror, herding together
like sheep beneath the lightning. Up, if you would save
your lives ! Up, and away! You with the torches go before
them! Out beyond the golden gate you will find your mis-
tress and Aspar. Keep close to the walls till you are in the
open field! Another shock is coming, and the parapets and
capitals fall first, but fall far out from the buildings. Crowd
not together so, and crush each other in the doorway! Out,
coward! would you kill your fellows to save your own mise-
rable life ? So ! quietly—but speedily. You, Cremera ! and
you, and you, Marton, come with me ! You are brave and
honest, and love your lady. Snatch up whatever jewels
and valuable things you see, and follow quick! Where is
Eudochia? Where my brother Ammian?"

" Her chamber is within the Lady Flavia's!" said the Arab
Cremera; and, darting through the lesser doorway, Theo-
dore hastened thither, followed by the three he had called,
and one or two others, gathering up caskets, and scrinia, and
gold, and jewels, as they hurried through the more private
apartments of the palace. A sound of murmuring voices
was before him, as he came near the chamber of Flavia; but
dashing aside the curtain, he rushed in.

Kneeling upon the floor, as she had risen from her bed in
terror, with her bright hair flowing in waving lines over her
shoulders, her hands clasped, and her eyes raised to heaven
as her lips trembled with prayer, was Eudochia; while beside
her, fainting with terror, lay the negro girl who had sat
beside the Hyader lately so gay and thoughtless. Near her
stood Ammian, whose first impulse had been to seek her;
but in whose dark imaginative eyes, instead of terror, shone
a strange and almost sportive fire, as if his excited fancy felt
a degree of pleasure even in a scene so full of danger and of
horror. Nevertheless, he was eagerly entreating his fair
sister, as he called her, to conquer her terrors, and to fly
with him to seek their mother, exclaiming, " Come, coine,
Eudochia, you shall pray to-morrow—or to-night, if you
like it better, when once you are somewhere safe. YourAtTitA.



players will go to heaven in but tattered garments, if they
nave to force their way through yon rift in the roof. Come,
come !—Oh, here is Theodore! Where are my mother and
Ildica?"

" Both safe !" replied Theodore. " But this is no hour for
sport, Ammian;" and, without question, he caught up his
sister in his arms. "You take the casket from Cremera,
Ammian!" he continued. " Let him take yon poor girl!
Hark, there is a rushing sound! Quick, quick, it is coming
again! On before, Ammian. On before, to the golden
gate !"

Eudochia clung to his breast, and hurrying on with a step
of light, he bore her through the many chambers of the
building, till, turning through the great hall called the
Atrium, he entered one of the transverse streets, and paused
a moment to listen if the sound continued. All, however,
was still and dark, except where the murmur of voices and
the rush of feet was heard from a distant spot, and where a
number of torches appeared gathered together near the
beautiful octagonal temple of Jupiter, or where from the
apartments occupied by the old and incapable conservator of
the palace, were seen issuing forth two or three slaves with
lights, and a solitary priest bearing the consecrated vessels of
the Temple, which had already been converted to a Christian
church.

Onward, in the same direction, Theodore now bore the fair
light form of his sister; but ere he had reached the end of
the street another awful phenomenon took place. From the
midst of the intense, deep, black expanse which the sky now
presented, burst forth an immense globe of fire, lighting
with a fearful splendour the gigantic masses, columns, and
towers of the palace; showing the neighbouring hills and
woods beyond the gates, and even displaying the heavy piles
of mountains that lay towering up toward the north. No
thunder accompanied the meteor; and its progress through
the sky was only marked by a sound as of a strong but equal
wind, till suddenly it burst and dispersed with a tremendous
crash, leaving all in deeper darkness than before.

The sight had made the multitude pause and fall upon their
knees before the church; and as Theodore approached,
he heard a voice exclaiming, " Let us die here ! We may as
well end our days here as in the open fields! Let us
die here."

But, to his surprise, the next moment, the calm sweet
tones of the Lady Flavia struck his ear, replying to the
words, which she had heard too. "No, my friends! no!"
phe said, in a voice which had now no terror in its sound, butso

ATTitA.

was all calm but energetic tenderness. " No! it is our duty
to God, to ourselves, to our brethren, to our children, to take
the means of safety which are at hand. Let us fly quick
from amongst these buildings which another shock may cast
down to crush us. There may be dangers even beyond
the walls, but here are certain perils. Let us go forth;
I came back but to seek my children! Lo, they have come
in safety, and let us now depart. Oh, delay not, pause not,
for the hesitation of terror more often points the dart
and sharpens the sword that slays us, than the rashness
of courage. Come, my friends, let us go. God will pro-
tect us; let us take the means He gives. Come, my Theo-
dore, come. Ammian, you look as your father used to look
when he went forth to battle. Should not such a face as that
shame terror, my friends? Come, I pray ye, come !"

Even as she spoke, the same hollow rushing sound was
again heard; the steps on which she stood above the rest
shook beneath her, and Ammian, seizing her hand, hurried
forward. Clouds of dust rose up into the air, shrieks
of terror burst from the very lips that had so lately proposed
to remain and die there, and every one now rushed towards
the gate. But their steps were staggering and unequal, for
the solid earth was again shaken, the buildings and the
columns were seen tottering and bending by the light of the
torches, the crash of falling masses blended with the roar of
the earthquake, part of the frieze of the temple was dashed
into the midst of the group of slaves, who were flying on
before their mistress, and one amongst them was struck
down.

"Stop!" said the voice of Flavia; 41 let us not leave
any one we can save. Hold the torch here !" But it was in
vain. The man was crushed like a trodden worm!

" God receive thy spirit to his mercy, through Christ!"
cried the priest, and they rushed on, while still the earth-
quake seemed to roll the ground in waves beneath their feet,
and their eyes grew dim and dizzy with the drunken rocking
of the enormous buildings, through the midst of which they
passed. The gate, though not far, seemed to take an age to
reach, and joyful was the heart of every one as they drew
near. But just as they were about to go forth, the struggling
of the feverish earth appeared to reach its height; and one of
those colossal flanking towers, which seemed destined to out-
last a thousand generations, swayed to and fro like a young
heart sorely tempted between virtue and crime, and then fell
overthrown, with a sound like thunder, across the very path
of the fugitives. It left a chasm where it had stood, how-
ever ; and thro-igh that rugged breach the terrified multitudeATTILA.

SI

took their way, stumbling and falling over the convulsed and
quivering masses of stone.

Glad, glad were all bosoms when those Avails were passed ;
and though still the ground heaved beneath their feet, though
the roar continued, and the very trees were heard to crack
and shiver as they passed along, yet all felt that some hope
of safety was gained; though when they looked around, and
saw the black and tangible darkness that covered the whole
earth, and hid every object except that on which the occa-
sional torchlight fell—when .they gazed, I say, into that dull
and vacant unreplying blank, and heard the hollow roaring
voice ot the earthquake around, below, above, well might
their hearts still sink, and well might many a one amongst
them think that the predicted day of general dissolution had
at length arrived.

Still carrying his sister in his arms, Theodore had followed
Flavia and Ammian through the broken walls; and it was
not till their feet trod the more secure ground beyond, that
he asked, " Where is Ildica, my mother?"

u Here at hand, upon the hill, my noble Theodore," she
answered. u Eudochia now is safe," she added; u leave her
with me, and give our dear Ildica tidings of our escape, for
she promised not to quit the spot where I left her till my
return. Yon faint spot of light upon the old tumulus,—that
is Aspar's torch."

Theodore placed his sister on her feet beside Flavia, and
hurried on. He had no light with him; the heavens and the
earth were all in darkness, and the roar of the last shock still
rang, though more faintly, in the air. Yet, ere he had
arrived within the feeble and indistinct glare of the slave's
torch, the quickened ear of love and apprehension had
caught the sound, and recognised the tread of his coming
feet; and in a moment Ildica was in his arms, and her fair
face buried 011 his throbbing bosom.*

CHAPTER VI.

The horrors of that night had not yet ended ; for, from the
third hour after sunset till day had fully dawned, the fever of
the earth raged with unabated fury. A melancholy and a
ghastly group was it that soon crowned the hill where Flavia

* In " The Story of Azimantium," which I published about six years
ago in Blackwood's Magazine, and which has since been republished in
" The Desultory Man," I gave very nearly the same account of this great
earthquake with that here given. The actors and the scene are different;
but the principal facts, being founded on historical truth, are the same,m

ATTILA.

had left her daughter, when at length all those who had
escaped with her from the palace were collected together
round the torches. Not one half of those, indeed, who
dwelt in the magnificent building to which that earthquake
gave the first severe blow, had assembled in the train of the
Roman lady ; but during the pause of nearly an hour, which
succeeded the second shock, many pale and terrified beings,
some wounded and bruised with the falling masses, some
nearly deprived of reason by their fears, wandered up from
the palace and the neighbouring village, guided by the lights
upon the hill, and with wild exclamations and bemoanings of
their fate, added something to the horrors of the moment.

Gradually the brief spoken or almost silent awe subsided
during that long interval of calm ; and many who had been
waiting with sinking hearts for the coming of a third shock,
began to talk together in low whispers, and even to fancy
that the hour of peril had passed by. Gradually, too,
serving to encourage such thoughts, the clouds rolled away ;
the stars looked out calm and bright, and the moon was seen
just sinking into the Adriatic, but with a red and angry glow
over her face, in general so calm and mild. Hope began to
waken once again in all bosoms ; and one more rash than the
rest, a fisherman from Aspalathus, ventured down the hill,
declaring that he would go and see what had befallen his
boat.

The minutes seemed hours; but very few had elapsed,
after his departure, ere the fierce rushing sound af the
destroyer was again heard; again the earth reeled and shook,
and yawned and heaved up, and burst like bubbles from
a seething cauldron, and lightning, without a cloud, played
round the hills and over the waves. The terrified multitude
clung together, and the sick faintness of despair seemed to
defy all augmentation, when the voice of the fisherman was
heard exclaiming, as he hastened back up the hill, "Fly
farther, to the mountains! fly farther up! the sea is rising
over the land; the boats are driven into the market-place ;
the palace will soon be covered! Fly farther, and fly
quickly, if you would save your lives!"

u Why should we fly?" cried the same voice which had
before urged the multitude to stay and await death below;
and at the same time a tall gaunt man, with long streaming
grey hair, and large, wild, melancholy eyes, pushed himself
forward into the torchlight. "Why should we fly?" he
cried, " and whither can we go to hide us from the wrath of
God ? Lo, I tell you, and it shall come to pass, that no sun
shall ever rise again upon this earth, except the Sun of
righteousness. The last day, the last great day, is at handfATTILA.

and in vain ye say to the mountains, 4 Fall upon us, and
to the hills, Cover us, in the great and terrible day of the
Lord.' Make ready your hearts, and prepare your souls, for
verily ye are called to judgment, and the Son of Man
is coming, in clouds and glory, to separate the sheep from
the goats."

His words, his solemn gestures, his wild and enthusiastic
look, supported by his reputed sanctity of life, plunged the
people in deeper despair; but Flavia again interposed, and
with sweet and gentle, yet dignified and commanding, elo-
quence, she won the people to hear, to yield, and to obey her.
Lighted by a single torch (for those they had brought had
burned so far that it became necessary to spare them) the
melancholy procession wound up the road which led over the
mountains towards Titurum. After travelling for at least a
mile, with a continual ascent, they again paused; and in order
both to give new courage to the sinking hearts of those who
accompanied her, and to prevent the enthusiastic Mizetus from
adding to their terrors, the lady besought the good priest of
the palace church to guide them in praying to the Almighty
in their hour of peril.

The old man had not spoken since they left the city ; but
the mild words of the Roman lady seemed to wake him from
the stupor of anguish and terror into which he had fallen.
Called upon to find words of consolation for the flock com-
mitted to his charge, he applied them first to his own heart,
and instantly remembering the hopes and promises of a pure
and exalted faith, he broke forth in a strain of powerful elo-
quence, now directing the people to put their trust in that
Almighty arm which can save in the time of the most awful
danger; now raising his voice in prayer to God, mingling
adoration with petition, and offering at once the sacrifice of
faith and supplication.

The people gathered round, slaves and freemen together,
lifting their pale faces and anxious eyes by the dull torchlight
to the countenance of the priest. They gained confidence and
courage, however, at his words; and when he began his
prayer, they knelt around upon the still shaking earth, and
rose again with hearts full of trust, calmed and strengthened
by devotion. None had stood aloof, not even those who had
hitherto remained firm to their ancient idolatry. In that
hour of horror, they felt the need of some higher hope and
more abiding trust, and they kneeled with the rest to that
more mighty God whom hitherto they had not known.

Ere they rose, a light and grateful wind sprang up from the
mountains; and, with hope once more awakened, in a still
dark and superstitious age, even so slight a change as that

c34

ATTELA.

was received as a favourable presage. Many there were who
regarded it as a sign that their prayers were heard; and when
at length the calm grey dawn began to look from the eastern
hills upon the wearied and anxious groups below, though the
earth still shook, from time to time, with a convulsive shudder,
the sight of the blessed light of returning day seemed to take
the worst apprehension from their overloaded hearts, and
many an eye shed tears of joy, to see again those rays which
they had feared were obscured for ever.

Rashness generally follows terror allayed; and scarcely
had the sun fully risen, when numbers, anxious for friends
whom they saw not,—or, perhaps, with more sordid motives,
—began to hasten away towards the village and the palace.
But the earth still shook, and Flavia, with her family and
servants, still remained upon the hill, after striving anxiously
to persuade the rest to wait till all was again completely still.
Her reasoning was in vain, however, and troop after troop
went off; but scarcely was the day an hour old, when another
severe shock was felt, and many who had escaped the dangers
of that fearful night were crushed or maimed in the ruins of
the dwellings to which they had returned. That shock was
the last, as it was the longest, which was felt, and when it
subsided all remained quiet; and though the ground was
seen yawning in various places; though parts even of the
mountains had slipped from their places, and rocks lay over-
thrown in the valleys; though the courses of the streams
had been altered, and the whole face of the land was changed;
yet it soon became evident that the earthquake was over, and
mourning was all that remained,—mourning unmingled with
fear.

There was mourning in the hearts of all; and yet how
many a glad embrace, how many a tender and affectionate
caress, how many a prayer and thanksgiving, expressed the
gratitude, the joy, the love, which filled the bosoms of Flavia
and her family! How many an earnest and a wistful glance
at the faces of each other told that, in the anguish of that
long, horrible night, selfish fear had been superseded by ap-
prehensions of a nobler kind!

Bright and beautiful, calm and serene, the day rose up over
that scene of desolation and ruin, smiling as if to give com-
fort and consolation to the smitten earth; but still Flavia
lingered on the hills, unwilling to trust her children or her
domestics amidst the ruins of the palace, till she should be
well assured that safety might be found within its walls. As
the sun grew hot, however, she removed to the edge of a
small wood of tall ilexes which hung upon the edge of the
mountain road though many of the finest trees had been up-ATTILA.

35

rooted and thrown down either by the wind or the earthquake;
and haying placed herself beneath the shade, with her children
round her, several of the slaves ran hither and thither, to
seek some food whereof to offer their well-loved mistress the
morning's meal. Each returned with something; but each
had some sad tale to tell of the ravages that were to be traced
in the direction in which he had gone. Milk and wine and
early fruits had been found in abundance amongst the various
cottages in the neighbourhood, and a meal, plentiful, but
simple as that of the night before, was spread upon the grass
beneath the trees.

The earth was still, the air was fresh and sweet, and the
birds had begun again their melody, forgetting in song, like
the happy heart of youth, the blow of calamity as soon as it
had passed away. All tended to soothe and to re-assure;
and the heart of Ammian, which, even during the terrible
scenes of the past night, had not lost its bold and fearless
daring, now broke out in light and wild fancies. He would
know the causes of the earthquake ; and when he found that
neither his mother nor Theodore could give a satisfactory
reply to all his many questions—as who in that age could have
furnished any on such a theme ?—he let his imagination run
wild in conjectures; and many a bright poetical theory he
formed, and many a wild and baseless hypothesis he raised,
sporting with all the dread images of the past, like a child
playing with the weapons of deadly strife gathered from a
field of battle.

Then he urged his mother to return quickly to the palace,
in order, as he said, to see what old Ocean had been doing
there during their absence. With Theodore, JFlavia held
more rational intercourse, taking counsel with him as to what
course she had to pursue, and expressing an apprehension lest
the palace, left totally unguarded, might be plundered during
her absence and that of the old imperial conservator, who re-
mained with them, his senses still bewildered with all the ter-
rors he had gone through. Theodore, however, showed her
that the faithful slaves who had followed him through the
building had brought away all the valuable jewels, caskets,
and gold which they had found; and for the rest, he offered to
return himself with the conservator and some of the slaves,
and provide for the preservation of the palace and all that it
contained.

" Go you with the rest to Salona, dearest mother," he said:
"some dwellings must there hare been preserved; and
amongst the merchants and traders which it contains you will
always find shelter and assistance for gold. Shaken as the
palace has been, many parts may yet be standing which will86

ATTILA.

soon fall, and your presence would only be dangerous, and
embarrass us in ascertaining the state ot the building. I will
accompany you part of the way to Salona, and then turn round
by the heathen cemetery towards Aspalathus and the palace."

Ildica listened, and her look seemed to say that she would
fain accompany him; for hers was one of those hearts which
would rather, far rather, take part in the danger and the grief
of those they love than share even their happiest hours. But
she said nothing; for she knew that her wishes ought not to
be granted, and she would neither put her mother nor her
lover to the pain of opposing her even by a word.

Eudochia, however, in the inconsiderate apprehensiveness
of girlhood, clung to her brother, and besought him not to go;
but Theodore soon pacified her, assuring her that he would
not venture rashly where danger was apparent; and, after a
few more words, orders were given to the domestics, and
Flavia rose to proceed towards Salona. Weariness, indeed,
was in all limbs; and, with slow and heavy steps, those who
had remained with Flavia on the uplands took their way along
a road which wound for some distance over the ridge of hills
nearest to the sea, and then descended, separating into two
branches, the one leading to the town of Salona, the other to
Aspalathus and the neighbouring palace. The latter branch,
with a steep declivity, wound down the hill, bordered on either
hand by a long row of tall dark cypresses which reached from
the northern gate of the palace to a cemetery on the side of
the hill. In that burial ground, surrounded by a low wall
not two feet high—thus built that all who passed might gaze
upon the records of mortality within—lay crowded a multitude
of tombs, checkered with groups of dull funeral trees. There
reposed the remains of all who had died in the vicinity, since
Dalmatia had become a Roman province, and the frequent
4 Siste, viator!' called the eye, and recorded the vain attempt
to teach mankind wisdom and moderation from the common
lot of all.

It was near this burial-place, just where the roads parted,
that Theodore paused, and, after a few minutes' conference
with the old officer of the palace, selected several of the slaves
to accompany him on his way. But just as he was about to
depart, the eye of Ildica rested upon a cloud of dust that rose
from the point where the road towards Salona became first
visible, emerging from a thick grove at the distance of perhaps
half a mile from the spot where they then stood.

"Look! look!" she said; "here are people coming up
from the city—perhaps to give us assistance ; and I trust they
may bring a chariot or a litter, for my mother is pale and
weary, and Eudochia is faint also." .ATTILA.

S7

* " And you are weary, too, my Ildica I" said her mother.
"But look! Theodore, look! Do you not see armour and
helmets glittering through the dust in the sun? It seems a
tunna of cavalry or more, for the line is long. Stay with us,
my dear son, till we see what we have here : let us turn into
this field opposite the cemetery while they pass by."

Her words were instantly obeyed as commands ; and, wind-
ing on with a slow equal march, a small body of horse, fol-
lowed by a number of stragglers on foot, ascended the hill,
and then, without pause or question, took the way on towards
Aspalathus. In a moment after, however, at a quicker pace,
as if to overtake them, and followed by a number of soldiers
and attendants, came a superior person, who paused on seeing
the group seated in the neighbouring meadow, and sent a mes-
senger to ask if much mischief had occurred at the palace in
consequence of the earthquake, and whether the Lady Flavia
were safe.

" She is well, and present," replied Flavia to the messenger:
uwho is it that sends?"

uThe military tribune, Marcian," replied the attendant;
and Theodore instantly sprang up, exclaiming, u My father's
dear and noble friend!" and without other comment he ran
down the field. As soon as the tribune beheld him he leapt
from his horse and pressed him in his arms, and after a few
brief words gave some orders to his attendants, and advanced
with Theodore to the spot where Flavia sat.

He was a man already in the middle stage of life, tall and
powerful in frame, and of mild, but firm and serious, coun-
tenance. He was not, perhaps, what would generally be re-
puted handsome, but his features were good; and there was
the fire of genius in his large dark eye, the consciousness of
energy on his broad square brow. Dignity was in his aspect
and his whole demeanour; and, as he saluted the Lady Flavia,
lamented with her the events of the preceding night, and in-
quired in tones of deep interest into all the perils through
which she and her family had passed, there was that calm and
graceful suavity in his deportment which inexpressibly won
and struck every one who listened. Nevertheless there was
a cloud, as if of some deep melancholy, hung upon his brow;
and when Flavia informed him of her purpose of proceeding
to Salona, he shook his head mournfully, saying, " You had
better not, lady ! I think you had better not! It is a melan-
choly place," he added, a moment after; " much shaken and
ruined, and a great number of people have lost their lives
there. I fear that accounts from other parts of the empire
will be sad indeed."

There was something gloomy and thoughtful in the manner88

ATTILA.

of tlie tribune that surprised and somewhat alarmed the Roman
lady; for so much habitual self-command had the soldiers of
the empire, that it was rare to see any one, especially of such
rank and renown as Marcian, display upon the occasion of
any misfortune like the earthquake, the natural feelings which
were not the less busy at their hearts. The marble exterior
of the old republicans was much affected by all who sought to
distinguish themselves in the Roman armies; and Marcian
was famed for a temperate but unyielding firmness, which ad-
mitted not the semblance of grief or apprehension.

u Think you, then," she asked, "that we had better return
to the palace ? A report reached us in the night that the sea
had nearly covered it."

Marcian paused for several minutes, as if meditating what
were best to do, and then replied, 44 Lady, I will send to see
the condition of the palace, and in the meantime bid them

Eitch me a tent here to give you shelter from the sun. We
ave provisions with us, too, and can offer you a meal, such
as, perhaps, this great disaster may not have left at Aspala-
thus."

141 thank you," replied Flavia: 44 we have already eaten.
We found no want of food amongst the cottages upon the
hills."

But Marcian pressed upon them his hospitality so earnestly,
that Flavia yielded, feeling that there was something more
beneath his grave and thoughtful air than he suffered at first
to appear; and while the tent was being raised by his attend-
ants, he sent a messenger to the palace, with orders for such
minute examination as showed that the day would be high ere
he could return. Food already dressed was soon spread out
under the tent; and one or two vessels of wine were produced,
with several rich cups and vases, carved with the exquisite
workmanship of an earlier age, and shining with many a
precious stone. With grave suavity the tribune did the
honours of the meal, and spoke much, and of many things,
but with a wandering and discursive spirit, as if his mind was
forcing itself to the task, and seeking more largely the aid of
imagination than might have been the case had the heart been
itself at ease.

44 How magnificent are those cypresses!" he said, looking
towards the long avenue which led down the hill; 441 never be-
held finer, except, perhaps, some that grow on the hill above
Byzantium. But those stand solitary, as if to mark the
tomb of some warrior who has died afar from his own land;
these sweep down in a long row, like a line of departed
monarchs seen in the shady grandeur of tradition. There they
stood, centuries before Diocletian laid the first stone of hisATTILA.

39

palace ; there they stand now, when his history is almost for-
gotten ; there they will stand, when we are as he is. Well
are they placed between the palace and the sepulchre—those
witnesses of the mortality of ages. The common lot of man !
why should any one shrink from the common lot of man?
Why should we look with hope to this world's future, or
turn back our eyes with lingering grief to the past, or nurse
bright hopes of such young beings as these,"—and he laid his
hand upon the head of Ammian,—" or mourn with bitter re-
gret for those who have changed the thorny couch of mortal
life for the calm bed of the tomb ? Give me a cup of wine ? "

" A prodigy! a prodigy!" cried one of the slaves, running
into the tent; " an omen! an omen! Tribune, the eagle,
which has hovered over us all the way from Salona, has set-
tled on the pole of the tent!"

" Get ye gone!" replied Marcian; "what have I to do
with omens ? I may have the heart without the wings of the
eagle. Out upon ambition! and yet this very Diocletian,
who founded the palace hard by, was a slave before he was
an emperor. But he loathed, resigned, and refused to re-
sume the power which he had acquired and proved. That
eagle haunts me: twice has it hovered for hours over me
while sleeping in the open field, and now it settles on my
tent. These are strange accidents, and yet nothing more
than accidents. Who should dream of ambition with those
tombs before his eyes?—Give me some wine!"

The attendant who stood near handed the goblet, which he
had held ready filled for some minutes, to his master; and
Marcian, yet but half a Christian, turned and poured some of
the wine upon the ground. " To the dead !" he said, look-
ing mournfully round him, uto the dead!" and his eyes
fixed full and sadly upon Theodore.

The youth started suddenly on his feet, and grasped the
tribune's hand, exclaiming, " My father! I adjure thee tell
me! What of my father?"

Marcian threw his arms round the slighter form of his
young friend, speaking some words in a low tone. Flavia
rose and gazed eagerly in the face of the tribune, who shook
his head mournfully as his reply ; and Theodore hid his face
in his mantle, while Eudochia burst into wild and weeping
lamentations. Ildica's dark eyes overflowed in silence ; and
though Flavia let not one drop roll over the jetty fringes of
her eyelids, her pale cheek grew paler, and her lip quivered
with intense emotion. Marcian said no more, but gazed down
sternly upon the hilt of his sword ; and the only words that
■were uttered for some time were, "Alas, Paulinus!" which
broke from the lip of Ammian.10

attxla,

CHAPTER YII.

It was a long and dreary pause ; but at length the stern and
virtuous soldier, who, ere many more years had passed,
seated himself without crime or bloodshed in the chair of the
Caesars, laid his hand upon the arm of Theodore, with a firm
but kindly pressure, which spoke at once to a heart full of
high feelings and of noble energies, and roused it from the
dull stupor of sudden grie£

44 Oh, Marcian," exclaimed the youth, 44 this is an unex-
pected stroke ! So short a while since I saw him depart full
of vigour, and life, and happiness. So short, so common a
journey—so easy—so safe! How, tell me how this has be-
fallen? Was it by sickness, or accident, or war with some
rebel, or in the chase of some wild beast?"

44 Alas, no !" replied Marcian; 44 it was by none of these,
my son. Nor would I wound your young heart afresh, by
telling how it did take place, were it not absolutely necessary
for you to know your father's fate, in order that you may
gain an augury or a warning of your own, and timely pre-
vent it."

44 The Emperor," cried Flavia, 44 the Emperor has de-
stroyed his faithful friend : Paulinus saw it before he went.
Every line of his last letter breathes the anticipation of his
coming fate. lie saw it in the gloomy brow of Theodosius ;
he saw it in the smile of Chrysapheus; he felt that he was
going, never to return. Say, tribune, say! was it not the
Emperor's deed?"

4'Even so!" replied Marcian. "By the order of him
whom he had served with unequalled fidelity and truth—
the friend of his schoolboy hours, the companion of his high
and noble studies—by the hands of those he thought his
friends—hands that had been plighted to him in affection,
and raised with his in battle—at his own social board, and in
the hour of confiding tranquillity—was slain Paulinus, leav-
ing not a nobler nor a better behind."

Theodore again shed tears, but Flavia asked eagerly,

The cause, tribune ? What was the cause—or, rather,
what the pretext for cause ?—reasonable cause there could be
none for dooming to death one of the purest, noblest, least
ambitious men that the world has ever yet seen."

44 The cause was jealousy, lady," replied Marcian ; 44 a
cause that leads men ever to wild and madlike actions. In
the gardens of the Caesars, near their eastern capital, is a
solitary tree which bears fruit rarely ; but when it does, pro-attila.

41

duces an apple like that which hung in the garden of the
children of Hesperus—small in size, golden in colour, and
ambrosial to the taste. Paulinus had bestowed on Eudoxia a
book, containing poems of Sappho, which no other manuscript
can produce ; and the Empress, in return, had sportively pro-
mised her husband's friend the rarest thing that she could
find to bestow. The tree of which I spoke had in the past
autumn produced but one apple, and that was sent, on the
entrance of the new year, by Theodosius to Eudoxia. She,
in thoughtless innocence, sent it as the rarest of all things to
Paulinus, and Chrysapheus took good heed that the fact
should reach the Emperor's ears, distorted to his purpose.
Fury seized upon the heart of Theodosius; but the base
eunuch had sufficient skill and power to make him conceal
his suspicions and his hatred, for Chrysapheus well knew
that an open accusation might produce a bold and successful
defence. Paulinus was sent to Caesarea ; and there, unheard,
without trial, and without justice, was put to death !"

"Tyrant!" muttered Theodore. "Base, ungrateful ty-
rant !"

" Let your indignation swallow up your grief, my Theo-
dore !" replied Marcian ; u but let it not injure your country.
Great as it is, great as it well may be, still greater will it be-
come when you hear that Valens, your father's bosom friend,
has been since sacrificed for no other crime than his love for
Paulinus ; that several of your household slaves have been
slain by the Emperor's orders ; and that all the wealth of
Paulinus has been bestowed upon Chrysapheus!"

Theodore again started up, exclaiming—u I swear by all my
hopes, and by my father's spirit-"

But Marcian caught his arm. " Swear nothing against
your country, my son," he cried: u Theodore, we have need
of every Roman 1"

" Hear me ! hear me !" cried Theodore. "Naught against
my country. No, never, let the temptation be what it may,
will I draw the sword against Rome. So help me, the God
in whom I trust! But should ever the time come when tkia
hand can reach a tyrant, or a tyrant's minister, it shall doom
him to death as remorselessly as he has doomed my noble
father :" and having spoken, he cast himself down, and again
covered his face in his mantle.

Never, perhaps, through all the long tragic record of
human woes and sufferings which the past, the sad and
solemn past, holds in its melancholy treasury—never was
there yet a scene in which the dark feeling of desolation
penetrated more deeply into every bosom, than in the one
which surrounded the tribune Marcian The horrors, the42

ATTILA.

fatigues, the destruction of the preceding night, had laid
every heart prostrate in the general calamity; and when the
blow of individual grief fell heavy upon all alike, it seemed
to 6rush and trample out in every breast the last warm
kindly hopes—the last bright delusions of our phantasm-like
existence.

Flavia gazed on her children, and on the orphans, in deep
melancholy; while Theodore, with his face buried in his robe,
sat apart, and Eudochia hid her streaming eyes upon her
adoptive mother's lap. Ildica, with clasped hands, and cheeks
down which the large bright tears rolled slow, now gazed
upon her young and mourning lover; now turned an inquir-
ing, anxious, longing glance towards Marcian; who, an his
part, again, with knitted brow and downcast eyes, sat in the
midst, stifling emotions which struggled hard against control.
Even the slaves of Flavia and Paulinus, amongst whom the
news had spread, gathered round the open tent, and, stand-
ing wrapped up in their dark penulae, gazed with mournful and
sympathizing looks upon the sad group beneath its shade;
while mingled amongst them, here and there, were seen some
of the stout soldiers who had accompanied the tribune, evi-
dently sharing, notwithstanding all their own habits of dan-
ger and suffering, and their frequent familiarity with death
itself, in the grief of the young and hapless beings before
them.

One only of the party seemed occupied with other thoughts,
and yet the seeming belied him. Ammian, reclining by the
side of the little sandy path which crossed the meadow where
they sat, seemed busy, in his usual abstracted manner, in
tracing figures on the dust. One of the soldiers moved across
to see what he was employed in, and by that action drew the
attention of Marcian, whose eyes turned thither too; when,
to his surprise, he beheld, written in the Greek character,
upon the sand,—

" Death to all tyrants! The blood of the guilty for the
blood of the innocent! Vengeance for Paulinus ! "

Rising at once, he set his foot upon the writing ere the
slower soldier could decipher what it meant; and then, rais-
ing his finger to Ammian, he said, with emphasis, " Be-
ware !"

The boy looked up in his face, and answered calmly, " I
will beware, most noble Marcian !" But there was meaning
in his eyes, and Marcian chose not to urge his wild and
daring spirit further.

Seating himself again by Flavia's side, the tribune, with
the calm gentleness of a compassionate heart, endeavoured to
soothe the pain which it had been his bitter task to inflict;ATTXLA.

48

and when he had, in a degree, succeeded in gaining attention,
he gave some orders to the soldiers, and spoke some words to
the slaves, which caused them to retire from the vicinity of
the tent.

" Listen to me, Theodore," he said; " listen to me, noble
lady! Grief has had its part; other duties call for your con-
sideration. I would fain ask you, sweet Flavia, whither you
now propose to turn your steps; what plan you now propose
to follow."

" We proposed," replied Flavia, after a moment's hesita-
tion, " to go forward to Salona, there to wait, if we could find
a refuge, till the palace was again rendered habitable, or till
we could send those things which may be necessary to our
own villa upon the mountains. I have not dwelt in it since
my husband's death; but, if it be necessary, I can conquer
memory."

"To Salona!" replied Marcian, musing; "to Salona! It
is true, you could easily fly thence, in case of necessity, to
Ravenna; but Yalentinian, if report has informed me rightly,
loves you not, and might avenge himself by giving you up to
Theodosius!"

Flavia gazed earnestly in the tribune's countenance, as the
new and painful conviction of fresh dangers broke upon her.
"More sorrows!" she said; "more, more, to be endured!
Think you, then, noble Marcian, that we are in danger at
Salona ? Think you, then, that Theodosius will extend his
persecution even to us, innocent as we are ? "

" He has already slain one as innocent as any of us, lady,"
replied the tribune, u and he has given up to the sword one
friend and many of the slaves of him who is gone. Do you
believe, then, that he will spare the cousin of one whom he
hated—a cousin who was loved as a sister ? Can you trust to
his stopping short with the father, and not carrying on his
vengeance to the son ? "

" Oh, that I were in his palace !" cried Theodore; " oh,
that I were in his hall, and before his throne !"

But Flavia answered more calmly, "Tell us all our danger,
tribune. Give your kind and generous advice. You are
known as wise and good, as well as brave and skilful. We will
give our actions into your hands for guidance. You shall
shape our course as you think fit."

" Lady," replied Marcian, in a tone which, notwithstanding
all his command over himself, showed how much his heart
was moved,—" lady, I loved Paulinus as a brother. He was
wise and eloquent, learned and brave, and I am but the son
of a common soldier, nurtured in camps, and educated in the44

ATTILA.

rude field. Yet between my heart and his there were common
feelings; and in the course of our various lives we chained
our souls together by mutual benefits; may his shade find
Elysium! When I heard of what had befallen, my first
thought was of my friend's children. My cohort was in Dal-
matia, my time of command approaching; and though I had
been called to the capital by the imperial mandate, I prepared
to come hither with all speed. While I so prepared, I heard
of the death of Yalens and the slaves, and doubted not that
the cup might next pass to me. I presented myself before
the Emperor to know at once my doom ; but he contented
himself with commanding me to come hither, and lead the
troops instantly into Thrace. Another cohort, under the
command of Strator, the bitter enemy of Paulinus, is ordered
hither instantly to regulate—such is the pretext—the line of
frontier with the messengers of Yalentinian. Lady, I fear
me there may be other purposes to execute ; and I have has-
tened, without pause or rest, to bring you tidings, which, sad
as they are, might have been crowned with bitterer still, if I
had not been the messenger,—to bring you such tidings, and to
take counsel with you for your safety. My opinion, indeed,
my advice, is little worthy of your having ; but still, let us
consult together, and—as far as my duty as a soldier and a
Roman will permit—let me be a brother to the Lady Flavia,
a father to my dead friend's orphans."

44 Your advice will be as wise as your heart is kind," re-
plied Flavia. 44 Oh give it us, my friend ! give it to us fully
and openly. We will be guided by it, unless there be reasons
against it which even you yourself shall approve. If safety
be not to be found in Illyricum, whither would you have
us go?"

u To the extreme limits of the empire !" replied Marcian.
44 What matters it to you what the land be called which you
inhabit for a few short years ? what matters it if the north
wind blow somewhat more coldly than in this golden land ?
if winter wear a ruder aspect, and the flowers and fruits linger
for the summer sun ere they bloom and ripen ? "

u What matters it, indeed!" said Flavia. 44 We love this
scene, tribune,—well and dearly do we love this glorious
scene ; but we love it more from the tender memories that
have been attached to it, than even for its sunny splendour
and its face of beauty. But now the thunder which has stricken
us has turned the sweet and fruity wine which filled our cup
to sour and hateful dregs, another land will be brighter in
our sight. Freedom from a tyrant's neighbourhood shall
•upply the place of beauties that we leave behind; the absence
Df objects that recall our griefs shall compensate for those thatATTILA.

45

once awoke our joys; peace shall be our atmosphere of balm,
security our sunshine. What say you, Theodore ?"

" Let us go, my mother," replied the youth ; " where you
and Ildica, Ammian and Eudochia, are with me, shall be my
country. The tyrant has smitten down one object of my love,
but he is powerless over my capability of loving: that which
was parted is now all concentrated. You will go with me,
my Ildica, is it not so ? and my father's blessing—the blessing
of the dead—shall follow, and comfort us in exile. But whi-
ther would you direct our course, noble Marcian?"

" Towards the banks of the Danube," he replied. u There,
at the extreme verge of the Imperial territory, the power of
Theodosius waxes weak, and is exercised with difficulty.
There, too, if mad and persevering jealousy drive him still
to seek your hurt, ten steps place you beyond his reach,
where the feeble and degenerate Caesar dare not stretch a
hand to grasp you : your father's brother dwells at Margus,
bishop of the place."

Theodore's countenance fell. " He was indeed the brother
of my father's blood," he answered, u but was never the
brother of his love. Grasping, avaricious, crafty, I have
heard my father say that Eugenius has the talents but not
the virtues of a Roman."

" Yet with him," replied Marcian, " are you sure of a safer
asylum than with any one else. Even at this moment he is at
enmity with the court of Theodosius, and bears a mortal hatred
to Chrysapheus, who had wronged him, abandoned him,
and, notwithstanding the pleading of your father in his behalf,
would have willingly given him up to the barbarians. With
him you will find safety, I must not say you will find ven-
geance—but it may be so."

uLet us go!" cried Theodore; ulet us go, my mother!
The gold and jewels which, unwitting of all this, I made the
Numidians carry forth la-rt night, will render the journey
lighter to you, dear mother; and if my uncle, careful of his
wealth, refuse to give me support, I will find means to win
it for myself."

a Fear not for that," replied Marcian; u your father's
wealth, Theodore, is gone, but his estates are yours; and even
Theodosius dares not openly take from you that which no
law has sentenced you to lose. Strange that he who un-
questioned takes a life unjustly should not have power to
seize your land, and yet it is so Now, lady, let me send
once more to the palace and bid them bring forth all that
your treasury contains. Take with you all your movable
wealth ; for if you do not so guard yourself, it will fall into
bands whioh render no account. I will bid them, too, bring46

ATTILA.

forth whatever litters and carriages they find, to bear you less
weary on the way; and ere two days be over I will follow,
and, rejoining you, protect you from harm till, on the frontiers
of Mcesia, I must leave you and march on. At all events, my
presence and my troops will insure your safety so far; and
even after that, I shall be interposed between you and your
enemies, so that no messenger of evil can pass without my
learning his purpose, delaying his journey, and giving you
timely tidings. Speed, however, matters much; and now I
would have you set forth without a day's delay."

Flavia sought not to procrastinate; for though many a
clinging memory attached her to those scenes by the fine filmy
ties of associations, which even the sharp edge of grief could
not cut, yet the safety of Theodore, the happiness of her
own child, the enfranchisement from a state of society, where
virtue was no safeguard, and justice afforded no shield, were
objects too dear and high to be risked by delay. Few and
melancholy were the words that now passed, but the orders
of Marcian were promptly obeyed; and though he would
suffer neither Flavia nor Theodore to return, even for an
hour, to the palace, knowing far more of the cruel orders
which Theodosius had already given against them than he
chose to communicate, yet a number of their domestics were
sent thither with his soldiers to remove all that belonged to
either family in the building.

Ere the sun had passed the meridian more than an hour,
all who had been sent had returned, and many and curious
were the objects which now surrounded that sad group by the
side of the cemetery. A number of mules and horses were
there; the black charger which had carried Paulinus in his last
victory over the Alani, and which had never been ridden since
by any one but himself; the white horses which drew the low
carriage called pilentum, wherein Flavia was accustomed to
drive along the margin of the sea; litters with their silver
feet, and covered chairs of gold and ivory; rich caskets;
leathern bags of gold and silver coin ; and large quantities of
silks and fine linens (then become general, but still considered
costly), made up into packages of convenient sizes for carry-
ing on the shoulders of the slaves, or placing on the beasts of
burden, together with cups and vases of gold, silver, and pre-
cious stones; and slaves of all complexions and of every dif-
ferent feature—everything, in short, which was usually col-
lected in a wealthy and powerful Romsn house, at that
luxurious and extravagant period, was there scattered round
in glittering profusion, giving that group the appearance of
some caravan from Ophir or from Tyre reposing on its jour-
ney. Some confusion and some delay took place, thoughATTILA.

47

everything was arranged as quickly as possible, while Flavia
looked on in calm sadness, and Theodore gazed upon the
scene with burning indignation unquenched by grief, making
his lip still quiver, and his bright eye flash.

At length all was prepared, and with a few words of heart-
felt thanks to Marcian, the lady placed herself with Ildica in
one of the lectulae or litters, Eudochia and her chief attendant
reclined in another. Ammian sprang upon a small Thracian
horse, and Theodore mounted his father's charger. The
noble beast, wild with unwearied strength, reared high and
snorted fiercely, as he felt the light weight of the young
Roman; but Theodore with skill and power soon curbed him
to his will, and patted his proud neck, while a tear, given
to the memory of him who was gone, wetted his eyelids.
The whole party then moved on, winding back again along
the path which they had trodden that very morning.

CHAPTER VIII.

It was in the calends of June, and yet the day had very few
of the attributes of summer. The grey rain came down
heavily from the dull leaden sky, the wind rushed in fierce
gusts from the north-east, the stream of the Danube rolled
dark and rapidly, and a melancholy murmur rose up from its
waters while they hurried on to the gloomy Euxine, as if in
reply to the sad and wailing voice of the breeze. The only
thing that spoke the season of the year was the vivid ver-
dure of the wide green pastures, and the rich blossoms that
hung upon the frequent trees. Along the banks of the dark
river, accompanied only by two freedmen on horseback, rode
Theodore, the son of Paulinus, dressed in the deep mourning
tunic and mantle of dark grey, with no ornament of any kind
upon his person, except at the hilt of his sword. The same
black charger bore him with which he had departed from
Dalmatia; and pressing the noble beast onward, he «ast his
eyes frequently to the opposite bank of the river.

At length he suddenly drew in his bridle, exclaiming,
" There is a raft, and if we can but make them hear we
shall be secure. Dismount, Cremera; run to the margin,
and shout loudly for the boatmen."

The dark Arab who, though rendered free by Flavia after
the earthquake, at Theodore's request, still followed the for-
tunes of the young Roman with love elevated by liberty,
sprang eagerly to the ground to obey ; but, to the surprise
of all, ere he had led down his horse to the shore, the raft,
which they had seen moored to the opposite bank, was put48

ATTILA.

in motion by two men who had been sitting near, under the
shelter of the wood, that was there thick and tall. Onward
it came, skilfully piloted across the stream till it approached
the shore, on which Theodore and his two followers now stood
ready to embark.

At the distance of twenty or thirty cubits, however, the
raft paused, and those who steered it gazed upon the young
Roman and his attendants with apparent doubt and surprise.
Theodore pressed them to come on; and then, perceiving
that they were barbarians from the north, he spoke to them
in one of those dialects which feelings connected with his
mother's memory had made him learn and preserve, even
amidst the gay amusements and deeper studies which had
since had their share of his time. She it was who had first
taught his infant tongue to pronounce those sounds so difficult
for a Roman to utter: she it was who had used those northern
words towards her boy, in the early language of affection and
tenderness ; and though she had died at a period of his life
when the wax on the tablets of memory is soft, and im-
pressions are too easily effaced, he had never forgotten the
accents that he had so dearly loved. But now, that know-
ledge proved not a little serviceable. The barbarians looked
up in surprise ; and when he told them, in a language they
understood, to bring near their raft with speed, as delay
might be dangerous to him, they hastened to approach the
shore, and suffered him to lead his unwilling horse upon the
fluctuating and unsteady raft.

One of the attendants followed; but the boatmen seemed
to doubt whether their rude passage-boat would sustain the
third man and horse; though the large trunks of trees
whereof it was composed were further supported by skins
blown out like bladders. Theodore, however, would not
leave one behind ; and, though sinking deep in the water, the
raft still bore them all up.

Floating heavily upon the rushing stream, it reached the
other bank of the Danube, and a piece of gold repaid the
service of the boatmen ; but though, when the foot of Theo-
dore touched the barbaric land, he felt the thrill of security
and freedom at his heart, yet, as he mounted his horse, and
gazed upon the scene before him, he paused with a sensation
of doubt and awe. The bank of the river, where he stood,
was clothed with smooth green turf; but both further up and
lower down the stream might be seen high rocks ; and at the
distance of about a hundred yards from the margin rose up,
dark, tall, and gloomy, the forest covering of primeval earth.
The proximity of those mighty trees prevented the eye from
discovering aught beyond them, except where the groundATTILA.

49

sloped down towards the west; but there, even, no promise
of a more open country was given: for oyer the first forest
line, at its lowest point, might be seen a wide extent of dark
grey wood, rounded, and waving with an interminable ocean
of leaves and branches.

The desolate aspect of the wilderness fell chill upon the
heart of the young Roman; and though his resolution to pur-
sue his way on that side of the river was not to be shaken,
yet many a difficulty and a danger, he too well knew, lay be-
fore him. Through some part of that wood, he was aware,
had been cut a military road, when the Romans had been
indeed the sovereigns of the world; but since that time
centuries had passed, and the inhabitants of the country had
changed : a thousand Uncivilised tribes filled the land which
the people of the Imperial city had once possessed ; and all
her magnificent works had been destroyed, or neglected,
beyond the mere frontier of the diminished empire. Theo-
dore paused, and gazed upon that dark and gloomy wood, un-
certain by what path he should direct his steps, and without
remarking the keen and eager eyes with which the two bar*
barian ferrymen examined him from head to foot.

At length, as he still stood scanning the forest, one of them
asked some question of the Arab Cremera; but it was
couched in the language of the Alani, and Cremera could
neither comprehend nor answer. The barbarian then ad-
vanced to the side of the young Roman's horse, and said, in
a mild and sympathising voice, 44 Are you not he who was
expected?"

a I am not," replied Theodore, in the same language. " I
am a Roman ; but I seek to go to Margus by the barbarian
bank of the river."

u You will find it both difficult and dangerous," answered
the other, " even if you already know this land ; and if you
do not know it, the lizard which climbs the rocks and trees,
and glides through the smallest space upon its onward way,
might as well try to travel upon the water. Besides, 3r°u
know not whether you are welcome in the land."

44 My mother was daughter of Evaric, king of the Alani
of Gaul," replied Theodore; 44 and wherever the land
tenanted by that nation I shall be welcome."

The man kissed the edge of his mantle, saying, 44 Be you
welcome !" And Theodore continued: 44 Can you give me no
one to guide me on my way ? "

44 I will see, I will see !" replied the other; and he ran
swiftly up into the wood.

Ere he had been long absent he re-appeared, followed by a
young man, clad in coarse clothing, and common far, who ex-50

ATTILA.

pressed himself willing, for a small reward, to undertake the
task of guiding the stranger on his way ; and though by his
stature and complexion, very different from those of the tall
and fair Alani, Theodore discovered at once that he was of
some other tribe, and found also that he could only speak a
few brief sentences of their language, the young Roman was,
nevertheless, glad to put himself under the guidance of any
one who knew the country well. With the few words that
he could command of the language which Theodore had been
speaking, the guide told him that it would be a journey ol
two days from that spot to Margus, and that houses where
they could find refreshment and repose would be few; but
still Theodore determined to pursue his way, and the guide
was at once promised the hire that he demanded.

He made the young Roman stay while he caught and
mounted a small shaggy horse which had been straying
in the wood, round a hut which was just to be distinguished
upon the upland, through the bolls of the tall trees. No
sooner had he sprung upon his beast, however, than the
whole nature of the barbarian seemed changed. Where he
had been slow and limping in his gait, he became quick and
active ; and setting off at full speed through the forest,
he pursued paths a long which it was scarcely possible for
Theodore and his companions to follow him ; so narrow were
they, so tangled, so insecure for any horse unaccustomed
to those intricate wilds.

Still poured down the rain; and as they galloped on
through those dim vistas and sudden breaks, the white mist
rolled in volumes amongst the trees, and each footfall of the
horses produced a cloud from the marshy grass. At length,
towards the evening, the sun, some three hours past his meri-
dian, began to break through the heavy clouds, and streamed
down the glades of the forest, while the light vapours rolled
away, and the birds sang sweetly from the woody coverts
around. In another hour three small tents of skins were
seen; and, pausing there for a short space, the guide pro-
cured some food for the horses, and milk for the riders.
The people of the tents looked wild and fierce, and spoke the
dialect of the Huns, which was unintelligible to all ears but
that of the guide. They showed no curiosity in regard to
the stranger's appearance, but they evinced that avidity
which is the peculiar vice of frontier tribes.

At the end of less than an hour the guide pointed to the
sun and to the horses; and Theodore mounting, once more
followed him on his way. Night fell ere they again saw
a human abode ; but at length they halted before a tall tower
of hewn stone, which had in former years been a Roman fort,ATTILA.

51

built as a defence against the very barbarians who now pos-
sessed the land. The guide tried the gateway; but finding
it fast, shouted loudly for admission. He then paused to
listen if any reply were made ; and while he did so, Theo-
dore heard afar the melancholy roaring of the Danube.

At length some grim faces and wild fur-clad forms pre-
sented themselves at the gate, and Theodore and his fol-
lowers were led into what had been the chamber of the
guard. There was no want of hospitality—nay, nor of cour-
tesy of heart—shown by the rude tenants of that half-ruined
building, to the young stranger who sought the shelter of the
roof that had become theirs. They lighted a fire in the
midst of the hall, to dry his still damp garments; they
brought forth their stock of fruit and milk, and even some of
the delicacies obtained from the neighbouring country.
Broiled fish was speedily added; and while the men, by
speaking gestures, pressed him to his food, the women
touched his mantle, and seemed by their smiles to marvel at
its fineness.

Though their appearance was rude, and no comeliness
of form or feature won by external beauty that confidence
which is so often refused to homely truth, yet Theodore read
in their looks that he was secure, and lay himself down upon
a bed of skins to seek that repose which he so much needed.
The freedmen lay at his feet; and all was soon silence
within those crumbling walls : but sleep, the bosom friend of
youth and happiness, grows timorous as a scared bird after
the first fell grasp of grief. All that he had gone through
within the last sad month, all that weighed upon his mind
even then, came back in the visions of the night, and three
times roused the young Roman from his light and troubled
slumbers. The first time all was still, and the light of the
blazing fire of pine flickered over the dark forms that
lay sleeping around. The next time when he awoke, two
figures were standing between him and the light, but one
soon turned away and left the chamber, while the other, who
remained, cast some fagots on the embers, and again lay him-
self down to rest. The slumber that succeeded was deeper,
heavier, more tranquil; and when he again awoke, daylight
was streaming in from above. Almost all the Huns whom he
had seen the night before had left the chamber, and one,
whom he had not hitherto beheld, stood with his arms folded
on his chest, gazing upon him as he lay stretched in the
morning light.

Between Theodore and the barbarian, however, awakened,
watchful, and prepared, with his spear grasped in his hand,
eat the faithful Cremera, his giant limbs and swelling muscles

i> 252

ATTILA.

all ready to start into defence of his master on the slightest
appearance of danger; but the eyes ot the Hun seemed not
even to see the slave, so intently were those small but search-
ing orbs turned upon the countenance of the young Roman.
Even when he awoke and looked up, the Hun withdrew not
that steadfast gaze ; but seemed to contemplate, with eager
curiosity, the same features, which he had beheld silent and
cold in sleep, now wakening up into warm and speaking life.

Theodore returned the glance for a moment, without
rising, and, as he lay, scanned the person of the Hun. He
vas shorter than the ordinary height of the Romans; but his
breadth across the shoulders was gigantic, with thin flanks
and long muscular arms. His features were by no means
handsome, and his complexion was a pale dark brown; but
yet there was something in that countenance remarkable,
striking, not displeasing. The small black eyes had an inex-
pressible brilliancy ; the forehead, surmounted with thin grey
hair, was broad, high, and majestic *, and the firm, immovable
bend of the almost beardless lips spoke that decision and
strength of character which, when displayed either in good
or evil, commands a separate portion of respect. His dress
was nearly the same as that of the other barbarians whom
Theodore had already encountered, consisting of dark grey
cloth and skins ; but the cloth was somewhat finer in texture,
and the skins had a smooth and glossy softness, which showed
the young Roman that the man who stood before him was
superior to the rest of those by whom he was surrounded.
Nor had it, indeed, required the slight superiority of his garb
to teach Theodore that he beheld no ordinary man. It has
been asserted, and it may be so, that from some hidden
source of sympathy, some instinctive prescience, we always
feel peculiar sensations on first meeting with one who is des-
tined greatly to influence or control our fate through life;
and whether such be the case or not, certain it is that
through the breast of Theodore, the moment his eyes rested
on the Hun, passed a thrill, not of fear nor of awe, nor even
of surprise, but of strange and mingled emotions, such as he
had never known before; and, as I have said, he continued
in the same recumbent attitude, gazing firmly in the face of
one who gazed so stedfastly at him.

After a short pause, however, the Hun spoke, addressing
him in the tongue of the Alani. "Though that bed," he
said, in a low, deep-toned voice, every word of which was as
distinct and clear as if spoken by a Stentor,—44 though that
bed must be but a hard one for the soft limbs of a Roman,
thou seemest too fond of it for such a youth as thou art."

44 Thou art mistaken, barbarian," replied Theodore, spring-ATTILA.

58

ing on his feet; u the Romans, who can lie on silken coaches
when they find them, do not think the ground either too cold
or too hard when necessary to use it tor their bed. I was
weary with long journeying for many days; otherwise the
crowing cock is my awakener."

" Thou speakest the Alan tongue well," said the Hun, gazing
at him from head to foot; u and thou art in colour and in size
like a northman. Say, art thou really a Roman ? "

UI am," replied Theodore; 44 but my mother was the

daughter of Evaric-"

"King of the Alani," interrupted the Hun, "then thy
father was Paulinus, Count of the Offices. We have met,"
he added, musing, u we have met; he is a valiant man:
where is he now?"

w In the grave," replied Theodore.

The Hun started; and after a moment's pause, replied, 44 I
grieve for him ; he was a valiant man : how did he die ? "

44 It matters not," answered Theodore ; u he is dead. And
now, barbarian, I would fain speed on my way, for I would be
at Margus as early as may be. Where is my guide ? "

u To Margus !" said the Hun : 44 know you that the priest
of that city—the bishop as they call him—has offended
Attila, the king ? Know you that Attila has demanded him
from Theodosius as a slave, to set his foot upon his neck,
and trample on him?"

441 have heard such rumours as I came hither," replied
TJheodore ; 44 but it matters not to me what quarrel there
may be between my uncle and the barbarian chief. Attila
will find it hard to trample on the brother of Paulinus."

44 Ay! So he is Paulinus' brother !" cried the Hun ; 441 do
remember now he is his brother : but if thou bearest tidings
from Theodosius to thine uncle, tell him to put no faith in the
arms of men who know not how to use them; to trust not in
those who daily break their promises. Tell him that he who
bade you thus speak, knows full well Attila the king; and that
he will as soon abandon his prey as the hungry vulture. Your
guide is gone: but follow me; I will show you the way to
Slargus."

A number of barbarians were collected in the lower part of
the tower, and in the open space round it, but without a word
they suffered Theodore and his freedmen, with their new
guide, to proceed to a tree under which four horses stood
prepared. All passed in silence; no one stood forward to assist;
no one advanced to require recompense from the young
stranger. The Hun who accompanied him, sprang on his
own horse at one bound, and then sat as if of a piece with
tke animal; while Theodore drew forth a coin of gold, and54

ATTILA,

beckoned forward the barbarian who had acted the foremost
part, on the preceding night, in offering him the rites of
hospitality. The man looked wistfully at the gold piece, which
Theodore held out towards him, and then at the face of his
superior, who sat beside the young Roman. The horseman,
however, bowed his head, and the other instantly took the
money, uttering a number of words which Theodore did not
understand, but construed into thanks. Turning their
bridles then towards the Danube, the journey towards
Margus was re-commenced, the Hun leading the way at a
slow pace.

" You ride not so swiftly as our guide of yesterday," said
Theodore, after proceeding for a few minutes with the impa-
tience of youth, and anxiety urging him on; "remember, I
would be at Margus ere nightfall."

" 'Tis a three hours' journey," said the other, calmly: "you
are impatient, youth. I would fain spare the beast thou
ridest; for, were it as the god3 willed it to be, it would be a
noble creature, and thou hast ridden it too long and too hard
yesterday, for a creature so sleek and pampered."

"Despise it not, Hun!" said Theodore, as he saw the keen
bright eye of his companion running over the charger's limbs;
" despise it not. It has carried my father through a bloody
field of battle, and has borne me through a long and painful
journey, after which it may well show some signs of weari-
ness; therefore, despise it not, though it be unlike the
rugged brute which thou ridest thyself."

"I do not despise it," rejoined the Hun. "In former times,
its soft and silken coat, its delicate limbs, and weighty body5
might have provoked my scorn; but I have learned to know
that all things have their uses, and to despise nothing but
vicious luxury, effeminacy, and cowardice. I see no reason
why there should not be tribes who fight, and tribes who
cultivate the land; each may be useful: and so with your
horse and mine. Mine will carry me with a swiftness, and to
a distance, and for a length of time, impossible to yours; will
bear weather, and food, and cold, under which yours would
die ; but very likely in the shock of battle, yours would bear
down mine—if I did not prevent it—and, perhaps, might
perform feats that mine could never learn. It is only when I
see man debase himself to carve images, and paint pictures,
and work gold, and spend years in making a dwelling to cover
his miserable head, and lie upon the feathers of birds, and
cover himself with the woven excrements of a worm, that I
now feel disgust. Gems and jewels, and cups of gold and
silver, may be wrought by other nations, and may be used by
us* but it is the part of bold and brave men to take themATTTLA.

55

from those who are weak and effeminate enough to make
them."

" I cannot argue with you, barbarian," replied Theodore ;
u my mind wanders unto other things: but I have heard my
father say that all the graces and elegances of social life are
the true touchstone of the noble heart. Those who are in-
clined by nature to evil will become effeminate and corrupt
under their influence ; while those who are brave and virtuous
only gain thence a higher point of virtue, and a nobler motive
for daring. The diamond, when we throw it in the fire, lose?
nothing but the dirt and dust it may have gathered, and com'3
out clearer Jhan before. A barbarian fights because he has
nothing to lose but life, which has many miseries, and few
enjoyments; a Roman, because he has a duty to perform,
although a thousand ties of refined pleasures and multiplied
enjoyments bind him to the life he risks."

" Therefore is it that the Romans fight so feebly," replied
the Hun; but as he saw the colour mounting in the cheek of
Theodore, he added, "Be not angry, youth : my words shall
not offend your ear in a land which thou hast sought, trusting to
our hospitality. Thy father might well speak as thou sayest he
did, for he was one of those that showed his own words true."

" Thou doest my father justice, my country wrong," replied
Theodore ; " but the day may come, Hun—the day may come,
when Romans, rousing themselves from the sleep into which
they have fallen, may teach those who now mistake idleness
for cowardice, who take the love of repose and peace for
timidity, that the lion yet lives, though his roar has not been
heard for years."

A grim smile hung for a moment on the lip of the barbarian,
and then passed away; but he replied nothing directly to the tart
answer of his young companion. At length, as they rode
along by the rushing Danube, winding their way once more
between the forests and the river, he pointed first to the one
and then to the other bank, saying, " Lo, Roman civilisation,
Scythian rudeness! and yet, as thou sayest, the time may
come—nay, it may be near—when the trial may take place, of
which country produces, which habits nourish, the boldest
hearts and strongest hands. But setting that apart, I say, give
me the forest and the wild meadow, and the simple hut or tent
of skins—truth, justice, freedom: for it is my belief that sim-
plicity and honesty are one ; luxury and falsehood are not to
be divided. Look at this forest," he continued after a brief
pause; "it seems almost impervious, yet thou hast found a
way through it; and at the foot of the hill which we are now
mounting, you will find a paved road, leading into the heart of
the land. It was constructed by thy ancestors, nearly in a56

attila.

line with the famous vallum Romanum; and if, at any time,
need or fancy should make thee wish to see the nations which
live beyond this woody barrier, follow that road, and ask for
Onegisus, the friend of Attila the king. Thou shalt find safety,
friends, and protection. But see ! we are at the top of the hill,
and I must leave thee. Yonder, on the other side of the
stream, where the blue mist is rolling up the mountain, lies
Margus. Lo! its many towers! Thou canst not miss the way.
Now Mars protect thee !"

CHAPTER IX.

The two sides of that mountain were like the prospect laid out
beneath the eyes of man, when, in the midst of life, he pauses
to survey the past, and scrutinise the future. Dark and
gloomy, on the one hand, stretched masses impervious to the
eye, wrapped in uncertain mists and vague undefined con-
fusion, where nothing was known, nothing was sure, but that
there lay ruin, chill neglect, and desolation, even unto those
regions where the Cimmerian darkness of the grave covered
and confounded all. On the other hand, stretching out like
the sweet memories that lie along the path of youth, was seen
a fair and beautiful land, with the Danube rushing on through
the midst, towards Margus; valley and hill, fragments of the
Dacian forests, but broken by broad cultivated plains, a
watch-tower here and there ; then, within their guafdian line,
a farm, a villa, gardens, and pasturages, with the towers and
walls of Margus at about eight miles' distance ; and beyond,
but to the right, the Mons Aureus rising like a pile of lapis
lazuli, in blue majestic splendour, to the sky.

Theodore paused to gaze; and feelings mingled, intense,
and even painful, woke in his bosom at the sight of those fair
scenes, from which he might so soon be driven, contrasted
with that dark and gloomy land which might prove his only
refuge.

He turned, however, after a moment's silence, to ask the
Hun if he could, in truth, prefer the one to the other; but the
barbarian had left him without further leave-taking, and his
dark form was seen riding rapidly towards the thickest part of
the forest. Theodore still remained gazing over the prospect;
but, as he did so, he thought he heard a distant shout of many
voices rising up from the woods behind him, and fearful of any
interruption in his course he hurried on upon the road which
lay open before him.

Increasing tokens of civilisation now met his eye at every
step as he proceeded; aud, shortly before he reached theATTILA,

57

shore, at the nearest point to the city, he beheld more than
one ferry-boat, no longer a mere ral't supported by inflated
skins, but barks provided expressly for the purpose, and
offering every convenience at which the mature art of the
Komans had yet arrived. Without question, the young Koman
and his followers were admitted into one of the boats, and in
a few minutes were landed on the other side of the Danube, in
the midst of all that hurry, bustle, and luxurious activity which
marked the precincts of a Koman city, even in a remote
province, and in the immediate vicinity of those barbarian
allies, who were soon destined to overwhelm all those soft and
splendid scenes in blood and ashes.

The Koman dress and air of Theodore and his two freed-
rnen enabled them to pass on unquestioned through the
gates ; where a few soldiers, with their spears cas*t idly down,
their helmets laid aside, and their swords unbraced, sat
gaming in the sun, offering a sad but striking picture of the
decay of that discipline which had once so speedily won, and
had so long preserved, the dominion of the world. Gaily
and tunefully carolled the flower-girl as she tripped along
with her basket full of wreaths and garlands tor the festal
hall or the flowing wine-cup; loudly shouted, with the ready
cyathus in his hand, the seller of hot wine in the Thermo-
polium; eagerly argued the lawyer and the suitor as they
hurried along to the tribunal of the duumvir; gaily laughed
the boys, as, followed by a slave bearing their books, they
hastened homeward from the school. Splendid dresses, fair
faces, magnificent shops, and chariots with tires of gold and
silver, litters with cushions stuffed with the flowers of the
new-blown rose, met the eye of Theodore in every direc-
tion ; and as he looked on all this luxury and magnificence,
and compared it with the scenes he had just quitted, he could
not help asking himself, u And is this Margus ? Is this the
city daily threatened by barbarian enemies? Is this the
extreme point of civilisation, upon the very verge of woods
and wilds, and hordes of savage Scythians ? "

At the end of a wide open space, towards the centre of the
town, rose one of those beautiful peristyles,—less light, but
perhaps more imposing, than the Greek—whereof so many
had been constructed under Hadrian. Within it appeared
a massy temple, formerly dedicated to Jupiter, but now con-
secrated to that purer faith destined to remain unsullied
through everlasting ages, notwithstanding the faults, the ful-
lies, and the vices of some of its ministers.

At the moment that the young Koman entered the forum,
the mingckd crowd of worshippers was descending the steps
pf the te apie ; and $bove them, between thetwo central pil-68

ATTXLA.

lars of the portico, clothed in his sacerdotal robes, and with
his emended hands giving his blessing to the people, stood a
tall and princely form, in which Theodore instantly recog-
nised the Bishop of Margus, the brother of his father.

Dismounting from his horse, the young Roman waited for
a moment until the crowd had in some degree dispersed, and
then, ascending the steps towards the door through which his
uncle had retired into the church, he asked a presbyter, who
was still lingering on the threshold, if he could speak with the
bishop.

" You will find him at his dwelling, my son," replied the
presbyter: "he has passed through the church, and has gone
to his mansion, which lies just behind it."

Theodore took the direction in which the presbyter pointed
with his hand; and, followed by Cremera and the other
freedman, reached the entrance of a splendid dwelling, round
the doors of which stood a crowd of poor clients, waiting for
the daily dole of bread and wine. Theodore found some diffi-
culty, however, in obtaining admission to his uncle's pre-
sence. " He is gone to divest himself of his sacred robes,"
one slave replied; u he is busy in private devotion," asserted
another; a third plainly refused to admit the stranger unless
previously informed of his name and purpose.

"Tell the bishop," said Theodore, "that it is a Roman
from Constantinople, who brings him tidings of his friends,
vhich it much imports him to hear as soon as may be."

There was the accent of command in the young Roman's
speech, which made the slave hasten to obey ; and in a
moment after, the curtain, beneath which he had passed in
order to communicate the message to the bishop, was drawn
back, and Theodore found himself in the presence of his
uncle.

The prelate gazed upon him for a moment in silence. It is
probable that at first he did not recognise the boy whom he
had not seen for several years, in the young man that now
stood before him; and yet that faint and twilight recollection
—more like the act of perception than of remembrance—by
which old impressions first break upon us, before memory
has time distinctly to trace out the particulars, caused the
shades of manifold emotions to pass over his countenance as
his eyes remained fixed on the face of his nephew.

" Theodore !" he exclaimed at length ; "Theodore! what
in the name of Heaven has brought you here at this hour,
and under these circumstances ? Know you not that the bar-
barians demand my lite to expiate the sins of others ? Know
you not that they threaten to seek me even here, and sate
their vengeance in the blood of my flock if I be not given upATTILA.

59

to them ? Know you not that the weak emperor, after having
faintly refused their horrible demand, now hesitates whether
he should yield his innocent subject, and the teacher of his
people, to the barbarous hands of his enemies ? What was
your father thinking of to send you here ? unless, indeed, he
be bringing six legions to my aid, and you be but the har-
binger of the coming succour."

u Alas, my uncle," replied Theodore, mournfully, " no such
tidings have I to tell; nevertheless my tidings are not few,
nor of little import; but let us speak of them alone. Here
there are many ears around us, and you may perchance find
it expedient to consider well what I have to say ere you make
it public."

As he spoke he glanced his eye towards the crowd of
slaves and officers who filled the other end of the hall in
which they stood; and the bishop, who had been moved to
indiscretion by the sudden appearance of his nephew, re-
sumed the caution, which, though a bold, ambitious man,
formed part of his natural character, and, making a sign with
his hand, said merely, " Follow me." As he spoke he led
the way through the great hall to a small room beyond, from
which a flight of steps descended to a beautiful garden, laid
out in slopes, and adorned with many a statue and many a
fountain. The curtain, drawn back between it and the hall,
exposed to the view any one who approached on that side,
while on the other the terraces lay open to the eye, so that
nought with a step less stealthy than that of Time himself
could approach unperceived.

u Here, my nephew, here," said the bishop, "our secret
words will not pass beyond our own bosoms. Tell me whafc^
brings you hither at a moment of such earnest difficulty—at
a moment when I know not whether the base emperor may
not deliver me up to the barbarian Attila; I who have aban-
doned all—state, dignity, the paths of ambition and of glory
—to devote myself to the service of God and his holy church.
Yet tell me, first, how fares your father, how fares my noble
brother ? Why wrote he not in answer to my letter be-
seeching him to use his power with Theodosius in my be
half?"

" I come," replied Theodore—who, judging that the bi-
shop's questions regarding Paulinus were but formal words of
no very deep meaning, proceeded at once to the point on
which his uncle's curiosity was really excited,—" I come, my
uncle, to seek refuge and shelter with you, against the anger
of a base weak monarch. Three days' journey behind me is
your cousin, Julia Flavia, with her children and my sister,
persecuted by Theodosius for no fault committed, we thought60

attila.

that if we co aid find shelter m tb'j world it would be with
my uncle at Margus."

" Safety at Margus 1" cried the prelate, in truth affected by
the earnest and pleading tone in which his nephew spoke,—
" safety at Margus! Oh, Theodore, Theodore! Is there
safety to be found on board a sinking ship ? Is there safety
to be found between the opposing spears of two hostile ar-
mies met in battle ? You come to me at a time when I know
not whether the next moment may continue to afford security
to myself. You come to me at a moment when my soul is
trembling—though not with fear;—no, but wavering with
uncertain purposes, like a loosened sail quivering in the blast
of the tempest, uncertain to which side it may be driven, or
whether it may not be torn in fragments from the mast. You
come to me in such a moment as this for refuge. Bat could
not your father protect you—my great, my warlike, my
courtly, my all-powerful brother, who despised the poor-
spirited priest, and thought the robe and stole the refuge of a
low ambition ? O Paulinus, Paulinus! how I could have
loved you! Yet what do I say, Theodore ? your dark robe !
your untrimmed hair! your jewelless garments! Tell me,
boy, tell me, where is your father ? "

u Alas," replied Theodore, " I have no father. He who
was my father is dead, murdered by the emperor !"

The living lightnings of fierce indignation flashed from the
priest's proud eyes ; and after pausing for a moment, as if
unable to give voice to the feelings that struggled in his
breast for utterance, he shook his hand towards the sky, to
which his eyes were also raised, exclaiming,—

" Tyrant, thou hast sealed thy fate !" then, casting himself
down upon a couch, he drew his robe over his head, and
Theodore could hear him weep. The youth was moved ; and
at length he took his uncle's hand in his, and pressed his
lips upon it, saying, "I knew not that you loved him
thus."

"Yes, Theodore, yes!" replied the bishop; "I did love
him, better than he knew, better than I knew myself till this
very hour. We had different tempers, wTe chose opposite
paths, we held opposite opinions. That which I thought wis-
dom he would misname craft; that which I held as just he
would taunt as base. We were both, perhaps, ambitious,
but in different ways; and his ambition led him to contemn
mine; and yet, Theodore, and yet, I loved him better than
any other human being. When I strove for eminence in the
state which I had chosen, when I raised my voice and made
the proud to tow, the sinner to tremble, piety to kindle into
enthusiasm, and devotior to reach its highest pitch, my firstATTtLA.

61

imagination was what Paulinus would think; my first hope to
tower above his low opinion. He was the object and the end
of many of my best and greatest actions: almost every
thought ol my life has had some reference to him. I have
disputed, opposed, quarrelled with him,—nay, even hated
him, and yet belied my own heart by loviug him still!"

The bishop paused, and, crossing his arms upon his broad
chest, fixed his eyes upon the sky, and remained for several
minutes in gloomy silence, as if summoning up before the eye
of memory all the visions of the past. " Theodore," he con-
tinued at length, speaking in a rambling, musing tone, " Theo-
dore, I will be to you as a father. What my fate may be I
know not; but my brother's murderer shall never deliver me
up to the power of the barbarians. Do you mark me ? He
shall learn that, deprived of the just defence of my sove-
reign, I can defend myself. But it matters not! You are too
young for such counsels! Paulinus, my brother, thou art
dead; but thou shalt be avenged. The cup of wrath wanted
but one drop to make it overflow, and thy murder has poured
an ocean into it. Now tell me, Theodore,—the Lady Flavia,
where is she ? She shall be welcome to Margus. Within
these walls my power is unlimited. The people and their
magistrates are equally my flock and my servants; so that I
can assure a welcome to those who seek it. Where is Fla-
via ? Why came she not with you ?"

"Because tidings reached us every day," replied Theo-
dore, u of messengers sent from Constantinople, bearing or-
ders for our arrest—perhaps for our death. Three of these
messengers, we learned, had taken the way to Margus ; and
ere we could venture to trust ourselves here, I came on to
see whether the power ol my uncle could give us shelter and
security."

A smile ol bitter meaning gleamed over the countenance of
the bishop. "Three messengers!" he said,—"three mes-
sengers, bearing orders for your arrest or death ! No later
than yesterday morning, three Byzantines—for so part of
their dress bespoke them—were found, slain by the Huns, as
it appeared, near Tricornium higher up the river. Perchance
these have been the messengers, and have delivered their
just and clement letters to the wrong hands."

" It is not unlikely," replied Theodore. u They must have
been near that town early in the morning of yesterday; for I
had news of their course, and crossed the Danube, lest, with
fresh horses, and perhaps a guard from that station, they might
overtake and seize me."

" They have been seized themselves," said the prelaet sat-
ting his teeth close. " Thesmiter has been smitten : the mes-62

ATTILA.

senger of death has found death himself. But how escaped
you the Huns yourself, bold youth? For the last month they
nave made excursions across the river, destroying wherever
they came. How was it that you, who without permission
entered their own land, passed through them in perfect safety ? "

"In truth I know not," replied Theodore, " unless it was
that I began by speaking to the ferrymen in the Alan tongue."

"That has saved you," replied the prelate ; "but now, my
son, we must not lose time. These are days of danger, when
the very air is full of winged death. We must not leave the
Lady Flavia and her children one moment longer unprotected
than is needful. Tell me with what company she travels.
Ye were not, I trust, obliged to fly in such haste as to leave
all your domestics behind."

"Oh no!" replied Theodore; "the tribune Marcian, who
brought us the sad tidings of my father's fate, and warned us
of our own danger, took care that all the slaves should ac-
company us; and saw that all the gold and jewels, either be-
longing to Flavia, or which my father had left in Illyria,
should be borne with us, to escape the greedy hands of Theo-
dosius. Thank God, we have enough to support us with
dignity till this storm be blown away, and the sun shines once
more."

" Alas, Theodore!" replied the priest, "seldom is it with
man that the sun, once clouded, ever shines again. The
bosom of nature, torn by the tempest, soon recovers its gaiety
and its beauty, or, swept by the shower, wakes up again in
brighter loveliness; but the heart of man, beaten by the
storms of fate, never regains its freshness, but is dulled and
withered by every drop that falls, and revives not again till
his short day is closed. But I will send out to greet Flavia,
and bid her welcome. Glad am I that she brings with her
wealth and attendants. Not that I could not myself have sup-
plied her with all she might need; for, thanks be to Him who
gave, my worldly wealth is great—greater than is perhaps
good for securing the treasure in heaven. Nevertheless, all
our wealth may not be more than sufficient for the purpose
that I have in view. I will send out to find her, and bring her
hither."

"Nay, my uncle," replied Theodore, " I will myself be the
messenger. She will not give herself to the guidance of any
one, if I do not return. I am not weary; and an hour or two
of rest would enable me, had I but fresh horses for myself
and the freedmen, to seek her at once. This bank of the
river, by the death of these messengers, is now free, and the
way is shorter."

His uncle made some opposition on the plea of his nephew'sATTILA.

63

youth and yet unconfirmed strength, but that opposition was
slight, and soon overcome. There was, indeed, an eagerness,
a haste, an impetuosity, in the bishop's whole demeanour,
which betokened a keen and ambitious mind struggling with
difficulties and dangers, which he feared not, but estimated at
their true value. He seemed, to the eyes of Theodore, like
a skilful swordsman contending with a multitude of enemies,
with all his energies awake and active to avoid every blow, to
parry every thrust, and to return upon his assailants their
strokes with usury.

When at length he consented that his nephew should go,
and gave him into the hands of one of his officers, with direc-
tions to provide for his repose and refreshment, what was the
impression which his uncle's conduct had made upon Theodore's
mind? The bishop had been kinder than he expected; he
had evinced more affection for his father, more deep love for
that dead parent whose memory was enshrined in the heart of
Theodore, and revered as the relics of some pure and sainted
martyr; he had shown more depth of feeling, and more of the
energy of talent, than the youth had been taught to believe
he could display; and yet Theodore was not satisfied. The
diamond touchstone of a pure and innocent heart, without an
analysis, without minute investigation, detected at once the
alloy which ran through the seeming gold: he saw that there
was much of goodness, he saw that there was much of power,
in his uncle's character; but there wanted the simplicity, the
mildness, the humility of the Christian priest: there were
strong feelings without strong principles, high talents with-
out high honour, and through all his best and brightest quali-
ties ran a vein of brilliant selfishness, simulating nearly, in
appearance, the more precious things with which it mixed;
but, oh ! how different in intrinsic value!

CHAPTEE X.

It was night; but no bright moon compensated for the ab-
sence of the greater orb, and the air was dark, though the sky
itself shone with all its innumerable sparks of golden light.
It was one of those nights in which the depth of the heavens
becomes apparent, in which each separate star is seen hanging
distinct and apart from all the rest, a lamp of everlasting fire
in the blue profound of space. The lately troubled waters of
the Danube had become clear; and flowing more calmly,
though in a less volume, mirrored the splendid pageantry of
heaven's resplendent host.

Within an hour, however, after the full setting of the sun
had left the earth to the dominion of the night, another lightu

ATTttA.

tlian tnat of the stars was reflected from the waters of the roll-
ing stream at the distance ot a lew miles iVom the city of
Margus. The glare of a multitude of torches flickered over
the rolling stream, and cast a red unpleasing light over the
rocks and trees amidst which the Roman road was cut from
Tricornium to Margus. That light, too, shone upon the
anxious and wearied countenances of those who, a little more
than a month before, we have seen, set out from the spot
where all their happy memories were left behind them, to
wander forward towards lands and fortunes that they knew not.

A change, however, had been effected in the appearance of
many of that party. Young as he was, Theodore had shown
a wisdom and prudence beyond his years; and as soon as they
had lost the escort of the tribune Marcian, on the frontiers of
Moesia, he had selected twenty ol the most faithful slaves, and
had besought Flavia to liberate and arm them. His pretext
was that, in approaching the barbarian countries, many dangers
lay upon the way; but he did not say that even against the
authority of the emperor himself those arms might not be
used.

Belated by the length and fatiguing nature of the way,
many a timid glance was cast by Ildica and Eudochia towards
the opposite bank of the stream, where lay shrouded in its
dark woods the strange and dangerous country of the Huns.
Many an apprehensive inquiry, too, went from lip to lip
amongst the women slaves that followed; and, though each
knew that the other was as ignorant of the land through which
they were passing as herself, many a time was the question
asked, " How far is it now to Margus," meeting still with the
same unsatisfactory reply. At length Theodore, riding up
from the rear of the line, where he had remained to see that
no one lingered behind, approached the side of the lectula, in
which Ildica was borne, and said, to the no small joy of all
who heard him, " Lo! the arch of Trajan. To Margus is but
one ^liort mile."

That mile was soon accomplished; and at the gates of the
city they were met by persons sent on purpose to welcome
them, both by the magistrates and by the bishop of the town.
Such friendly greeting in such a remote spot, the sight of a
populous and wealthy city, the cheerful sounds and objects
which met the ear and eye in the streets, served to revive
hope in the bosoms of that weary and anxious train, and to
recall the images of warm domestic tranquillity, which had
been banished during their dreary journey of the last two
days: a house had been prepared for them, not far from the
dwelling of the bishop, and they found, waiting their arrival,
all those ready luxuries which the skill and ingenuity of theATTILA.

65

most pleasure-loving nation upon earth had devised in the
most voluptuous period of the world's history. Baths were
prepared; wine-cups crowned with garlands, and delicacies
from remote lands waited for the lip ; the softest triclinia sur-
rounded the already spread table; and the sound of sweet
music was breathing through the atrium: odours floated on
the air; lights blazed through the halls; and when at length
Flavia, Ildica, Eudochia, Theodore, and Ammian stood in the
midst of that enchanted scene—far from their enemies, with
a place of certain refuge close at hand, and the long, weary,
perilous journey accomplished behind them—feelings of joy
and thankfulness, great, irrepressible, overpowering, welled up
from the deep fountain of the heart, and, casting themselves
into each other's arm, they wept.

Many moments passed in those entrancing feelings; but
when at length the bishop appeared to bid them welcome to a
city over which his eloquence and powers of mind had given
him greater influence than even the representative of the im-
perial authority possessed, Flavia had again resumed her calm
and tranquil dignity. He would not sit down to meat with
the guests, for whose entertainment he had provided so
sumptuously, affecting an abstinence, which might or might
not be habitual; but he insisted upon waiting in a neighbour-
ing chamber while they supped, declaring that he had matter
of some moment to communicate to the Lady Flavia. Simple
in her habits, and encouraging simplicity in her children,
Flavia was soon prepared to give the prelate that private hear-
ing which he desired. He led her accordingly into another
chamber, while Ammian sported with Eudochia; and Theo-
dore, seated beside Ildica, tasted once more the sweet moments
of love.

They were the only ones that they had known since the
fatal night of the earthquake, since that night which had
witnessed the first union of their hearts in the bond of spoken
affection. In all their other meetings—in every other com-
munication which they had yet had—danger and terror, like
the drawn sword in the eastern feast, had hung above their
iieads, and marred the tranquillity of their mutual hearts.
Now, however, when apprehension was drowned in hope,
they felt—and oh, how dear was the feeling!—that the love,
which had grown up in joy and peace, had been increased and
strengthened, brightened and perfected, by dangers and mis-
fortunes.

Theodore held Ildica's graceful hand in his, and gazed into
those dark, dark lustrous eyes, reading therein a reply to all
the intense and passionate love of his own ardent heart; and
Ildica, seated on the couch beside him, lifted the long sweet

E66

ATTILA.

curtains of those gem-like orbs to the countenance of her
lover, and, with the mingled glance of timidity and confidence,
seemed to pour forth the thanks of her fervent spirit, not
only for all that he had done to soothe, to comfort, and to
protect her, but for all the unspoken thoughts of love, the
anxieties and fears concealed, the constant remembrance by
day, the frequent dreams by night,—for all, in short, which
her heart told her that his had felt in the hours of pain and
care through which they had so lately passed. Low and
murmured words read a comment on those looks, and Theo-
dore and Ildica once more knew an hour of intense delight.

A large chamber intervened between that in which they sat
rfnd that to which her mother had retired to hold conference
with the prelate, and the veils over both the doorways were
drawn. For some time the voice of neither speaker was
heard, but at length the tones grew higher. The low sweet
murmur even of Flavians tongue found its way to the hall
where her children waited her return, and the high but
harmonious tones of the eloquent priest sounded loud, and
sustained, as if he were using all his powers of oratory upon
some great and inspiring theme. No distinct words, how-
ever, were heard, and then again, after a time, the voices once
more sank low, and in a few minutes the bishop and the lady
issued forth with hasty steps and agitated looks. The pre-
late was passing rapidly on, without noticing his brother's
children, as if carried forward by some strong excitement:
but ere he reached the doorway, his habitual self-command
returned in a degree, and, turning round with a knitted brow
but an air of dignity, he raised both his extended hands,
saying, "Bless you, my children! the blessing of God be
upon this house, and all that it contains." That done, he
again turned upon his way, and rapidly quitted the apartment.

In the meanwhile, in the midst of that rich hall, stood
Flavia, with her pale cheek flushed, her beautiful eyes wild
and thoughtful, her fair hand pressed tight upon her broad
statue-like brow, and her lip murmuring words which sounded
vague and unmeaning, because the key to their sad interpre-
tation was in her own bosom. At length she spoke :—" Hie
thee to repose, Eudochia," she said; " hie thee to repose, my
sweet child. Ammian, too, seek rest, my boy, while thou
mayest find it. Ye have had a weary journey, children, and
God only knows when it may be renewed."

With some light and fanciful words from Ammian, breath-
ing the spirit of bright untiring youth, some of the slaves
were summoned, and the two younger members of that family,
whose fate we have so long followed, retired to sleep. Flavia
listened for their parting steps; but when all was quiet, sheATTILA.

e7

caught the hand of Theodore, exclaiming, " Oh, my son, have
you known and consented to this ?"

44 Have I known what, dear mother ?" demanded Theodore,
who had hitherto mastered his surprise. 441 have consented
to nothing which should move my mother thus painfully."

44 I believed it, Theodore, I believed it," replied Flavia.
44 In your veins and m mine flows the blood of those Romans
who thought life a light sacrifice for their country, whose gore
flowed like water for the defence and preservation of their
native land; and I am sure that if you be your father's son,
no danger, no injustice, will induce you to forget your duty,
and bring upon the country of your birth the tide of bar-
barian warfare! Is it not so, my son ?"

"It is!" answered Theodore; "but what mean you, my
mother? We understand not to what your words apply."

But Flavia continued, turning to her daughterAnd
you, Ildica," she said, 44 tell me that you are my child indeed
—that you would sacrifice life, and all life's dearest interests,
rather than take part, or benefit by, or instigate the ruin of,
your country."

"I would, my mother, I would," replied Ildica, while her
person seemed to grow taller, and her resemblance to her
mother increased under the excitement of the moment. 44 I
would sacrifice life, and, what is far dearer than life, I would
sacrifice him," and she laid her hand upon the arm of Theo-
dore. " I would rather see him die in defence of his country
than live and prosper by its fall. Oh, my mother, you have
judged your child rightly; the blood of my father, spilt by
the enemies of our native land, throbs in his daughter's heart;
and even this weak hand, were there none other to assert our
country, might yet strike one blow in her defence."

4 4 My noble child," cried Flavia, throwing her arms around
her daughter, 44 thou art worthy of thy race. Theodore, what
think you that your uncle proposes to me to do ? To throw
wide the gates of Margus to the barbarians, to open the way
for the Huns into the heart of the empire, to buy revenge for
your father's death, and safety for ourselves, by the desola-
tion of our native land, the destruction and ruin of our friends,
and the massacre of our fellow countrymen! Shame on such
degenerate Romans! Shame, shame upon them to all eternity!
Oh God, oh God! where are thy thunderbolts ?"

Theodore stood, for a moment, as one stupified by the
strange and fearful tidings he had heard; and fixing his eyes
upon Flavia's face, he gazed upon her with an expression of
inquiring doubt, which showed how far he was from any parti-
cipation in the schemes or feelings of his uncle. 44 My
mother,11 he said at length, "let us go hence. This is no68

ATtlLA.

refuge for us. Bid he think by showing us here an image of
that splendour and comfort which we so long possessed, and
so lately lost—did he think to blind our eyes, and weaken our
hearts, and destroy our virtue? My choice, oh, my mother,
is made: give me honour and misery, if virtue cannot secure
peace. Let us go hence."

uAt sunrise to-morrow," replied Flavia, 44we will depart;
for I much fear that he told me not all; I doubt that his deal-
ing with the Huns is far advanced."

44 Why not at once, then ?" demanded Theodore ; u to-mor-
mow's daylight may be too late."

Flavia turned her eyes upon her daughter, who understood
the glance, and answered at once, 44 My mother, I can go,
though I am wearied: were it not better to drop by the way-
side than risk our future peace ?"

But Theodore interposed:—"No, no," he said, "an hour
before daylight will be time enough. The slaves are wearied
beyond all endurance; and perhaps, also, were we to attempt
it to-night, the guards might become suspicious, and stay us
at the gates. To-morrow it will seem more natural. The
wearied soldiers, at that hour, will let us pass without inquiry,
and, following the course of the river, we can pass through
Noricum, and take refuge either amongst my kindred of the
Alani, or under the strong shield of JEtius, in Gaul, from
whose protection, neither weak emperor dare attempt to snatch
us. Rest thee, Ildica!" he added, throwing his arms around
her,—"rest thee, my beloved; and rest thee, too, dear
mother! I will see all prepared, and ready to set out an
hour before the dawning of the day."

" And thou, my poor Theodore," said Flavia, u thou hast no
rest!"

44 Am I not a Roman ?" was the youth's reply.

On the next morning—while the city of Margus was still
buried in slumber, and all vacant were those streets so lately
thronged with the gay unthinking crowd pursuing with light
heart the butterfly pleasure, and never dreaming that fate,
like a lion, was following fast upon its track—the same train
which the night before had entered the gate with joy, now
passed them again with sorrow, but without regret. Theodore
nad first presented himself, and had held a momentary conver-
sation with a soldier on guard. The gates had then been
opened by the janitor of the night, and the slaves, who led
the train, passed out. Ildica and Eudochia followed; but as the
litter of Flavia was borne forward, Theodore approached its
side, and said, in a low voice, 44 They demand that one of us at
least should stay to give account of our departure either
to the bishop or the magistrates; I will keep Cremera andATTILA.

69

some others with me. In the meantime go you on, and I
will join you speedily."

Flavia turned an anxious look upon liim, but he added, in a
still lower tone, " Fear not; they dare not detain me and,
motioning to the slaves who bore the litter to proceed, he drew
back under the archway.

Their course lay to the westward; but as Theodore turned
towards the city, a faint grey light hung over the massy towers
and columns of Margus, showing that the dawn of day was
fast approaching. With a slow pace, and a sad but resolute
heart, Theodore returned to the house which had been
assigned to them as their dwelling ; and, after a momentary
pause, turned his steps on foot to the mansion of the bishop.
The gates were already open, some of the slaves at work, and
the light of the now dawning day was seen streaming faint
and cold through the long range of vestibules and halls, from
an open archway, beyond which appeared various groups of
statues, fountains, and pillars, ornamenting a court yard.
Like all dependants on the great and powerful, keen to per-
ceive who were in favour, who were influential with their
lords, the slaves, who, a few days before, had obstructed the
access of Theodore to his uncle, hastened to pay their court
to one whom they now knew, and besought him with officious
civility to repose himself there, till the bishop should have
risen to receive him.

The mind of Theodore, however, was not in a state to per-
mit him to take even corporeal rest; and he replied that he
would walk forth into the court and amuse himself with the
statues and fountains till his uncle was prepared to receive
him. The cold and absent tone in which he spoke xhecked
all intrusion; and, meditating on his wayward fate, he walked
forth alone, now pausing as if to contemplate some beautiful
piece of sculpture, now gazing, as if with pleased attention,
on the clear waters that, welling from the rocky ground on
which the city was built, sparkled round the court in innumer-
able graceful urns and vases, but with his mind, in fact,
employed on matters far different from the light elegancies
and calm pleasures of life.

Thus absent and musing, he went on to a spot where a long
flight of steps led down to the bottom of that terraced garden
which he had beheld from above in his first conference with
his uncle. Scarcely conscious of what he did, Theodore slowly
descended the steps, and entered one of the long paved walks
at the very lowest part of the garden. The right side was
flanked by a strong wall, in which were two or three doorways
leading, as it would seem, to the pomaerium, or open space
between the town and its fortified walls—for the house itself70	ATTILA,

was one of the farthest from the centre of Margus. Scarcely
had he entered that path, however, when the sound of
steps made him raise his eyes, and he beheld before him
four dark figures—to see which, in that place, caused him
suddenly to pause, and lay his hand upon his sword. Ere he
could distinguish their faces, by the general aspect of their
forms, he perceived that they were barbarians, free, and in a
Roman city at that early hour. A moment more showed him
that, while three of the party had mingled their barbarian
dress of skins with jewels and ornaments of gold and silver,
the fourth, who preceded the others as they advanced, retained
the original simple habit of his nation, being clothed in plain
but valuable furs and dark cloth, but of exceeding fineness.
Those who followed bore about them many strange and bar-
barian arms, but he who preceded had nothing but a broad and
heavy sword, composed solely of iron from its hilt to its scab-
bard. In him Theodore instantly recognised the Hun who
had been his guide on his last day's journey through the Da-
cian territory, and the same unaccountable feeling passed
through his bosom which he had experienced on beholding
him before. He saw too well, however, that Flavia's suspi-
cions were correct, and that his uncle had already plunged ir-
retrievably in those dangerous intrigues which were destined
to prove not only the ruin of himself and of the city which
yielded itself so tamely and entirely to his government, but
far beyond that, to his whole native land; and indignation for
a moment mastered all other sensations.

" What doest thou here, barbarian?" was his only greeting
when they met.

"What is that to thee, youth?" rejoined the Hun, with a
calm, haughty smile, such as may play upon a father's lip
when he reproves—though amused thereby—the frowardness
of some spoiled child. " But speak thine own language," he
continued in a corrupt dialect of the Latin tongue; " speak
thine own language: weak and insignificant as it is, it will
cover from the ears of those who hear us such light words as
those thou hast just spoken."

"My words were not light, Hun," replied Theodore ; " for
every Roman may well demand what thou doest here, when
^e meets with armed barbarians in the heart of a Roman
city."

" We are armed," said the Hun, " but we are few. What
I do here is nought to thee; but if thou wilt listen to me, my
coming may do thee service. I love thee for thy mother's
father, and for her brother. They were my friends; and he
who would be terrible to those who hate him must do good
deeds to those who love him. Know that the Roman empireATTILA.

71

trembles to its fall. Attila, the king, has said it, and it will
come to pass. He has said, 4 J will sweep it as a cloud sweeps
the tops of the forest.—I will pass over it as a storm,' he has
declared, 4 from one part even unto the other; and I will not
leave it, so long as one Eoman stands up before me to oppose
me.' Attila, the king, has said it, and his words shall be made
true. Nevertheless, as thou art one of those who think that
there is yet vigour in weakness, and strength in Rome, I bid
thee consider what will be thy fate even should thine emperor
be successful in resistance. The blood of thy father is upon
his head; thou fleest from his vengeance, and he seeks thy
life. Thus much have I learnt from thee and from thine
uncle. Should Attila be successful, and thou not of his friends,
thou perishest. Should Theodosius triumph, thinkest thou
that he who has trodden upon the mighty, will spare the
weak ?"

44Hun!" said Theodore, taking a step forward to pass him,
44 could my blood, poured forth on the banks of yonder river,
like the dragon's teeth of Cadmus, raise up an host of armed
men to defend my native land against thee and against thy
king, I would hold my throat to the knife, and die with grati-
tude and joy! Thinkest thou that such a one can be impelled
by fear, or led by hope, to serve thee and to betray his native
land ? "

441 think," replied the Hun, 44 that thou mightest be a faith-
ful friend to a worthier monarch than thine own. Fare thee
well! and remember, as I told thee when last we met: in fu-
ture times, when the hands of fate shall have shaken from
their places thrones and empires, and have changed the fate
of little as well as great, shouldest thou need protection, thou
will find it at the name of Onegisus. Now, forward to thine
uncle; I must hence."

Without returning to the court, Theodore sprang up the
terraces of the garden, towards the chamber where he had
before conferred with the bishop. His hurried step caught the
prelate's attention; and ere Theodore had reached the top, his
uncle's majestic form, clothed in his splendid robes, appeared
in the doorway above, gazing down to see who it was that ap-
proached so rapidly.

44 Theodore," he exclaimed, while an expression of pleasure
and expectation lighted up his features, 441 trust you are come
to bear me good tidings, and that the Lady Flavia is not so
rashly obstinate as when last I saw her."

44Far from it!" said Theodore, gravely, 441 have come but
to tell you that we remain Romans to our death. All who
entered the gates last night, except myself and a few slaves,
are by this time an hour's journey on their way to Noricum*72

attila.

"Rash woman! what has she done?" cried the bishop,
clasping his hands ; u she is lost, she is lost! Fly, Theodore,
quick! Fly like the lightning! Bring her back hither; or if
she will not come, lead her on the road to the south, any-
where but the road she has taken."

Theodore gazed upon the agitated countenance of his uncle
in amazement; but the bishop continued, more vehemently
than before, "Fly! do I not tell you to fly? Lose not a
moment! breathe not a word! Away, as if a lion were be-
hind you. The Huns are already across the river, on the
very road she has taken. If she will not return hither, seek
for no highway, look for no easy path, but plunge at once into
the country, and hurry to the southward, making not a mo-
ment's pause!"

Without a word of reply, the youth darted through the
vacant rooms, passed the gates of the dwelling, the Basilica,
and the Forum; reached the house where the horses and
slaves remained, sprang upon his charger's back, and, followed
by the rest, dashed out towards the walls of the city. The
gates were open, but, to his surprise, no soldiers, no gate-
keepers, were now there. The guard had been withdrawn for
purposes which he too well divined; and passing out unques-
tioned, he hurried on with the same frantic speed in search of
those he loved.

CHAPTER XI.

Hurrying on without pause, and impressed with but the one
overpowering thought of the danger of all he loved on earth,
Theodore soon reached the banks of the Danube, and gazed
onward upon the road which for several miles lay straight be-
fore him. But nothing met his sight, either to raise his hopes
or increase his apprehensions : all was open and clear, and not
even a cart or a beast of burden from the country, no, not a
single peasant bringing in his basket of fruit or flowers, ar-
rested the eye, as it wandered down the long straight avenue.
A pair of enormous eagles, whirling slowly round, high up in
the blue morning sky, was the only sight of animated being
that presented itself; the singing of a light bird, too lowly and
insignificant to fear those majestic tyrants of the skies, and
the dull roar of the great river, were the only sounds that
broke upon the ear.

Hope sets her quick foot wherever Fear leaves the space
vacant; and Theodore trusted that Ildica might have passed
on ere the Huns had crossed the river. He paused not, how-
eve^ at the voice of the syren, but still urged on his horsefATTILA.

73

gazing anxiously forward, and listening for every sound. The
five freedmen who had remained with him followed as fast as
they could, but the superior power and swiftness of the young
Roman's charger left a short but increasing interval between
them. That interval was less, perhaps, than half a mile,
when Theodore reached the wooded rocks, round whose im-
movable bases the road was forced to wind; but his faithful
Cremera saw him disappear behind them with apprehension,
and urged on his horse with eager haste, till he and the rest
had also turned the angle of the rocks, and once more beheld
his master.

Theodore was now at less than a hundred yards1 distance:
l. e had dismounted, and, with the charger standing beside him,
was kneeling over some object which had attracted his atten-
tion on the road. When the freedmen came up, they too
sprang to the ground, to look upon the sight which had stopped
him. It was the body of one of their companions, who had
been selected like themselves to bear arms upon the dangerous
journey they had been forced to undertake. His spear was in
his hand, with the iron red with blood, and in his heart was
fixed a reed arrow, such as some of the Scythian nations used
in their wars.

Theodore pointed in silence to the corpse, gazed for a mo-
ment round, and followed with his haggard eye the long track
of the road, apparently to discover if any new object of horror
lay before him; and then, after once more looking sternly
upon the dead man, he shook his sword from the sheath, sprang
again upon his horse, and galloped on his way. As he went,
however, his eye searched anxiously on the ground for farther
traces regarding the too evident fate which had befallen Flavia
and her company; nor was he without finding such marks:
the ground was dented and beaten with horses' feet, and stains
of blood here and there showed that there had been a contest
of a fierce and desperate kind on the spot over which he
passed.

Scarcely three hundred yards from the place where lay the
body of the freedman, a small road turned off to the left, lead-
ing down through the woods, with which that part of the
country was thickly strewn, to the banks of the river Margus,
higher up than the city. At that point, too, the traces—which
had hitherto marked so plainly the course which those he
sought for had pursued—no longer afforded him a clue, for,
separating as it were into two distinct streams, the footmarks
of the horses went on in either track, leading, on the one
hand, towards Tricornium, and, on the other, into the thinly-
peopled and half-cultivated country towards Illyria.

Jle paused in doubt; and the agony of impatience, even at74

ATTILA.

a moment's delay, was only equalled by that of apprehension,
lest he should mistake the path, as he turned from one to the
other. However, the sun just rising above the trees that
fringed the bank suddenly poured a stream of light upon the
left-hand road, and the rays caught and glittered on some
shining substance, which lay at about a bow-shot distance.
Theodore darted forward, and his doubts were removed at
once; for that which accidentally flashed back the sunshine to
his eye was the collar of emeralds which he himself had borne
to Ildica from his father Paulinus. He hesitated no longer,
but hurried on ; and ere he had proceeded more than a quarter
of an hour, the sound of voices and the neigh of horses told
him that his speed had brought him near to those he had
pursued.

What was his purpose, he himself scarcely knew: it was
vague, undefined, uncertain: it might be to save, it might be
to live or die with those whom he loved.

The spot where he then stood was a wooded covert, near
the brow of a high hill, which, sloping down on the other
side beyond him, left the forest on its summit, and stretched
into natural meadows, covering the bottom of a sweet and
tranquil valley. He knew not, however, what was the scene
beyond the brow; but he heard voices and barbarian tongues,
and was hurrying on to meet the fate in store for him, what-
ever that store might be, when the figure of a woman darted
through the wood ; and Flavia, pale and sad as a statue on a
tomb, stood by his horse's side, and threw her arms up to
clasp him as he sat.

" My children ! my children!" she cried. " Oh, Theodore!
my children are in the power of the Huns !"

" Where ?" demanded Theodore ; and his fierce and flash-
ing eye, and knit, determined brow, told that he was prepared
to do those deeds which were once common among the chil-
dren of his native land. " Where ?" he demanded, and it was
the only word he spoke.

" Down in yon meadow," replied Flavia, " over the brow of
the hill. But listen :—oh God ! they might yet be saved, if
we had but fleet horses: there are few of the barbarians
with them; those few are revelling at their morning meal:
the rest are gone to pursue the party from Tricornium."

u What party?" cried Theodore: " is there a chance
of any aid?"

u Alas, no ! my son," she replied, in the same rapid tone;
" alas, no! We met a centurion and his soldiers coming
from Tricornium to Margus, and while we were in parley
with him, the barbarians suddenly fell upon us, like a cloud
of brown locusts upon the fertile land : there was resistanceATTILA.

75

and strife, and I sought to flee with the children. I know
not how it happened; for it wa3 like struggling with the
waves of a tempestuous sea,—all terrible, and nothing dis-
tinct ; but at length, when I could discern anything, I found
myself alone, defended by Acer, the freedman, against a
single Hun, who lingered behind to seize upon me as his
prey, while the greater body of his companions pursued the
centurion along the high road, and a few hurried down
hither with their captives and plunder. Though wounded,
the freedman defended me as if he had been a Roman, and
struck the fierce barbarian with his spear a blow that made
him fly; but as he galloped off, he drew his bow, and in
a moment an arrow was in Acer's heart. I was alone; my
children were in captivity; and I followed hither ; for I had
only sought to save myself with them, but not to live without
them."

Theodore sprang to the ground. " My mother " he said,
" I will deliver them or die and making the freedmen dis-
mount, he chose four to follow him, leaving the Arab Cre-
mera to remain with Flavia. His orders were few, but they
were distinct. " When Eudochia, Ammian, Ildica, are here,"
he said, addressing the freedman, "mount them and the
Lady Flavia on the horses: speed back to Margus, and bid
the bishop save them at any price. Should you find the
city in the hands of the Huns, pronounce the name of
Onegisus, and when you have found him, tell him that
the youth Theodore, to whom he mad^, promise, claims his
protection for those who are most dear to him on earth.—
" Mother," he continued, embracing Flavia, " mother, I go !"

Flavia gazed mournfully in that sad, firm countenance.
" Theodore," she said, pressing him in her arms, "Theodore,
thou goest to destruction !"

He made no reply, but wrung her hand; and, waving to
the slaves he had chosen to follow, burst from her embrace,
and hurried over the hill.

In another moment, the resting-place of the Huns was
before his eyes, though the branches of the trees still waved
between him and them, affording concealment while he ob-
served them. He paused but for an instant, but that instant
sufficed to show him the barbarians scattered on both sides of
the stream, gathered in groups of eight or ten, with their
small rugged horses feeding beside them, and their weapons
cast upon the turf whereon they sat. The heart of Theodore
rose to see that they were so few, for not more than two hun-
dred were there; and the number of the captives, who sat
apart, with bending heads, and the self-neglecting look
of utter despair, had their arms been free, might have offered76

ATTILA.

no slight support in the bold attempt he wa3 about to make.
" Our object," he said, turning to those who followed him,
u is to free Ildica, Eudochia, and Amroian. Let whoever
reaches them first cut their bonds, and bid them fly up the
road over the hill. Then free your fellows, and oppose the
pursuit of the barbarians! Thou art pale," he added, ad-
dressing one of the freedmen; " thy lips are bloodless; if
thy heart be faint, turn back."

u Thou goest to death," replied the man firmly, " and
I will go with thee. I feel that death is horrible ; but
it must be borne once, and I can bear it now."

"Follow, then!" said Theodore, " but cautiously, under
the covering of the trees, till we are close upon them."

It was a great, a mighty, a sublime thing, that determined
resolution unto death, which possessed the young enthusiastic
Roman; which did away boyhood, and made him at once a
strong and valiant man in vigour, in powers, in intellect, in
energy. To die for her he loved; to ransom her from the
barbarians, at the price of his own blood; to see her for the
last time as her deliverer, and to know in dying that his hand
had freed her,—was the last aspiration, the only remaining
hope that rested with Theodore, of all the many sweet and
probable dreams of happiness which haunted his fancy but
one short month before.

Calmly and deliberately he led the way through the trees, to
a spot where, with irregular sweeps, the forest met the
meadow. Within fifty yards sat Ildica and her companions,
mourning, like the enslaved Hebrews, their captivity, by the
banks of the strange waters. Beside them, as a sort of
guard—though the bonds by which they were tied rendered
their unassisted escape impossible—lay spread upon the grass
some ten or twelve of the dark and filthy barbarians, with
their rude and frightful countenanccs, scared with ancient
gashes, and sallow with long-accustomed dirt, distorted
by wild merriment, as they feasted near the first captives
whom they had taken in their invasion of the Roman state.
At the feet of one who sat closest to the prisoners lay a gory
human head, the short cut hair and beard of which showed
that it had belonged to no barbarian form ; and—while The-
dore, pausing behind the trees, let his eye run over the other
groups of Huns, as they were scattered about at a greater
distance, some eating and drinking, some playing with their
unbridled horses, some erecting tents of skins, as if their
numbers were soon to be greatly increased—the fierce barba-
rian ended some speech in his own tongue by a wild and
tinging laugh, and with a stroke of his foot kicked the trunk-
fess head into the river.ATTILA.

77

It was the signal for his own destruction. 44 On !" cried
Theodore, " on!" and, with the sudden stoop of the eagle on
its prey, he bounded forward upon the barbarian. The Hun
started on his feet, but that instant the sword of the young
Roman cleft him to the eyes ; and rolling back in the con-
vulsive agonies of death, he plunged into the river, where he
had so lately cast the head of his adversary.

Scarcely was the blow struck when it was followed by
another, which laid a second Hun prostrate and disabled
at his feet: two more fell before the spears of the freedmen ;
and the rest, conceiving that much greater numbers of
enemies must be approaching, fled to their comrades further
down the stream. There was a thirst in Theodore's heart to
pursue and smite them still, but he remembered Ildica, and
turned to where she sat. A moment freed her from her
bonds : Eudochia and Ammian were set at liberty.

" Up! up! over the hill, beloved," cried Theodore:
" quick as light, Ildica! No words! you will find horses
ready.—Cut their bonds quick," he continued, mingling his
orders to the freedmen who had accompanied him, and to the
captives as they were liberated. " Snatch up what arms you
can find! There are the swords, and arrows, and javelins
they have left behind. Fly, Ildica! I beseech you fly!—
Ammian, hurry her and Eudochia up the hill; your mother
is there with horses ; we follow in a moment. Quick! quick !
see the barbarians are pouring back upon us! form a phalanx
across the road! Away, away! for God's sake! for my
sake ! Away, my Ildica!"

There was no time for further words ; the Huns were upon
them : but happily for Theodore, thirsty for immediate ven-
geance, they poured upon him with the sword and spear, in-
stead of trusting to the missiles which they might have used
with more fatal effect. Supported by twenty of the most re-
solute slaves and freedmen, some hastily equipped with the
arms they had snatched up, some heaving masses of stone,
the young Eoman, active and skilful in the use of all the
weapons of the day, barred the path between the Huns and
their liberated captives, and met them with a courage and a
fierceness even superior to their own. Every tree, every
broken mass of rock, formed a point of resistance; and,
though hurled against him with still increasing rage and
impetus, the Huns recoiled, like javelins cast against a rock,
leaving some of their number dead or dying at his feet.

Each moment, however, their numbers increased, as the
scattered parties from the different spots of that wide meadow
hurried up to the scene of conflict; and Theodore, grim with
the blood of many enemies, but, alas! not unstained with hi?78

ATTILA.

own, slowly retired step by step towards the spot where the
road entered the wood. There he had resolved to make his
last stand and die; but ere he reached it, a broad tremendous
form, which had just come up from the farther part of the
meadow, mingled with his assailants, and, armed like himself
with a heavy sword, seemed to single him out for destruction.
His countenance, however, was nobler than that of the Huns
in general, as his height was greater; and when Theodore
heard him exclaim, in a tongue near akin to the Alan lan-
guage, u Leave him to me! leave him to me!" he thought
that, if he must die, it might be sweeter by his hand.

Still, however, he contended with him with but little dis-
advantage ; for, as a Roman, he had greater skill, if the bar-
barian had greater strength. Brow to brow, and hand
to hand, blow following blow, and thrust succeeding thrust,
they stood almost alone, while the youth's companions were
driven back; and with flashing eyes and slow irregular
breath, pursued the lightning chances of the combat. Nei-
ther had gained a step, though Theodore's blood was trickling
fast away, when a wild scream from the hill above caught his
ear, unnerved his heart, and brought dim despair of his last
dearest desire's result, like a dark cloud before his eyes.

He turned but for an instant to listen to that sound, but
that instant was enough. His guard was beaten down; he
fell upon his knee ; though hope had abandoned him, courage
had not, and he strove to struggle up, bfit it was in vain: his
mighty adversary poured blow after $Low upon the weak
defence which his sword could now Afford. He rose, fell
again, staggered even upon his knee ; exposed the arm which
held the weapon over his head to the descending stroke
of his enemy; dropped the sword itself from his disabled
hand, and saw the shining steel, thirsting for his heart's last
drop, raised high in air above his defenceless head. The
hour he had expected had arrived, and he was prepared to die.

As with quick and heavy sweep the blow fell with a vehe -
mence, which he himself who struck it could not restrain,
another weapon interposed, caught the keen blade upon one
no less strong, and turned the stroke aside.

" Spare him, Ardaric! spare him!" cried the deep tones of
a voice that Theodore had heard before. " Spare him, for
love of me!"

The young Roman started on his feet, and gazed wildly
round upon the scene about him. When last he had time to
look around, nothing had been seen but some two hundred
Huns contending with himself and his small faithful band.
Now sweeping round in a semicircle which hemmed him in,
down to the very river's brink, was seen an innumerable mul-ATTXLA.

79

titude of those dark ferocious horsemen, while thousands on
thousands more appeared streaming down from the road, and
spreading themselves out over the whole meadow.

The space, for nearly forty cubits, immediately about him-
self and his adversary, was clear, except where stood beside
him the same dark chief who had been his guide on the other
side of the Danube, and where, a pace or two behind, a bar-
barian attendant held the powerful horse from which he had
just sprung. But as Theodore gazed along the dusky line of
savage foes around him, a sight more painful to his heart than
the impending death which had just hung over him struck
his eyes. There, where a multitude of banners, rudely em-
broidered with a black eagle crowned, marked a particular
spot in their irregular line, stood Flavia and her family, once
more in the hands of the barbarians.

But the hope of still purchasing their safety followed
instantly upon the agony of that sight. Theodore at once
cast himself at the feet of the Hunnish chieftain. u Oh,
Onegisus I" he exclaimed, u oh, noble Onegisus ! Thou hast
promised me, unasked, thy favour and protection. Now, for
the first time that I have ever required a boon at the hands
of man, I beseech thee to grant me one. Let this brave man,
from whose arm thou hast just saved me, plunge his sword
into my heart. But let yon women and children., bound to
me by the ties of blood and love, go free. Send them, oh
send them, to the dwellings of my mother's race, beneath the
snowy Alps, where they may find safety and protection! I
adjure thee, by the God in whom I believe ! I adjure thee, by
the gods whom thou thyself worshippest! Spare them, oh,
spare them, and send them forth in peace !"

The dark chieftain gazed upon him for a moment with an
aspect stern but not fierce.

"Ardaric," he said at length, "he is the captive of thy
hand. Wilt thou give him unto me, and the first ten captives
that I make they shall be thine ? "

The other chieftain, whose brow had relaxed from the stern
frown of contest, and on whose face was a mild and not un-
pleasing smile, thrust his sword back into the scabbard, say-
ing, "I give them to thee, all, oh, mighty, king! I give them
to thee, without recompense or bargain. Let them be the
first spoil taken in the land of the Romans, which Ardaric
offers to Attila the king."

At that tremendous name, already shadowed over with a
cloud of vague but fearful rumours of wide lands conquered,
kings bent to homage, and nations, as savage as that over
which he ruled, overthrown by that mighty hand, Theodore
drsw a step back, and gazed with doubt and surprise on the80

ATTILA.

dark features and sinewy limbs of him who had just saved
his life; and if his feelings had been strange and mysterious
when he had first seen that powerful but ill-proportioned
form, what were they now, when he heard the stranger called
by that fearful name!

44 I am Attila!" said the monarch, answering his wondering
and inquiring look. "What sayest thou now, young man?
If I will send these women and slaves free, and on their way,
wilt thou be the bondman of Attila?"

"Oh, not a bondman!" said Theodore, letting his head
droop upon his bosom : 44 I can die, oh, monarch! but I can*-
not be a bondman! Let him slay me, and let them go freef
but bind not the limbs of a free Roman!"

Attila gazed on him awhile with the same grave, majestic
air which he had never lost, even for a moment, and then
added, "I understand thee: I will not bind thy hands; I
will not demand thy service against thy native land — thou
shalt draw no sword for Attila against Rome—thou slialt fill
no servile employ—honoured and caressed, thou shalt be the
friend of Attila, and if thou showest the same wisdom in
other matters as in this, thou shalt be his counsellor also. Not
his first friend—not his first counsellor," he added, 44 for here
stands Ardaric, whose place none can supply; and yonder is
Onegisus, found faithful in all things—but thou shalt be
amongst the first. Hearken, thou shalt promise me for seven
years to be to me a faithful friend and counsellor—except in
war or counsel against thy native land; and I will send these
thy people upon their way, with the king's pledge for their
safety till they reach the land of thy kindred."

" Surely the king has some secret motive!" exclaimed Ar-
daric, king of the tributary, or rather subject, nation of the
Gepidas,—41 Surely the king has some secret motive for show-
ing this favour to a captive—though the boy is brave!"

"I have, Ardaric!" replied Attila, UI have! There is a
strange bond between me- and him—but that matters not.—
Wilt thou accept the offer, youth?"

"I will!" replied Theodore; "but cannot they go witi
me?" and he pointed with his hand to Flavia and her com-
panions.

44 Thou knowest not what thou askest?" cried the king,
with a cloud darkening on his brow. u It were evil with
them, and not good, to go. I will send them in safety and
in honour to the land of the Alani, if thou wilt be as obedient
to my commands as a son to a father's during seven years,
except in the things which are against thy country:—dost
thou accept the terms?"

441 do," replied Theodore, 441 do; and deep and heartfeltATTILA.

81

gratitude will I ever show to thee, oh, monarch, for thus be-
friending me in my hour of need!"

" For seven years!" said the monarch, gazing up, thought-
fully, towards the sky, while the light of wild but mighty
aspirations illuminated his harsh but striking features,—u for
seven years! Ere seven years have fled, I shall have con-
quered the whole earth!"

CHAPTER XII.

A silent pause of several minutes ensued, while the terrible
monarch of the Huns thus suffered to burst forth so clear an
indication of his hopes and purposes; and as he stood in the
midst, still gazing up to the sky, with each firm and power-
ful limb in statue-like repose, his feet planted on the earth,
as if rooted to it, his broad chest thrown open, and his wide
square forehead lifted to the morning sun, there was an air
of might and majesty in his whole appearance which im-
pressed those who beheld him with a belief in his power to
accomplish fully that which he so boldly planned. Though
far less in height than the chief of Gepidae, yet Ardaric
gazed upon him with reverence and awe; and Theodore, as
he beheld him, and traced the light of potent intellect flash-
ing from those dark eyes, while his lip pronounced his vast
designs, could not but feel that there stood the most dan-
gerous enemy that Rome had ever known.

At length Attila recalled his thoughts from those dreams
of conquest, and, waving his hand towards the spot where
the standards of his nation were gathered together, he ex-
claimed, in a voice which, though not apparently loud, came
deep and distinct to every ear around, " Edicon! Edicon,
come hither!"

A tall dark man, with the shrewd face of a Greek, but the
air and expression of a barbarian, sprang from his horse, and
advanced a pace or two into the open space around the king:
but as he came forward, Attila bade him bring the principal
captives with him; and pale, faint, and sick at heart, Flavia
and her family, uncertain either of their own fate or of his
so closely, so dearly linked with them, approached the spot
where the dark monarch stood with his naked sword still
clasped in his sinewy hand. As they came near, the joy of
having saved them burst all restraint; and Theodore, though
the blood was still dropping from his garments, clasped them
one by one in a brief but joyful embrace.

u You are safe, my mother!" he cried, "you are safe, my
Ildica! — Ammian, Eudochia, you are safe! you are safe, and82

AfOJLA,

at liberty! The king will send you securely to the land of
the Alani."

u And you, my son, are a slave!" said Flavia. " You are
a slave, and we shall never see you more!"

"Not so!" said Attila, gazing upon the group, and some-
what moved by their meeting. u He is no slave, but has
bound himself to dwell with Attila not les3 than seven years.
Neither do I ask him to war against his country, it would be
doing wrong unto his nature; but I ask him to be a faithful
and true friend, to him who has saved his life, in every other
thing. Edicon, thou art a scribe: write down this compact
between Attila the king, and Theodore the son of Paulinus,
in order that no one may ever doubt that he did not betray
his native land, or that Attila could not be generous to his
enemy."

He spoke in the Latin tongue; and though he used not
that language with ease, yet his meaning was distinct, and
Flavia replied,—u Act ever thus, oh, monarch! and thou
shalt conquer more by thy generosity than by the sword!"
A hope might, perhaps, have crossed her mind, even while
she spoke, that in so free and kindly a mood the monarch of
the Huns might be induced to suffer her and her children to
take up their abode in the same land with Theodore; but she
thought of lldica, of her young blossoming beauty, of her
tender nurture, and her graceful mind, and she repressed the
wish ere it was spoken: all she added was, " Oh, keep him
not from us for ever!"

u I have pledged and plighted my word," replied the king,
" that in seven years he shall be free to l°ave me if he will.
More: if he show himself as faithful to me as he has been to
his country, he shall, from time to time, have leave and oppor-
tunity to visit those he loves. But I have mightier things to
think of now," he continued: "wait ye here, till I provide
for your safety. Ardaric, come thou with me; I go to tread
upon the necks of the Romans." Thus saying, he sprang
upon his horse, and issued a few brief commands in the
Hunnic tongue. The dark masses of the barbarian horse
began to move on by the river side, as if towards Idimum;
and while they swept along, like the shadow of a cloud over
a field of green corn, the monarch continued conversing with
his attendant, Edicon, without farther notice of the captives.
At length, when Theodore saw him about to depart, he ven-
tured to ask, " Go you to Margus, oh, king?"

Attila looked upon him with a smile so slight that it scarcely
curled his lip, and replied, "Margus was mine ere I came
hither!-—My people are skilful in dressing wounds," he added;
" let them tend thine, for thou art bleeding still."As he spoke, he raised his hand slightly <vn the bridle of
his horse; the beast sprang forward across the meadow, and,
followed by a troop of Huns who had remained upon the left,
Attila galloped on in the same direction which his host had
taken before him.

Only two bodies of barbarians continued upon the field; one*
consisting of perhaps a hundred men, remained with Edicon,
near the spot where Theodore and his companions stood; the
other, fewer in number, were gathered farther down in the
meadow, near which the struggle between Theodore and the
Huns for the deliverance of the captives had first commenced.
A glance showed the young Roman that they were in the act
of removing, or burying, the dead; but objects of deeper in-
terest called his attention elsewhere, for Flavia, Eudochia,
Ammian, Ildica, gathered round him gazing in his face, pale
as it was with loss of blood, and looking upon him with the
thankful eyes of beings whom he had delivered from bondage
worse than death. How he had delivered them, by what
means, or by what motives in the breast of the Hun that de-
liverance had been accomplished, was strange and incompre-
hensible to them all, even to Theodore himself; but that it
was by his agency, on account of his valour, constancy, and
faithfulness, none of them for a moment doubted; and as
Ildica raised her large dark eyes to his face, they were full at
once of love, of admiration, and of gratitude.

Oh, who can tell the mingled feelings of that hour, when
sitting round him they loved—while one of the rude Huns,
with the peculiar appliances of his nation, stanched the trick-
ling blood, and dressed his many wounds—those who had
lately given way to despair, now fepoke to each other the few
glad words of reviving hope! Oh, who can tell the deep and
fervid yearnings of the heart towards God in thankfulness for
the mighty mercy just vouchsafed! Oh, who can tell the
thrilling, the ecstatic sense of security, of peace, and of happy
expectation which succeeded, after having been plunged in
such a depth of grief, of care, and agony!

What though their thoughts might wander on into th«
vague future, and sad experience might cause a fear to cast
its shadow over the prospect! What though Flavians heart
might feel a chilliness at the idea of strange lands, strange
habits, and strange nations! What though Ildica and Theo-
dore might look upon a probable separation of seven long
years with grief and regret; yet oh how such pitiful alloy
sunk into nothing when mingled with the golden happiness of
knowing that safety, liberty, and peace had been obtained
after so fearful a struggle! Could Theodore gaze upoii the
lovely and beloved form of the sweet Dalmatian girl, and84

ATTTLA.

know bow dreadful a fate might have befallen her, without
feeling that life itself would have been a poor sacrifice to save
her from such a doom? Could Ildica behold her lover, and
recall the moments when last she saw him surrounded by
fierce foes, and determined to die, that he might give her a
chance of liberty, without feeling that a seven years7 absence
was but a cheap price for the life and safety of so noble, so
devoted a being?

To part—to part perhaps for seven long solitary years—
would, in happier days, have seemed a fate too bitter for en-
durance; but now the dark and fearful images from which
that lot stood forth, made it look bright and smiling. The
hour of horror and danger had passed by, despair had given
way; and though fear still lived, }7et hope, hope, was the
victor for the time.

Their words were few but sweet, and they were uninter-
rupted ; for the Huns, after the youth's wounds were dressed,
pointed out to them some shady trees as a place to repose,
and left them unrestrained, and almost unwatched. The
barbarians knew well that the whole land around was in their
king's possession, and feared not that any one could escape.
The words of the captives, I have said, were few, but still
those words were not unimportant, for they went to regulate
the future fate of all. Each promised, when occasion served,
to give tidings of their health and prospects, hopes and
wishes, to a mutual relation in Rome, the noble Julius Len-
tulus, and each unloaded the mind to the other of every feel-
ing which, in a moment such as that, the heart could ex-
perience—of every thought which the memory could recall.

As they thus sat and conversed, the slaves and attendants
who had been captured with them crept gradually nearer and
nearer, not yet comprehending fully the situation in which
they were placed; feeling themselves to be prisoners, and yet
marvelling that their limbs remained untied, after such a
»old effort to escape, when they had been bound with leathern
thongs before. Nearly one half, however, of the freedmen
were absent; and painful sensations passed through the
hearts of Theodore and Flavia, when they looked around,
and missed some old familiar face; but neither spoke their
feelings on this point to the other. As the sun passed the
meridian, however, two or three Huns from time to time
came riding down the road, driving before them, with their
short spears, several of the absent attendants; and while the
day went on, a considerable part of the baggage, whereof
Flavians company had been pillaged on their first capture,
was brought back, without a word of explanation, and piled
tip round the trees underneath which she sat. Strange is itATTILA.

85

and unaccountable how the heart of man, which despises
many a mighty warning, draws auguries for its hopes and
fears from the pettiest occurrences that befall us in our course
through life. When Flavia, and Ildica, and Theodore saw
the litters, and chairs, and chariots, and bales of goods re-
stored, and laid down in silence, a well-pleased smile beamed
upon the face of each; not that either thought at that mo-
ment of comfort or convenience, or of all the little luxuries
which the glass of civilisation magnifies into necessaries; but
that each one thence drew a renewed assurance that the bar-
barian monarch, into whose hands they had fallen, however
fierce and blood-thirsty h~, might have shown himself to
others, at all events meant well and kindly towards them.

Towards the third hour after noon, food rudely cooked, and
a beverage peculiar to the people of Dacia, was set before
them; and Edicon, sitting down to meat with them, pressed
them to their meal, using the Latin tongue as purely as if it
had been his own. He spoke of the empire of the Huns, of
their might, their conquests, and their innumerable hordes; he
spoke even of Bleda, the brother of the King, and monarch of
one part of the nation ; but the name of Attila he pronounced
not; and when it was mentioned by Theodore, he turned
quickly to some other theme.

The sun had lost much of its heat by the time the meal
was concluded; and shortly after a Hunnish horseman came
down the road with fiery speed, and addressed a few quick
words to Edicon.

That chief instantly turned and addressed Flavia. " Tri-
cornium and Singidunum have fallen," he said, u and the way
is clear before you. It is the will of the King that you com-
mence your journey."

Flavia gazed upon Theodore, and Theodore upon those he
loved; and the bright drops clustered in the dark eyes of
Ildica, like dew in the half-closed leaves of the morning.
Eudochia, too, hung upon her brother's neck, and Ammiaii
grasped his hand; but still the son of Flavia, with wilder and
less regulated feelings than the rest, could not yet understand
or appreciate the grief of Theodoise at that moment of parting.
" Would I were you, Theodore!" he exclaimed. " Gladly would
I see the country and manners of these wild Huns; and oh,
if I had a father's murder to avenge, as you have, I would
march on with that brave and mighty Attila, and smite the
tyrant, Theodosius, on his throne."

" Could it be without the ruin of my country," replier
Theodore ; u but, alas, Ammian, that cannot be. Weep not
dear Ildica! Sorrow not, my mother, that for a time you mus
leaev me here. Let us remember our condition a few hour*86

ATTILA.

ago, and be thankful to God that it is as it is even now. Fat
safer, too, are you under the guidance and protection of these
powerful barbarians, than if, unaided and unguarded, we had
attempted to penetrate into Noricum: far safer am I left here,
with those who have spared me, even when my sword was
drawn against them, than if I were attempting to guide you
through strange lands that I know not, and barbarian people
who hate us for our very civilisation. I trust implicitly to the
word of Attila. He has promised us his favour and protection,
and I fear not."

"Thou judgest rightly, Roman," joined in Edicon, who
still stood by. "The word of Attila, whether for good or bad,
has never yet been broken. His sentence is irreversible, his
mind unchangeable. Fear nothing for the safety of your
friends. Two hundred of our bravest warriors guard them to
Singidunum, whence a tribe of the Heruli, with a messenger
from the King, convey them onward to their destination. They
are safe wherever they go, for Attila has promised them pro-
tection ; and is not Attila lord of the earth?"

Still Ildica clung to him, still Flavia gazed upon him with
wistful affection; and the heart of Theodore, while they pre-
pared once more for their journey, swelled with feelings too
painful for utterance. Weakened with loss of blood, wearied
with terrible exertion, and forced to part for long, dim, un-
certain years, from those whom alone he loved on earth, his
manly fortitude wavered, but the presence of the Huns and
the pride of a Roman sustained him. He could not bear that
barbarians should see him weep; and though he held them
one by one to his bosom in the warm embrace of passionate
affection; though he spoke to the very slaves and freedmen
with the tenderness of old and fond regard; though he looked
upon each familiar face and long-remembered feature with the
clinging earnestness of love; yet he mastered the emotions of
his bosom, and saw them prepared to go without a tear
moistening his eye. One last kiss, one long dear embrace,
and Theodore turned away. Then came the sound of many
feet, the neighing of horses, the cries of barbarian voices in
the tone of commaad, the rustling and the rush of a moving
crowd. Gradually the noise became less, the tongues sounded
more faintly, the tramp of feet subsided into a lower and a
lower murmur, and Theodore, looking round, found himself
left alone, amidst a small party of the Huns, with a feeling of
deep desolation at his heart, such as he had never known
before.attila.

87

CHAPTER XIII.

A long deep sigh was all that Theodore would now give to
the pain of parting. It was over, finished, and endured ! and
he stood there, calm but grave, prepared for the long cold
lapse of the next seven years. Oh, sad and sorrowful is it,
more melancholy, if not more painful, than any other state of
human being—fertile as existence is in woes and miseries—
when over the summer and the sunshiny days of early youth
are brought the premature storms of manhood, the hurricane
of angry passions, or the deep and settled clouds of disap-

Eointment and despair! Oh, sad and sorrowful is it, when the
alf-open flower of the heart is broken off by the rude foot-
step of adverse fate, ere it has time to expand into beauty!
Oh, sad and sorrowful is it, when, by the rough hand of
circumstance, the fresh bloom is brushed from the fruit ere it
be ripe!

Yet such was the fate of Theodore. Endowed with ardent
feelings, strong passions, powerful energies both of mind and
body, he had been called, while those feelings were in their
first freshness, while those passions were in their early fervour,
ere those energies had been strengthened by time, or instructed
by experience, to mingle with scenes, and take part in events
which few even of the mightiest and most mature minds of ac-
complished manhood could pass through, without bearing away
the indelible stains left by feelings bligLted, or the rude scars
inflicted by evil passions. He had loved, and he had been
beloved. He had tasted once of the nectar cup of the gods,
which, when pressed by a pure lip, instils into the heart a
spirit of immortality—and his lip had pressed it purely. Then
had been called forth the exertion of that great attribute of
manhood, the power of protecting, aiding, directing weaker
beings in moments of terror and danger. Then came the
mingling of that most bitter draught, when grief and indigna-
tion are all that are offered to allay the thirst of a lip burning
for revenge. Then came the ignominy of flight from an enemy
alike hated and despised; then the temptation conquered, to
pamper vengeance by treason; and then the mighty struggle
where life was played for as a dicer's stake, and every energy
of heart and brain was called into fierce activity, when human
blood was spilt, and mortal being extinguished by his hand, to
save from death, or worse than death, those he most loved on
earth. And there he now stood, that wayward fated being,
around whom, within the last month, so many lightnings had88

ATTILA.

played,left alone amidst men with whom he had no community
of feeling.

Those hours of agony and excitement had indeed made him
a man before his time, and well, well might they take the
bloom off his young heart; yet, though the syren voice of
expectation might have lost part of its sweetness, though the
chord which once vibrated to every joy might possess no
longer its elastic tone; though there was the grey shade of
doubt mingling with every bright colour which went to paint
the future, and the enchanter could charm no more; still there
was within his bosom, in his love for Ildica, a sweet source of
unpolluted happiness, a well of youthful feelings undefiled, a
fountain of bright clear waters, where wearied hope might
come and drink and be refreshed. As he stood there in his
loneliness, the value of that spring of secret enjoyment was
displayed in all its brightness. He knew, he felt, that there
was his treasure; and, with that support and conscious inno-
cence alone, he prepared to face the future, be it what it might.

The rapid process of thought hadr an over, in a few minutes,
all the varied particulars of his situation, the much of gloomy
and dark, and the small but intense spot of guiding light; and
ere the few Huns who remained with him showed any disposition
to move, he himself turned towards their leader, and demanded
what was to ensue.

44 Are you able to sit a horse ?" demanded Edicon, gazing on
his features still pale with loss of blood.

"I am," replied Theodore, "if the journey be not long."

44 Then we must follow the King," replied Edicon; " but I
have his commands to make the stations suit your capability.
There is your sword," he continued, giving him the weapon
which had dropped from his hand, when the blow of Ardaric
had for the time disabled his right arm. 44 You are to be
treated in no way as a bondman."

44 Keep it for me," replied Theodore, putting it aside with
the back of his band; 441 will never go armed into my native
land, with the enemies of my country."

Edicon laughed aloud. 44 Is there anything else," he de-
manded, "that your fancy would have? I am ordered to
humour thee to the utmost."

44There was one faithful freedman," said Theodore, "whom
I saw not with the rest who departed just now. I would gladly
hear of his fate; I left him with the horses on the hill."

44 What! a giant ? " demanded Edicon. 441 saw such an one
contending like a madman with our whole army. If it be of
him you speak, most probably he is dead. I saw him fall
beneath a blow which would have slain a bull. At all events,ATTILA.

89

he is in the hands of Attila the King; for I heard him bid his
people see to the brave African. Is there aught else?"

" I would fain," said Theodore, with a sigh, u I would fain
recover the horse I rode. It was my father's charger; but I
fear that it is vain, for I left it upon the hill."

" What! the black horse with the white star on his fore-
head ? " demanded Edicon.

" The same," answered Theodore, with some surprise,
" Have you seen him ?"

111 saw him with you on the other side of the Danube,
some four days ago," replied Edicon, u when Attila came
down from the interior to meet you."

"To meet me!" exclaimed Theodore, with a faint smile;
" he could not come to meet me; for I crossed the Danube
by accident, not from any long-concealed purpose."

" So it might be," answered the chief, " and yet the King
knew that you were coming, and went down to meet you.
Do you not believe, that there are men who see the coming
events as clearly as we see the past ? But it matters not," he
added; " we left the tribe of Vultigours upon the hill. Per-
chance the horse may have fallen into their hands; if so, thou
shalt have him."

He then spoke a few words in their own tongue to some of
the Huns near, two of whom instantly sprang upon their
horses, and galloped up the hill. While they were gone,
Theodore and Edicon laid down in the shade upon the grass;
and the young Roman endeavoured to induce his companion
to pursue to some clearer point of explanation the vague hints
which had been given, regarding his first meeting with Attila:
but the wily barbarian was not to be led onward beyond the
precise line by which he chose to bound his communication;
and as soon as Theodore attempted to gain farther informa-
tion, he started up and busied himself in giving orders to the
wild warriors around him.

In a few minutes the two Huns returned, leading down, at
a quick pace, the horse of the young Roman, which, snorting
and rearing, resisted the unfamiliar hands by which he was
guided. In a moment, however, the voice of his master
rendered him tame and docile as a lamb^ and Theodore could
perceive, by the smiles and gestures of the barbarians, whose
affection for, and command over, their own horses were even
then proverbial, that he had risen highly in their esteem by
the love and obedience which the noble beast displayed to-
wards him.

When at length all was prepared, he mounted, though with
much pain and difficulty from his wounds; but when once on
his horse's back he experienced no farther inconvenience90

ATTtLA.

except from weakness; and riding side by side with Edicon,
he proceeded slowly on the saaae track which Attila and his
troops had previously taken.

Oh, how glad was Theodore, when the grey coming on of
twilight gave him the hope that night would soon shut out
from his weary eyes the sight of such scenes of horror and
devastation. But, alas! even when darkness spread over the
whole sky, the earth beneath—as he rode along, across the
high grounds which there sweep down to the Danube—
seemed glowing in a thousand spots with the lurid light of
wide-spread conflagration; and Theodore beheld the destiny
of his native land. Fire consumed each dwelling's roof-tree,
and blood drowned out the ashes.

At length, at the bottom of the hills, where a small wood
skirted one of the little rivers they had to cross, they came
suddenly upon a number of fires, round which were seated
some thousands of the barbarians. On the approach of Edi-
con and his party, numbers of them started up, and quitting
the loud rude merry-making in which they were engaged,
gathered around the new comers, with wild gestures and
quick vociferous tongues, talking, laughing, shouting, and
screaming, while the fitful gleams of the fire displayed, in
strong, unpleasant light and shade, their strange attire, and
harsh, repulsive countenances. Food of various kinds and ii?
great abundance was set before Theodore and those who
escorted him; but the young Eoman felt no power to eat,
and only quenched the burning of his lip, while he strove to
drown remembrance of his griefs, in two full cups of wine.

"We must on with the first light to-morrow morning,"
said Edicon " and therefore it were better for you to take
what sleep you can, though, perhaps, being a Roman, you
cannot find slumber on such a couch as nature provided for
man, and under such a tent as the starry sky."

" Sleep!" cried. Theodore, u Sleep! Do you expect me to
sleep after such a day as this ? Such sleep, however, as I can
gain may as well be taken here as anywhere else," and wrap-
ping his mantle round his head he cast himself down near
one of the fires. For repose he sought not, for he neither
hoped nor expected to find it, but he sought to shut out from
his sight the fierce forms and savage merriment of those who
had just devastated his country. With his eyes closed and
his mantle round his head, he saw them not, it is true, but
still the wild peals of barbarian laughter rang in his ears, as
they caroused around the fires; still imagination called up to
his view the rude, ill-favoured countenances of the Huns;
still memory presented to his fevered brain all the sad and
painful sights which he had beheld during the day.&TTILA.

9 i

Thus passed by the greater part of the night; for, even
when the Huns, giving themselves up to slumber, left Silence
to recover her empire over the scene from which their rude
revels had banished her, bitter remembrance haunted the
young Roman still, and drove far away from his troubled
breast that soft and soothing guest which visits so unwillingly
the couch of pain or woe. About an hour before dawn, ex-
haustion, however, conquered thought; and when Edicon
roused him to proceed, he was sleeping, if the name of sleep
could be applied to that dull, unrefreshing want of conscious-
ness into which he had fallen for the time. He started up,
however, ready to go on, ay, and willing; for although he
could hope to find but little better or fairer in the things be-
fore him, yet every scene in which he was placed was, for the
time, so hateful to him, that it was a relief and consolation
even to change.

The road lay still by the side of the Danube; but, after
leaving their night's resting-place, it was evident that they
were coming fast upon the great host of Attila himself. Mul-
titudes of small waggons covered the way. Thousands of
straggling parties were seen in every direction; and at length,
after riding on for about two hours, they came in sight of the
towers of a city, rising up from the banks of the river. At
the same moment, as they stood upon the hill above it, a
shout came up to the ear so loud, so fierce, so demoniacal,
that it seemed to Theodore that the very fiends^f hell had
burst forth to mingle with the dark innumerable multitudes
that he beheld whirling round that devoted town, like the
waves of some mighty vortex in the stormy oceans of the
north.

Another and another yell succeeded; and as Edicon still
led on down the hill, screams of anguish could be distin-
„ guished mixing with the shout, and fire might be seen burst-
ing forth from various parts of the city.

"Viminacium is taken!" said the Hunnish leader: "we
shall find the king in the market-place ; ride close by me, and
let us on."

CHAPTER XIV.

In one dark, close rushing stream the Huns were pouring into
Yiminacium, when Theodore, with unutterable agony of heart,
approached the gates with those who held him a prisoner. It
was an hour in which he could full well have died with
scarcely a regret, for every sight and every sound around him
spoke nothing but despair.

A few words from his conductor brought the barbarians92

ATTILA.

who accompanied them pressing round the young Roman, so
as to keep him distinct from all the multitude which had fol*
lowed Attila to liis first actual conquest in the Koman territory.
But so dense, so rapid, was that living torrent, that after they
had once entered the gates no one could move except in the
same onward course; and, knee pressed against knee, horse
jostling horse, forward they rushed, while nothing could be
seen in the dark long street but an ocean of human heads,
except where the flames burst forth from dwellings, palaces,
and temples, and formed a fiery canopy above them.

To see beneath the horses1 feet was not possible ; but every
now and then some dreadful indications, on which it were
needless to dwell, showed Theodore that his charger's feet
were passing over a pile of dead ; and still, amidst the clang
and rush of those wild horsemen, burst forth from other parts
of the city the same long, piercing, awful shrieks, which told
that the work of massacre had not yet ceased within those
ill-starred walls. Wherever, too, a street, branching to either
side, gave a momentary view of what was passing beyond,
groups of struggling forms were seen, with heaps of corpses,
falling houses, and masterless horses galloping hither and
thither, and rolling clouds of smoke writhing in dark masses
amidst the building.

Still, however, Edicon pursued his way straight on, though
at every turning some body of the Huns quitted the onward
path, bent on plunder or on bloodshed. At length the way
opened out into the forum, whose wide space was covered
with scattered groups of the barbarian host, whirling here and
there, in obedience to commands emanating from a group who
had forced their horses up the steps leading to the temple of
Mars.

Here, in the forum, the Koman legionaries had made their
last stand; and here, thick and many, lay the bodies of those
slain by hands that had never learned to spare. Here, too,
dismounted from their horses, and stripping the yet warm
dead of their rich arms and vestments, were thousands of
blood-stained groups of the conquerors ; and here, penned
up, and dying man by man, was the last determined cohort
which resisted the barbarian force. Even at that very moment,
as Edicon was forcing his way onward, that last lingering
spark of resistance was extinguished ; for Theodore could see
one Hunnish horseman, followed by several others, urge his
horse fiercely down the steep steps of the temple, and plunge
into the midst of the multitude which was pressing round the
last brave men of Yiminacium. A loud shout burst from the
barbarians as that horseman hurled himself forward like a
thunderbolt against the front of the cohort. Its line, whichATTILA.

98

had remained firm even in despair, was rent in a moment, as
an oak that has withstood the winds is rent by the lightning,
and the Roman helmets disappeared in the dark mass of the
Huns. Again that same horseman separated himself from the
multitude, rode slowly back towards the temple, and urged
his horse once more up the steep and slippery steps. Towards
him Edicon pursued his way; and, as they came near, Theo-
dore perceived that it was, indeed, towards him their journey
had been directed.

There, advanced before the rest, Attila sate gazing from
his battle-horse's back over the awful scene before his eyes;
while near him an equestrian statue of Trajan, with his calm
thoughtful features, and a bronze group of a lion tearing a
bull, contrasted strangely, and harmonised well with the fierce
and heated aspect of the stern Hun, as, covered with blood
and dust, he rolled his flashing dark eyes over that terrible
scene of massacre, fire, and desolation.

" Oh," cried Theodore, as they came near the steps, "oh,
beseech him to sheath the sword, and spare the unresisting!"
and as he spoke he naturally urged on his horse, to plead the
cause of his miserable countrymen with one who had shown
himself, in his own case, not insensible to pity.

But Edicon caught his bridle quickly, exclaiming, " Speak
to him not! Speak to him not, if you value life! See you
not that the mighty spirit of war is upon him. Speak to a
hungry lion tasting the first blood! Plead with the tiger for
its prey! But cross not Attila in his hour of battle and
victory! Bleda, his brother, might hear you, and spare you
at the time to slay you for his pleasure after; but were you
to cross Attila now, he might strike dead the man whom to-
morrow he would cherish as a son."

At that moment, however, the eye of the monarch lighted
on the garb of Theodore. " A Roman!" he cried, " a Roman
before my eyes I Smite him to the ground! Give his heart
to the vultures!"

The youth understood not his words, which were spoken in
the Hunnish tongue, but the fierce gestures of the barbarian
king were enough; and at the same moment an hundred
spears were raised around to drink the Roman's blood.

"Let them do their will," he said, calmly, "let them do
their will. Who would love life after such sights as these ?"

But Edicon interposed r u Hold!" he cried, to those so
prompt to obey in any work of blood—"Hold! he is the
King's friend. Attila knows him not. Oh King!" he con-
tinued, raising his voice, " thou hast promised this youth pro*
tection: wilt thou break thy promise ?"

Attila rolled his eyes over the whole group in silence; and

AMjuA,

Edicon, with those who surrounded him, well knowing that
the fierce and eager mood of their lord would pass away, re-
tired slowly from his sight, leading Theodore with them. No
tranquil spot, however, no place of refuge or repose, did that
wide city now contain. Plunder was still going on, though
slaughter, insatiable still, even when gorging upon thousands,
had exhausted nearly all, but only halted for want of food.
Some wretched woman, indeed, or some helpless child, was
dragged every now and then from its ineffectual hiding-place,
and a solitary scream, or a dying groan, marked the new
victim. But the work of butchery was now welf-nigh com-
plete ; and conflagration, spreading rapidly in every part
threatened to consume the barbarian victors themselves, in
the burning city which they had captured and destroyed.

A small open space, near what was called Trajan's Gate, at
length afforded a place of repose to Edicon and his party;
and there, following the example of the Huns, Theodore
alighted from his horse, and sitting down upon one of the
massy stone steps before a dwelling, which had once belonged
to some rich banker, and had been one of the first to be
plundered by the barbarians, he covered his eyes with his
hands, and tried to shut out even from memory the horrors
which he had just beheld.

In vain—it was in vain! Confused, countless, terrible
images and feelings of destruction and despair rushed through
his burning brain and his indignant heart, and drove him well
nigh to madness. At length two or three wild notes of some
barbarian trumpet, loud, long, and melancholy, sounded
through the streets, and were heard above the general roar of
the Hunnish multitudes, coming from different quarters of the
city Edicon sprang up, and mounted his horse; and, seeing
Theodore remain in the same attitude of despair, he exclaimed,
" Up, up, we must away! It is dangerous to linger."

Theodore rose slowly; and though the curling names which
at once struck his eye, flickering above all the buildings
around, together with the shower of sparks and flakes of fire,
which were falling incessantly from the dense and lurid clouds
of smoke above, showed that the words of Edicon were true,
and that the warning voice of the trumpet had only been
sounded in time, yet slow and heavily did the young Roman
rise, as if he would willingly have remained to die in the
flames of that vast holocaust to the barbarian god of warfare.
In vain the Huns urged him to haste: he gazed upon them
dark and gloomily, as if the bitterness of death itself were
passed ; and they, with all their power, could do no more.

With strange and unusual gentleness for one of so fierce
and uncontrollable a nation, Edicon endeavoured to persuade

him to follow in em trom the captured city. He offered no
violence, he used no rude command; but after every other
argument had failed to quicken the movements of the young
Boman, he added, as if he could have divined the only chord
which—left strung and resonant, where so many were broken
—could still vibrate to the touch, " Remember that there are
others in the world to whom your life is dear; beings kind,
beautiful, and beloved, who may need the protection of your
arm, the consolation of your affection, and the shelter of your
breast."

The tears rose in Theodore's eyes: but the thrilling life of
human hopes and fears was once more kindled from among the
dead ashes of despair; and, springing on his horse, he followed
wherever they would.

Wild, and terrible, and extraordinary was the scene of con-
fusion and disarray which followed, while the Huns, some fast
and eagerly, some lingering with their appetite for plunder
still unsated, poured forth from the gates of the burning city.
Order and ranks were there none. Tumult and confusion,
loud cries, wild laughter, shouts of triumph, and barbarous
songs, dark masses whirling hither and thither, horses, which
had lost their masters, seeking them familiarly through the
crowd, the rush of innumerable multitudes, and the mighty
hum of congregated myriads, formed all that was seen and
heard over the wide green fields, which surrounded what a
few hours before had been Yiminacium—except when, loud
and slow, surmounting every other noise, were heard the long
melancholy notes of the barbarian trumpet, calling the con-
querors from the work of spoil and desolation.

Sweeping round in a semicircle upon the declivity of the hills,
which domineered the city, the host of Attila was at length
gathered together, at the end of about two hours after Theo-
dore had seen the barbarian monarch in the forum. The
youth had sat apart upon the edge of the hill, gloomily gazing
upon the dim multitudes, as they covered and struggled up
the intervening space between the walls and the spot where
he was placed. The same party of Huns which had always
hitherto accompanied him, more to protect than to detain him,
remained with him still, except, indeed, Edicon, who had left
him for the time. At length, however, he re-appeared, and,
sitting down beside the youth, addressed him kindly.

" The King," he said " has asked for you. The fierce
cloud of strife has passed away from his heart, and the sun
will shine upon those that approach him now. Let us draw
near. Lo ! yonder he stands, where you see the crowd upon
that high knoll. The warriors are going to bring their bootyM

ATTILA.

before liim. If thou hast any boon to ask at his hands ask
it now."

Theodore rose, and followed on foot, though there was a
fevered weariness in his blood, a confused giddiness in his
brain, which prevented him from clearly comprehending, or,
indeed, from taking any interest in the words that were ad-
dressed to him. Even when he had approached the presence
of him on whom his whole fate now depended, the objects

Eussed before him as if in some unreal pageant, wherein he

ad no feelings engaged, and by which curiosity and admira-
tion were hardly excited.

There sat Attila on horseback, and beside him a taller and
a younger chieftain, with keen sharp eyes, and a low fierce
brow. In his countenance there might be more of cunning,
but there was less of power and intellect than in that of At-
tila ; and, as Edicon caught the eye of the young stranger
wandering over his form, he whispered, u That is Bleda, the
brother of the King."

Theodore paused, where his companion paused, at no
great distance from the spot where the two leaders stood, and
looked on, while the whole host passed in long line before the
kings and their immediate followers, casting down in a pile
all the rich and costly plunder which had been acquired in
the first capture of a Roman city. How often, in the course
of the succeeding months, was that scene to be repeated!
There were the chased and jewelled cups and chalices which
had graced the merry banquet, and poured the libation of hope
or gratitude; there the sacred vessels of the church; there
the gems and ornaments torn from the neck of beauty, and
from the violated limbs of the tender, the gentle, and the
beloved. There was poured out the miser's long accumu-
lated store ; there the early gift of young affection; there the
inestimable product of ancient art; there the shining mass,
only prized for its intrinsic value. Each object there cast
down recorded some deed of profanation, either of sacred
civil order, or of holy piety, or of the sweet sanctity of calm
domestic life: each spoke trumpet-tongued against the
horrid, the desolating trade of war; the honoured, lauded,
and rewarded curse, parent of murder, violence, and
wrong.

Theodore scarcely remarked the division of the spoil,
though he perceived that no voice, no, not even that of
Bleda, was raised against the stern but just allotment made
by Attila. Each soldier received his share, and each seemed
to hear with reverence the words of his leader, and to gaze
with awe upon the countenance of him whose steps seemedATTILA.

97

lestined to crush thrones into the dust, and on whose breatk
hung the fate of nations and of empires.

When the division was over, Attila turned his eyes upon
Theodore. " Bid the Roman approach," he said; and the
youth advanced to the spot where he sat on the same horse
which had borne him through the sacking of the city. His
countenance, however, was now mild and calm ; and the tone
in which he addressed to Theodore some simple words of
greeting was kind and father-like. Bleda said nothing ; but
he rolled his fierce eyes over the form of the young stranger,
and his whole countenance spoke the unmitigated hate
which he felt towards everything that bore the Roman
name.

Theodore listened to the words of the monarch calmly;
and then at once replied, " Oh, King ! I have a boon to ask
at thy hands ; I beseech thee grant it unto me."

" Speak," said Attila, in the tongue of the Alani; but
Bleda muttered in the same language, "Dash his brains
out with an axe! that were the best boon to give him."

Attila's brow darkened; but, without noticing farther
than by that heavy frown his brother's words, he bade the
youth proceed.

"Thou art mighty, oh King!" said Theodore, "alas! too
mighty ; and, it may be, that, ere thou receivest defeat from
the Roman arms (Attila smiled), many such a city as this that
thou hast to day destro}~ed may fall before thee-"

" Many shall fall!" interrupted Attila : " i will tread upon
their towers from Margus to Bizantium. I will mow the land
as with a scythe : I will shake the armies from before my
path, as a lion shakes oif the morning dew from his mane.
The fortified cities will I lay low, and the open villages I will
burn, and my horses shall eat up the grass of the whole land.
There shall be no green thing, and no beautiful thing, and no
living thing, left throughout the country, unless speedy com-
pensation for the wrongs done to me and to my people avert
the wrath, and turn away the storm:—but yet, what wouldst
thou?"

"This, oh King!" replied Theodore; "my eye cannot
witness the desolation of my native land. Either my heart
will cease to beat, or my brain will turn, if I behold more of
such scenes as those which I have this day witnessed. I am
thine to do with as thou pleasest, and I will keep the promise
I have made ; but I do beseech thee, send me afar from such
sights. Let me go into thine own country; and I swear by
all that I hold sacred, to remain there tranquilly till thou
returnest."

"I know not how that may be," replied the King ; uthj

G98

ATTILA.

life is dear to me, youth; and were a Roman now to show
himself in the land of the Huns, without protection and sup-
port, except, indeed, as a captive, the stream of his days
would soon fall into the great gulf of death."

" If thou takest me on," cried Theodore, " to witness the
murder of my fellow-countrymen, the ruin and devastation of
my native land, thou slayest me by a worse death than any
thy people can inflict."

" Well, thou shalt go back," replied Attila; " but I will
send people with thee, to protect thee in my name, till thou
art known and in safety in the land. I cannot spare thee,
Edicon; but he shall choose others who can speak some of
the languages thou knowest: ours thou wilt soon learn. Fol-
low me, until this night be over: to-morrow thou shalt depart.
See to his repose, Edicon, and find him wherewithal to cover
him from the night air. These Romans are not, as we are,
familiar with the elements."

Edicon smiled; and Theodore felt the scorn which had
fallen upon his nation ; but he replied not, for the reproach
was too true ; and, retiring from the presence of Attila he felt
his heart relieved at the certainty at being no longer forced to
contemplate with his own eyes all the horrors that awaited
his native land.

In their eager and fiery course towards the destruction of
the Roman empire, the Huns knew no pause, lingered for no
repose. Ere noon, Viminacium was a heap of ashes ; ere two
hours more had passed, the division of their plunder had
taken place; and ere another had gone by, the unwearied my-
riads were again upon their way to repeat the same scenes of
slaughter and destruction. At nightfall they halted. The in-
numerable small waggons, which followed them with a cele-
rity quite marvellous, formed at once the ramparts of their
principal camp, and the abode of such as were affected by
some touch of softer manners. In the centre of the camp
was raised the standard of the King, the rude black eagle
crowned ; * and round it, at the distance of about a hundred
cubits, was drawn an inner circle of waggons ; but in the
clear and starry nights of summer no tent or awning covered
the head of Attila; and beneath that victorious banner, which
he carried unchecked from Caucasus to Gaul, he lay
stretched upon the hide of a wild bull, which his own hand
had slain.

Round about the great camp were a number of smaller en-
closures ; some appropriated to different tribes and nations,
who followed the multitude of the Huns in their career of

* It was called Astur, and is supposed to have been the same as tho
tributary bird of the Tartars named the Schongar.ATTILA.

99

victory and pillage ; some assigned to various friends and offi-
cers of the great monarch himself. Nevertheless the warrior
horsemen of that innumerable host did not confine themselves,
where they feared no attack, to the circle of their encamp-
ment ; but, spreading over the plain around, spent the early
hours of the night in feasting and revelry.

Theodore, with Edicon, who showed for him on all occasions
kindness and consideration, which was little to be expected
from one of so barbarous a race, followed full half an hour
behind the general march of the army, in order to avoid those
sights of occasional violence and cruelty which were sure to
take place, even in the thinly-peopled part of the country
which they now traversed. When they reached the spot,
therefore, on which Attila had fixed for his encampment,
night had already fallen; and for several miles around were
to be seen blazing up a countless number of fires, with scarcely
fifty yards from the one to the other, and with a circle of
those wild soldiers surrounding and carousing about each.
Little was the attention which they paid to the new comers as
they rode through the midst of them; and Edicon, by fre-
quently stopping to speak to those he knew, gave his compa-
nion a full insight into the habits of that roving people. We
must not pause thereon, for this is not intended for a book of
description; and yet it was a wild, strange scene that he be-
held, full of matter for disgust and sorrow, and yet not with-
out interest either. There all the vices of a savage state were
displayed; while some peculiar virtues, and some of those
strong enthusiasms which, though not virtues, find chords of
sympathy in every noble heart, broke forth from time to
time, and shed a lustre over the mingled whole.

At some of the fires, reclining or sitting in grotesque or
picturesque attitudes, lay groups of the wild Scythians, in
their strange but striking dresses, drinking deep of various
liquors, which they had either compounded or plundered;
and, in the eyes of many, the fiery gleam of intemperance
was already shining, while with hoarse laughter, and savage
gesticulation, they detailed the deeds of the day, or mocked
the agonies of their victims. Bound other fires, again, gaming
with the same eagerness, the same loud words and fierce
anxieties, so often to be found disgrcing the capitals of civi-
lised lands, might be observed other bodies of barbarians
moved by another class of passions. Then, again, farther on,
gazing with eager eyes, or listening with acute ears, and
answering with bursts of thoughtless merriment, sat other
bodies of the Huns, around some buffoon or jester, in whose
tale, or whose joke, or whose antic contortions, their whole
thought* germed to be-engaged, forgetful of the bloody yes-100

ATTTLA.

terday, unmindful of the bloody morrow. Farther, still, rose

up the voice of song; and, in notes not unmelodious, some na-
tive minstrel sung of love and war; praised the beauties of
some honoured fair, or extolled the valour of some mighty
chief. There, too, around him might be seen the dark coun-
tenances of those swarthy children of the north, moved by all
the deep emotions which his song touched through the fine
chords of association. There the youth leaned back ; and as
he listened to the name of love, or heard the glowing words
which painted some fair creation of the singer's mind, me-
mory turned towards his native home, affection held up before
his eyes the im age of the one beloved, and his heart beat with
eager palpitations at the gentler and the sweeter thoughts
poured into his rude breast. There, too, might be seen the
elder and the sterner soldier, who when the song took up the
tale of war, and told of things achieved by glorious courage,
lands conquered, thrones acquired, and everlasting glory won,
would half start from his grassy bed, and, resting on his arm,
gaze with flashing eyes, and stirred-up enthusiasms, upon the
singer, and, with fond anticipations of the future, promise his
own heart the glorious meed of deeds recorded in a song like
that. Oh, beautiful, universal nature ! noble feelings ! touch-
ing harmonies of the musical heart of man! why, why,
amongst you must be thrown so many discords to bring out
your sweetness ? Why can we not have on earth the perfec
harmony ? where, from the lowest to the highest, from the
most solemn to the gayest note, all may find place, and rise in
one grand, all-comprising anthem to the God of all ?

CHAPTER XY

It was to one of those detached circles, which we have de-
scribed as separated from the general encampment, that Edicon
led the way, after speaking with several of the chiefs, as they
passed along. It had been apparently reserved for himself
and those who followed him, for the enclosure was nearly
vacant, except where, before the entrance of a tall but curiously
formed tent, which had probably been taken in war from some
eastern nation, blazed up a large and cheerful fire. Around
were seated about a dozen of the Huns, not less wild and
fierce in the expression of their faces than the rest of their
nation; and yet there was something about their dress and
general appearance which struck Theodore as more familiar
to his eye. As he approached, one of them rose and addressed
tim in the Latin language, and welcomed him to his tent with
great purity of speech and accent; and oh, how sweet andATTILA.

lOt

musical did those sounds appear, after the strange harsh
tongues which had lately rung in his ear, amidst scenes of
ruin, bloodshed, and strife!

Sweet, sweet, indeed, it was, but overpowering! He felt
the tears ready to gush from his eyes: a word would have
made them overflow; and, without speaking, he entered the
tent to which the man had pointed. It contained nothing in
the outer chamber of the two into which it was divided by a
curtain, but a lighted lamp upon a small table; and in the inner
a bed, piled up of skins, with a single wooden settle. It had
an air, however, of civilisation and comfort; and how often
is it in this life that the air has more influence upon our hap-
piness than even the reality ? We are the slaves of associa-
tion ; and, as such, truly but children of a larger growth, to
whom the paint and tinsel of appearances render the toy
valuable, whatever be its intrinsic worth.

Theodore cared little for the comfort, and thought Roman
civilisation had fallen into effeminacy, and yet the sight ol
that tent, like the sound of Roman words, sent a thrill through
his heart, and made him happier. Edicon saw his emotion,
and seemed to understand its cause, at least in part.

44 You are surprised," he said, 44 to hear the Latin tongue ;
but you will be more so to know, that there are several thou-
sands in our host who can use it fluently."

441 have heard," replied Theodore, 44 when I was in Rome,
that iEtius, the great General in Gaul, has several bodies of
Huns amongst his mercenaries."

44 Ay, and Yalentinian also," rejoined Edicon. 44 Not two
years since full ten thousand of our nation were engaged in
defence of the Western Empire. We are too near neighbours
to the East to have such friendly commerce with her. Besides,
Theodosius is unworthy the defence of brave men, a mere
weak coward, a flimsy knave, whose only means of proving
his manhood is by murdering with hired steel the only honest
and noble men left to save his empire."

Edicon struck the chord aright; and Theodore's heart re-
plied, though his lips were silent. 44 These men," continued
the Hunnish chief, pointing to the barbarians, who were again
seated round the fire, and took but little notice either of
Theodore or their newly-arrived companions, who had fol-
lowed him with Edicon—44 These men have been chosen by
the King himself, not because they speak thy language better
than others in the camp, but because they are known as faith-
ful and just. They will accompany thee back into our land,
and though they go with regret, thou wilt find them true
and trustworthy. Ten more will be added, whom thou
mayest choose, either from amongst the Huns, who have102

ATTILA.

lived with the Romans, or from amongst thy kinsmen, the
Alani."

" I will choose the Alani," answered Theodore quickly, and
he observed, as he spoke, the brow of his companion contract,
as if he were offended—u I will choose the Alani—not, noble
Edicon," he added, uthat I doubt or distrust the Huns, for to
me they have been merciful, kind, and generous, whatever
violence and cruelty they may have shown in dealing with my
native land. But remember, that those I love the best, have
gone to seek a refuge with the Alan tribes; and perchance,
by having some of them near me, I may learn, as I go, tidings
which will cheer and console me to hear."

" Not only as you go," answered Edicon with a smile, " but
afterwards also ; for those who are now chosen to accompany
you are not only directed to be your guard by the way, but
are also given you—not as servants to a lord, but as followers
to a leader, and will obey you in all things, as far as our
customs permit, so long as you remain with us."

"It is strange," answered Theodore thoughtfully; "your
King, so harsh and fierce towards others, is so gentle and
merciful to me—considers my wants, provides for my security,
and cares for my comfort as if he were a father."

' "Receive it all with gratitude," replied Edicon, uand he
may prove a father to you. Nor must you think Attila harsh
and fierce towards any, except in the hour of battle, when the
spirit of war is upon him, and with the powers of a god he
claims the attribute of vengeance. No! Though grave and
stern, he is just and humane towards his people. Determined
in his purposes, inflexible in his judgments, his purposes to-
wards those who obey him are mild, his judgments even against
himself are equitable. It is only the traitor amongst his own
people, the aggressor amongst foreign nations, that he treats
with rigour."

"Think me lot ungrateful," said Theodore; " I meant not
to accuse thy i lonarch; and while I felt thankful for the ten-
derness he ha^ V shown to me and mine—thankful for life and
liberty preserved, and for the safety of those who are dearer
to me than life itself—I have been forced to marvel that he
has dealt so different a measure to me and to others. There
is something strange in it."

u There may be so," replied Edicon; " but think you there
are no such things as sudden intimations, given us from heaven,
of those with whom our fate is to be linked for good or evil ?
think you that those prepossessions for or against, which we
feel so suddenly, so unaccountably, in rare and extraordinary
cases, are mere fancies, passing whims, which have no reference
to after-events ? "ATTILA.

103

Theodore made no reply, for lie remembered well his own
peculiar feelings when he had first seen that powerful monarch
with whom his own destiny had since been so completely
mingled. He remembered it well, but he answered not, for
the Hun seemed to have seen his feelings, or at least divined
them; and at length Edicon went on. " Such may have been
the prepossession of Attila towards you; and we know, or at
least believe, that the feelings I have mentioned are given us
by the gods to let us know our friends and enemies. Does
not the horse tremble when the unseen lion is near ? do not
the bleatings of the sheep warn the shepherd to watch even
while the wolf is yet afar off ?"

He paused a moment for reply, and then added; "But I
will leave you to repose, and yet, ere you seek sleep, take
some food; for your eyes are haggard and hollow, your cheek
burning, as if this tent were a furnace, and you have neither
drunk mead nor broken bread during the whole day. Bid a
slave bring food," he continued, speaking to those without;
and then taking from one of his own followers the sword
which Theodore had left in his hands, he laid it down on the
small table by the lamp, saying, " You are now turning to
another land. Keep your weapon; for whether you need it
or not, it is always well to be prepared. Add to it a javelin
and a bow, for as you go through our country you .Jiay strike
a stag or a wild bull, and gain honours in the chase, which we
hold next to war. I will now leave you, and see you to-
morrow ere you depart."

Thus saying, his conductor left him, and a frightful negro
slave, precious in the eyes of the Huns from the hideousness
of his face and figure, brought him cooked meat and thin cakes
of flour, with a strong drink composed of honey. Theodore
tried to eat, but only few were the mouthfuls he could swallow,
though the meat was not unsavoury. He tried, too, to drink,
but there was a burning heat in his throat and mouth; and
the sweet liquor was revolting to his taste.

" I will bring wine," said the negro slave in tolerable Greek;
u I am a present from Attila the King to his Roman son, and
he is to be henceforth my lord. Wilt thou have wine ? for it
shall go hard but with mine own wit and Attila's name to bear
me out, I will find you as pure wine in the Hunnish camp as
ever you tasted in the city of Constantine."

" I would rather have pure water," answered Theodore;
" I have a painful thirst upon me ; and heart and tongue feel
burning as if with fire."

The slave sprang away, and returned in a few moments
with \>oth water and wine, and mingling them together,104

ATTILA.

Theodore drank with delight which he had not known for
long.

u I thank thee, friend," he said, giving his hand to the slave
in gratitude for the blessed draught: " it is exquisite, and I
thank thee."

The slave took his hand and kissed it, gazing intently on
his face ; and then seeing by the calm and grateful sincerity
of the young Roman's look, that no scorn existed in his bosom
towards that deformed and frightful shape which crouched at
his feet, he sprang up saying, " I have deceived you; but I
will not betray you. I am not sent by Attila, but by Bleda,
his brother. Beware of him! Roman, beware of him!"

"I have no cause to fear him," answered Theodore: "I
have done nought to injure him."

The slave shook his head mournfully. " Are we only in-
jured by those whom we have injured?" he demanded.
u Alas! were it so, I should not be what I am. But I must
speed hence, and not talk with thee too long, lest he hear that
I have done so, and think I have betrayed him."

"But tell me what is thy name?" demanded Theodore.
" I have nought to give thee as a reward, but some day, per-
chance, I may have, and I will not fail."

u My name is Zercon," answered the slave; " and I am the
crooked and mutilated jester of Bleda, the brother of Attila.
Thou hast looked upon me with eyes of feeling and compas-
sion, and I am rewarded enough; but I will serve thee farther
still."

Thus saying, he quitted the tent, and drew the external
curtain closely after him. Theodore paused to think over
what he had heard ; but as he reflected, he could find in all
the wide range of probability no cause why Bleda should seek
to injure him—"There must be some mistake," he thought;
and, overpowered with weariness and exhaustion, he laid his
sword close beside the bed of skins, and casting himself down,
endeavoured to forget his cares in slumber. Restless, un-
happy, fevered, long and painfully he tossed upon that lowly
couch, courting in vain the blessed influence which opens for
us, for a while, those gates of care that shut us in the dreary
prison of ourself. The faintly-burning lamp stood beside
him; and by its pale light, as his eye roved round, the dark
hangings of the tent became peopled with the spectres of ima-
gination. His father passed before him, as he last had seen
him at Byzantium, but his garments were spotted and dabbled
with blood; and his countenance was pale with the ashy hue
erf death. Then came Flavia with a crown upon her head, and
a shroud about her person. Then he beheld Eudochia strug-ATTILA.

105

gling in the arms of a fierce and eager form, and then Ildica
glided across the scene, clothed in bridal robes, and with her
left hand clasped in that of a wild shadowy shape, which led
her slowly forward, while in her right she carried a naked
dagger, dropping as she went large gouts of crimson blood.

He knew, he felt, that it was all delusion, but yet he could
not banish the swarming fancies that disturbed his brain, and
even deceived the organ of sight itself. He closed his eyes,
and resolutely turned his face to the wall of the tent, near
which he lay, and employed himself in listening to the various
sounds which rose up from the myriads spread over that wide
plain. Although there were some noises which might be
distinguished from the rest, an occasional burst of laughter,
the loud and measured tones of some singer or reciter, or the
wild notes of various rude instruments of music, yet the
general buzz of all the many voices far and near came upon
his ear with a drowsy and lulling hum, which gradually brought
on an inclination to sleep. As time passed, too, the louder
and more distinct sounds died away, and the whole subsided
into a low and whispering rustle, which was like the noise of
the sea upon a pebbly shore, only that it wanted the regular
intermission of the successive waves. Forgetfulness fell upon
him; but in a moment he woke up again with a quick start,
gazed round to see where he was, felt the load of care pressed
back upon memory, and hastened again to close his eyes, and
cast it off once more.

He slept again, and this time more profoundly than the last,
though his breathing was short and thick, and his limbs tossed
to and fro. The lamp burned more and more dimly. The
sounds in the camp fell into silence, only broken now and then
by the wild neighing of a war-horse.

At length, a little before midnight, the curtain, which se-
parated the tent into two chambers, and which he had let drop
when he lay down to rest, trembled as with a slight wind—
was slowly moved—was drawn back; and a tall, powerful form
took a step within, and let it quietly fall again. Two more
paces brought him to the side of the couch, where the young
Roman lay, and with arms folded on his chest, the giant-like
intruder gazed upon the sleeping youth, and then looked
cautiously round the tent. When he had done so twice, he
blew out the lamp, and drawing over his tall form the mantle
which Theodore had cast off, he crouched himself down at the
foot of his bed. All was still and silent, but the quick, heavy
breathing of the Roman youth, and the rustling of his clothes,
as he turned from time to time upon his uneasy couch. In
less than half an hour, however, the curtain again moved, and
a listening head was advanced within it.106

ATTILA.

" The lamp lias gone out," said a whispering voice, speaking
to some one in the outer chamber, in the lowest tone that the
human tongue can assume: " lift up the curtain of the door,
lefct I miss my blow."

The curtain was lifted up, the inner one pushed back, and
in streamed the pale, calm, moonlight, showing Bleda, the
brother of Attila, partly advanced within the inner chamber.
He took another step forward, and listened, grasping tight the
shining blade, which he carried in his hand. Another step
brought him within arm's length of the Roman's couch, and
his hand was raised to strike, when, bounding like a lion on
his prey, up started from his master's feet Cremera, the Arab
freedman, and seized the murderer in his gigantic grasp.

An instant struggle took place ; but the Hun was no match
for his antagonist, who cast him down upon the ground, shaken,
and nearly stunned. Another barbarian, however, rushed in
sword in hand from the outer tent; but Theodore was now
upon his feet, and springing across the prostrate body of Bleda,
interposed between the armed Hun and his gallant freedman.
Another barbarian appeared at the door of the tent; and how
the struggle might have gone, who shall say ? but then, there
came a cry of Attila the King! Attila the King! and with a
torch before him, the dark monarch of the Huns advanced
slowly into the tent. He gazed round upon the faces of all
present, with that stern, calm, unmoved look, which never
changed but in the fury of the battle.

Bleda, who had risen, answered his brother's glance with a
look of fierce and fiery impatience, and planted his foot upon
his sword, which had fallen from his hand in the struggle, as
if he feared that some one should snatch it up. The compa-
nion who had followed him, with his naked blade still in his
hand, stood trembling before the face of Attila, with a pale and
changing countenance.

To Bleda the great monarch said nothing; but slowly draw-
ing his heavy sword from the sheath, he raised it over his
head, and at a single blow cleft through the skull of his
brother's follower, till the trenchant blade stopped at his teeth
and jaws.

Bleda sprang forward with wrath flaming from his eyes.
14 How darest thou," he cried, u slay my servant?"

" How darest thou," said Attila in a voice of thunder, " lift
thy hand against my friend ? Thinkest thou that Attila can
be deceived? Thinkest thou that Attila will not punish?
Bleda, Bleda! Once, twice, thrice, have I warned thee! The
measure is full! See that it run not over. I am neither^ blind
to thine ambition nor thy purposes. Beware while it is yet
time, and be yet my brother."ATTLIA.

107

u Why, what have I to fear from thee," demanded Bleda^
haughtily; " am I not a king as thou art? Did not the same
father beget us, the same mother bear us? Was not the
dominion left to us equally divided? What art thou, that
thou shouldest judge me ? Am I not a king as thou art ?"

u Our portion was once equal," answered Attila; "but
though I have not robbed thee of one tribe, or of one charger,
what are my dominions now and thine ? I have added nation
unto nation, and kingdom unto kingdom, whilst thou hast held
thine own only beneath the protection of thy brother's shield
Bleda, I have trod upon the necks of fifteen kings, each greatei
than thou art. Force me not to tread upon thine. Once more,
beware! I tell thee, the cup is full! Thou knowest Attila;
now get thee gone, and leave me."

Bleda paused a moment, as if he would fain have given
voice to the rage that swelled within his heart. But there
was a strange and overwhelming power in his brother's pre-
sence, which even he, who had struggled with him from in-
fancy up to manhood, could not resist. He remained silent
then, not finding words to answer, and taking up his sword, he
shook it with a bent brow at Cremera, and quitted the tent.

" Take away yon carrion, and give it to the vultures," said
Attila, pointing to the body of him he had slain.—"Brave
man," he continued, turning to Cremera, "well hast thou
done what I gave thee in charge—thou hast saved thy master's
life ; now leave us, but wait with the men without, to whom I
gave the task of guarding him from evil. Bid them be more
cautious for the future, and tell them, that the presence of
the King's brother—nay, of his son himself—can never more
be an excuse to Attila for failing in obedience unto him. For
the present, they are pardoned; get ye gone."

Cremera retired; and Attila, motioning his own attendants
to withdraw, made them drop the curtain of the tent, and then
sat down upon the couch of skins. Theodore stood for a mo-
ment by his side, but the King made him be seated, calling
him by the gentle name of my son.

" Thou art surprised," he said, " to see thy faithful freed-
man here amongst us; but when I found thee first, sleeping
in the watch-tower beyond the Danube, he sat between thee
and me with his spear in his hand, glaring upon me as I have
seen in Eastern lands the lioness glare upon the hunters who
would take her young; and I said to mine own heart, 4 If this
youth should ever want a faithful guard, here is one who would
spill his own heart's blood, rather than a drop of his lord's
should flow.' When I followed thee from Margus, too, I
found him, almost alone, struggling with some of my warriors
who had gone on before, in defence of the women for whom108

ATTILA.

as well as for thyself, I had promised thine uncle my protec-
tion. He would not yield till a heavy blow on the head had
stunned him, but I gave him in charge to those who are skilled
in the secret virtue of herbs and flowers, with commands to
bring him after me, and to cure him. They promised me
he should be soon well; and when I heard of they danger,
and that he had recovered, I sent him hither to guard thee,
till I could come myself, not choosing to oppose any of my
own nation to the hand of my brother ; and I knew that that
brother would do the deed he meditated with his own arm."

u Then I have once more to thank thee, mighty Attila, for
life," said Theodore; " to thank thee, the enemy of my native
land, the destroyer of my countrymen."

"Not so," replied the monarch: "I have once saved thy
life, I grant, when thou wert in the power of Ardaric; but for
the deed of to-night thou owest me nothing. I promised thee
protection, and had I not given it when I could, I should have
been myself thy murderer. But to-morrow thou seekest to
depart and leave me. Is it not so ?"

" It is," answered Theodore ; " not that I am ungrateful for
thy favours, oh King! nor insensible to the distinction which
thou makest between me and others of my race; but the
scenes I have witnessed, the grief and bitterness of heart that
I have endured, since the morning sun yesterday, would soon
terminate my existence, were they often to be renewed. Did
your nation wage warfare like a civilised people, I might en-
dure though I might grieve; but now the sight of the utter
extermination and devastation which thy tribes inflict where-
ever they pass is death, is worse than death, to me likewise."

Attila fixed his eyes upon the ground, and remained for a
moment silent:—"I will reason with thee, my son," he said
at length; u for, though I disdain the art of the idle and subtle
fools, who wrangle, as I hear, for an empty word in the schools
of thy capital, yet Attila is not without reasons for anything
he does, and, when needful, can give those reasons, if it so
please him. Thou talkest of the hostilities of civilised na-
tions, and speakest with anger and fear of our more just and
reasonable dealings in our warfare. But we make war upon
, our enemies, not upon our friends. We either go to subdue
and bring under our dominion other nations, or to avenge
ourselves upon a foreign foe. If the first be our object, and
resistance is offered to us, how foolish to leave our enemies
the means of resisting us with success ? how weak to spare
men who have done all they could to slay us, or women and
children, by which the race of our adversaries may be kept
up and increased ? No: it behoves us to smite with the arrow
x and the sword, so long as there is any power of resistance inATTILA.

the land, and never sheathe the blade, or unstring the bow,
till we are undisputed masters of the whole race and region.
Then again, if we go for vengeance, what vengeance do we
gain by suffering our own varriors to be slain without slaying
our enemies. The more that die, the more is vengeance sa-
tisfied, and if we purchase it with our own blood, we must
drink the blood of our enemies. What you call civilised war-
fare is a mere folly, which protracts the attainment of the end
it seeks, and often loses it altogether—which, instead of blaz-
ing like a bright fire, and consuming rapidly a small quantity
of fuel, lingers long, and burns a thousandfold as much. No
no, my son, the most merciful warfare is that which is the
shortest; and that in which no compassion is shown or asked,
is always sure to be the soonest over. Nevertheless," con-
tinued Attila, " I seek not to make thee witness the ruin of
thy native land, though, methinks, the destruction of thy
father's murderer might well repay the sight; but thou shalt
go hence. The men I have chosen to accompany thee are
under thy command, and thou shalt have cattle, and woods,
and pasturage assigned thee from my own herds and lands; ay,
even gold shalt thou have, and, what is better, security and
peace; for whosoever lifts his hand against thee shall have
Attila for his foe: and now fare thee well, till we meet again
on my return."

CHAPTER XVI.

Theodore was left alone once more, and weariness was more
than ever upon him; but yet the busy, untiring course of
thought went on for long after he had again laid down to rest.
Thought's insidious enemy, sleep, at length crept upon him;
but ere calm forgetfulness had complete dominion, Cremera
once more stole into the tent, and again lay down at his feet.
The l^mp, however, had been lighted by the followers of the
monarch; and Theodore, recognising the form of his faithful
attendant," merely spoke a few words of thanks and greeting,
and let his heavy eyelids fall.

Broad daylight was shining through the chinks of the tent
when he awoke; and Cremera was sitting in the outer
chamber, polishing with a knife a strong ashen staff, to which
he had fitted the iron head of a spear. Theodore saw that the
day must be far advanced, and rising, he offered prayers and
thanks to God; and then while speaking many kindly words
to the freedman, he advanced and pushed back the loose
hangings that closed the interior of the tent from the view of
the outer world.110

ATTILA.

How changed was the scene that met his eye, from that
which he had passed through on the preceding night! The
Huns were gone; scarcely a vestige of them remained; not a
waggon, not a group was to be seen over all that wide plain,
except where, before the door of the tent, ten or twelve of the
Huns, and an equal number of the Alani, taller, stronger, and
fairer to look upon than their dark companions, employed the
vacant hours in packing a number of small and strangely-
assorted articles into two of the low waggons, which had
formed part of the night's circle round the tent. The sun was
not very far from its meridian, and Theodore saw that he must
have slept long and profoundly, but yet he was not refreshed.
There was a weariness, a heaviness upon his limb3 that he had
never felt before, a burning heat upon his skin, that the
cooler climate in which he now was placed could not have
produced.

Nevertheless, he gladly prepared to depart, and bade the
attendants, who had been assigned to him, make all things
ready, while he went to bathe his feverish body in a small
stream that his eye caught glistening on, at a short distance,
upon its way to join the rushing waters of the Danube. The
cool wave, however, proved no refreshment, and only caused a
chilly shudder to pass over his limbs, succeeded quickly by the
same heat as before. On his return, he found food prepared,
but he could not eat; and though his lip loathed the wine they
offered, he drank a deep draught from the horn of an urus,
for the sake of gaining that temporary strength of which he
felt himself to stand in need.

His own horse, fresh as the early morning, from a night of
repose, stood near, but the horses of the barbarians were still
straying over the plain. A shrill, long whistle, however,
brought them in a moment to their masters' sides, and small
grooming did the rude riders of the Dacian wilds bestow
upon their swift but rugged beasts. The tent was by this time
struck, and placed upon the waggons; and Theodore, with one
of the Huns beside him to guide him as he went, led the way
onward, towards that strange land, which seemed thencefor-
ward destined to be his home for many a long year. Of his
guide, he asked various questions, and was answered fluently
in his own language; but at length Cremera, who followed,
pointed towards the towers of a far distant city, saying, " Is
not that Margus?"

"It is," answered the Hun. u We can go thither if thou
wilt," he continued, addressing Theodore. " We can repose
there to-morrow night. It is now a city belonging to Attila the
King."

" No, no," replied Theodore, with many a painful feeling atATTILX.	Ill

the very thought finding expression on his countenance. "No,
no, not in the city for a thousand worlds; rather let us lodge
in the open field."

"Thou art wise, young chief," replied the Hun. "Cities
are hateful places; Attila loves them not, any more than thou
dost; and though Margus is his, he will not keep it long, but
will either sell it back to the Romans or destroy it."

Theodore replied not; and they rode on, till at length,
towards eventide, they came near the banks of the Danube,
and after half an hour's riding within sight of the river, halted
for the night on a spot near the old Roman way from Moesia
into Dacia. Theodore was fatigued, but yet he could not rest;
and while they were engaged in setting up his tent, he wan-
dered forward to drink of the great river.

It was a sweet, bright, tranquil afternoon. The sun was
just dipping beneath the wood-covered hills, upon the opposite
bank of the river, but the air was still full of his light; and
the forests and mountains, the soft green slopes, the blue sky,
and the light passing cloud, were mirrored in the swift waters
of the mighty stream, as it flowed on towards the ocean. The
air, too, was calm; and silence hung above the world, except
when the laughing note of the woodpecker, or the melody of
the thrush, broke the silence for a moment, to render it more
calm and sweet. Theodore gazed upon the stream, and beheld
afar gigantic masses of masonry rifted and broken, projecting
from either bank, while here and there, from the broad sea-
like bosom of the Danube, rose up massy piers and woodwork,
the fragments of some vast fabric swept away.

It was evidently the famous bridge of Trajan that stood
before him, just as the destroying hand of his envious successor
had left it; and as Theodore gazed upon the remnants of that
stupendous work, as they stood in the clear light and shade
of evening, he could not but meditate upon the change of
dynasties, the vanity of human hopes, the fruitlessness of
earthly endeavours, and lall the many and melancholy themes
on which poet and philosopher have sung and moralised,
hoping even while they did so, for that earthly immortality
which they knew and proved to be bubble. There before his
eyes stood one of the greatest works of one of the greatest
men that the human race, in all its vast succession of beings,
in all its complexity of characters, in all its variety of qualities,
has ever produced, from the creation till to-day; and yet, a
mean follower, unable to compete with him in intellect, in
feeling, in effort, or in success, had possessed the power to
sweep away from off the earth that majestic monument of a
grand and creative mind, to cast down what the good and112

ATTILA.

wise had raised up, to destroy what the noble and energetic
had created.

"Oh wonderful frailty of man's most lasting works!"
thought the young Roman; " that nothing can give them
certain existence, no, not for a century. That which the earth-
quake spares, the hand of war and violence pulls down; that
which hostile armies have respected, the mean envy of inferior
genius will destroy. Alas! when we look around, and think of
the work of but a few short lustres upon man's noblest efforts,
and his brightest productions, well, well may we ask,4 What is
lasting upon earth ?' "

He paused. " Yes, yes," he thought again ; " virtue is last-
ing ; virtue is immortal even here. Rarely as it is seen, often
as it is counterfeited, shunning publicity, hating pomp, virtue,
indestructible like gold, even in the fire of time, and amidst
the trial of circumstances, comes out pure, and passes on un-
injured, accumulating slowly, but brightly, in the treasuries of
the past, and forming an inexhaustible store of example and
encouragement, for all who choose to take it. Yes, yes, virtue
is lasting. One may produce, and another may destroy;
but Trajan shall be remembered, when Hadrian is forgotten or
contemned."

Theodore, as the confidence in some great principle of
stability returned to his heart, set his foot more firmly upon
the earth, which, to his imagination, had seemed crumbling
beneath him like a pile of dust and ashes, while he had only
remembered how brief, how transitory, is the existence of the
noblest fabrics that it bears.

He would fain have gone on to examine more nearly the
mighty fragments of what had once been the celebrated bridge
of Trajan, but the ruins were further than they seemed; he
was weary and languid; and ever and anon, urged by the burning
thirst upon him, he paused to drink again of the waters of the
Danube. At length, he gave up his purpose and returned to
the tent, where the Huns were broiling, on a wood fire, a large
fish which they had caught in the neighbouring river. At the
very sight of food a sickening disgust came over the young
Roman; but his faithful Cremera pressed him so anxiously to
eat, that he forced himself to swallow a few mouthfuls. But
it was in vain; he could not go on; and soon retiring to his
tent, he endeavoured to find repose.

No sounds disturbed his rest, for nothing was to be heard but
the rushing of the Danube, and the sighing of the wind
through the tall trees. No human being had been seen through
all that morning's journey; no voice of salutation had wel-
comed them as they passed, showing, too well, how desolateATTILA*

IIS

the land had been made; and after the youth's attendants had
laid themselves down to sleep, not a tone but one solitary
scream from some flitting bird of night broke the silence of
the world around; and yet Theodore courted slumber in vain.
He tossed his weary limbs upon the couch of skins which had
again become his bed, and counted the heavy minutes from
night till morning. Frequently, through all the violent heat
that burned in his whole frame, a cold chilly shudder would
pass over him, and he felt that the hand of sickness was upon
him.

Nevertheless, he started up with the dawn, bent with fever-
ish eagerness upon pursuing his journey as quickly as possible,
while yet the last efforts of his remaining strength could be
exerted to oppose the overpowering weight that pressed him
down. Looking out from the tent, he saw the Huns and the
Alani already busy in preparing for departure; and, in a few
minutes, one who seemed to have been despatched to seek for
a means of transport, came back to say, that the raft had al-
ready come down to the shore. Cremera gazed anxiously on
the changed and ashy countenance of his lord ; but he spoke
not, and led the war-horse, who knew his hand better than
that of any of the Huns, down to the bank of the river. A
raft, such as had borne Theodore across once before, was
waiting with some of the rude boatmen of the Danube, and in
two voyages the whole party which accompanied the young
Roman was borne across and landed on the other side of the
river.

Dacia was now before his steps; and although he could not
but feel a chilly coldness at the thought, that he had passed,
perhaps for ever, the boundary of his native land, had left
behind him, for an unlimited space of years, all those scenes
and objects linked to the brightest memories of his heart, had
entered upon a course, where all was new and strange, where
much was dark, and doubtful, and much distinctly painful, and
that he had nothing in prospect, at the very best, but a long,
dull lapse of years, amongst nations inferior to his own in every
point of intellect, and every art of social life; yet there was a
feeling of joy broke across the gloom of such anticipations,
when he remembered the sights of horror which he had just
witnessed on the Roman frontier, and felt that he would be
called to mingle in such scenes no more. The very feeling
gave him new energy; the morning air seemed to revive him *
and he spurred on with the rest through the wide forest that
lay before their steps, and across which a grass-grown track
afforded them a way into the interior of the country.

In less than three hours, at the rapid rate at which they
travelled, they had crossed the belt of wood which for a

H114

ATTILA.

considerable way bordered the Danube. Beyond that belt
stretched out a plain, which would have seemed interminable,
had not the blue lines of some distant mountains, rising up
against the far horizon, marked its boundary. Except where,
here and there, was seen a line of forest ground, looking like a
group of bushes, in the vast extent over which the eye could
stretch, the whole plain seemed covered with long green grass,
waving like a mighty lake, as a light wind bent it to and fro in
the morning sunshine.

There was something grand and expansive in the view, not-
withstanding its vast monotony; and as Theodore paused for a
moment, and let his horse breathe upon the edge of the slight
slope on which the forest ended, he gazed with some feelings
of surprise and admiration upon the new world which was
henceforth to be his habitation. That feeling again refreshed
him; but much need had he indeed of refreshment, and of
anything which could give even a momentary support to that
strength which was failing fast under the pressure of fatigue
and illness.

"Let your horse pause for a moment and eat," said the Hun,
who rode by his side. " We are a long way from a resting
place; under those woods is our first village."

Theodore did as the other advised, but his heart grew faint at
such a notification of the length of way; for though he would
not pause, nor yield, so long as any powers of life were left, yet
he felt that the powers of life were waning, and that if he
reached not soon some place where he could obtain refresh-
ment and repose, he should never reach it at all, but sink of
unwonted weariness by the way.

In a few minutes they again began their journey through
the plain, riding up to their horses' chests in the long rich
grass, which, though it proved no obstacle to the small quick
horses of the Huns, impeded and irritated at every step the
fiery charger which had carried the young Roman. In the
meanwhile the summer sun got high, and poured its burning
rays upon Theodore's unsheltered head : a white, filmy, and
oppressive mist rose up from the moist plain, not thick
enough to impede the sight, but tinging every object with
k peculiar hue. For a long time nothing diversified the
scene, nothing interrupted the monotony of their progress ;
but at length an immense bird sprang up almost from under
their horses' feet, and spreading its wings, without rising
from the ground, ran on with extraordinary speed before
them.

" An ostrich! an ostrich!" cried Cremera, forgetting the
distance between the spot where he then stood and his
own porphyry mountains; "an ostrich! a young ostrich!"ATTILA.

115

But the Hun, who was by his side, paused for a moment
without speaking, poised the javelin he carried in his hand,
and launched it with a strong arm in the air. Falling with
unerring aim, it struck the great bustard between the wings,
and riding on, the Hun took it up, and slung it over his
shoulders, saying, 44 This will secure our evening meal."

Still they rode on, and more and more terrible grew
the lassitude of the Roman youth: the heat was over-
powering ; the way seemed interminable, and that distant
line of wood, towards which their steps were bent, though
appearing certainly to grow larger, yet was approached
so slowly, that Theodore, as he gazed upon it, felt his heart
grow faint with the despair of ever arriving at the calm
shelter which he vainly hoped there to find. With his
lip parched, with his eye glazed, with his cheek pale yet
burning, and with his hands scarcely able to hold the
reins, still he rode on, looking forward with an anxious,
straining gaze upon those woods, thinking they never would
be reached. Wider and wider they stretched out before him.
The plain on which he had seen them stand alone, like
a group of bushes, when he had gazed on them from the
distant |heights, now seemed bounded by them entirely
on that side. As he came nearer, he could distinguish
the vast rolling masses of forest, the dark deep brakes,
where glades or savannas intervened, and at length, while
with his dim and dizzy sight he scanned eagerly the scene
before him, he thought he could perceive some low wooden
cottages crouching, as if for shelter, beneath the wide extended
arms of the tall trees upon the edge. That sight again gave
him a momentary impulse; he urged his horse on; he
saw the cottages more distinctly; but, as with that last effort
he attempted to reach them, strength, and hope, and thought,
all gave way at once, and with just the consciousness of*
utter exhaustion, he fell fainting from his horse.

A lapse of time succeeded, over which Theodore's memory
had no power. He had talked, he had suffered, he had raved,
he had struggled, during the interval; he had named names
which those around him did not know; he had spoken
a thousand things which they could not comprehend, while
for fourteen days he had lain tossed between life and death,
and tended by the hands of strangers. But of all that,
he had no recollection, when at length reasoning conscious-
ness had returned.

It was the evening of a sweet summer's day, when, opening
his eyes, he looked around, and wondered where he was.
There was a small chamber, lined with smooth and fragrant
pine-wood, from the cracks and crevices of which the fresh

H 2116

ATTILA.

resin was yet oozing. On the walls hung, in fantastic
garlands, many a barbarian instrument of war, spears and
swords, the quiver of arrows and the unstrung bow, the
buckler, the club, and the far-slaying sling. There, too,
beneath, on stands and tables of wood, might be seen a
number of strange idols, wild, unseemly shapes, such as
a child might carve for sport out of a block of wood. Settles
and tables were there, also, of the same plain material, but on
some of them appeared objects of a more valuable kind, and
a richer workmanship. There lay, even in abundance, gems
and gold, bearing evident marks of cultivated taste, and
skilful art: but there were two things, more sweet than any
other could have been to Theodore's senses at that moment,
which called all attention from every other object.

The first was the calm sweet breath of the summer evening,
borne light and fragrant through the open window; the
other was the sweet melodious voice of a woman singing.

He turned his eyes to where the singer sat, beside the bed
on which he was stretched, and saw a girl of some seventeen
years of age, with bright brown hair, worn not as Roman
women wore it, but parted 011 the fair forehead, and thrust in
clustering ringlets behind her ears. The face was very sweet
and beautiful, and everything would have been soft—perhaps
too soft for great interest—had it not been for the deep
devoted blue eyes. They were somewhat darker in hue than
the sky by day, but yet as they gazed forth from the long
dark lashes, they looked like that same azure heaven, at the
moment when its colour is most deep, yet most pure, just ere
the curtain of the night falls over its expanse. She saw the
youth turn his eyes upon her; but thinking only that sleep
had fled again from his still fevered brain, she recommenced
the song she had been singing, while her small white hands
continued to ply the light labour of the distaff. Theodore,
however, could now hear and understand; and he listened
with delight that cannot be told, while in the Alan tongue,
the language of his own dear mother, she sang with a sweet,
soft, rounded voice,—

THE SONG OF SLEEP.

Come, gentle sleep, to the couch of the stranger,

From thought's weary burden, oh give him relief I
Take mem'ries of anguish and prospects of danger,

The future's dull care, and the past's heavy grief!

,>weet friend of our childhood, thou strewest with flows!*

The pillow where infancy rests her calm head,

When weary with sporting through long happy hours,

With thee for her angel, she seeks the soft bed.attila.

117

Coy visitant, come ! We prize thee more highly,

In years more mature when we've tried the woiId's truth ;
Why com'st thou so rarely ? why fly'st thou so shily ?
Oh what thus estranges the friend of our youth ?

We Ve been false to thy friendship, despised thy caresses,

For pleasures we've left thee, and even for cares :
The faithful, the tranquil, the humble, sleep blesses,
But flies from the couch that one wild passion shares.

Yet, balm-giver, yet, for the sick and the weary,

Thy merciful gifts we implore, as a boon ;

Oh give us thine aid, on our way long and dreary-
Aid, tardily valued, and lost all too soon !

CHAPTER XVII.

It is a strange and awful sensation, when, after having
enjoyed to the full the powers and energies of manhood, we
find ourselves suddenly reduced by the unnerving hand
of sickness to the feebleness of infancy: when giant strength
lies prostrate, and busy activity is chained to the weary bed.
It is strange, and it is awful, for it shows us most sensibly how
frail a thing is that vigour which, in our boisterous days of
health, we madly think an adamantine armour against all
adversity. It is strange and awful; for it leads us to the
brink of that fatal precipice, over which all must fall, and
displays, as if from the very verge, the inside of our future
grave.

From a stupor, in which all memory and every power
of thought had been at an end, Theodore woke as feeble and
incapable as when, in the nurse's arms, he moved his mother's
heart by his first infant cry. The same feelings of tender-
ness ; the same mingled emotions, where pity and hope,
and the pleasure of protecting, all unite; the same sensations
of affectionate interest for the thing we rear and guard and
watch for, as those which fill the breast of a mother towards
her child,—affected, though in a less degree, those who
attended the couch of the young Roman during his illness
and convalescence. It was but slowly he recovered : for the
fever, which had seized upon him, had been fierce and
powerful; and it had been only unfaded youth's tenacity
of life, and the natural vigour of his frame, which had
finally conquered that terrible assailant.

The persons who attended him were entirely women,
except when his faithful Cremera took his daily turn to watch
by his bedside ; and though an elder and more matronly
dame oame in and out, and frequently remained in his118

ATHLA,

chamber for an hour or more, still his principal attendant was
the lovely girl whom he at first had seen, or a maiden who
seemed to be her sister, still younger than herself.

Often would he keep his eyes closed, to listen, uninter-
rupted, to the sweet singing of the barbarian girl; often when
he woke would he find that graceful form bending over him, and
those deep intense blue eyes gazing upon his countenance, as
if to mark the outposts of victorious health, spreading life's
rosy banner, where the pale flag of sickness had been advanced
so lately. As he recovered strength also, and his tongue
became more capable of its office, he would converse with
her from time to time, in the language which she had used in
singing; and though she spoke it not as her native dialect,
yet they could thus converse fluently.

With the matron it was different: she was kind, but not
conversable; yet when she did speak, it was always in
the pure Alan tongue; and Theodore could almost have
fancied that he heard once more the voice of his mother.
Under kind care and skilful management, he at length
reached that point where his recovery became certain; and
from that moment his convalescence proceeded rapidly. He
was soon able to quit his chamber ; and going forth, though
with wavering and unsteady steps, he walked along, enjoying
the fresh air of the morning, beneath the rude portico of un-
shaped stems of trees, which shaded one side of that long low
dwelling ; while his heart was raised with fresh gratitude to
Heaven at every sweet sound and sight that he was permitted
again to enjoy. There had been a time, not very long before,
when life had seemed to him a weary burden, which he
desired not to retain, the earth a dreary and a desert dwelling-
place, in which he was but little anxious to remain. But
such feelings had only existed while the body remained
in strength and vigour, oppressed and impatient under
a mind overcharged with sorrows, anxieties, and cares.
Now, however, the corporeal frame had been weakened and
cast down; the body as well as the mind had been humbled
and chastised; the blessings of life were more valued, the
past could be regarded with resignation, and the future looked
forward to with hope.

As he walked forth one day under the shadow of that por-
tico, his eye wandered over the whole plain, on which, at a
little distance, appeared some horsemen, whom he afterwards
found to be those who had attended him thither. In the
shade, however, were collected a number of women, com-
prising all those whom he had hitherto seen; and Neva, the
blue-eyed daughter of the house, smiled gaily to see his
wavering steps. The next moment she greeted him with*ATTILA.

119

44 Come, sit you with the women, till you have strength
enough to join the men;" and she made room for him
on the bench on which she sat between herself and her
mother.

All were employed in some domestic occupation; and the
distaff, and the spindle, and the wheel went on, while Theo-
dore, sitting beside them, began to ask the first questions,
which he had hitherto ventured, regarding the place and the
family in which he then was. He found that the village,
which he saw stretching along under the forest, contained not
less than two or three hundred wooden cottages; and his
eye at once showed him that the one in which he had found
shelter, and received so much true kindness, was by far the
most extensive and most ornamented of the whole. When
he came to ask, however, whose was the house in which he
dwelt, and whose the family that tended him so carefully,
they answered him at once, that it was that of Bleda, the
brother of Attila.

His countenance changed, and he asked no more ques-
tions. Ere he had sat long there, the horsemen returned
from the field, bringing with them some game which they
had procured; and eagerly, and with signs of much regard,
they gathered round Theodore, and wished him joy on
his recovered health. Towards evening, two herdsmen drove
home from a distance a large flock of diminutive cattle, and a
shepherd brought some sheep into the fold. Two or three
other lesser flocks were driven slowly across the plain to dif-
ferent houses in the village; but the men who drove them
formed the only male population, with the exception of his
own attendants, which Theodore had yet seen since he entered
Dacia.

As the days passed on, and he mingled more with the
people, he found that this first view was fully confirmed, and
that almost all the men of the land, except such as were too
old or too young to bear arms, had gone forth with Attila m
his invasion of the Roman empire.

u Were Rome now," thought Theodore, 44 what Rome
once was, while this barbarian monarch invades and ravages
the East, the legions of the West would pour across Pan-
nonia, and, sweeping the whole land, take as hostages the
women and children here left unprotected. But, alas! I
fear me, that neither the legions of the East will have power
to withstand the myriads of Attila, nor the West have
energy to hasten his return, by invading his territories, and
taking hostages for his future tranquillity. 'Tis true they
may not know that the land is left in such a state ; but, alas !
I must not point out its weakness. Even to save my country,120

AT11LA.

I must not return the mercy shown me, and the kind hos-
pitality received, by base ingratitude. Doubtless, when
strength returns, I could escape; doubtless I could bear
to Yalentinian, or, better still, to iEtius, tidings of the con-
dition in which this land is left, and thereby, perchance,
deliver the empire itself. But it must not be! No, no!
such a task must not be mine."

The situation, however, was a painful one; and the know-
ledge, too, that he was dwelling in the house of Eleda, of the
man who had striven to take his life, and whose enmity—
though he knew not why—was evidently fiercely raised
against him, added to the gloom he felt, and made him anxious
to proceed farther into the country.

Ruga, the wife of Bleda, however, was herself one of
the Alani, from a tribe which had remained amidst their
original valleys on the Georgian side of Caucasus. She had
by this time learned that the mother of the young stranger
had been a daughter of the same nation, though sprung from
a different tribe; and, little aware of the enmity of her hus-
band towards him, she now pressed Theodore anxiously
to stay with them till the armies of the Huns returned. Her
daughter, too, urged the same request, with all the native
simplicity of a guileless heart; and Theodore himself, as
innocent in thought and purpose, believed that he could
there remain happily, without risk or danger to the peace of
any one, were it not for the enmity of Neva's father. He
made inquiries, however, and he found that no chance
existed of any of the Huns returning for several months ;
and he determined to remain for a time, hoping that if he
could win the regard of the chieftain's famity, the causeless
animosity of Bleda himself might by their report be done
away.

There, then, he staid, increasing in the love of all, and ha-
bituating himself to the language, the sports, and the man-
ners oi the people. He had found, on his recovery, that the
purse of gold pieces which he had borne with him from Dal-
matia, and which had been but little diminished on the jour-
ney, had been carefully preserved during his sickness; and
though the amount was not very large, yet the difference in
the value of everything amongst the Huns and amongst the
Eomans was so great that his small store seemed grown into
an inexhaustible treasure. The attendants whom Attila had
given him would receive no recompense for their services;
and the sports of the chase, which he pursued in company
with them and Cremera, afforded more than sufficient provi-
sion for his followers and for himself. Buga declared that her
bouse had never been so bountifully supplied, even when BledaATTTLA.

121

himself was present; and the simpler food to which the
women of the Huns were accustomed, received no slight
additions from the hunter skill and bold activity of their
guest.

For several weeks Theodore pursued this course in peace,
proceeding to the woods or plains, or to the mountains, early
in the morning with his followers, and returning ere night-
fall to the village. To those followers, indeed, the young
Roman endeared himself every day more and more. His
courage, and the dexterity with which he acquired all their
wild art in the chase, and in the management of the horse,
won their reverence ; while his kindness, his gentleness, and
his easy suavity, touched another chord, and gained their
hearts. If stag, or wolf, or bear turned upon him, every one
was ready to defend him; and Theodore soon found that on
any enterprise which he chose to undertake, except, indeed,
where some higher duty forbade, he might lead those men to
danger, or to death itself. Nor did he make less progress in
the regard of the villagers. The old men took a pleasure in
teaching him their language, and in telling him wild tales of
other days, and other lands ; the children clung to him, and
gathered round his knee ; the shepherds brought him what-
ever they found in their wanderings, which seemed to their
rude eyes either rare or valuable. To his cultivated opinion
ail questions were referred; and when they found that, ere two
months were over, he could wield their arms, and speak their
language, with as much facility as they could themselves,
adding to their barbarian dexterity all the arts and knowledge
of a civilised nation, they seemed to think him something
more than mortal.

The wife of the chieftain forgot her matronly state, so far as
to hold long conversations with him on the nation whose
blood flowed in both their veins; and her fair daughter sprang
forth with eager gladness to welcome him back from the chase,
or if he went not thither, wandered with him in the morn-
ings to show him fair paths through the wood, and teach him
what fruits were hurtful, what beneficial to man, in those wild
solitudes; or sat near him in the evenings, and, with her long
lashes veiling her cast down blue eyes, sang all the songs
which she knew he loved to hear.

It was those deep blue eyes, and their look of devoted
tenderness, which first woke Theodore from his dream of
peace. Neva was lovely, gentle, kind, noble in all her feel-
ings, graceful in all her movements, frank, simple, and sincere.
Pure in heart and mind, the elegancies of polished life seemed
scarcely needful to her native grace. In whatever task em-
ployed, she looked, she acted, as—and no one could doubt she122

ATTILA.

was—the daughter of a king: and yet Theodore's thoughts
were seldom upon her. Sometimes, indeed, when he saw a
flower of peculiar beauty, or when his arrows struck some
bird of rare plumage, or some beast of a finer fur, he thought,
"I will take this home for Neva;" but his fancy never
strayed amiss to warmer feelings or more dangerous themes
than those.

Oh, no! his thoughts were far away! The one deep-rooted
passion, strong and intense as life itself—that one bright pas-
sion, as pure, when it is noble, in man as in woman, as inca-
pable of falsehood either by thought or act—left not one fond
fancy free for any other than her his first, young, early, only
love. When the sun in floods of glory went down beyond
the western hills, he thought of her lonely in that distant
land, and willingly believed that with her, too, memory
turned to him. When the bright moon wandered through
the sky, and poured her silver flood of light over those wide
plains, he would gaze forth, and call to mind that first pecu-
liar night when he heard the dear lips he loved breathe an-
swering vows to his beneath the palace portico on the Dalma-
tian shore : he would call up again before his eyes the scene
in allots loveliness; he would fancy he could feel that soft,
dear form pressed gently to his bosom; he would seem to
taste the breath of those sweet lips as they met his in the kiss
of first acknowledged love; and he would imagine—justly,
truly imagine—that at that hour the same treasured remem-
brances might fill the bosom of Ildica with visions as entranc-
ing, and that memory might with her, too, give to hope a
basis whereon to raise her brightest architecture. When the
morning woke in the skies, and when, ere he went forth to
taste the joys of renewed existence, he knelt down, to offer to
the God of his pure faith, adoration, and thanks and prayer,
the name of Ildica would first rise with hi3 petitions to
Heaven, and her happiness would be the subject of his first
aspiration.

Could he think, then, of any other ? could he dream that it
was possible to love any one but her ? No ; he did not, he
could not! But as time wore on, and summer sunk glowing
into the arms of autumn, there came a deep light into the eyes
of Neva, which pained, which alarmed him. He would some-
times, when he suddenly turned towards her, find her gazing
upon him with a look of intense, thoughtful affection, which was
followed by a warm and rapid blush ; and without one feeling
of empty vanity, Theodore began to see that his stay might
produce evil to her who had so kindly tended him.

Still, however, Neva's regard assumed that air of simple,
unrestrained frankness which is less frequently the token ofATTILA,

123

love than of friendship. In her pure mind, and in her uncul-
tivated land, all seemed clear and open before her. She felt
no shame in the sensations which she knew and encouraged
towards the young stranger. She saw no obstacle to prevent
her from becoming his bride. She was the daughter of a
king, but she knew him to be worthy of her love ; and as
that love became apparent to her own eyes also, she only felt
proud of her choice. The sole difference which that know-
ledge of her own heart's feelings wrought in Neva was, that
with her bright brown hair she now began to mingle gold and
gems, and that from time to time a bright but transient glow
would tinge her cheek when her eyes and Theodore's met.
Far from shrinking from his society, far from trembling at his
approach, she gave way at once to all the feelings of her
heart as they arose; greeted him with glad smiles in the
morning ; sprang forth to meet him when he returned from
the chase; sat by him in the lengthening evenings ; and feel-
ing the deep earnest love of first affection burning at her
heart, she took no means to hide or to conceal it from others
ir herself.

Theodore had pondered over these things for some days,
and considered how it were best to act; but he deceived him-
self in regard to Neva; and the very openness with which
she suffered her passion to appear, made him believe that it
was as yet unconfirmed. He compared it with the shy and
trembling love of Ildica. He remembered the same kind af-
fection in her too, when a girl, ere their feelings took a warmer
tone than brotherly regard; the candid display of preference
for his society, and the interest in all his pursuits which she
had then evinced. He recollected also the change that had
taken place as simple affection grew into intense love—how
timid, how retiring, how apprehensive that love had been!—
and by comparing those two stages of a passion he had known
and marked, with the conduct of the lovely girl under whose
father's roof he dwelt—as pure, as innocent, as full of real
modesty as Ildica herself—judged, that whatever her feel-
ings might become, they were not yet such as might ever
render them painful to herself.

As the period for which he had promised to remain had not
yet expired, and he could assign no cause for suddenly ab-
senting himself, he determined to seek the first opportunity of
speaking in the presence of Neva, of the ties which bound
him to her he loved. Little mention had hitherto been
made of his family or his circumstances in his own land. The
wife of Bleda seemed tp take no farther interest in his former
life than was connected with his mother and her nation ; and
Neva herself, in the present happiness which she derived124

ATTILA.

from his stay amongst them, appeared never to remember
that there was such a thing as a past, affecting him in a way
she knew not—though that past was unfortunately destined to
affect all the future for herself. She asked nothing, she
thought of nothing, but of the present; and thus Theodore
felt, that he would have to commence the subject himself.
Though it was one he loved not to speak on upon every light
occasion, yet he resolved to do so. But still, after long hesi-
tation, he determined not to tell the tale of his early days,
when, sitting in the family of Bleda, every eye might be
ready to mark his own emotions—or, indeed, those of others ;
for, although to his own heart he put forward the motive, of
concealing the expression of his feelings, his real inducement
was consideration for the fair girl, who might be more moved,
he feared, by the words he had to speak than he was willing
to admit even to himself.

After two long days of unsuccessful hunting, having found
nothing within several miles of the village, he threw down
his spear and arrows, declaring he would go no more ; and on
the following morning, while the dew was still upon the
grass, Neva offered to lead him up to the fall of a river in the
woods, whose roar he had often heard at a distance, but
which he had never seen, so deeply was it buried in the in-
tricacies of the forest. He gladly followed, resolved to seize
that moment to tell her all. And yet Theodore was agitated,
for he wished not to pain or to grieve her ; but still he feared
from her whole manner, and from the tender light which
poured from her blue eyes, that the words he had to speak
would be displeasing to her ear. It was a bright morning,
and between the tall trunks of the trees, over bush and un-
derwood, and mossy turf, the slanting sun poured his golden
light, in the first bright freshness of the rising day.

"What a lovely morning is this!" said Theodore, after
they had walked on some way, for Neva had remained silent,
under emotions of her own. " What a lovely morning! how
clear, how beautiful!"

" Have you not such in your own land?" demanded
Neva,

" Oh, yes," answered Theodore, u we have many; and
these mornings and the evenings are our chief hours of delight,
for the heat of the risen day is oppressive. I remember such
a morning as this," he added, willing to lead the conversation
to the matter on which he desired to speak—u I remember
such a morning, some four or five months ago, so bright,
so beautiful, shining upon my path, as I returned from
Constantinople, towards what I have always called my
how."ATTILA.

125

<4 And was it not your home ? " demanded Neva. " Did no
one wait you there to welcome you ? "

" Oh, several," answered Theodore; " several that I loved,
and still love more dearly than anything else on earth." Neva
cast down her eyes,and her cheek grew deadly pale. "There
was my mother," continued Theodore—" I mean the mother
who has adopted me, and ever treated me as one of her own
children." The colour came again into Neva's cheek.
" Then there was my sister," he went on. " And last," he
added in a lower tone, "there was my promised bride, my
Ildica, who will one day be my wife."

Neva spoke not, but the rose again left her cheek. That,
however, was the only sign of emotion she displayed, except,
perhaps, that she walked on more rapidly, and that her small
feet brushed the dew from the grass on either side of the
path, wavering, as she went, with an unsteady pace. Theodore
followed close to her side, scarce knowing how to break that
painful silence. It had continued so long, that, ere a word
was uttered, he heard the roar of the waterfall, and he re-
solved to speak, let it be on what it would. But at the first
word he breathed,, the fair girl pressed her right hand upon
her heart with a convulsive sob, and fell fainting at his feet.

Theodore caught her up in his arms, and ran on upon the
path. He could not find the cataract, but the stream which
formed it soon caught his eye ; and laying Neva on the bank,
he bathed her brow with water from the river, and strove to
recall her to herself by words of comfort and consolation.

At length she opened her eyes ; and finding herself lying
in the arms of the man she loved, with her head supported
on his shoulder, she turned her face to his bosom, and wept
long and bitterly. Theodore said little, but all he did say
were words of kindness and of comfort; and Neva seemed to
feel them as such, and thanked him by a gentle pressure of
the hand. At length she spoke. " I had thought," she said,
in the undisguised simplicity of her heart, " I had thought to
be your first and only wife. I was foolish to think that others
would not love you as well as I."

Theodore had now the harder task of explaining to her,
and making her comprehend, that in his land, and with his
religion, polygamy, so common amongst her people, could not
exist; but the effect produced was more gratifying than he
sould have expected.

u Better, far better, that it should not," cried the girl,
raising her head, and gazing full in his face, with those
earnest devoted eyes. " Better, far better, that it should not.
Had you asked me, I could not have refused, feeling as I
feel; but I should have been miserable to be the second to126

ATflLA.

any one. To have seen you caress her, to have known that
you loved her better, and had loved her earlier than you
loved me, would have been daily misery ; but now I can love
you as a thing apart. You will marry her, and I will have
no jealousy, for I have no share : I will think of you every
hour, and every moment, and pray to all the gods to
make you happy with her you love. But oh, stranger,
it were better, till I can rule my feelings and my words, and
gain full command over every thought, that you should leave
me."

41 Would to God," said Theodore, " that I had never be-
held you, or that you could forget all such feelings, and look
on me as a mere stranger!"

" Not for worlds," she exclaimed, " not for all the empire
of my uncle Attila. I would not lose the remembrance of thee
if I could win the love of the brightest and the best on earth.
I would not change the privilege of having seen, and known,
and loved thee, for the happiest fate that fancy could devise.
Oh, Theodore, would you take from me my last treasure?
But, perchance, you think me bold and impudent, in thus
speaking all that is at my heart, but if you do so, you do
not know me."

"I do, I do, indeed," cried Theodore—"I do know, I do
admire, I do esteem you; and had not every feeling of my heart
been bound to another ere I saw you, I could not have failed
to love one so beautiful, so excellent, so kind. Nay, I do love
you, Neva, though it must be as a brother loves a sister,"

u Hush, hush!" she said. " Make me not regret—and yet
love me so still. Forget, too, that I love you better, but, oh,
believe that no sister ever yet lived that will do for you what
Neva will; and in the moment of danger, in the hour of sick-
ness, in the time of woe, if you need aid, or tendance, or
consolation, send for me; and though my unskilful hand and
tongue may be little able to serve, the deep affection of my
heart shall find means, if they be bought with my life's blood,
to compensate for my weakness, and my want of knowledge ;"
and, carried away by the intensity of her feelings, she once
more cast herself on his bosom and wept. But you must
leave me," she continued, "you must leave me. Yes, and
when I see you again, I will see you calmly—-not as you now
see me. Yet you must have some excuse for going, and
whither will you go ?"

" When your uncle Attila bade me come into Dacia till his
return," replied Theodore, u Edicon, who remained with me,
affirmed that it was the monarch's will I should proceed to
his own usual dwelling-place, on the banks of the Tibiscus."

Neva thought for a moment, as if she did not remember theATTILA.

127

name; but then exclaimed, " Ha! the Teyssa—what you call
the Tibiscus we name the Teyssa. That is much further on;
but let my mother know that such were the directions of
Attila, and she will herself hasten your departure; for my
father and my uncle often jar, and my mother would fain
remove all cause of strife. Or I will tell her," she added,
with a faint smile, u I will tell her; and you shall see how
calmly I can talk of your departure."

She then spoke for some time longer, in a tranquil tone, of
all the arrangements that were to be made; and as she did
so, still, from time to time, her eyes were raised to the young
Roman's face with a long earnest glance, as if she would fain
have fixed his image upon memory, so that no years could
blot it out. Then, in the stream, she bathed the traces of the
tears from her eyes; and looking up calmly, though sadly,
said, " Let us go, my brother. It is sweet, but it must end."

They took some steps homeward; but ere they had gone
far she paused, and laying her hands upon his, she said, " Oh,
Theodore I promise me, that if ever, while you are in our
land, you need help or aid, you will send to me. Send me
this trinket back by a messengerand she gave him one of
the small golden ornaments which she wore in her^hair:
" send it me back, and I will come to you, be it wheresoever
it may. Deeply as I love thee, I would not wed thee now for
worlds; but oh! I would give life itself to render thee some
service, which should make thee say in after years, 'Alas!
poor Neva! she loved me well, indeed!'"

Thus wandered they homeward; and often did she pause to
add something more, and to give some new token of that deep,
and all unconcealed, but pure affection, which had taken so
firm a hold of her young heart. Theodore, too, strove to
soothe and to comfort her; and all that was kind, all that was
tender—except such words as only the ear of the beloved
should ever hear—he said, to give her consolation. As they
came near the village, however, she spoke less, for she seemed
to fear that her emotions might leave traces behind for other
eyes than his ; but she gained courage as they went on ; and,
to Theodore's surprise, when they joined the household, no
sign of all the busy feelings which he knew to be active in
her breast was in the slightest degree apparent, except, indeed,
in a shade of grave melancholy, which was not natural to her.

She chose the moment while all were assembled at the
morning meal, to announce to her mother the necessity of
Theodore's departure. The matron hard made some observa-
tion upon the young Roman's recovered health, when she
replied, u We shall lose him soon, my mother. He has been
telling me, that the commands of Attila the King were strict,128

attilA.

that he should go on to the King's own dwelling by the

Teyssa."

She spoke calmly—so calmly, indeed, that there were but
two persons amongst all the many who seemed to notice that
she touched on things more interesting than ordinary. Theo-
dore could not but know all the emotions which that calm tone
concealed; and her mother, as soon as she heard the subject
of her discourse, fixed her eyes upon her, with a look of
mingled wonder, tenderness, and surprise, as if she, too,
could see into her daughter's heart, and asked, by that glance,
44 Can you, my child, talk thus calmly of his going?"

After that momentary pause, however, she replied aloud,
41 If Attila bade him go forward, the King must be obeyed.
My son, you should have told us this before; for though my
husband is also a king, yet Attila is his elder brother, and we
wish not to offend him."

44 If fault there be," replied Theodore, 44 the fault is mine.
The commands of the King affixed me no certain time; and
I do, indeed, believe, that he named his own residence as my
dwelling-place only for my greater safety."

44 'T is not unlikely," said the wife of Bleda, 44 but still, my
son, you must obey : tarry not here more days than needful;
for we know not when Attila or Bleda may return."

Theodore, too, knew that it was needful he should go ; and
yet he felt regret at quitting those who had treated him with
so much kindness and tenderness; at leaving scenes in which he
had known a brief interval of tranquillity and peace, after having
undergone so long a period of grief, of horror, and of danger.
He gave himself but the interval of one day, however ; and then,
in the early morning, his horse and his followers stood pre-
pared at the door. The wife of Bleda gave him her blessing
as he departed, with motherly tenderness; and Neva herself
stood by, and saw him mount, without a tear wetting the dark
lashes of her tender blue eyes, without a sigh escaping from
her lip. All she said was, 44 Farewell, my brother : remem-
ber us."

Theodore himself could have wept; and as he saw her
stand there in her beauty, her innocence, and her devoted
xove, deeply and bitterly did he regret—ay, and reproach
himself, for having, however unwittingly, brought a cloud
over her sunshine, and first dulled the fine metal of her bright
and affectionate heart. He sprang upon his horse, and
rode away, turning back more than once to gaze upon them,
as they stood gathered round the door of their dwelling, and
to wave his hand in token of adieu.ATTILA

129

CHAPTER XVIII.

The life of man is a series of scenes, generally connected
with each other, often by the strong bond of cause and effect,
but often linked together by some fine accidental tie, having
no reference to the principal events. Each day may be con-
sidered as one act in life's drama; and sleep comes with night
to change the scenes, and give the weary actors a moment of
repose. Sometimes, however, there breaks in amongst the
rest—but detached from all those that surround it—a scene
in which we live, and act, and interest ourselves for a limited
and defined space of time, but which, when it is over, pro-
duces no effect upon our general fate, acts as no cause in the
complicated machinery of our fortunes. Sometimes the scene
may be fair and sweet, a solitary well in the desert, which
cools our lip, and quenches our thirst, but supplies no river,
waters no distant land. Sometimes it is terrible and dangerous,
a thunder-storm, suddenly sweeping over the summer sky,
coming when all is brightness, reigning an hour in awful
majesty, and then passing away, and leaving the world as
tranquil as it was before.

Theodore rode on, taking his way across the woods, and
asking his heart what was to come next; what, in all the vast,
vague variety of earthly chances, was the next thing that was
to befall him on his onward way. Wh-en, but a few short
months before, he had stood upon the mount of cypresses
with those he loved, and had gazed over the calm splendoui
of the Adriatic Sea, with life all before him, and hope to lead
him on, he had fancied that his fate would be as fair and
bright as the glowing scene beneath his eyes ; his future had
promised to be as calm and unbroken by a storm, as those
tranquil waters, sleeping, unruffled, beneath the setting sun.
Had any one less than a prophet then told him all that the
next two months should witness, he would have laughed the
prediction to scorn, in the full confiding hope of undisap-
pointed youth. But now that for many a week every hour
had brought its change, that he had seen the expectations of
to-day, to-morrow trampled under foot, and the sunshine of
the morning darkened ere the evening's close, he had learned
still to ask himself, " What next ? " with every day that rose,
and every change of scene that came upon him. That blessed
reliance on the dear deluding tales of hope, which is youth's
peculiar power, had left him for ever; and though the " What
next?" might be asked, with the determination of bearing all

i130

ATTILA.

worthily, yet apprehension had always its share in the ques-
tion too.

The woods were wide and intricate; and, as Theodore and
his companions rode on, the trees and shrubs began to change
their character: enormous birches, tossed upon the rocks and
rising grounds, succeeded to the beech and oak; and after
them again came the tender larch, and the dark pine, as the
road began to wind up into the mountains. It was a sultry
autumn day; and the misty haze that hung about the world,
with the close electric air of the forest, were ominous of a
thunder-storm; and at length the clouds, gathering round
the summits of the higher hills, burst upon the heads of
Theodore and his followers, just as they had reached a spot
where,, from the top of the first range of eminences, they
could gaze over a wide extent of forest ground. The rain
poured down in torrents, the lightning flickered through the
sky; but neither of those would have prevented Theodore
from pursuing his way, had not the mountain paths they fol-
lowed become so slippery with the rain that his horse could
not advance, and even the lighter and more sure-footed beasts
of the Huns could make no progress.

They were debating as to where they could find shelter,
when suddenly they beheld, standing on the rock above, a
tall thin human form, scantily covered by its tattered robes
from the wind or storm. He was gazing down upon them
without speaking; but Theodore, as soon.as he turned his
eyes that way, recollected the enthusiast Mizetus, who had
attempted to persuade the people, during the earthquake in
Dalmatia, to stay and perish amidst the ruins of the falling
palace. He had heard long before that the enthusiast had
wandered over many parts of the earth, and had dwelt long
in deserts and barren places as a hermit, according to the
prevailing superstition of the day; and the young Eoman
doubted not, that since he had been driven forth by the partial
destruction of Aspalathos, Mizetus had again returned to his
erratic life, and found his way to the frontiers of Pannonia.
"Go up to him, Cremera," said Theodore—u Go up to him,
and, telling him who we are, ask him where we can find
shelter, for he must surely have some cave or hut wherein to
dwell himself."

The Arab obeyed, leaving his horse below; but the enthusi-
ast made him no reply, gazing sternly, and even fiercely at him,
till the freedman used some angry words to drive him to an
answer. He then exclaimed aloud* u Get ye gone! get ye
gone from me, ye miserable, worldly, self-seeking generation!
get ye gone! Ye shall not pollute my dwelling. Farther on,
ye will find one who will give welcome alike to the lustfulATTILA.

131

Roman, and the bloody, barbarous Hun. Get ye gone! I
will have nought to do with ye. On, on upon the path, I
say: ye will find shelter onward, to cover your heads from
the earthly storm, though not from the tempest of God's
indignation."

Cremera reported to his master the reply he had received,
for the thunder prevented it from reaching, at once, any gars
but his own; and Theodore, as the only course, slowly pur-
sued the path along which Mizetus had pointed, looldng
anxiously, as he proceeded over the wet and slippery rocks,
surrounded by precipices, and impeded by scattered frag-
ments, for some sign of human habitation." It was long ere
he discovered any, however; and was, indeed, passing on,
when Cremera exclaimed, " There is a cave ! there is a cave!
and something standing therein like the figure of a man."

Theodore hesitated not; but leading his horse towards the
narrow mouth of a cavern, which he now beheld, ascended the
steep path with risk and difficulty. The Huns followed ; and
though, on entering, they discovered that the object which
Cremera had taken for a man, was in fact a large crucifix,
they found seated within the cave one of those many
devout, but enthusiastic beings, thousands of whom, in that
age, devoted their lives to solitude and privation, on a mis-
taken principle of religion. Some subjected themselves to
the most tremendous inflictions, thinking thereby to please
God; and the pillar and the chain still find their place in his-
tory, as illustrations of human fanaticism. But the hermit
here was of a different character: his enthusiasm had taken
a different form, and, though not less wild, perhaps we might
say not less diseased, prompted him not to the severer suffer-
ings which were indispensable to obtain the reputation of
sanctity amongst the anchorites of the Thebais. He dwelt,
it is true, but in a cavern of the rocks; but that cavern,
high up on the mountain side, was dry, and not unwhole-
some : his dress was indeed composed of nothing but
skins, yet the inhabitants of the country were principally
clothed with the same materials, though arranged in a
more convenient and agreeable form: his bed, which was
raised high with rushes and forest hay, was piled up above
that with soft and warm skins; and the contributions not
only of some neighbouring villages, on the other side of the
hills, but of many distant towns (for the whole land regarded
him as a holy being), supplied him plentifully with good and
varied food. His appearance, however, was venerable ; and his
countenance, half covered as it was with along white beard and
a profusion of silvery hair, was calm, peaceful, and mild, and
well calculated to obtain both reverence and love. There

i 2132

ATTILA.

was, inideed, an occasional look of worldly shrewdness seen
upon those high but withered features, which might have
made many a suspicious man doubt the sincerity of his voca-
tion ; but there came also from his eyes, from time to time,
gleams of quick uncertain light: whenever he approached
articular subjects, too, his whole air and manner changed,
is colour mounted, his eye flashed, his lip quivered; and
Theodore could not gaze upon that countenance, under all
its frequent changes, without believing that some slight touch
of insanity had warped an intellect originally fitted for high
and noble things. When he rose to welcome the strangers,
his beard fell down below his girdle, and his long nails, un-
trimmed for many a year, were exposed in all their deformity.
His manners, however, were noble, one might say courtly,
for there was grace as well as dignity, and polished terms as
well as mild and benevolent ideas. He asked no questions,
neither whence the strangers came, nor whither they were
going; but gladly gave them shelter from the storm, and
spread before them such viands as his cell contained, pressing
them to partake, with hospitable care, and blessing, in the
name of God, the food to which he invited them. His eye,
however, rested upon Theodore; and though the youth had
by this time adopted in a great degree the dress of the Huns,
et his air and countenance were not to be mistaken, and the
ermit addressed him at once in Latin.

" There is a hermit from our native land," he said, after
some conversation upon other subjects, " living near, and
doubtless a holy and religious man he is; but the Almighty
has not endued him with the spirit of sufferance towards his
fellow-creatures, and he thinks that he cannot serve God
without abhorring men. He was sent hither unto me, some
months ago, by Eugenius, bishop of Margus, to ask mine aid
and counsel in dealing with the Huns; but. when he had
received his answer, he would not depart, and has remained
here ever since, doubtless sent as another thorn in my
flesh."

Theodore very well conceived how the wild enthusiast
might become a thorn in the flesh of any one less fanatical
than himself; and he replied, u He refused all shelter, but
now, reverend father; and sent us on to thee in the midst ot
the storm, although I know him well. He dwelt for some
two years at Aspalathos, on the Illyrian coast, and gained
high repute for sanctity amongst the common people; but in
the terrible earthquake in which we had all nearly perished,
some five or six months since, he strove to persuade the
people to remain instead of quitting the falling buildings, pro-
phesying that the last day was about to appear."ATTILA.

133

" He prophesy! my son," cried the hermit, with a wild look
of scorn ; " no, no ; the gift of prophecy has not fallen upon
him. It is for that he hates me : and, because I impart,
as I am directed, the knowledge of those things that are re-
vealed unto me, to all who ask it, he abhors and reviles me."

Theodore made no reply; for the spirit of prophecy was
claimed by many a one in those days: and though their pre-
dictions had often proved false and worthless, yet that extra-
ordinary endowment had been too recently exercised and
confirmed by facts, for any one, in that age, to say that the
purpose was accomplished, and the power withdrawn from
the children of men. Theodore had learned, however, to
doubt; and, therefore, he paused ere he gave credit to the
gift which the hermit evidently wished to insinuate that he
possessed.

u During the whole of this day," continued the old man,
when he saw that the young Koman did not answer, "I have
been waiting anxiously, looking for the approach of some
stranger from distant lands. There has been a knowledge of
the coming of some one upon me since the first dawn of day ;
but it was not thee I expected, my son. It was some one
more powerful, some one more terrible, with whom I might
have to wrestle and contend. I know not—I cannot have
deceived myself. Still, it is now past the third hour, and no
one has yet come."

" I should think," replied Theodore, " that it were not
likely any one would come ; for all the great and powerful of
the land are absent with Attila; and we have made a long
journey this morning without encountering a living creature,"

"But have you had no tidings of Attila's return?" de-
manded the hermit. " Some messengers, who passed by this
place but two days ago, spoke of it as likely, and brought me
presents from the king."

Theodore would not suffer himself to smile, although he
thought that the hermit, like many another man, might de-
ceive himself in regard to his own powers, and confound
shrewd calculations with presages. The old man had heard,
it seemed, that Attila was likely to return; the messengers
might very probably have dropped some hint as to the time ;
and, the mind of the hermit himself having calculated the
probabilities, the impression that it would be as he anticipated
had become so strong that he looked upon that impression as
a certain presage ; and, if fulfilled, would consider it, thence-
forth, as a new instance of his prophetical inspiration.

Theodore restrained all expression of such thoughts, how-
ever, and merely replied, " Then, by his sending you pre-
sents, you already know Attila, and are protected by him?,?134:

ATTILA.

"I know him, my son," replied the old man; "but I am
protected by a higher King than he is. He rather may call
himself protected by me, or, at the least, directed, though he,
as I am, is but an instrument in the hands of God. The sins of
those who call themselves Christians have gone up on high,"
he continued, whilst a wild and wandering gleam of light
glistened in his eyes, and his pale cheek flushed—" the sins
of those who call themselves Christians have gone up on high,
and the vices of the east and the west have risen up to
heaven as foul and filthy as the smoke of a heathen sacrifice.
They have called down judgments upon the earth; light-
nings, and tempests, and earthquakes, and sickness, and
pestilence, and warfare; and, lo! amongst the visitations of
God, I tell thee, young man, this Attila, the King, is one of
the greatest—an appointed instrument to punish the iniquities
of the land! So long as he shall do exactly the work as-
signed to him, and not disobey the word that is spoken, he
shall prosper on his way, and shall sweep the lands from the
east to the west, and from the north to the south: he shall
stretch out one hand, and it shall touch the Propontic gulf;
and he shall stretch out the other, and dip it in the German
Ocean; but neither the city of Romulus nor the palace of Con-
stantine shall he see or injure. He shall pull down the cities,
he shall destroy the nations, he shall trample under foot the
yellow corn, and the purple fig, and the sweet grape. Of their
olive-trees he shall light fires to warm him in the night; and
with their flocks and herds he shall feed the myriads that fol-
low him to victory and spoil. Armies shall not stand before
him for an hour, and fenced cities shall not keep him out:
he shall destroy wherever he cometh, and behind him he
shall leave a bare plain; but the life of not one of those ap-
pointed to be saved shall he take ; and if he touch but a
hair of their heads, the power shall pass away from him,
and he shall die a death pitiful and despised. Lo ! he comes,
he comes I" and spreading wide his arms, with a wild but
striking gesture, he advanced to the mouth of the cavern,
and gazed out upon the road below.

Theodore, who had also heard the sound of horses1 feet ap-
parently approaching up from below, followed the hermit and
gazed forth likewise. The thunder had ceased, and the rain
was falling but slowly, yet the ground was not less slippery
and dangerous than when he himself had passed. Neverthe-
less, coming almost at full speed, was seen a horseman, fol-
lowed by two others at some short distance behind. Not a
false step, not a stumble, did the charger make; and Theo-
dore at once perceived that the announcement of the hermit
was correct, and that it was Attila himself who approached toATTILA.

185

within a yard of the spot where they stood. He came at the
same headlong speed; and then, alighting from his horse, he
threw the bridle over its neck, and entered the cavern, with
a slow, calm, and tranquil step. The monarch gazed at Theo-
dore for a moment, as if surprised at beholding him there, but
no slight emotions ever found their way to the countenance of
Attila; and his only observation was, " Ha! my son, art thou
here ? "

Theodore bent his head, and the monarch turned to the
hermit, who pronounced in his favour a singular prayer, one,
indeed, which Theodore imagined might give no light offence
to the stern chieftain of the Huns. u May God enlighten thine
eyes," he said, " and purify thy spirit, and soften thy hard
heart, and make thee quit the abomination of thine idols, so
that thou mayst become a servant of the true God, and not
merely an instrument of his vengeance!"

But Attila merely bowed his head, saying, " May the truth
shine upon me, whatsoever it is!"

" Have I not told thee the truth?" demanded the hermit;
"did I not tell thee thou shouldst conquer? Did I not say
that no one should be able to oppose thee, if thou didst follow
the words that were spoken unto thee?"

" I did follow those words," said Attila: " I spared Margus,
( as thou badest me, and I gave protection, as thou seest, to the
j first person who crossed the river to meet me;" and he turned
1 his eyes upon Theodore.

"Ha!" cried the hermit, u and was this youth he ?—I spoke
but the words that were appointed me to speak," he added;
" but I had fancied that they had applied to another—not to
him. God rules all these things according to his own wise
will. Say, where met you the youth?"

Ere Attila could reply, the sunshine, which was now begin-
ning to pour into the mouth of the cavern, was darkened by
a tall form, which advanced with wild gestures, and placed it-
self directly before the monarch of the Huns. It was that of
the enthusiast Mizetus; who, in the exalted and menacing
tone in which he usually spoke, now addressed the Bang, ex-
claiming, "Woe, woe, unto the nations that thou wert ever
born! Woe, woe, unto the world, far and near, oh, son of
Belial, that thou didst ever see the light! Thou art dyed in
blood; thou dost ride in gore. The earthquake precedes
thee; blue lightnings march with thy host; famine goes forth
on thy right hand, and pestilence on thy left."

"Shall I slay him, O mighty King?" cried one of the at-
tendants of Theodore, who had unsheathed his sword, and
held it ready to strike the enthusiast to the earth.

"Slay him not," said Attila, calmly, "slay him not; the136

attila.

man is mad, and speaks the truth. What hast thou more to
say, my brother ? Thou hast but said what is true."

"I have said what is true," continued the enthusiast, "and
there is more truth to be said. Woe unto thee if thou doest
not the will of God! I say, woe unto thee! for, if thou failest
to do his will, all the evils that thou pourest forth upon the
nations shall, in return, be poured forth upon thee; nor shalt
thou raise thyself up in the pride of thine heart, and say, 4 It
is I who do all these things!' Neither shalt thou suffer thy-
self to be puffed up by the praises of the weak beings who
now surround thee. Know that thou art no more than a
sword in the hands of the Slayer; a rod in the hands of Him
who is appointed to chastise. Henceforth and for ever cast
away thy vain titles, and abandon thine idle pretences. Thy
name is the Scourge of God ; and through all nations, and
unto all ages, by that name shalt thou be known."

44 I will fulfil thy words, and do accept the name," replied
Attila, calmly; u yes, I will be called the Scourge of God;
and truly," he added, with a dark smile, "I have already
scourged the land from the Danube to the sea. But now, my
friend, hast thou more to say ? for though we reverence mad-
men, and those whose intellects the gods have taken into their
own keeping, still my time is precious, and I would be alone."

44 I am not mad, oh King," replied the enthusiast; u but I
tell thee truth, and yet I leave thee, having given thee a name
by which to know thyself, and by which thou shalt be known
when thou and I shall have gone to our separate places;" and
thus saying, he turned and quitted the cave.*

411 will also go, oh King," said Theodore, " and will proceed
upon the way towards thy royal dwelling."

44 Do so," said Attila: 44 go not too fast, and I will overtake
you soon."

Theodore craved a blessing of the hermit, and then departed.
The road still mounted for some way; but by this time the
rain was over, and, as a drying wind rose up, the horses could
better keep their feet upon the steep and rocky ground. Pass-
ing over the ridge of the mountain, the road, in about half
an hour, began to descend through woody glens and wild rocky
ravines, similar to those which they had passed in ascending;
and as Theodore slowly pursued his way, he revolved in his
own mind that part of the conversation between the hermit
and the mighty monarch of the Huns which referred more

* It would appear, from various accounts, that the tremendous title
"by which Attila was wel] pleased to be known, was given to him as stated
above, though some lay the scene of his interview with the Hermit in
Gai4.ATTILA.

137

particularly to himself. It was not difficult to discover that,
actuated by superstitious feeling, Attila had, in consequence
of some vague warning of the hermit, spared the young Roman,
not from any prepossession in his favour, but solely because
he thought it the command of Heaven, and a condition on
which the success of his enterprise depended. Since those
first events, however, the monarch had shown him kindness
of an extraordinary character; and either from some vague
notion of their fate being linked together, by some unexplained
and mysterious tie, or from natural feeling of favour towards
him, had evinced an interest in his fate and happiness which
demanded gratitude. Theodore was not one to reason very
nicely as to how far the motives of a benefactor lessen the ob-
ligation imposed by his kindness; and he only remembered
that Attila had twice saved his life, as well as spared him where
any other Roman would have fallen, when he intruded un-
called into the Dacian territory; that he had rescued from
worse than death those he most loved, and had shown a kindly
sympathy with feelings that few supposed him to possess.
Thus, though he revolved the means of learning more of
what were the first motives of the King in giving him such
protection, he determined, as he rode on with his followers,
to seek every opportunity of showing his just gratitude to-
wards Attila.

They had not gone far, however, ere the sound of horses'
feet was heard echoing among the crags; and in a moment
after Attila was by the young Roman's side. A slight shade
of triumphant pleasure—enough upon the countenance of
Attila to tell that he was moved internally by no slight feel-
ings of satisfaction—met the eye of Theodore as he turned to
answer the monarch's greeting.

" Art thou quite recovered, my son?" demanded the King.
" We heard that thou hadst been ill, and likely to die; but
the gods protect those whom they love."

"I am now quite recovered," replied Theodore; "but I
was very ill, and should have died, had it not been for the
care and tenderness of thy brother's wife and children."

" Let the good acts of the wife," replied Attila, u counter-
poise the bad acts of the husband. But Bleda will not seek
thy death now, I trust. We have made war in company; we
have conquered together; and he has had a plentiful, a more
than plentiful, share of the spoil. It was me he sought to in-
jure more than thee ; and now that his appetite for prey and
power seems satisfied, he may heed the suggestions of pru-
dence, and forget the ambition for which he has neither talent
nor energy sufficient."

Though the words of the King might have led to a fuller138

ATTILA,

explanation of the mysterious tie by which he seemed to feel
himself bound to Theodore, yet the interest of the young
Roman was more strongly excited by the mention of barbarian
triumphs in his native land, than by anything which could
personally affect himself; and he replied, with an inquiring
tone, " I have heard nothing, O Attila! of thy progress since
I left thee. I have received no tidings even of how the war
has gone."

" War!'' said Attila, proudly; " I call that war where brave
men encounter one another, and fight till one surrenders or
dies; but such is not that which the Romans have offered to
Attila. Wouldst thou know, youth, how my march through
Moesia and Thrace has gone? Thus has it happened; but
call it not a warfare, for warfare there has been none. I have
..marched upon the necks of conquered enemies to the iEgean
/ Sea. Hoemus and Rhodope have not stayed me; seventy for-
\ tified cities have fallen before me; and the last Rom&» army
which dared to look me in the face lies rotting in the Thracian
Chersonese, as thou dost call it, or feeds the vultures from
Mount Ida. I found the land a garden, and I left it a desert,
even as I promised to do ; but I say unto the weak thing that
sits upon the eastern throne, 4 Why hast thou made me do
this? Why hast thou called me to slay thy subjects and lay
waste thy cities ? I slept in peace, till I was wakened by thine
injustice. My sword grew unto its scabbard; my people kept
their flocks, and were turning tillers of the ground: the Danube
flowed between calm and peaceful banks, and my people held
out the hand of amity unto thine. I gave thee leave to trade
within my land, and at the first mart where thy subjects ap-
peared they plundered mine, and scoffed at the claims of
justice. I demanded that he who, as I was told, had concerted
the deed with others, Eugenius, the Bishop of Margus, should
be given up to me; or some one, proved to be the robber, in
his stead. Thou wouldst give me no justice, and I have taken
vengeance; but the deed is thine, oh weak man, for thou wert
the aggressor. Thou hast lighted the fire that has consumed
thy land, and the punishment is not yet complete.'"

" And did none resist thee?" demanded Theodore sorrow-
fully. "Did none show that the spirit of our fathers still
lives at least in some of the children?"

" Yes, yes," replied Attila. " There was one small city,
called Azimus, whose children showed me what ancient Romans
may perhaps have been. They were worthy to have fought
beneath my standard, for they repelled that standard from their
walls. They fought as thou wouldst have fought, my son, and
they won the reverence and the love of Attila. I found that
they might be slain, but could not be conquered; and I valuedATTILA.

139

my own glory too much to risk it by crushing a race that I
acknowledged to be worthy of life. All the rest fought, if
they did fight, like cowards and like slaves, and I slew them
without remorse; but I would not have destroyed those Azi-
muntines to have saved my right hand. Bear witness, youth, of
what I tell you. My people have been robbed and plundered
by the creatures of Theodosius; I demanded justice ; it was
refused; I took revenge. Thine emperor now seeks to treat,
because he thinks he can deceive Attila; thou shalt witness his
proceedings, and shalt judge whether I strike again without
just cause. Attila slays not without cause ; but thine is a
lettered nation, and they will transmit a false tale of these deeds
unto after-times. We Huns write not our own histories."

CHAPTER XIX.

Theodore pursued his way with his own followers only, after
the King had left him, to return to his host; and less than
two days more brought him to the banks of the Tibiscus. At
the third hour after sunrise, on the second day after meeting
with Attila, he came in sight of one of the few fixed habita-
tions of the wandering Scythians—the ordinary dwelling of
the King. It was all unlike a Roman capital, and yet it was
not an unpleasing scene.

Upon a wide plain, broken by some tracts of wood, and
skirted by some rich sloping hills, at the foot of which it
rested, stood a congregation of several thousands of low wooden
dwellings, each separated from the other, and covering a large
space of ground; but with all their lowliness, those houses
were not without ornament—of a different kind, it is true,
from that which decked the stately mansions of Rome or
Constantinople, but suited to the buildings, the people, and the
scene. Before each ran along the same long portico, sup-
ported by the trunks of trees, which Theodore had remarked
in the dwelling of Bleda; and many an ornamental screen and
piece of trellis-work gave lightness and beauty to various
parts of the building. Trees were scattered here and there
amongst the houses, giving shade to their high-peaked roofs;
and flowers and shrubs were not wanting, such as the infant
art of the age and country could produce.

Many a busy group was there, engaged in all the peaceful
occupations of pastoral life; and though here, as before,
women and children formed the greater part of the popula-
tion, a number of men—mingling with the other groups-
showed Theodore that the land had not been so entirely left
without defenders as he had imagined. As he rode on, and140

ATTILA.

entered the streets—if by such name we can designate the
wide open spaces between the houses—the population became
more dense; and he observed amongst them every shade of
complexion and every line of feature that it is possible to con-
ceive. The colour and cast of countenance of the Huns was
certainly more general than any other, but there also might
be seen the Roman and the Greek, the beautiful tribes of
Caucasus, the fair-haired children of the North, the Goth,
the Vandal, and the Helvetian. Nor was this mixture merely
apparent, but, on the contrary, it was borne out by the many
tongues which struck the ear of Theodore as he rode along.
There his own language was frequently heard, there the tongue
of his mother's land was common; and not only did Theodore
recognise Greeks and Romans as captives or bondsmen, but
many walked free and armed amongst the rest of the popula-
tion, as if holding rank and authority amongst them. The
young Roman now began to perceive that Attila, with wise
policy, had left the guardianship of his land during his absence
to persons whose situation, as fugitives or exiles from their native
country, would render their resistance to any invading force
desperate, determined, and unconquerable. He himself, as he
passed, excited no great attention, for the Roman features,
with the Hunnish dress, was too common amongst them to
call forth much remark. Cremera the Arab, however, by his
powerful limbs and his gigantic height, drew all eyes upon the
little troop, as it advanced towards the mansion of the King;
and Theodore heard many an observation made upon him and
his, in tongues which the speakers thought he could not un-
derstand, but which were familiar to his ear.

At length they reached the open space in which the dwelling
of Attila was placed. It was merely a wooden building like
the rest, but far more extended, and though as simple as any
in some respects, yet much more ornamented and tasteful in
others. Besides the principal mansion, a number of smaller
houses were congregated in the same space, probably destined
for the reception of his immediate officers and friends; but the
whole mass of buildings thus collected was separated from the
rest by a piece of open ground, spreading on all sides, to the
extent of several acres. In this space a number of horsemen
were exercising themselves with various arms, poising the
spear, casting the javelin, drawing the bow, or urging the
mock contest with the sword. Under the porticoes, and
within the low screens, groups of women and children were
seen employed in various household occupations and juvenile
amusements; and the whole presented a picture of cheerful,
active, and happy life, which might have taught an inexpe-
rienced heart to believe, that amongst that people was to beATTILA.

141

found the wished-for state, where busy life proceeded in peace-
ful tranquillity, without the cares, the anxieties, the jealousies,
the strifes, of more civilised and more corrupt society.

Theodore rode on, as he had been directed, towards the gate
of the principal dwelling; but he was surprised, and some-
what offended, as he came near, by one of the horsemen,
who was careering in the open space, hurling a javelin right
across his path, so as to pass within a foot of his head. Theo-
dore's nerves, however, were too strongly strung to give way
even to the slightest appearance of emotion, and urging forward
his horse, rather than checking it, he passed on, without noticing
a loud and scornfnl laugh, which burst from the young man
who ha<& cast the dart. Cremera, who rode a little behind his
master, turned and gazed fiercely round, while the Hunnish
youth, and those who were sporting with him, dashed in
amongst the followers of Theodore, as if on purpose to disturb
him, separating a part of them from the rest. Theodore was
now turning to remonstrate ; but he heard the chief of his at-
tendants already in sharp discussion with his fellow-country-
men ; and the first words that caught his ear made him re-
solve to abstain from even remonstrance, in a case which might
add new causes of anxiety and circumstances of difficulty to
his long and painful exile amongst the Huns.

44 Know you who I am?" cried the youth who had hurled
the javelin.

44 Well!" answered Theodore's attendant. " You are Ellac,
the son of the King, yourself a monarch; but we are here
under the shield of Attila, where his son himself dare not
strike us; for Attila is just, and kindred blood shields no one
from the stroke of his equity." Some more words ensued;
and Ellac at length said, 44 Is not this he who has dared my
uncle Bleda, and provoked him to anger ? "

44 We know nought of that, O King!" replied the attendant :
" all we know is, that we are given to this young leader by
Attila the King, as true soldiers to their chief. We are com-
manded and are willing to die in his defence, and will guard
him against any one, and every one, with our lives."

44 Have ye no tribe and chieftain of your own?" demanded
Ellac scornfully. u Where is the head of your own race, that
ye have the base task of following a stranger ? "

u The head of our race died upon the plains of Gaul, with
fifty of our brethren," replied the attendant; 44 and it is not
a base task to follow a sword which has drank deep even of
the blood of our own nation."

" If it have drank the blood of our nation," replied Ellac,
44 he that wields it should be slain."

" Such is not the will of the King," replied the attendant;142

ATTILA.

and he then added, " Stop us not, O King, for we do our
duty."

The young chieftain sullenly drew back his horse, and turn-
ing with a look of angry comment to his own followers, he
suffered those of Theodore to proceed. They accordingly rode
en, and overtook the young Roman, who had preceded them
by a few paces, just as he reached the light screens of wood-
work which separated the palace of Attila from the open space
around it.

There Theodore dismounted from his horse, and in a mo-
ment was surrounded by a number of those who were spend-
ing their idleness under the shade of the portico. A mixed
and motley group they were, comprising old warriors, unfit
any longer to draw the sword, beautiful girls of various ages,
—from that at which the future loveliness bursts forth from
the green film of childhood, like the first opening of the rose,
to that at which charms that have seen the fulness of the
summer day spread out in their last unfaded hours, like the
same rose when its leaves are first ready to fall. Children,
too, were there, and many a slave from every distant land,
with mutes and dwarfs, singers, jesters, and buffoons.*

A number of these, as we have said, now crowded round
Theodore, with looks of interest and expectation, while others,
listless and unheeding, lay quietly in the sun, casting their
eyes, with idle carelessness, upon the stranger, without think-
ing it worth their while to move. Many was the ques-
tion that was now asked, and many was the curious trait
which struck the sight of Theodore. But we must not
pause to paint minutely the life and manners of the Huns.
That Attila was on his march homeward was already known
at the royal village, and orders had been received regarding
the treatment of the young stranger. One of the houses in the
same enclosure as that of the monarch had been appointed
him for a dwelling; and having taken up his abode therein,
he found himself served and supplied as if he had been one
of the barbarian king's own children.

Although the scene which now passed daily before his eye
was very different from that which he had witnessed at the
dwelling of Bleda, and he found it more difficult to enter into
the kindly intimacy of any of the barbarian families than he
had done there, yet the same simple manners were to be seen.

* Both the Greek and Roman historians strive to impress their readers
with the idea that the Huns were mere Scythian savages; but at every
line they let fall something which impugns this assertion. We find that
gold, gems, silver, tables, various kinds of drinks of their own manufac-
ture, fire-arms and equipments, jesters, dwarfs, singing, and several game*
of chance, were common amongst them; and, in short, that there was an
extraordinary mixture of civilised arts with barbarian habits.ATTTLA.

149

Large flocks and herds were daily driven out to pasture ; from
every dwelling poured forth the drove in the morning, and to
every dwelling returned the well-fed cattle in the evening,
with him who had been their guardian during the day, sing-
ing his rude song to cheer the empty hours.

The women, too, whatever their rank or station amongst the
people, were seen sitting before their dwellings twirling the
spindle in the sun, or occupied in other domestic cares which
had long since been abandoned by the polished and luxurious
dames of Rome.

The mixture of foreign nations with the Hunnish popula-
tion had indeed produced a sort of mockery of the vices and
luxuries of civilised capitals; and Theodore saw that simple
fare, and coarse, unornamented garments were by no means
universal amongst the Huns. Gold and silver, and precious
stones, appeared upon the persons and in the dwellings of
many, and even the silken vestures of the East were seen
amongst the female part of the inhabitants.

For several days Theodore remained almost totally without
society; for after the first movement of curiosity the inhabi-
tants of the palace took no further notice of him, and no one
else sought for his acquaintance, except, indeed, some of those
Romans who had abandoned their country and assumed the
appearance of the Huns. Several of these, it is true, pre-
sented themselves at his dwelling, and would fain have looked
upon him as one of themselves; but Theodore was on his
guard, and he received their advances somewhat coldly. He
was ready, indeed, to meet with kindly friendship any one
whom the arm of injustice had driven from their native land,
and who preserved pure their faith and honour, but unwilling
to hold an hour's companionship with men who had been
scourged forth by their own vices, or had betrayed their na-
tive land for the gratification of any passion, whether the
sordid hope of gain, the wild thirst or ambition, or the burn-
ing fury of revenge. Of all who thus came to him he was
suspicious, and his doubts were not removed by their man-
ners ; for all more or less affected to graft upon the polish of
the Roman the rude and barbarian fierceness of the Hun.
Though accustomed to a more refined, though perhaps not a
better, state of society, they endeavoured to assume the man-
ners of the nation amongst whom they dwelt; and the mix-
ture thus produced was both painful and disgusting to the
feelings of the young Roman, whose character was too decided
in its nature ever to change by its contact with others, and
possessed too much dignity to affect manners of any kind but
those which sprang from his own heart, tutored as it had been
from youth in habits of graceful ease.144

ATTILA.

In all the visits of this kind that he received, and they
were many, a topic of conversation soon presented itself which
acted as a touchstone upon the exiles. This was the compa-
rative excellence of the Roman and barbarian mode of life.
Almost every one broke forth on the first mention of such a
subject into wild and vague praises of the simplicity, the free-
dom, the purity of the more unrestrained and uncivilised na-
tion into whose arms either fortune or folly had driven them ;
and all the common-places against luxury and effeminacy had
been conned and noted down to justify as a choice that which
was in fact a necessity—their abode amongst the Huns. But
Theodore thought differently, and he expressed strongly his
opinion.

No man hated more effeminacy, no one more despised sen-
sual luxury; but he thought that refined manners and refined
taste might exist with virtue, purity, even simplicity; and he
thought also that as the most precious substances, the hardest
metals, and the brightest stones, take the finest polish, so the
most generous heart, the firmest and the most exalted mind,
are those most capable of receiving the highest degree of
civilisation. At all events, he felt sure that no one who had
tasted the refinements of cultivated life could lose their taste
for what was graceful and elegant; and that if, from any
hatred of the vices or follies which had crept into a decaying
empire, they fled to a more simple and less corrupted state,
they would still prize highly, and maintain in themselves,
that noble suavity, that generous urbanity, which springs
from the feelings of a kind, a self-possessed, and a dignified
mind.

These opinions, as I have said, he did not scruple to express
boldly and distinctly; and he soon found that such notions,
together with those he entertained regarding patriotism, and
the duty of every man towards his country, were not pleasant
to the ears of his visitors. Some slunk away with feelings of
shame, not altogether extinct in their bosoms. Some boldly
scoffed at such prejudiced ideas; and only one or two, with
calm expressions of regret, acknowledged that they felt as he
did, and only lamented that injustice and oppression had driven
them from the society in which they had been accustomed to
dwell, and the refined pleasures which they were capable of
enjoying, to the wilds of Dacia, and the company of barbarians.
With these Theodore would not have been unwilling to asso-
ciate ; but ere he did so, he sought to see more of them, and
to hear their history from other lips than their own; and,
therefore, with a coldness of demeanour, which was not
natural to him, he received all advances from his fellow-coun-
trymen.ATTILA.

145

Ellac, the son of Attila, he saw no more; and he was
glad to be spared fresh collision with one who was evidently
ill-disposed towards him, and who was so dangerous an
enemy. He strove not to avoid any one, however, but walked
forth alone amongst the houses of the Huns, with that fearless
calmness which is generally its own safeguard. Still he saw,
without choosing to remark it, that Cremera's apprehensions
for his safety were greater than his own; and that though he
ventured not to remonstrate against any part of his masder's
behaviour, yet whenever the young Roman went forth on foot
towards the close of day, to enjoy the calm hour of evening
in that tranquil meditation with which it seems to sympathise,
he caught a glance, here and there, of the tall, dusky form of
the Arab, following his footsteps with watchful care.

Sometimes the young Roman would ride out on horseback,
followed by his attendants, to hunt in the neighbouring woods;
and if any of the idler Huns followed their troop to join in
the amusement, or to share their game, the skill and activity
which Theodore had acquired excited their wonder and ad-
miration.

Early on the morning of the seventh day after his arrival at
the residence of Attila, he thus went forth, accompanied both
by the Alani and the Huns, who had been given to him, and
rode along by the banks of Tibiscus, to the wide deep
woods which, at the distance of about five miles from the
village, swept up from the river, and covered the sides, nearly
to the top, of a lateral shoot of those high mountains which
crossed the country to the eastward.

He followed the side of the river as closely as the nature of
lhe ground permitted, even after he had entered the woods;
for he knew that about that hour the stags and the elks, then
so common in the Dacian and Pannonian forests, came down
to drink at the larger streams, seeming to disdain the bright
but pretty rivulets that sparkled down the sides of the moun-
tains. He had heard, too, that such was the case with the
urus, or wild bull; but that animal was scarce even in those
northern solitudes, and he had not any personal knowledge oi
its habits.

Remarking the course of the stream when first he entered
the wood, he ordered his attendants to spread out at some
distance from himself, and drive the game towards the river,
the banks of which he himself proposed to follow. Little
appeared, however, and that of a kind not worthy of pursuit.
A wolf, indeed, crossed his path, and, casting his javelin at it,
he struck the grim robber of the fold down to the ground; but
shaking it quickly from his weapon he passed on, and for near
gn hour followed the side of the stream, hearing from time to

K146

ATTILA.

time the cries of his attendants, as they shouted, both to give
notice to their companions of the course they were pursuing,
and to scare the game from the lair.

Mingling other thoughts, of a more heartfelt and interesting
kind, with the alternate expectations and disappointments,
trifling, indeed, but still exciting, of the chase, he did not
remark that after a time the voices of his followers sounded
less and less loud, and that the river swept away more than he
had calculated towards the west. Cremera, indeed, he saw
from time to time emerge from the deeper parts of the wood
to catch a glance of him, and then plunge in again, and he
fancied that the others were not far distant. But at length all
the sounds ceased, and after some time he became aware that
he had strayed considerably from the direction which he had
proposed to take. He heeded it not much, however, saying to
himself, " They will soon rejoin me; the river sweeps round
again not far on."

As he thus thought, he heard the distant cry of dogs, and
putting his horse into a quicker pace he hurried on towards
the spot from which the sounds proceeded. They were faint
and far oft, however; but as he rode forward they seemed to
advance upon him, winding hither and thither in the wood,
and he thought, as his practised ear caught the sounds,u It must
be an elk they are upon, they cry more eagerly than on a stag."

There were some high grounds above him, but covered with
deep wood; and though, soon after, Theodore could hear the
musical voices of the hounds pass across the upland, and could
even catch the rushing and crashing sound of some large beast
passing through the underwood, he could neither see dogs nor
game. He thought, however, "That is no elk! It does not
bound like an elk—most probably a wild boar; and if so, one
of enormous sizel"

Then, giving a hasty glance to the river, he exclaimed, " It
turns there; the brute must either take the water, face the
dogs, or come back hither by the open ground;" and urging
his horse as close as possible to the stream, he rode on to meet
the animal, whatever it was, just as it burst from the wood.
As he approached, he heard that he had calculated rightly, by
the turn which the dogs took; and he paused, that he might
fling his javelin with a surer aim.

At that moment, however, a cry like that of a human being
in pain or fear, caught his ear, proceeding from amongst the
trees just before him; and, dashing on to give aid if the beast
were brought to bay, he plunged his horse in amongst the
brushwood, passed in a moment a narrow slip of forest that
impeded his sight, and found himself in a small open space,
round three sides of which the river bent like a sickle.ATTXLA.

147

One object, however, in that space occupied all his attention,
me feeling took possession of his heart, and but one course
Iras left him to pursue. In the midst, clothed in a shaggy
mane, with foam covering its black nostrils, and fury flashing
from its dark sinister eyes, its foot planted on a hound that it
had just killed, and its enormous neck bent and head drawn
back, in act to strike again with the short but pointed horns
upon its wide square brow, stood the urus, which the dog had
driven from its mountain solitudes.

Before it, prostrate on the earth, and panting in the agonies
of death, lay one of the small horses of the Huns, with streams
of blood pouring forth from a tremendous gore in its side.
Fallen with the fallen horse, lay a boy of about twelve years
of age, splendidly apparelled after the barbarian fashion, and,
with one small hand raised and grasping a sword, he made a
vain effort to strike the fell adversary that was rushing upon
him.

On one moment hung life or death; and, even while his
horse was clearing the last brushwood, Theodore, with all the
strength and swiftness of youth and vigour, hurled his un-
erring javelin at the monster. It struck him but slightly, for
the youth's hand was shaken by the spring of his horse; but
it flew so swiftly, that the sharp steel cut through the tough
hide upon his back, just as he was dashing forward to crush
the boy to atoms. It shook and turned him; and as the young
Hun writhed partly on one side, the fury of the animal's stroke
was spent upon the dying horse. Mad, however, with pain, he
now turned upon his new assailant; but Theodore, active as
well as strong, snatched the second javelin from his saddle bow,
sprang from his horse, and met the brute as he rushed upon
him.

With his head down and his eyes closed, the urus rushed
on; but Theodore, though knowing his danger, was neither
fearful nor unprepared, and when the animal was within two
steps of where he stood, he darted on one side, and then
plunged the spear into its back. The weapon struck against
the bone, however—stopped^—broke short off; and, but little
injured, the bull turned upon him again.

There were now the cries of coming huntsmen, but no time
was left for distant succour to arrive. On himself, on himself
alone, the young Roman was forced to depend ; and, drawing
his short sword, he again stood prepared to meet the assault
of his adversary. With his eyes not now closed as before, but
keenly watching his prey, the urus again rushed upon him;
and Theodore, knowing that, though his sword was sharp,
and his arm was strong, it was in vain to strike at that bony
head, or that thick and heavy mane, again sprung on one side,148

atitla.

but farther than before, more to avoid the first rush than to
strike the animal as he passed.

The bull, however, was not again deceived, but followed him
like lightning; as he did so, however, the coming huntsmen
and dogs, rushing through the trees, met his ferocious eye. He
wavered for a moment between flight and vengeance; exposed,
as he turned, his side to the arm of the young Roman; and
Theodore, seizing the moment, plunged the keen blade into
his chest up to the hilt, casting himself forward upon the beast
with such force, that they both fell and rolled upon the ground
together.

The weapon had found the heart of the fierce animal; and
after but one faint effort to rise, his head and hoofs beat the
ground in the bitter struggle of the fiery and tenacious life
parting from the powerful body, till with a low bellowing groan
he expired.

Theodore raised himself from the ground, and drawing his
sword from the carcase of the urus, he gazed round upon the
scene in which the strife had taken place. Greatly was it
altered since he had last looked about him, for it was filled
with a multitude; and when Theodore turned his eyes towards
the spot where had lately lain the boy he had just saved from
death, he saw him raised up from his dead horse, and clasped
in the arms of Attila himself.

CHAPTER XX.

Theodore stood bewildered in the midst of the strange scene
which now surrounded him, his thoughts all hurried and con-
fused from the fierce strife and imminent peril into which he
had been so suddenly hurried. At first, when he had turned
to follow the cry of the dogs, he had forgotten—in the eager-
ness of the noble sport, the primeval pastime of earth's giant
sons—that his own attendants were now unaccompanied by the
hounds with which he had been accustomed to hunt in the
forest near Bleda's dwelling; and, from the moment he had
first seen that noble-looking boy, to that in which he rose from
the prostrate carcase of the ferocious beast, that had so nearly
destroyed him, there had been no time for any other thoughts
but those connected with the fierce combat in which he was
engaged.

Now, however, as he looked round, he divined the whole,
well knowing the custom of those barbarian chiefs to pursue
the chase as eagerly while marching along with hostile armies,
as when it served to solace the vacant hours of peace. That
he had fallen in with the hunt of Attila he clearly perceived jATTILA.

but who was the boy that he had saved, he could only gather
from the fond embrace, with which the dark monarch held him
in his powerful arms. Fond and tender, no one who saw it
could doubt what that embrace really was; and yet scarce any
sign of emotion could be discovered on the iron countenance
which so often led the slaughter in the fiercest fields of bar-
barian war.

The boy was talking eagerly and rapidly, and pointing to
Theodore as he rose; and the moment after, while the young
Roman drew forth his sword from the side of the mighty
beast, that lay cumbering the earth like a huge grey mound,
the king set his son down, and after resting his broad hand on
his head for a moment, strode across the open space, and stood
by the side of the boy's deliverer.

For an instant his eye ran over the tremendous limbs of the
urus, the broad square head, the tangled mane, from amidst
the thick coarse hair of which the dark blood was pouring out
in streams, and upon the sharp-pointed horns, one of which
had burrowed in the earth, as he had rolled over in the agonies
of death; and then he turned his look upon his boy. The
next instant he held out his hand to Theodore, saying, "Thou
hast saved my child! Well and truly did yon holy man
declare, that the safety of myself and of my race depended
upon him whom I should first meet, as I marched against the
Romans; and that the first act of forbearance and mercy which
I showed, should be followed by benefits that I could never
repay. Ivor was that all. When you met me on the moun-
tain, young Roman, scarce a week since, that same old man,
gazing from the brink of the Everlasting, and beholding
the future like a valley at his feet, traced out the after-life of
this my youngest son. He should escape from mighty perils,
the Prophet said, and be the last who should survive to carry
on my race. Has he not now escaped from mighty peril by
thine aid ? and though it was foredoomed, deep and heartfelt
is the gratitude which I owe thee, for saving the life of this my
boy, at the immediate hazard of thine own. Attila thanks thee,
and will keep the memory of this deed in his heart. I have
called thee my son, oh Theodore, and shalt thou not be unto
me a son indeed? Ay, and a well-beloved son too, only
next in place to him whom thou hast rescued from untimely
death."

uIam still thy debtor, oh Attila," replied Theodore ; "once
hast thou spared me, when I intruded on thy territories; twice
hast thou saved my life, knowing me to be a Roman, and an
enemy; and I have only rescued this fair boy, whom I would
have saved as unhesitatingly if he had been the son of tha
poorest warrior in the Hunnish ranks;" and as he spoke, he he!4150

ATTILA.

out his hand towards the youth, who had advanced nearly to
his father's side, and who seized it eagerly, and clasped it with
a grateful gesture to his heart.

u Let mutual benefits bind us to each other, my son," said
Attila. u I loved thee from the moment my eyes lighted
upon thee. Whether it was a feeling sent by the gods to tell
me that I should owe thee much, I know not, but I loved
thee then, and how much more do I love thee now ? Thou
shalt find that though those who unjustly oppose the will of
Attila, injure his friends, or insult his people, die by the
death they merit, yet those who risk their lives in the defence
of him or his are not forgotten in the time of gratitude. But
come thou with me. We march by slow journies, that the
host may diminish as we cross the land; to-morrow, how-
ever, I shall sit once more in mine own seat. Come, then,
with me, and spend this night in our camp, to-morrow we will
find another place of repose."

Thus saying, the monarch mounted; a fresh horse was
soon found for the boy Ernac ; and Theodore followed by the
side of the youth, who, talking to him eagerly in the Hun-
nish tongue, thanked him over and over again with simple
sincerity for the service which had been rendered to him.
There was something noble and frank in the manners of the
boy ; and as they went, he told his deliverer how the whole
of that day's adventure had come about; how he had gone
forth from the palace four or five days before to meet
his father on the march homeward; and how in that day's
hunting he had been stationed near the river's brink to watch
for the smaller game as it was driven down to the water; and
then, when the urus appeared, how he had fancied he would
please Attila by killing such a gigantic beast as that. He
dwelt, too, on all he felt when he found his horse slain, and
himself at the mercy of the enraged monster, and Theodore
experienced a double pride and pleasure in having saved so
promising a child.

From time to time, as they rode on, the young Roman cast
his eyes around, and listened somewhat anxiously for the
coming of his own attendants, fearing that they might seek
for him long in those dark woods. Cremera, however,
he had seen amongst those who stood around when he rose
from his contest with the wild bull; and he doubted not
that the others would soon gain some knowledge of the path
he had taken, from those who had been left to bring away the
body of his huge antagonist, as a trophy of the sylvan war.

He mentioned that he had missed his attendants, however,
to his young companion Ernac, who laughed with boyish glee
at his apprehensions, adding, " Oh, they will find you ere anATTILA.

151

hour be over. We Huns have ways of tracing our way
through the thickest forests that you Romans do not under-
stand ;" and the proud emphasis which a mere boy laid upon
u We Huns," showed Theodore how strong had become the
national pride of the people under the victorious reign
of Attila, though he could not but feel painfully, at the
same time, the deep contempt which had fallen upon the
once tremendous name of Rome. Ernac's anticipations,
however, in regard to the attendants, did not prove false;
for as the hunting train of the dark monarch rode on through
the wilds, every now and then Theodore perceived the person
of one of his own followers appearing between the trees, and
taking their place amongst the rest. Attila proceeded slowly,
and as he rode on spoke to no one, except when he turned,
and with an unwonted smile of fond paternal love, addressed
a few words to his rescued boy.

At length, towards evening, they emerged from the forest;
and entering one of the plains, which here and there diver-
sified the country, they approached once more the wild and
extraordinary scene presented by a Hunnish camp. At
a considerable distance Theodore could see it as it lay upon
the slope of one of the uplands, with the dusky millions
moving about in their various occupations, with a bustling,
whirling activity, like ants in one of the large ant-hills
of that very land. As they approached nearer, the different
masses seemed to separate; and the camp assumed the same
appearance—with its fires and circles of waggons—that it had
presented when Theodore before beheld it in the Roman
territory.

Approaching the central circle, which formed the abode of
Attila, the monarch turned towards the young Roman, saying,
"You follow me!" and passing on, he led the way within
the boundary.

The space enclosed for the monarch's own dwelling was
large, and filled with a number of Huns, busy in various
preparations. A change, however, seemed to have come over
the tastes of Attila since his successful invasion of the Roman
territory, for many more of the external marks of dignity of
station surrounded his abode. In the midst of the circle, too,
stood a magnificent tent, which had evidently once belonged
to one of the luxurious generals of the Eastern empire, but
which was now surmounted by the same black eagle that
ornamented the standards of the Huns. Thither Attila
himself proceeded, while all made way for his footsteps with
looks of awe and respect, not servile, not timid, but seeming
only the expression of heartfelt reverence for the daring
courage, the powerful genius, the mighty mind, which Nature152

ATTILA*

had implanted in the breast of him whom the accident oi
birth had made a king.

Theodore paused, and looked to the boy Ernac, who
seemed to understand his doubts at once, and replied to them
by saying, u Yes, stay you here, and make your people get
you provisions! I will go in to my father, and see what
is his will with regard to you ; but I must wait till he speaks
to me, for I dare not address him first."

The young Roman was by this time sufficiently accustomed
to the manners of the Huns, to make himself at home
amongst them, without uneasiness or restraint; and pro-
ceeding nearly to the verge of the circle, he lay down upon
the ground, while the Huns who accompanied him, and who
had by this time separated themselves from the followers
of the monarch, lighted a fire, and sought for provisions in
the camp.

He gave himself up to a fit of musing, regarding the events
of the day, and the difference of his own feelings now, com-
pared with what they had been but a few months before. At
that time, when he at first met Attila—though he had expe-
rienced on beholding him, even before he was aware of his
name and station, sensations which he could not define—he
had regarded the monarch of the Huns but as the talented
chief of numerous barbarian hordes. Now he felt hourly
creeping over him more and more of that same kind of awe
with which the various nations under his command seemed
uniformly to regard their chief; and Theodore tried to inves-
tigate in what consisted that peculiar power which was pro-
ducing such an impression, gaining such an ascendancy over
a mind not unconscious of vigour, activity, and brightness.
He revolved the words, the conduct of Attila, in every
respect, and he could attribute this effect to nothing, were it
not to the combination of many great and powerful qualities,
seldom united in one man, but, as it were, all cemented
together in the mind of Attila by a certain calm, deliberate
sternness, which never left him except in the fiercest fury of
the sanguinary strife. His every thought seemed stern; am?
the unshaken and extraordinary calmness which he possessed
on all occasions, appeared to give him instant and perfect
command over all the powerful talents which he possessed.
There could be no such thing as doubt or hesitation in
his nature ; and to that godlike certainty of purpose Theodore
attributed the power over the minds of others which he
so singularly possessed.

While he thus lay musing, forgetful of the scene around
him, a sudden step woke him from his reverie ; and the next
moment, his former antagonist, Ardaric, king of the Gepidae,ATTILA*

153

cast his huge bulk down upon the ground beside him,
" Well, my friend," he said, looking upon the countenance
of Theodore, and running his eye over the limbs of the
youth, manly and strong as they were, but still infinitely
inferior in muscular strength to his own, "Well, my friend,
when last we met it was in deadly strife ; and now, in calm
friendship, after our contest is over. I love the brave,
whether they be enemies or not: and when the boy Ernac,
who is not unlike thee in face and manners, told me thou
wert here, I resolved to come and see thee, that I might dis-
cover, if I could, how one who seemed to me but a stripling,
could give me more trouble in the combat than a whole
cohort of his countrymen. I cannot understand it, even now,
for thou art very young, and certainly not yet in strength
mine equal. Thou art more active, perhaps, but that
will not do everything. However, let us not talk of strife !
I come to eat and drink with thee, that the bond of hospitable
union may be strong between us."

" Gladly will I make it so, noble Ardaric," replied Theo-
dore. " The generous and noble soon become friends,
whenever they cease to be enemies. You spared my life
when you might have taken it, and I will love you not a bit
the less because you vanquished me."

"I spared you not, good youth, for your own sake,"
replied Ardaric, frankly; "I spared you for the sake of
Attila, my friend. I would have slain you at the next blow,
had it not been for him; for at that moment my blood was
heated. You had, with your own hand, killed three of my
people, and I had not time nor coolness to think, just then,
that you were a brave youth, and a noble spirit, and that it
were a pity to cut you off so soon. I may have thought
so since ; and from my heart I forgive you for thinning our
ranks of two or three of those startled foxes, who lied before
you when you burst among them, as if they thought you
must be some evil demon, to dare, with but two comrades, to
attack a whole tribe."

" You held as prisoners, noble Ardaric," replied Theodore*
u those whom I valued far more than life itself; and my only
calculation was, how long I could bar the way against you
warriors, while those I sought to save effected their escape."

" I thought so," rejoined the King of the Gepidse, " 1
thought so: and now I hear that your mother and that fair
girl—who is not your sister—are amongst your kinsmen
of the Alani. Why go you not to see them?"

"Because," replied Theodore, "I have promised to stay
with Attila for full seven years."

" Oh, he will give you leave to go," replied Ardaric.154

ATTILA.

"Use him but nobly, and Attila i3 ever kind and generoii^
He will give you leave to go. When first he speaks to you,
lead you the conversation to your wishes; and besides,"
added the chief, with a grave and warning look, " I think it
may be better for you to be absent from this land for a brief
space. Bleda, the brother of the monarch, loves you not.
He is ambitious; and men scruple not to say, amongst the
leaders of nations who obey and accompany the great King,
that his hatred towards you proceeds from some idle pro-
phecy, which combines the safety of Attila with thine. I say
not that he would slay his brother; but he would little
scruple, men affirm, to take away the life of one whose
existence was important to the monarch's safety. I believe
not in such prophecies," added Ardaric, after a pause of
/thought,—" I believe not in such prophecies, but Attila and
Bleda, and many others, do. They think that a man's destiny
is fixed and known long before his birth ; that every little act
which he performs is but one part of a great necessity ; and,
that such being the case, the gods give intimation of what
they have already determined to certain men peculiarly
chosen for that purpose. I believe, on the contrary, that
everything takes place by accident; and that if the gods
interfere at all with what we do, it is but to drive us on again
upon our way, as a herd does to a stray bull that wanders
from the drove. I put no faith in such prophecies; and I see
that even those who do, strive as much to have their own
way .against destiny, as those who think that there is no such
thing. Now, Bleda would take your head to-morrow, in
order to put his brother's fate out of joint; and Ellac, they
say, has no great love for you, though he be Attila's son.
But his hatred proceeds merely from overbearing pride. He
loves his father, and would not injure him ; but he likes not
that Attila should favour or promote any one but himself."

" I will take care to give him no offence," replied Theodore.
" I seek no promotion at Attila's hands, because, as a Roman,
I can receive none. His love, I believe, I already possess,
but Ellac will not envy me that, when he finds that it is fol-
lowed by no benefits demanded or conferred."

" It is therefore, I say," answered Ardaric, " that it would
be well for you to be absent from this land for a short space.
Bleda's ambition will not let him rest, though Attila thinks
that he has sated him with honours and with spoil. But the
grave, and ambition, and avarice are insatiable. Bleda's am-
bition will not let him rest, I say ; and these things will come
to an end ere many months be over ! But here come thine
attendants and mine loaded with food, far more than we need[»
yet let us partake."ATTILA.

155

There was something so frank and noble in the bearing of
Ardaric, that Theodore was not unwilling to possess his
friendship ; but scarcely had they tasted the meal placed be-
fore them, when a messenger from Attila called the young
Roman to his presence. Without delay, he followed the
Hun to the tent of the monarch, whom he found with Ernac,
his youngest son, alone.

Attila was seated on a rude bench, and clothed in the
simplest garments of his race; but yet there was still that in-
describable calm dignity which, perhaps, had greater and
more extraordinary effect from the harshness of his features,
and the want of accurate proportion in his limbs. He greeted
Theodore kindly, and made him sit down beside him; and
once more touching upon the events of the morning, he spoke
of the skill and dexterity, as well as strength and courage,
which were required in hunting the wild bull, saying that
few but the most powerful and the most daring of their own
practised hunters were at all competent to meet that ferocious
beast when brought to bay. He asked where Theodore had
learned his skill in the chase ; and the youth's answer, inform-
ing him how long he had remained with the family of his
brother Bleda, threw the monarch into a fit of musing.

" Then thou hast never quitted the territory of the Huns
since thou didst first enter it ? " demanded Attila.

" Never, oh King," replied the young Roman. " I plighted
my word to thee that I would not."

" Not in a direct manner," answered Attila; 44 and I
thought that strong temptation might have led thee to the
land of the Alani. I would not inquire: it sufficed me that
thou hadst returned."

"My word, oh King," answered Theodore, "whether di-
rectly or indirectly given, is never violated. That which I
have knowingly implied, that will I execute, as willingly and
punctually as if I had sworn to perform it. Many a time did
I inquire for tidings from the land of the Alani; but though
I gained none, I never dreamed of going. I would not even
write, though I thought once of doing so, and sending it by
one of those who followed me."

" And why not write?" demanded Attila.

"Because," replied Theodore, "coming as I did, a stranger
to thy land, and seeing, as I did see, that it was left without
defence, that there were few but old men, or women, or chil-
dren remaining in the country—for I had not yet come on
hither—seeing all this, I would not, even by sending a mes-
senger from thy territories to a nation which has daily com-
munication with the Gauls, give thee just cause to say that156

ATTILA.

thou hadsfc trusted me, and I had betrayed thy undefended
country to JEtius and his legions."

44 Thou art wise and honest," rejoined Attila; " and thine
honesty shall win full reliance. Hast thou never longed to
see those once more whom thou didst part from so sadly be-
tween the Margus and the Danube?"

uHave I longed?" exclaimed Theodore. 44 Oh king!
many and many has been the night that, after the hardest
day's hunting, I have passed without the soft finger of sleep
touching mine eyelids, thinking deeply of those dear friends
of mine early youth, and thirsting to behold them again, as
the weary traveller in the desert thirsts for a draught of
water from the well-remembered fountain in his own domestic
hall. It has been my dream by night, when slumber has shut
out the world's realities. It has been my dream by day,
when thought has wandered on from objects present, to a
world of her own, with hope and imagination for her guides.
Oh, how I have longed to see them once again!" and, clasp-
ing his hands together, the youth fixed his eyes upon the
ground, and seemed to plunge into the visions happiness
which his words called up.

44 Thou shalt go," said Attila, 44 and taste the joy for which
thou hast pined. Yet rest with me two days, in order that
my brother Bleda may betake himself to his own abode, and
leave the path open to thee without danger. Not that I think
he would hurt thee now: he is sated with plunder and with
conquest. Nevertheless it were as well to wait; for though
he left the camp this morning to bend his steps homeward,
yet he goes but slowly, and his followers are not safe. Still,
thou shalt go after two days are at an end. Go, Ernac, my
son, and learn from Onegisus if any of the followers of thine
uncle Bleda are still in the camp."

The boy departed without a word, and Theodore remained
with Attila, who proceeded to fix the time within which he
bound Theodore to limit his absence. 44 The full moon will
see thy departure," he said, 44 and she shall once fill up her
crescent during thine absence; but ere the second time of her
fulness thou shalt return, dr thou art false to Attila. Wert
thou to stay longer, the snows would impede thy return; and
in the long evenings of the winter I would have thee here, for
I might seek to hold discourse with thee upon the state and
changes of thy native land. Thou art one who, having
guarded his honesty in dishonest times and amidst dishonest
people, deserve that thy words should find attention."

Almost as he spoke, his son Ernac returned, saying, " Bleda
is gone, my father, and all his followers, except his householdattila.

157

slaves, who follow by day-break in the morning, with Zercon
his black jester. I saw the foul slave myself; and he said
his master had gone away so quickly, because, having taken
so much plunder from those who were weaker than himself,
he feared to be left with those who were stronger, lest they
should begin the game again."

" Thou saidest nothing of this youth's journey, I trust,"
said Attila.

"Nothing," replied the boy. "But when Zercon asked
me if the Roman youth were still here, I answered yes, but
that he would not be here long."

" Unwisely answered, my son," said Attila: Ubut it matters
not; I will send those with him who can protect him. Thou
shalt lead back a troop of the Alani to their own land," he
continued, turning to Theodore; "and in the meanwhile
keep near my person. Take thy place beside Edicon as we
march to-morrow, and now sleep you well. Ernac, where is
thine eldest brother? Has he left the camp already, after
having so lately joined it?"

Theodore wa3 departing as the monarch spoke; but ere he
had quitted the tent, he had heard the boy's reply. "No,
my father," answered Ernac: " he has gone a short way on
the road with my uncle Bleda."

A slight shade came over Attila's brow; but Theodore was
not sorry to hear that two men who were certainly his enemies
were absent for a time from the camp, and rejoining his own
followers, he lay down to sleep in peace, followed by the happy
hope of soon seeing again those whom he loved best on earth.

CHAPTER XXI.

In the audience hall of the rustic palace of Attila, towards
the middle of the subsequent day, were assembled the chiefs
of all the different nations he commanded; and at once
strange and brilliant was the display of wild, but rich and
picturesque attire which there presented itself. The gold and
silver of conquered nations, the trinkets and precious stones
of many a plundered palace, were mingled with the shining
steel and rich furs of tne conquerors; and scarcely could the
luxurious court of those famed eastern monarchs, whose
effeminate splendour had become a by-word in the world,
exceed in the blaze of gems and gold the hall of the dark
monarch of the Huns. But in the midst of all, and distin-
guished from all by the perfect simplicity of his garb, sat
Attila himself, with his large hand resting on the iron hilt of158

ATTILA.

his broad heavy sword. Kings of a hundred different nations
stood around, gazing with awe and veneration upon that dark
plain man, and acknowledging in every look and gesture the
mighty influence of superior intellect. Beside these, on either
hand were placed the many sons and the favourite friends of
the monarch: amongst the last appeared Onegisus, Edicon,
and Theodore; and a number of slaves and attendants, co-
vered with barbarian ornaments, filled up the rest of the wide
space.

What had passed before needs not description; but at the
moment we now speak of, a mesenger from the weak Theo-
dosius was brought into the presence of the King, with the
aspect of a trembling slave approaching an offended master.
Attila gazed upon him sternly as he came near; and Theodore
felt the indignant blood rush up into his cheeks, as he wit-
nessed the degradation of his country.

"Art thou of what thy nation calls of patrician rank?"
demanded Attila, when the ambassador, with his forehead
almost bending to the ground, had approached within two
steps of the monarch.

" Alas, no," he answered; " I am but the humblest slave of
Attila the king."

" If thou art my slave, thou art happier than I believed
thee to be," replied Attila; "for to be the slave of a slave is
a humbler rank than any that we know on this side of the
Danube. Yet such thou art, if thou art the servant of Theo-
dosius. How dares he," continued the King, fixing his keen
black eyes fiercely upon him, " how dares he to send any but
the noblest in his land to treat with him who sets his foot
upon his neck? 'T is well for thee that thou art but a ser-
vant, and that therefore we pardon thee, otherwise hadst thou
died the death, for daring to present thyself before me. But
now, get thee gone!—Yet stay! Edicon, we will that thou
shouldst accompany him back to the vicious city of Theo-
dosius, the womanly king of an effeminate nation. Thou
shalt go into his presence and say unto him, i How is it that
thou hast been so insolent as to send any of blood less noble
than thine own, even to lick the dust beneath the feet of
Attila? As thou hast so done, thou shalt be exiled again by
the same hand that has smitten thee; for Attila, the King, thy
master and mine, bids thee prepare a place for him.' Thus
shalt thou speak—in these words and no others!"

" Oh king! I will obey thee to a word," replied Edicon.
"When wilt thou that I set out!"

"Ere the earth be three days older," answered Attila;
"take that Roman slave from my presence; to see him offends
mine eye. Now, what tidings from my brother Bleda?" heATTCLA.

159

continued, turning to a warrior who stood near, dressed in
glittering apparel.

" He greets thee well, oh king! and bids me tell thee that,
after resting in his own dwelling for a space, he will lead his
warriors towards the banks of the Aluta, if thou dost not
need his services against thine enemies."

Attila turned his eyes towards Ardaric, who cast his down,
and smoothed back the beard from his upper lip.

uFortune attend him," said the monarch; "and thou
mayest tell him, my friend, that as he will be in the neigh-
bourhood of the revolted Getae, he had better, if his time
permit, reduce them to a wise and bloodless submission, other-
wise Attila must march against them himself, and this hand
strikes but once. Bid good fortune attend him, and wisdom
guide him in all his actions!"

Attila placed a peculiar emphasis on his words, but his
countenance underwent no variation. Such, however, was not
the case with the chiefs who stood around, on the brows of
many of whom Theodore had remarked a cloud gather at the
announcement of Bleda's purposes; and they now heard the
reply of their great leader with a grim but not insignificant
smile. The young Roman could not, it is true, divine the
secret causes of all that he saw; but the conversation of Ar-
daric on the preceding evening led him to believe that Bleda
was hurrying on in his hopeless schemes of ambition, and that
he would soon be plunged into open contention with his far
more powerful brother. With all the feelings of a Roman yet
strong within him, Theodore could hardly regret the prospect
of a struggle which might divide and occupy the enemies of
his native country; but still he felt a degree of sorrowful
regret that all the high and noble qualities of the barbarian
king should not have been enough to win the love, or overawe
the ambition, of his inferior brother.

When the messenger of Bleda had departed, Theodore
himself was called before the king. The object of Attila was
but to give him permission to begin his journey on the fol-
lowing morning; but as this was the first time that the young
Roman, whose undaunted bearing had busied the tongue of
rumour in the camp, had appeared before the monarch in the
presence of the Hunnish chiefs, many an eye was turned to
watch his demeanour, some of the leaders looking upon him
with jealousy, as having suddenly started into a place in
Attila's favour, some gazing with ready admiration upon one
who had so early obtained that renown which is dear to every
noble heart.

Whatever might be the feelings with which Theodore ap-
proached the powerful chief on whom his fate so entirely de100

ATTILA.

pended, he would not for an empire have shown before the
eyes of the barbarians the slightest sign of fear or awe.
Grave and respectful his demeanour certainly was; but when
he had advanced before the seat of Attila, and bowed his
head as a token of reverence due to his power and station,
he raised his eyes full to the dusky countenance of him who
spoke, and endured the gaze of those eyes before which so
many mighty quailed, without withdrawing his own. When
the monarch had concluded his commands, Theodore again
bowed: his head and withdrew; and though, as he passed, he
heard Ellac, the eldest son of Attila, who had by this time
returned, say something concerning " the crafty Roman," he
suffered not the insulting word to disturb the joy which his
approaching journey already bestowed.

Hope, like a kind parent, reaches up the cliff and gathers
for us the flowers long ere our own slow childish efforts can
attain them; and Theodore was already revelling in joys
which were yet afar, in that vague uncertain future. He spent
the day in happiness; and after a night given up to waking
dreams, far brighter than even the fair magician, Fancy, could
have called up in the phantasmagoria of sleep, he rose with
the first grey streak»of dawn, and set out to realise the visions.

It was a dull and heavy morning, with the white veil of
clouds rolled round the summits of the distant mountains,
and flying showers passing frequently over the plains; but ate
the young horseman proceeded, at the head of near two hun-
dred of the Alan horsemen, whom Attila, on the pretence of
sending them to their own homes, had given him in fact as a
guard, his heart was too light and joyful to feel or know that
the brow of nature was overcast. His eye might roll over
the mountains plunged in mists; or over the forests, where
the pattering rain was seen falling amidst the autumnal leaves;
or over the plain and along the meadows, where a hazy white-
ness rested a few feet above the general level: but the mind's
eye was in other lands and on other scenes; and, for the time,
even his corporeal faculties seemed to correspond with the
mental vision alone. It is scarcely too much to say that he
knew not the morning was not fine.

Following on the banks of the Tibiscus for a long way,
Theodore and his companions sought in vain for fords; for
the heavy rain which had fallen during the preceding night
had swelled the river, which rushed on in haste, a brown dis-
coloured mass of hurried waters, towards the Danube. Night
fell ere they had succeeded, and the early moon burst put and
swept the clouds away. Choosing some sandy soil for their
night's encampment, Theodore and his own immediate atten-
dants sat round one fire, while the Alans, following the prac-ATTIIA.

161

tice of the Huns, lighted several others; and, though the
young Roman was again long ere he slept, yet at length plea-
sant dreams blessed his eyes, and daylight was already pour-
ing on the world when he awoke. It was the bustle of
preparation which aroused him, and he found all nearly ready
to depart.

Looking round as he was about to spring upon his horse,
he missed a face that was seldom absent from his side.
" Where is Cremera?" he demanded of those who stood
near.

" He went at day-break," they replied, " to see if he could
find a ford farther down the river. He said that he would
not be long, but he has not yet returned."

" Then we must trace down the river till we find him," re-
plied Theodore; and mounting his horse he led the way
slowly along the banks of the Tibiscus. An hour went by,
and then another, but Cremera did not appear. The woods
which swept over the neighbouring country, and which every
here and there approached within a few hundred yards of the
river, though not thick, afforded quite sufficient covering to
have concealed the Arab, if he had taken his way back to the
sleeping place by some of the forest paths; and such, Theo-
dore became convinced, had been the case, as the third hour
went by, and the freedman had not rejoined them. Toward
the end of that period, however,4hey found a ford, and halted
on the margin in expectation of his coming; for his young
master could not help feeling it extraordinary that one so
quick and rapid in all his decisions as the Arab was, should
not long before have discovered that the whole troop had
gone on, and overtaken them as they rode.

As more time passed, and he appeared not, Theodore be-
came uneasy, and the memory of the faithful African's zeal,
and affection, and services came in full stream upon his heart.
At length, bidding the Alani cross the ford and wait for him
at the other side, he turned back with his little troop of Huns,
and rode swiftly along, spreading out his men through the
woods on the right, and, as was customary amongst them,
keeping up his communication with them by cries of various
conventional import.

Thus they had proceeded for more than an hour and a
half, though they rode much more quickly than before; and
they had nearly reached the spot whence they set forth in the
morning, when Theodore heard one of his followers in the
wood give the peculiar shout which was understood to express
a desire for all the companions of him who uttered it, to halt.
The next instant the man appeared at the verge of the wood,
beckoning eagerly to the young Roman.

I*162

ATTILA.

Riding up with a sinking heart, Theodore eagerly asked
what he had found. The man made no other reply than,
" Come hither! come hither!" with an expression of counte-
nance which did not serve to allay the Roman's apprehensions.
Ten steps brought him into a little gap in the wood; and
what was his horror to behold the gigantic form of the faith-
ful African stretched out between two trees, with one hand
nailed to each, so as to keep him in an erect position.* His
head, fallen forward on his chest, showed that life was quite
extinct, and a number of arrows left in the body spoke the
cruel and painful death which he must have died.

With a heart full of grief and indignation, Theodore ap-
proached the body with his companion; but while they gazed
upon it, wondering who could have committed so horrible a
deed, another of the young Roman's followers came up gallop-
ing through the trees at Ml speed. Ere he could speak dis-
tinctly, however, the cause of his quick approach became
evident. Other Hunnish horsemen appeared, whose faces
were unknown to the young Roman; men on foot came glid-
ing through the wood, and Theodore, with his two followers,
found themselves surrounded by at least a hundred fierce-look-
ing strangers, whose purpose was scarcely doubtful.

They rushed in upon him suddenly and without speaking;
and as he drew his sword to take some vengeance at least be-
fore he died the same death as the unhappy freedman, one of
those on foot sprang upon his horse's back behind, and em-
Darrassed his arm by clinging closely to him. He was then
overpowered in a moment. His two Hunnish followers made
no resistance to the overwhelming force which surrounded
them, but only remonstrated loudly and rapidly, threatening
the vengeance of Attila. Their captors, however, answered
only by a scoff; and Theodore could hear the name of Bleda
pronounced as authority sufficient for the act they had com-
mitted.

At that name, the prospect of immediate death presented
itsell more strongly than ever; and though he nerved his
mind to bear with unshrinking fortitude the same dreadful lot
which had fallen to the unfortunate Cremera, yet even then,
in the dark moment of approaching fate, the memory of those
he loved—whom he might never see again, and whom he left
all alone and unprotected in the wide and perilous world—-
came thrilling through his heart, inflicting, by anticipation,
the worst of all death's pangs. When once he found that he
could not resist effectually, he suffered his captors to do with

* Crucifixion, which we have reason to believe one of the most ago-
nising kinds of death, was one of the common punishments amongst the
Huns.ATTILA.

163

him whatsoever they pleased; but he found, to his surprise,
that they did not take him from his horse, contenting them-
selves with tying his bands and arms tightly behind his bad
with thick thongs of leather; and it soon became evident
that, if their intention still was to put him to death, they would
choose another hour.

Hitherto the young Roman had not spoken; b.ut when at
length they took the bridle of his horse, and were about to lead
him away, he turned his eyes upon the body of Cremera,
saying to one who seemed the leader of the troop, u Will ye
not give him burial, at least?"

u No!" replied the Hun fiercely. u No! Did he not dare
to raise his hand against our lord and king ? No! There shall
he stay, till from his bones the vultures and the crows shall
have picked away his flesh: the toad, and the lizard, and the
snail shall crawl over his feet, while the carrion-eater comes
down from the heavens, and takes its daily meal upon his car-
case. Such, too, shall be thy fate ; but it is first needful that
Bleda the king should see thee, that he may devise how to
punish thee as thou meritest."

a I fear not death," replied Theodore, " and can bear pain;
but of this I am sure, I shall not die unavenged. Attila will
avenge me, even of his brother."

"If he can," replied the Hun; "but perchance the day of
Attila's power is gone by."

Theodore replied not, but suffered them to lead him whither-
soever they pleased. At first they proceeded slowly, looking
to the young Roman from time to time; but seeing that he
sat his horse as well as before, although his hands were tied,
they soon got into a quicker pace, which increased to a gallop
when they reached the open plains. After crossing one of these,
they again came to a large tract of wood; and when they
issued forth once more, the sun, in setting, was pouring a flood
of light upon the blue eastern mountains, towards which their
course seemed bent. Theodore thought the features of the
scene were familiar to his eye; and, as they rode on, he felt
sure that a distant wood, which he saw stretching out into the
plain, was that on the verge of which was situated the dwell-
ing of Bleda. Night, however, came on rapidly; and ere
they came near the wood, the whole world was involved in
darkness.

At length they began to pass amongst the houses, and Theo-
dore became convinced that he had not been mistaken. All
was quiet as they rode on, for the early Huns had betaken
themselves to their dwellings; and it was only as he passed
along before the wide rambling building which formed the
dwelling of Bleda that Theodore heard the sounds of mirth164

ATTXLA.

and rude revelry proceeding from that apartment which he
knew to be the hall of the banquet. He was led along to the
further extremity of the building, and thrust into a chamber
which had evidently been destined for a place of confinement.
It, like the house, was all of wood; but no windows, except a
row of small apertures near the roof, appeared to admit air or
light; and across the outside of the door through which the
prisoner had entered, was cast, as his captors departed, a huge
beam of wood, which would have defied the strength of a
Hercules to shake it from within.

Theodore was left alone ; for the two Huns who had been
captured with him, and had been brought there at the same
time, were placed in some other chamber, perhaps from a fear
that they might assist him in escaping. All was darkness, for
neither food nor lamp was given to the prisoner; and, seating
himself upon the rude bench which he found at one side of
the room, Theodore spent the succeeding hours in momentary
anticipation of death, and in thoughts and regrets which
added fresh gall to the cup of bitterness.

Few were the sounds which disturbed his painful reveries;
for though from time to time the roar of barbarian merriment
echoed through the long passages, and found its way even to
the lonely chamber in which he was immersed, yet it came
faint and softened to his ear, and at length, after rising to a
louder pitch than before, suddenly ceased, and all was still.
Theodore listened to hear if those sounds would be renewed;
but deep silence seemed to reign over all the household, and
for two hours everything remained perfectly quiet.

At length a streak of light appeared above and below the
door, and a low murmuring sound reached the sharpened ear of
the prisoner. u It is a fit hour for death," he thought; and
the next moment he heard the heavy beam grate slowly and
gently against the walls, as it was removed from across the
door. The door itself was opened cautiously, and the deformed
head and shoulders of the negro jester, Zercon, were thrust
into the room. In one hand he held a lamp, and with the
forefinger of the other raised to his lips seemed to enjoin per-
fect silence.

He held up the lamp ere he entered fully, and looked round
the room with careful attention, as if he expected to see some
other tenant beside Theodore. Then, advancing rapidly, he
whispered in Greek," The lady Neva knows of your being here ;
I heard that you were taken, while I was in the hall, where
her fierce father was drinking; and as I had found out by her
face, when he talked of waylaying you yesterday, how it went
with her young heart, I told her all directly, and she is com-
ing to save you: but she sent me first to see if any of theATTILA,

165

guards remained with you, for the poor buffoon can venture,
in his folly, upon things that the clumsy wise man would spoil
if he touched—Hush! 1 hear her in the passage, or somebody
else;" and he advanced and looked out at the door, which he
had closed behind him as he had entered.

The next moment he made a sign with his hand—there was
a light footfall—the door was pushed further open, and with
an eager step the beautiful daughter of Bleda entered the
room, and stood before him she loved. She was very pale,
but that might proceed from apprehension; and yet there was
a devoted determination in those tender eyes, which told that
death itself would have no terrors if it lay in the path to save
the young Roman. She also carried a lamp in one hand, but
in the other she bore a naked dagger. Ere she spoke a word,
she set down the lamp upon the ground, and cut with a rapid
hand the thongs which bound the prisoner's arms.

" I knew," she said at length, " I knew that the time would
come when I should save you. Oh, Theodore! how I have
prayed for this hour!—But I must not waste it, now it has ar-
rived. Zercon! quick! see why t&at tardy slave, Ahac, has
not brought a horse. He would not betray me, surely. But
sooner than that he should deliver the Roman again to death,
drive thy dagger into his heart. I bid thee do it, and I will
abide what comes!"

The negro hastened to obey; and Neva gazed upon the
countenance of him whom she was risking so much to save,
with one of those looks of deep, unutterable affection, which
the very hopelessness of the passion from which it sprung
purified, dignified, sanctified even in its strong intensity. The
next moment, as Theodore was pouring forth his thanks to an
ear that seemed scarcely to hear them—so deeply was she oc-
cupied with the emotions of her own bosom—the sound of a
horse's feet was heard, led gently forward; and a smile of
triumphant pleasure played upon Neva's lip.

In another instant, however, it changed, as she thought that
horse was to bear him away, perhaps for ever. The tears
rose in her blue eyes, ran shining through the black lashes
that fringed them, and fell upon her cheek; and for one mo-
ment she hid her face upon the young Roman's bosom, and he
pressed her gently, gratefully in his arms, whispering words
of comfort and of thanks. But, suddenly raising her head,
she turned it away, while her hand still lingered in his, saying,
"Go! go! Tarry not longer. I have saved yon—that is
enough—I am happy. To know that I have saved you is
enough happiness for me through life. Go! go I every mo*
ment is precious!"

Theodore raised the hand he held to his lips, pressed upon it166

ATTILA.

one kiss of deep gratitude, dropped it, and quitted the chamber
which had been his prison. At the door stood Zercon, who led
him quickly forth to a spot where, amongst the grass, so that
his feet might not be heard, stood a horse, held by one of
the slaves, whom Theodore had seen when he was there
before.

"1 could have wished it had been my own horse," he said,
speaking to Zercon.

" Your own horse will never bear any one more," replied
the negro: " they slew him within an hour after they had
brought him hither."

Theodore could have wept; but without reply, he sprang
upon the horse, and shook his hand towards the dwelling of
Bleda.

"Follow yon star," continued Zercon, pointing to one near
the pole, " and ere morning thou shalt be among the mountains
that overhang the dwelling of Attila."

" I thank thee," replied Theodore, speaking to the negro—
" I thank thee, my friend: the time may come when I can
show thee my gratitude." Thus saying, he shook the bridle,
and urged the horse on at full speed, following exactly the
course which had been pointed out to him. Ere morning, he
beheld the waters of the Mariscus stretching out before him;
but knowing that the horses of the Huns possessed, either by
natural instinct, or had acquired by constant habit, the power
of distinguishing what rivers and what places they could swim
across, he rode the beast rapidly to the bank, and then left
the bridle upon his neck, in order that he might take to the
stream, or not, as he pleased. The horse, however, without
any sign of disinclination, ran down the bank, and waded into
the water. After pausing for a moment to drink, he advanced
still farther, and then, with a sudden plunge, began to swim,
though the stream was running somewhat rapidly. The deep
water was of no great extent, and the horse's hoofs soon struck
the ground. The bank was soon gained, and, apparently re-
freshed with the cool wave, the swift horse bore the young
Roman rapidly on his way.

The dawn was just breaking when he arrived at the foot of
the hills^ and by the time he had reached the top, the broad
light of day was shining over all the world. He saw, by one
of the peaks to the south, that he was several miles farther up
in the chain than the spot where he had before passed in the
neighbourhood of the two hermits. Pausing^ to breathe his
horse, he looked over the plain behind him, and could see, at
the distance of several leagues, what appeared to be a strong
body of horsemen, following rapidly on the very track he had
aken. There was no time to be lost; and, hurrying on, heATTCJiA.

167

reached the plains at the foot of the hill, not* paused again till
the flagging powers of his horse obliged him to stop in order
to give the animal food and repose.

He could well afford to rest, however; for even if the horse-
men he had seen were really in pursuit of him, yet the distance
at which they had appeared from the foot of the mountains,
and the difficulty of climbing those mountains themselves,
promised to afford him at least four hours of open time. His
horse fed, and then lay down to rest amongst the long grass,
and Theodore, in the latter respect at least, followed its
example; knowing how small an object might be discerned
from the tops of the mountains in that wide uncovered plain,
and trusting that, while hidden by the grass, his enemies, if
they came sooner than he expected, might miss his track, and
perhaps turn back disappointed. He kept his eye fixed, how-
ever, upon the ridge of the hills; and well it was he did so,
for, having taken, perhaps, an easier path than he had done,
his enemies did begin to appear upon the summits in less than
two hours after he had reached the base.

At first they could scarcely be distinguished from the rocks
amidst which they came forth on the top of the hills; but
soon the number of moving objects, which he beheld at one
particular point, showed the young Roman that as yet they
had followed but too successfully. For a time the pursuers
seemed to hesitate whether they should proceed any farther,
and he could see them lingering during several minutes, hang-
ing like a dark cloud upon the ridge of the mountain. At
length they began evidently to descend, and that moment
Theodore sprang upon his feet, roused his horse, which seemed
to have fallen asleep, and leaping into the saddle, galloped on
towards a wood that lay at the distance of three or four miles
before him.

As he came near, he beheld several small huts gathered to-
gether ; and, approaching them, he resolved to see if he could
procure a fresh horse in exchange for the weary one which
bore him. The name of Attila obtained what no bribe could
have gained. The head of the little tribe, leading out his own
horse, placed the rude bridle in Theodore's hand; and, once
more hurrying on his way, the young Roman, ere night fell,
saw the mountains and the woods that swept round the dwell-
ing of the King, and heard the rushing sound of the near
Tibiscus.

It was night when he arrived at the wide-spread village;
but all was peaceful within, and no guard or sentinel impeded
his way even to the porticos of the monarch's lowly abode.
A® he alighted, and approached the inner gates of the build-168

ATTILA.

ing, he was met by one of Attila's slaves, whom he had seen
more than once before, and who now told him that the King
had gone to rest.

44 He feared that you were slain," continued the man, 44 for
many of those who went hence with you but a few days ago
returned with speed this day, and declared that you had been
put to death. They are now at the dwelling where you were
lodged before, and will gladly see you living, for they thought
you dead."

The young Roman took his way to the house he had for-
merly inhabited; and the unaffected joy displayed by the rude
Huns who had been given him as attendants, on seeing him
again in life, compensated for some bitter pangs. Attilla's slaves
brought him provisions and wine, but he was too weary to
enjoy food, and, after a short and slight repast, he cast himself
down to rest.

The image of his faithful Cremera, however, rose up before
his eyes, and for some time banished sleep. His noble horse,
too, though less in the scale of regret, was not without its share
of painful recollection. 44 The two last friends," he thought,
44 who accompanied me from my native home to this barbarian
land, have in one day been taken from me, and I am alone—
without one being near me who has any memories in common
with mine own." Fatigue at length prevailed, and he slept.
Early on the following morning he was roused by a summons
to the presence of the King, and at the gate of the palace he
beheld a numerous train of horsemenr waiting as if prepared
for a journey.

Attilla himself was seated beneath the porch, and beside
him stood Ardaric and another kingly leader, whom Theodore
afterwards learned to be Yalamir, king of the Ostrogoths,
with several other chiefs of inferior power. The brows of all
were clouded, with the exception of that of Attila, which wore
the same stern, calm aspect that so seldom quitted it.

44 Thou hast been impeded on thy way, my son," said the
monarch, slowly,44 one of thy faithful followers slain, and thou
thyself carried away to the dwelling of my unwise brother,
Bleda; so some who returned hither reported to me yester-
day. Did he set thee free, after having, as he thought, suf-
ficiently insulted his brother ? Or didst thou escape ? "

441 escaped, oh King! during the night," replied Theodore;
but not knowing what might be the conduct of Attila, he re-
frained from telling how his escape had been accomplished,
lest the share which Neva and Zercon had had therein might
reach the ears of Bleda. 441 escaped during the night, and
liave been keenly pursued, even across the mountains."ATTtLA.

m

Attila rolled his dark eyes round to the faces of all the
different leaders near, with a slight compression of the lips,
which marked that he was moved more than usual.

"And thy faithful Arab is dead, then 5 is it not so?" de-
manded the king.

"Alas! so it is, oh King!" replied Theodore: "nailedby
the two hands to two separate trees, I found him piereed witn
arrows by the banks of the river, some two hours'journey on
this side of the first ford. There any one may see him, for
they have denied him even the shelter of the grave."

Attila folded his arms upon his wide chest, and gazed for a
moment upon Theodore in silence: 44 Wouldst thou still pursue
thy journey," he asked at length,44 after such misfortunes on
the way ? "

44 If it may be pursued at all with life, I would fain pursue
it," answered Theodore.

44 It may be pursued with safety," said the monarch. 44 In
thy case, Attila's protection has been twice insulted—it shall
not be so a third time. None but a brother dared do what
has been done; but even a brother has gone too far. If thou
wouldst go on thy way, join, with thy followers, in less than
an hour, those warriors who stand around the gate. They
will conduct thee by the higher country to the land of thy
kindred; and I swear by mine own heart, that those who stay
you, going or returning, were it even by a willow wand across
your path, I will smite from the face of the earth, and lay
their dwellings level with the sand, and sell their wives and
children unto slavery. Now make ready quickly, and pro-
ceed !''

Theodore failed not to obey; and in as short a space of time
as possible, he was once more upon horseback, and on his way
towards the west.

CHAPTER. XXII.

Across wide plains, through deep solitudes, amidst dim woods,
over gigantic mountains, by the banks of the stream, and the tor-
rent, and the lake, amongst the occasional ruins left upon the
footsteps of ancient civilisation and the scattered villages of bar-
barian hordes, Theodore once more pursued his way. Every kind
of scene but that of the cultivated city met his eye, and every kind
of weather that the changeful autumn of a northern land can
display accompanied him on his path. The splendid October
sunshine, beaming clear and kind upon the earth, like the
tempered smile of a father looking in mellow ripeness of years
upon his rising offspring; the flitting shadows of the heavy
clouds as they swept by ever the landscape, resembling the170

ATTILA.

gloomy cares and apprehensions which sometimes cross the
brightest moments of enjoyment; the dull misty deluge
pouring down from morning until night, without interval or
cessation, shutting out all prospects, and promising no brighter
time, like the hopeless existence of but too many of the sons
of toil; the brief and angry thunder-storm, rending the
stoutest trees, like the fierce passing of war or civil contention,
all visited him by turns, as he journeyed onwards from the banks
of the Tibiscus, till he once more joined the Danube, at a spot
where, shrunk to a comparatively insignificant stream, it flowed
on between the countries now called Bavaria and Austria.

It was on one of those dim uncertain days, when all distant
objects are shut out from the sight, that he crossed the river
a little above its junction with the Inn, and entered upon the
open, country of Bavaria. Nothing was to be seen but the
flat plain which stretches onward along the banks of the Inn;
and when, after halting for the night amidst some rude huts,
where the people seemed to speak the language of the Goths,
he recommenced his journey on the following morning, the
same dull cheerless prospect was all that presented itself,
stretched upon the grey background of broad unvaried cloud.
His companions had now been reduced to twenty, by the
larger party having left him as soon as he was free from
danger; and none but his own peculiar attendants accom-
panied him, except three officers of the household of Attila,
sent with authority from that mighty and far-feared monarch to
demand a free passage for the young Roman through what-
ever countries he might have to traverse. It was one of these
officers—who took care to show all kindly reverence towards a
youth who stood so high in the favour of the King—that now,
pointing forward to a little stream which flowed on to join the
Inn, informed the young Roman that along its banks was
settled the nation which he came to seek.

"And is this," thought Theodore, "this bleak wilderness
the destined habitation of my Ildica, nurtured in the lap of
ease and civilisation ? Is this flat unmeaning plain, bounded
by a grey cloud, all that is to greet her eyes, after the splen-
dours of the Adriatic shore, and the marvellous beauty of Sa-
lona ?" And with a deep sigh he thought of the regretted past.

Ere he had ridden on a quarter of an hour longer, however,
a light wind sprung up; and rising, like a curtain drawn
slowly up from before some picture of surpassing beauty, the
veil of clouds was lifted to the south, displaying as it rose,
robed in the magic purple of the mountain air, the wild but
splendid scenery of the Bavarian Tyrol.

A few moments more brought the young Roman to a con-
gregation of small wooden houses, not far from the first gentleATTILA.

171

slopes, that served to blend the plain with the highlands. A
fair girl, with whose face Theodore felt as if he could claim
kindred, paused, with a basket of milk in her hand, to gaze
upon the troop of horsemen who were passing by, but with-
out any sign of fear. Theodore asked her some questions
concerning the road, and she replied lightly and gaily, with
the milkmaid's careless glee, speaking the pure Alan tongue,
in accents that made the young Roman's heart thrill again to
hear. He rode gladly on his way, assured by those tones
that he was at length once more in the same land with her he
loved. That land, he knew, was of no very great extent, and
therefore he had not any cause to anticipate a long and pain-
ful search; but still the eager thirst with which young affec-
tion pants towards its object, made him anxious not to lose a
single moment in any unnecessary delay; and he determined,
as they wound onward towards the little capital of the moun-
tain tribe, to inquire, wherever he came, for the dwelling of
the Roman family, whose arrival in the land, he doubted not,
had excited no small rumour and attention.

There remained yet two hours to sunset, when, passing
through some gentle hills, Theodore suddenly found himself
on the banks of a small but beautiful lake, surrounded on
three sides by the mountains. The shore, at the spot where
he stood, was low and sandy, with here and there a fringe of
long reeds, mingling the water with the land, but on all the
other sides the banks were more abrupt. From the lake up
to the very sky, on those three sides, stretched the upland,
rising in different ranges, like Titan steps whereby to scale
the heavens, but divided at different angles by intervening
valleys, up which was seen the long blue perspective of inter-
minable hills beyond. The first step of that mountain throne,
carpeted as if with green velvet, by pastures still unem-
browned and rich, was covered with sheep and cattle feeding
in peace. Beyond that appeared a range, clothed with glow-
ing woods of oak, and elm, and beech, filled with the more
timid and gentle inhabitants of the sylvan world; while above,
tenanted by the wolf, the fox, and other beasts of prey,
stretched wide the region of the pine and fir; and, towering
over all, grey, cold and awful, rose the peaks of primeval
granite, with nothing but the proud eagle soaring between
them and heaven. Below, the lake, unruffled by a breeze, lay
calm and still, offering a mirror to the beauty of the scene,
where every line of picturesque loveliness was reflected with-
out a change, and every hue of all the varied colouring around,
from the rich brown of the autumnal woods, to the purple
of the distant mountains and the floods of amber and of rosef
that evening was pouring along the glowing sky.172	ATTtLA.

Upon the lower range of hills many a wooden cottage, neat
and clean, was to be seen; and several villages, peeping from
the first woods, varied the scene with the pleasant aspect of
intelligent life; and as, winding round the left shore, the
young Roman and his companions advanced towards a spot
at the other end of the lake where they proposed to pass the
night, a thousand new beauties opened out upon their sight.
Theodore gazed around, thinking, that here indeed he could
spend his days in peace; and, perhaps, he might envy the
shepherd boys that looked down upon him from low flat-
topped hills, under which he passed, or the women and girls,
who, sitting by the cattle at pasture, roused themselves for a
moment from their pleasant idleness to mark the troop of
horsemen passing by.

At length, upon the verge of a smooth meadow which
covered the summit of a steep green hill at the foot of the
higher mountains—jutting out, in the form of a small pro-
montory above the road he was pursuing, with the green edge
cutting sharp upon the blue mountain air beyond—he beheld
a group of people gathered together, apparently enjoying the
evening sunshine. Neither sheep nor cattle were near; and
though the dark lines of the figures, diminished by distance,
were all that Theodore could see as they stood on the clear
bright back-ground, yet in those very lines, and in the grace-
ful attitudes which the figures assumed as they stood or sat,
there was something so Grecian and classical, so unlike the
forms offered by a group of barbarians, that the heart of the
young Roman felt a thrill of hope which made it beat high.

Suddenly reining in his horse, he stopped to gaze; the glad
hope grew into more joyful certainty; and, without further
thought or hesitation, carried away by feelings which refused
control, he urged his horse at the gallop up the steep side of
the hill, nor paused, even for a moment, till he had reached
the summit. The Huns gazed with surprise from below, and
beheld him, when he had arrived at the top, spring from his
horse in the midst of the group, which had caught his atten-
tion, and with many an embrace and many a speaking gesture,
receive his welcome to the bosom of ancient affection.

"He has found his home!" they said to one another, as
they saw his reception; and, winding round by a more secure
path, they followed up to the summit of the hill, perceiving,
as they ascended, a number of beautiful mountain dwellings
congregated in the gorge of a ravine behind.

Oh, who can tell what were in the meantime the emotions
which agitated the group above! To Theodore it was the
fruition of a long-cherished hope. He held his Ildica in his
arms, he pressed her to his heart, he saw those dark andATT1LA.

173

lustrous eyes, swimming in the light of love's delicious tears,
gaze at him with the full passionate earnestness of unimpaired
affection; he tasted once more the breath of those sweet lips,
he felt once more the thrilling touch of that soft hand. She
was paler than when he had left her, but in her countenance
there was—or seemed in his eyes to be—a crowning charm
gained since he last had seen it. There was in its expression
a depth of feeling, an intensity of thought, which, though
softened and sweetened by the most womanly tenderness and
youthful innocence which human heart ever possessed, added
much to the transcendent beauty that memory had so often re-
called. In her form, too, there had been a slight change,
which had rendered the symmetry perfect without brushing
away one girlish grace. Flavia, too, had a part in his glad
feelings, as with the full measure of maternal tenderness she
held him in her arms, and blessed the day which gave him back
to those who loved him. Eudochia, also, over whose head
the passing months had fled, maturing her youthful beauty,
clung round her brother, and with eyes of joyful welcome
gazed silently up in his face.

Ammian was not there: gone, they said, to hunt the izzard
and wild goat amongst the highest peaks of the mountain;
but the slaves and freedmen who had followed Flavia still,
through every change of fortune, drew closer round, and with
smiling lips and sparkling eyes greeted the young Roman on
his return amongst them. It was not long ere his attendants
joined him; and as there was much to be inquired and much
to be told on all parts, Flavia speedily led the way to the
dwelling which she had obtained in the land of the Alani;
and Theodore, with Ildica's hand clasped in his, and Eudochia
hanging to his arm, followed to the little group of houses
which filled the gorge above.

Oh, what a change from the palace of Diocletian! the
marble columns, the resplendent walls, the sculptured friezes,
the rich wrought capitals! All was of woodwork, neat, clean,
and picturesque: spacious withal, and convenient, though
simple and unassuming. Within, Flavia, and her children
and attendants, had laboured hard to give it the appearance
of a Roman dwelling, trying by the presence of old-accustomed
objects to cheat memory and banish some of her sad train
of regrets; nor had they been unsuccessful in producing the
appearance they desired, for all that they had brought from
Salona, and which, under the safe escort of the Huns, had
been conveyed from the neighbourhood of Margus thither,
enabled them to give an air of Roman splendour to the in-
terior of their rude habitation.

In the village Theodore's attendants found an abode, while174

ATTILA.

he himself, once more in the midst of all he now loved on earth,
if we except Ammian, sat down to the evening meal, and
listened eagerly to the details of everything that had occur-
red to Flavia and her family since he had parted with them on
the verge of the barbarian territory. Their journey had been
long and fatiguing, the matron said, but safe and uninter-
rupted, and their reception amongst the simple mountaineers
had been kind and tender. The choice of a dwelling had been
left to themselves; and though the capital of the tribe was
situated in the valley of the Inn, they had fixed upon the
spot where they now were for their abode, as one less subject
to the passage of strangers, or to the inroads of inimical
neighbours.

The most important part of the tale, however, was to come:
scarcely a month ere Theodore had arrived, ambassadors from
Valentinian had presented themselves at the court of the king
of the Alani, and Flavia and her family had held themselves
for a time in even deeper retirement than before ; but to their
surprise, one morning the envoys appeared at their dwelling
by the lake, and the Roman lady found, with no slight astonish-
ment, that Yalentinian was already aware of her residence
amongst the Alani. The mission of the ambassadors to the
barbarian chief was one of small import, but to Flavia they
bore a message from the emperor of unwonted gentleness.
He invited her to fix her abode in the western empire; pro-
mised her protection against all her enemies, and full justice
in regard to all her claims; nor could she doubt from the
whole tenor of his message that, with the usual enmity of
rival power, even when lodged in kindred hands, whoever was
looked upon as an enemy by Thedosius was regarded as a
friend by Valentini&n. Flavia, however, without absolutely re-
fusing to accept the fair offers of the emperor, had assigned
as a motive for delaying to reply, that she expected daily to
receive tidings from the son of Paulinus.

Theodore mused at the tidings; but Eudochia, who with
childish thoughtlessness looked upon all that happened to
themselves as of very little import whenever it was over, now
pressed eagerly to hear the adventures of her brother since
they had parted, and Ildica also, with a deeper interest than
common curiosity, looked up in his face with eyes that seemed
to say, " I have waited long, beloved, that you might be satis-
fied first, but, oh, make me a sharer now in all that has oc-
curred to one far dearer than myself."

Theodore needed no entreaty, but began his story, and with
minute detail related all that had occurred to him during the
last few months. Was there any part of that history which
he did not tell, any of the events that had chequered his fate,attila.

175

which he omitted in his narration ? There were. A feeling
of tenderness, of interest, of gratitude, kept him silent upon
some points of the history of Bleda's daughter. He spoke of
Neva, indeed; he told how she had nursed him in sickness,
and how she had delivered him from captivity; but he could
not, and he did not tell, while many an ear was listening, that
she had bestowed the first love of her young heart upon one
who could not return it.

Flavia hearkened to the tale, and at that part of it which
related to Bleda's daughter, her eyelids fell a little over her
eyes. It was not that she doubted Theodore, for there was a
simplicity and candour in all he said, which admitted no sus-
picion ; but she deemed how it was, and for the sake of the
poor girl she was grieved that it should be so. Ildica,
possessed but by one feeling, suspected and divined nothing;
her only comment was, as she heard of his danger and escape,
"Oh, why was it not I to whom the means of saving you
were given ? "

" Thank God, my Ildica," replied Theodore, "that you were
far from such scenes and such dangers." But as he was pro-
ceeding to conclude his tale, there were quick steps heard
without, and the voice of Ammian singing gaily, as he returned
successful from his mountain sport.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Hitherto we have given nearly a connected narrative; but
now it may become necessary to proceed sometimes in detached
scenes, leaving the mind of the reader to fill up the obvious
chain of intervening facts.

Theodore and Ildica sat alone by the banks of the lake,
with their eyes fixed upon the rippling waters, that came
whispering up nearly to their feet; and they gained, without
knowing it, a tone of calm repose, in the midst of their hearts'
thrilling enjoyment, from the tranquillity of the scene around,
and the bright untroubled softness of a fine autumn day. If,
when they met on the preceding evening, Theodore had been
moved by joy, such as his heart had never known before,
Ildica's had been still more agitated, for delight had been
carried to its fullest height by surprise. Theodore had come
thither with expectation and hope as the harbingers of gratifi-
cation ; but to Ildica, the joy of his coming had burst suddenly
forth, like the May-day sun, when he scatters the clouds of
morning from his path. Neither, however, the youth nor the
maiden, had been able to pause, and, if I may use so strange a
term—enjoy their joy—during the first evening after his176

ATTILA.

arrival. The mind of each had been full of whirling images
of pleasure, but with forms scarcely definite. Now, however,
as they sat by the side of that calm lake, amidst those glorious
mountains, with a sky clear, but not burning, above their
heads, and the fresh stillness of the early morning pervading
all the air, the solemn tranquillity of the scene sunk into their
souls, and bade their mutual thoughts flow on in peace.

The history of all external events which had befallen them
had been told, it is true, by Flavia and Theodore, and many a
little trait had been added by Eudochia, Ammian, and Ildica
herself; but still she and her lover had both a long history to
tell of thoughts and feelings, hopes and fears, of far deeper
interest to each other than things that might seem of greater
importance. Ildica towards Theodore had no thought con-
cealed. No idle fear of lessening the value of her love by
displaying it, put an unnatural bar upon the pure feelings of
her heart; not a doubt of his generous construction of all that
she said fettered her words, or embarrassed the expression of
her thoughts; and she poured forth, without fear or hesitation,
the tale of all she had felt since she left him in the hands of
the Huns; how she had wept, and how she had feared; how
she had daily looked for some tidings from him, or some
change in her own fate ; and how she had consoled herself with
the remembrance of the extraordinary power he seemed to
have obtained over the barbarian king.

The telling of that tale, now that the dangers were over
and the fears gone by, was in itself a happiness; and, mingled
with many a look of love and accent of affection, and many a
tender caress, Ildica's narrative of all she had felt proceeded,
till, in the end, she had to relate how, on the very preceding
night, while sitting on the little promontory with Eudochia
and her mother, and the slaves, there had been something in
the situation, which, though unlike in all the features of the
landscape, though the air was colder, and the mountains nearer,
and the sky of a paler hue, which recalled the lovely Dalmatian
shore to her mind; and how, in the magic glass of memory
had risen up the mound of cypresses and the bay of Salona,
and the glorious sunset, and all the objects and all the feelings
of that well-remembered evening, when her lover had last
returned from the city of the emperors; and how, at those
thoughts, the unbidden tears were rising even to overflowing
in her eyes, when she saw a horseman suddenly gallop up the
hill, and wild hopes and joyful presentiments had rushed
through her heart, and taken from her all power of speech or
motion, till she was once more clasped in his arms.

Theodore, too, had his tale to tell; and now, to the ear of
her he loved, it was not less full or less candid than lier ownATraA.

177

had been. He gave her a picture of all his thoughts in every
situation through which she had passed, and her own uncon-
scious questions soon brought tne narrative towards Neva.
But Theodore felt that he could trust in Ildica, and he told
her all; and, with his arm circling her waist, he pressed her
more tenderly, more closely, to his bosom, while he spoke of
the love of another, as if he sought thereby to express how
much more dear she had become to his heart under every
change and every circumstance.

Neither did he do the daughter of the barbarian chief the
injustice of breathing the tale of her unhappy love, without
adding every pure and noble trait which had shone out in her
conduct; and Ildica, who had listened with a beating heart,
but not a doubting mind, pressed her eyes, in which were
some tears, upon Theodore's bosom, saying, " Poor girl, I am
sorry for her! I wonder not at her loving you, Theodore. It
is but too natural she should; and oh, I am sure that her love
for one so much above any being that she ever saw before,
will last, unhappily for herself, through all her life. She will
compare every one with you, and every one will fall short. I
am sorry for her, beloved; and yet, Theodore, yet I could not
share your love with any one; I could not part with the
smallest portion of that treasure for a world. See, how
selfish and miserly I have become!"

" None can ever take the slightest portion from thee, my
Ildica," replied Theodore; " from infancy to death, there shall
be but one image which shall fill my heart. But to do poor Neva
justice, she seeks not to rob my Ildica of that which is Ildica's
own. She would not share in a heart that is given to another,
Ildica, even if she could; and as, from all that has passed,
from her father's hatred towards me, and the injuries he has
done me, it is impossible that Neva and I should ever meet
again, I trust that she will forget feelings which were suddenly
raised, checked almost in their birth, and have no food on
which to feed and prolong their existence—I trust she will
forget-"

"Never, Theodore! never!" cried Ildica; "such feelings
are not to be forgotten. She will see none like you; but even
if she did, she would fancy none she saw your equal. The
memory of having saved you from death, too, will perpetuate
her love; ay, the memory of that action, and the memory of
her love, will go down together with her to the tomb, embalm-
ing and preserving each other."

" I trust not, my Ildica, I trust not," he replied.

u Oh, Theodore," she answered, " were I absent from you
for long years, separated from you even by impassable barriers,
would you love me less ? could you forget our love ?"

M178

attilA.

"No, certainly not," replied Theodore; "but our love Is
mutual, and full of mutual hopes. Her love is hopeless and
unreturned; and I trust she will forget it."

" Such may be the case with man," answered Ildica.
"Hopeless and unreturned, his love may, perhaps, seek
another object. Woman loves but once, and never forgets,
$ny Theodore. My heart tells it me, even now \ and though
in such things I have, of course, but little skill, yet I feel and
know, that time, absence, despair itself, could never make me
forget my love for thee. The time must come when remem-
brance shall be extinguished in the grave, and the fine lines,
traced by the diamond style of love on the tablets of the
spirit, may be hidden for a while beneath the dust of the
tomb ; but to that cold dwelling-house shall the unfaded re-
collection go down with me; and when I waken again from
the sleep of death, the memory of my love shall waken with
me—I feel—I know it will;" and as she spoke, she raised her
eyes to heaven, while the rays of the morning light danced
in their liquid lustre, as if they, too, were of kindred with the
sky.

Theodore pressed her to his heart, and long and sweet was
the communion that followed; but we cannot, we will not,
farther dwell upon things that those who have loved truly will
understand without our telling, and that those who have never
so loved cannot comprehend at all. Let them be sacred! those
holy feelings of the pure and high-toned heart; those sweet,
ennobling emotions of the unpolluted soul. Let them be
sacred! those sensations, intense yet timid, pure and unalloy-
able as the diamond, as firm, as bright, as unspotted; but
which, like a precious jewel that baser minds would ever fain
take from us, are wisely concealed by those who possess them
from the gaze of the low and the unfeeling. We seek not to
display—we would not if we could—all the finer shades, the
tenderer emotions, of the love of Theodore and Ildica. We
have raised the veil enough to show how they did love, and we
will raise it no farther.

The days of his stay passed in visions of happiness to Ildica
and himself, a long dreamy lapse of exquisite delight. Beyond
each other, and the few dear beings around them, what was
the world to them ? The limits of that valley were the limits
of their thoughts; and, whether they sailed on the calm
bosom of the lake, or climbed the giant mountains round about,
or wandered through the rustling woods, or sat upon the shore
and watched the tiny billows of that miniature sea, the thoughts
of the two lovers were only of each other, though the lovely
scene, mountain, and stream, and woods, and lakes, and
meadows, mingled insensibly with their own dream of happi-ATTELA.

179

fiesfl, heightened the colouring of their hopes, and, in return,
received a brighter hue itself. Sweet, oh how sweet! were the
hours, and yet how rapidly they flew! till at length, when they
rose one morning and gazed forth, a wreath of snow was
seen hanging upon the peaks of the mountains; not alone
upon those higher summits, on whose everlasting ice the
summer sun shone vainly through his longest, brightest hours,
but on those lower hills which the day before had risen up in the
brown veil of the autumnal forest, or the green covering of
grass, or the grey nakedness of the native stone. It was the
signal for Theodore to depart: and then came the hours, ere
he set out, of melancholy and of gloom.

Those hours, however, were broken by many a long and
anxious consultation. The offered hospitality and protection
of Yalentinian had yet to be considered, for it was a proposal
which, if even not accepted at once, both Theodore and Flavia
judged might prove of great utility at an after period. No one
could tell, either what changes might take place in the positions
of the barbarian nations, or what might be the final result of
the victories and successes of Attila himself. Where he might
next turn his arms was a question which none even of his own
court could solve ; and while it was evident to all, that a vic-
torious and devastating excursion against the eastern empire
was by no means the ulterior purpose of his powerful and
ambitious mind, yet no one could divine what was the end
proposed, or whither the pursuit might lead. Under these
circumstances, to have a place of refuge open against the storm
of war was always a blessing; and Theodore strongly coun-
selled Flavia to despatch messengers to the emperor, charged
with thanks, and such presents as circumstances permitted her
to send; not exactly accepting the offer of asylum he had
made, but expressing a purpose of taking advantage thereof at
no very distant period.

"Were you to go thither, even next year," Theodore ob-
served, while speaking on the subject with Flavia alone,
" Ammian would be some protection to you all; for I remark
that his bold spirit and his mountain sports are every day
giving greater and greater vigour to his limbs, and his frame
is towering up towards manhood. A year will do much in
such pastimes as these, while the free and wild simplicity of
the barbarian habits will secure him against the weak and
effeminate manners of Rome ; and, at the same time, it were
but right and necessary that both he and Eudochia should re-
ceive that civilised education which can be obtained nowhere
but in the empire."

"Alas! my son," replied Flavia, "I fear that it will be
long ere Ammian can give us that protection which thou

m 2180

A'fTlLA.

migbtest do; for though courageous to a fault, and resolute,
yet there is a wild and heedless spirit in his breast, which
often prevents his nobler qualities from acting as they might.
His heart is kind and generous, his mind upright and noble ;
but in the exuberance of his youthful daring, and the wander-
ings of a wild imagination, he forgets too often, Theodore,
that there is such a thing as danger to himself or others. He
wants prudence, he wants consideration, he wants that calm
presence of mind which sees under all circumstances that
which is best to do, and is ever ready to do it."

" But, my mother, he is yet but a boy," replied Theodore :
"time will give prudence, experience will give judgment,
and age will tame quickly the wildest and most wandering
fancy. At all events, I only desire that you should have a
refuge prepared. Doubtless—both because this mighty bar-
barian does really, I believe, regard me with affection, and
because he has been taught to imagine that there is some
mysterious connection between his fate and mine—doubtless,
I say, he will allow me from time to time to renew the visit
he has now permitted: at all events, I will find means to send,
both to give you my tidings and to gain news from you. If
there be danger, I will let you know, and be ready ever, upon
but a short warning, to fly to the court of Yalentinian. As I
go hence, I shall visit the capital of the Alani by the banks
of the Inn; for the kindred that I have amongst them might
think it strange and wrong, were I to pass through the land
without seeing them ; and when there, of course I will do all
I can to insure that the refuge which you have here received
shall be as safe, as peaceful, and as happy, as it can be made.
There is much in the ties of blood, even between a Roman
and barbarian, and I think that iny requests will find favour
amongst the Alani."

Theodore would fain have lingered and protracted the
hours; for although he knew that he soon must go, and the
thought of parting sadly embittered even the present, yet
around Ildica there was to him an atmosphere of light and
happiness, which banished all that was dark and gloomy from
his heart. But he had made a promise to Attila, and with
Theodore a promise was inviolable. Ildica, too, would fain
have detained him, would have fain drunk slowly out the last
sweet drops of the cup of happiness which had been offered
to her lip ; they were but the dregs, it is true, and bitter was
mixed with them, but yet the taste of joy remained, and if she
could not have it pure and unalloyed, she yet lingered over
the last portion, however sadly mingled. But Theodore had
given a promise; and Theodore's unstained integrity, and
unvarying truth, were as dear to Ildica as to himself—wereATTILA.

181

dearer, far dearer, than any personal enjoyment. She would
not have him forfeit his word to Attila, in order to remain
with her, for all that the world could give; and she herself bade
him go, whenever she learned that he had barely time to
accomplish his journey by the path that it was necessary for
him to follow. They parted—not now, however, as when
last they parted; for then before them had stretched out
nothing but one vague and indefinite expanse—the grey cloud
of the future ! on which even the eye of fancy could scarcely
trace one likely form, through which the star of hope itself
shone faint and powerless. Now, after all those fearful scenes,
and that dreadful separation—scenes and circumstances which
had benumbed their feelings, and, like some crashing wound,
which by its very severity deprives the sufferer of his sense
of pain, had left them bewildered and almost unconscious, till
time had shown them the deprivation they had undergone
—now they had met again; hopes that they had scarcely
dared to entertain, had been realised ere the heart grew weary
with delay. They had known a longer and more tranquil
period of happiness than they had ever tasted since first the
mutual love of their young hearts had been spoken to each
other; and Hope, the sweet sophist, skilful in turning to her
purpose all things that befall, drew arguments from past joy
in order to prove her promises for the future true.

They parted then: Ildica declared that she wished him to
go, and Theodore strengthened himself in the remembrance
of his promise. Yet, nevertheless, let no one think that their
parting was not bitter: Theodore struggled even against a
sigh; and over the cheeks of Ildica rolled no tear, though on
the dark long lashes that fringed her eyelids would sparkle
like a crushed diamond the irrepressible dew of grief. Yet,
nevertheless, let no one think the parting is ever less than
bitter, when, even in the brightest day of youth, two hearts
united by the great master-bond which God assigned to man
to bind him in the grievous pilgrimage of life to one chosen
from all his kind, are separated from one another for long in-
definite hours, with loneliness of feeling and the dim uncer-
tainty of human fate hanging over them like a dark cloud.
Who shall say, when thus they part, that they shall ever
meet again? Who shall say with what dark barrier the
mighty hand of destiny may not close the way? whether
death or misfortune, or interminable difficulty, may not cut
short hope, or weary out the spirit in the bondage of circum-
stance, till expectation is vain of re-union on this side the
tomb?

They parted firmly: but such partings are ever bitter; and
when Theodore was gone? Ildica wept for long hours in silence;182	ATTILA.

while het as he rode on, beheld nothing of all that surrounded
him; for the soul was then in the secret chamber of the
heart communing sternly with her own grief.

CHAPTER XXIV.

Shift we the scene, and return to the kingdom of Attila! It
was the fourth day after Theodore had left the country of the
Huns for that sweet distant land where happiness, as we have
seen, awaited him, and a bright gleam of sunshine was des-
tined to chequer his dark fate, when at a short distance from
the bank of the Tibiscus, two barbarians, who had left their
horses with their followers by the stream, walked slowly on
amongst the trees, wading through the long grass and tangled
bushes. At length, suddenly, from a spot before them, came
the flapping of heavy wings, and a hoarse arid scream from
many a foul beak, while five or six large vultures rose up
crashing through the branches above, and leaving open to the
eight all that remained of the unfortunate Arab, Cremera.
From some cause, a nail which had fixed one of the hands had
fallen out, and the skeleton, for to such a thing was the corpse
now nearly reduced, hung by the other palm; but two arrows
were still seen hanging amidst the fleshless ribs, and telling
the manner of the freedman's death.

" Lo!" said the shorter of the two strangers—" Lo! I have
now seen it with mine own eyes!—And this man's crime was
but that he had obeyed my commands, and saved the life of
the man that I loved! Shall this be suffered, Ardaric? Shall
it last another hour to ring in the ears of my people, to sound
into their inmost hearts, that Attila avenges not his own, that
Attila cannot protect those who perform his bidding? Think
you it was really Bleda's doing?"

'• Doubt it not, oh King!" answered Ardaric. " Was not
the Roman carried to his village? Would not death have
been the stranger's portion, too, had he not escaped? Some
one bore thy brother the tidings of the youth's journey, and
they waylaid him, to cut the thread of life, on which they
fancied thine depended."

"Ay! It is even so!" answered Attila. "Therein is it,
that the Roman sinned in their eyes. But they shall find
that I can rid me of mine enemies, and avenge my friends!
To horse, Ardaric! we will to our horses, quick. The cup of
vengeance is full and flowing over. He whom no warning
could deter shall drink it to the dregs. The leaders we
ordered must by this time have crossed the mountains."

u They must have done so, oh Attila!" replied the king ofATTILA,

183

tlie Gepidse, "but what is thy will to do now? Thou wilt
not surely ravage a part of thine own people's lands; or by
waging war against thy brother give new hearts to the pale
Komans?"

Attila stopped as he was advancing, and fixed his dark eyes
full upon the countenance of Ardaric. "Hast thou known
me so long," he said, 44 and canst not yet guess what Attila
will do? Am I not king over this man also, to punish him
for his evil deeds, when they are directed against myself? No,
no! I will not ravage mine own land, nor slay mine own
people. But the son of Paulinus will I protect, and even yon
treedman will I avenge; and I will crush the worm that
raises its head against me, even though it call me brother.
Ardaric, dost thou not know what I will do? Bleda and I
are no more for the same earth: I have borne with him long,
but I bear with him no longer, and he dies! Now thou under-
standest!" and with a quick firm pace, every footfall of which
seemed to crush the earth it trod upon, he returned to the
spot where the horses had been left.

About five hundred horsemen waited him there, and at
their head Attila took his way towards the east. After two
hours' riding, some three thousand more joined him on the
road; and at the end of two hours more he paused, and sent
messengers in different directions to chieftains whom he
named. Night fell, and with the first star of evening the
monarch resumed his way.

The autumn moon rose large and full, pouring over the
wide plain in which the dwelling of Bleda was placed, with a
yellow tranquil light: the voice of nature was all still; and
not a sound was heard but the sighing of the wind through
the branches, or the falling of a withered leaf amidst those
that had gone down before it. A shooting star traversed the
blue fields above, outshining, for the brief moment of its
being, the moon herself, and then ending in emptiness. A
heavy bird of night glanced across the moonlight, and with a
faint scream disappeared.

It was about midnight, and then from the neighbouring
wood came forth, in dead deep silence, troop after troop of
shadowy forms; and leaving the village on one side, they
drew a circle, fatal and sure as the unerring bowstring of a
kindred race, around the dwelling of Bleda. They were all
now on foot; and when they had reached the distance of about
two hundred yards from the building, the circle was com-
plete, and they paused.

44 Now, Onegisus!" said Attila, "what hast thou to tell of
the inquiries thou hast made ? Speak, and if thou hast aught
to say which should induce the king to spare his kindred184

ATTILA.

blood, I will take thee to my heart and give thee kingdoms.
Speak!" and he clasped his hands together, and wrung the
sinewy fingers hard, under emotions that even his iron soul
could not restrain.

44 Alas! oh King!" replied Onegisus, 44 I have nought to say
which may mitigate thy wrath. I had hoped that it would
be otherwise ; but I find—and I must speak truth unto the
King—that even across the mountains the followers ot thy
brother pursued the Eoman youth, and ravaged a village,
killing several and driving away the herds of all, because
they lent the son of Paulinus a horse to fly when he de-
manded it in thy name. Their dwellings are in the dust, and
their blood stains the grass, and the widows and the children
cry to Attila for vengeance."

"They shall have it!" replied Attila. 44 Let those ap-
pointed, follow me!" and he advanced to the portico of
Bleda's house.

The chief door opened at once to the monarch's hand—
44 And can treason and treachery sleep so securely?" demanded
Attila in a sad tone, as he turned through the first passage of
the noiseless dwelling to the large hall in which banquets
were usually held. It still smelt strong of the feast; and the
monarch paused in the midst, folding his arms upon his chest,
and gazing bitterly upon the ground.

44 Uldric," he said at length, 44 Uldric, where art thou?"

A man of powerful frame, and countenance more than
usually ferocious, advanced before the King, saying, 441 am
here, oh Attila, and ready."

44Is thy sword sharp, and thy heart strong?" demanded
Attila. The chief bent his head in token of assent, and the
monarch went on: 44 Go, then," he said, 44 and do the deed
which none but a noble and brave hand should do! But slay
him not in his sleep, for that would seem as if thou wert
a murderer, and he a coward afraid to die. Wake him!
Tell him his doom! Tell him the cause! Say he was
warned, and would not hear; and that the cup has overflowed.
Ardaric, do thou see it done! Take warriors enough with
thee that there be no resistance. Go! go!—Yet stay!" con-
tinued Attila: 44Stay! Oh, ye gods! why have ye put
this upon me? Is there none here, who can speak a word in
favour of my brother ? none who can say aught to stay the
anger of the King ? All silent ?—Go, then! go, Ardaric ! It
is time that it were done."

Attila waved his hand, then bending down his eyes again,
he remained motionless in the midst of those who stayed with
him. But the only moment of indecision that he had ever
shown throughout his life had passed away; and, as theATTILA.

185

moonlight streamed on his dark countenance, no trait of
wavering doubt could there be seen. All was firm and calm,
though stern and gloomy; and the knitted brow, the com-
pressed lip, the clenched hand, told that there were pangs,
but no hesitation within.

The last of those sent upon the mission of death quitted
the hall, and with steps which were scarce heard even by
waking ears, they went upon their errand. A minute
elapsed, and then there came a murmur of voices, and then
two or three loud shrieks from a woman's voice, mingled with
sobbing, prayers, and sad entreaties;—then a dead heavy
fall—and then the tones of lamentation. Distant sounds suc-
ceeded, and the noise of steps in various parts of the
building; cries of grief and terror followed, and some signs
of contention were distinguished.

"Bid them shed no more blood!" said Attila, turning
to one who stood near: 44 Cut off the head, but mangle not
the body!"

Almost as he spoke, however, a slave rushed in with
a lighted torch of pine in one hand, and a drawn sword in the
other; but when the light glared upon Attila, he stood sud-
denly motionless before the King, as if petrified with fear and
astonishment. " Oh, King, they have slain thy brother!" he
cried at length.

"It is well!" answered Attila: "get thee on one side, so
shall no harm belall thee." The next instant there came the
sound of footsteps running quickly; and Neva, with her hair
dishevelled, and her feet uncovered, ran into the hall, and
cast herself at the feet of Attila.

"Oh, spare him! spare him!" she cried; " spare him, for
the memory of thy father! Spare him for the remembered
days of infancy! Spare him, because of his weakness, and
thy strength! Pour not out thy kindred blood upon the
dust! Remember that thou wert a brother ere thou wert a
king! Spare him; forgive him, if he have offended thee!—
But it cannot be! They have lied unto me; thou canst not
seek thy brother's life ! Thou wouldst never slay him who
has slept in the same cradle, eaten the same food, and stood
by thy side in battle !—Yet what dost thou here ? Oh, spare
him! spare him!" and she clasped the knees of the dark
monarch in the agony of apprehension.

Others had followed her, women and children, and slaves;
and at nearly the same time, the chieftain called Uldric stood
in the doorway, and held up before the eyes of Attila a naked
sword, along the blade of which a drop or two of a dark red
hue was seen to trickle in the torch-light.

Maiden said Attila, laying his hand on Neva's head,186

ATTILA.

" cease thine entreaties; they are now vain. Yet have not I
done this thing. His own hand it was that pulled the ruin on
his head. He it was that cast himself upon my sword, know-
ing that it was drawn, and that the hand was firm that held
it. Weep, if thou wilt! Go to thy chamber and weep !
it is the right and the weakness of woman. Go! but entreat
no longer; thou hast none now to save!"

She heard not, or heeded not his words, but still clasped
his knees, and with wild looks and streaming eyes she poured
forth her supplications. They were interrupted, however, by
her mother's voice, who passed through the crowd like
a spectre, and with spots of blood upon her garments stood
before the King. " Ask him not to spare, my child," she said
in a voice as calm as death; " ask him not to spare! He
knows no mercy ! Ask him rather to give us our own doom
quickly. Thy father is dead already; why should we be left
alive ? Or is it thy will, oh King, that we be sold as slaves ?
We are ready ; but we would rather die, if the choice were
left to such as us. We are but thy brother Bleda's widow
and children, and therefore have no claim upon the conqueror
of the world; no, not even to choose between death and
bondage. He that spared not his own brother will not spare
the women and the babes."

"Woman, I did spare him!" answered Attila, solemnly:
u three times did I spare, when any other man on earth, had
he been monarch or slave, had died for so offending Attila.
Woman, 1 spared him so long as his deeds affected but
myself; but when he forgot all law and justice to my people,
when he made ready the spear and sword to raise up conten-
tion in the land, when he slew the innocent and the noble,
Attila forgot he had a brother. Neither bondage nor death
await thee and thy children; thy husband's crimes have not
affected thee ; honour, and wealth, and peaceful possession of
all that he possessed shall be thine ; thy children shall be as
my children, and I will defend them against their enemies.
Attila sought not his brother's wealth; he sought but to do
justice, and justice has been done. Take them hence, Arda-
ric! take them hence! she is privileged to reproach and mur-
mur; but Attila would not that his ear should have any
words that might offend him. Take them hence!"

They were removed without resistance ; and after pausing
for a moment in thought, Attila demanded of some of those
who had been present at his brother's death, " What men
have ye found in the house?"

" But few," was the reply; u and they were slaves."

"Was the deformed negro, Zercon, amongst them?"
asked the monarch again.ATTILA.

187

44 No," replied the Hun to whom he spoke; 44 we found him
not."

44 Let him be sought," said Attila, sternly. " He it was, he
it must have been, who betrayed to Bleda the young Roman's
journey. Accursed be all they who supply to kings the
means of gratifying bad desires! Let him be sought, and
when found, scourge him from hence to Margus, and give
him up to the chief, whom they call bishop of that town. I
promised him to love, defend, avenge his nephew; and
I would that he should know how I keep my word. Onegi-
sus, thou shalt remain here. Keep the land in peace;
assuage the grief that thou findest; and see that no evil
spirit rise amongst the tribes, to call for the hand of Attila,
and divide the power of the Huns. Ardaric," he continued,
turning to the king of the Gepidae, 44 I could wish, too, that
messengers were sent to meet the son of Paulinus, as he re-
turns from the banks of the Juvavus : let them be despatched,
and tell him to return by Margus. That good priest of the
new God of the Christians will see him joyfully, as this
matter may have reached his ears, and he may be fearful for
his nephew's safety. I would," he added, laying his hand
upon the sleeve of Ardaric's tunic, 441 would that friends and
enemies should see and know that the word of Attila, be it
for good or be it for evil, is never broken; and that any one
who finds a promise of the King unfulfilled, should boldly
say, Attila is dead."

Thus speaking, he turned, and, quitting the hall, issued out
into the portico before the house of Bleda, over which the
same calm moon was still shining; while round about,
in awful silence, stood the dark circle of the Hunnish troops,
waiting the conclusion of the fatal deeds enacting within that
low and quiet-looking abode. Attila paused for a moment,
and raised his hand to his eyes, as if the moonlight offended
his sight. Then, striding forth into the open space, he turned
and gazed for a few moments on the dwelling of Bleda.
That contemplation was probably bitter, for as it ended,
he exclaimed, 44 Alas, my brother!" And that was the only
regret to which, throughout his life, the lips of Attila
gave voice.

There were old men who had known him as a boy, and
who lived to see his death, but they declared, that within
that one night was comprised the whole that Attila had ever
felt either of indecision or regret#188

a.ttila*

CHAPTER XXV.

The wind blew keen over the plains through which the
Danube wanders, ere, in approaching Orsova, it rushes
between the giant mountains, through which it seems to have
rent its onward course. Barbed with sleet, that cold wind
dashed in the laces of the young Roman and his followers, as
he led them onward towards the city of Margus, according
to the directions which he had received from Attila by
the way. He passed by Singidunum, and he rode through
Tricornium. When last he had seen them, they were full of
busy life, garrisoned with numerous troops, splendid with all
the profuse luxury of old and corrupted civilisation, xhere
was now a broken wall, a pile of ashes, solitude, silence, and
the whispering grass—already, like the world's forgettulness,
grown up upon the grave of things once bright. From the
gate of Singidunum started away a wolf, as the young Roman
passed; but under the wall of Tricornium, a solitary hovel,
raised from the massy ruins of a gate, and thatched with the
branches and the leaves of trees, showed, that either accident
or old attachment had brought back some human being
to dwell in that place of desolation. Theodore approached,
but he found it was no other than an old half-crazy woman,
who, when she saw him, shrieked forth, "The Huns! the
Huns!" and fled, stumbling and tottering amidst the pile
of ruins.

What a strange contrast was it, when, the next day, he ap-
proached the gates of Margus. Gradually the desolation
ceased; the country resumed its appearance of fertility: cul-
tivated fields and rich gardens appeared; the villa, the
palace, and the church crowned the summits of the gentle
hills; and everything betokened uninterrupted peace, and a
place of splendour, luxury, and repose. As he entered the
gates, were seen the Roman soldiers, fully armed and equipped;
but his Hunnish garb, and the barbarian features of those who
accompanied him, seemed rather passports to secure his
entrance, than impediments in his way. No opposition was
offered, and the soldiers gazed upon him with a smile.

In the market-place, which was crowded with people,
as gay, as lively, as splendid as any city of the empire could
display, a number of Huns were loitering about amongst the
rest; and a Greek flower-girl, mistaking him for one of the
barbarians, ran up, and while she fixed a garland of myrtle,
mingled with some of the latest flowers of autumn, to his
saddle-bow, addressed him in a few broken mis-pronouncedArmA.

m

sentences in the Hunnish dialect, desiring him to buy her
flowers with some of the spoils of the enemy he had slain in
battle.

Theodore could have wept; but he answered the girl
in Greek, telling her to place her wreaths on the tombs
of those who had died in defence of their country; and
he was riding on, when suddenly his eye was caught by
a train crossing the market-place, and his ear almost deafened
by the acclamations of the people. While slaves and attend-
ants, in extraordinary numbers, both followed and preceded,
in the midst ol the group which attracted so much attention
was seen a chariot of ivory and gold, drawn by four white
horses; and in it sat, bowing his head to the people, and
scattering benedictions as he passed, with his hands extended
wide in graceful dignity, Eugenius, Bishop of Margus.

Loud and repeated were the vivats of the multitude ; and
Theodore heard nothing on every side but warm and joyful
praises of his kinsman. 44 Our good bishop," cried one.—
44 Bless him for ever," exclaimed another.—44 He alone saved
us in peace and prosperity, when all was death and desolation
round," said a third.—u Ay," rejoined his neighbour, 44 and
Theodosius himself, who would have given him up to death,
is now thankful enough to him for having saved the town of
Margus."—uAnd well he may be," said a fifth, who over-
heard what was proceeding; 44 well he may be thankful to him,
for saving the finest, if not the largest city of his empire."—
441 have heard," said another, 44 that Theodosius has vowed
to put him to death, but that he is forced to dissemble for fear
of Attila."—44 He had better dissemble," answered one of
those who had spoken before; 44 put to death! we would
sooner give ourselves altogether up to the Huns."—44 The
Huns are very good people," continued another, seeing Theo-
dore and his followers endeavouring to make their way past
them. 441 love the Huns; they are honest, and keep their
word, and are only terrible to their enemies."

Theodore could not but smile, although his heart was full
of bitterness; but he thought, at the same time,44 If all these
people judge thus of the bishop's conduct, how many argu-
ments may he not find in his own bosom to justify the acts he
has committed!"

Thus thinking, he pushed on his horse, and made his way
through the crowd towards the dwelling of the bishop, whither
the chariot of the prelate seemed to have proceeded before him;
for a crowd of men and boys, who had accompanied it with
loud acclamations, were now gathered together round the
gates, the janitor of which had much ado to keep them from
pushing their way into the building. Theodore demanded to190

ATTILA.

see his uncle, and told his name, on which he and all his fol-
lowers were instantly admitted.

He found the bishop seated near the centre of the hall, with
a crowd of attendants near him, while before him stood several
Huns in their barbarian garb, one of whom had his hand
upon a chain, which was attached to the neck and hands of the
miserable, deformed, and mutilated negro, Zercon. He was
nearly stripped of his fantastic clothing, and with bare feet,
bloody with long journeying, he stood with a haggard but a
tearless eye, venting, even at that hour of misery, one of
those wild jests which had procured him favour with his
former lord.

" Faith, sir," he said, speaking apparently to the bishop,
" you had better order me death, if you intend to punish me
properly; I have tried all other punishments but that, and
therefore you have no choice left; as for the horrid prison
that you talk of, I once inhabited for fifty years a prison more
horrible than any you can devise."

"For fifty years!" exclaimed the bishop, "for fifty years!
Say, where was that?"

" Here!" said the negro, striking his hand upon his breast;
" here! Match me that, if you can. Let the greatest tyrant
that ever cumbered earth show me a prison that will equal
this; and herein has dwelt, for fifty years, a being not less
sensible of pain, not less alive to kindness, not less capable of
gratitude than any; but more patient, more enduring, more
courageous than you all. Here, in this loathsome and ab-
horred prison, has he dwelt, scorned, buffeted, contemned,
accused, condemned and punished without guilt, the sport of
fools, and scape-goat of the bad. Everything has been tried
upon me that human wickedness could frame, or man's endu-
rance bear. Try death, at last! I cannot lose by the exchange."

The eye of the bishop had remained fixed upon the de-
iormed negro, while he poured forth, in an eloquent tone, the
words that we have repeated, and only wandered for a moment
to the group of strangers who entered the atrium, observing
nothing more than that they wore the common garb of the
Huns. He was evidently moved by the man's speech, and
was about to reply, when Theodore advanced, addressing him
by his name. The bishop started up, and after gazing at him
for a moment, folded him in his arms.

u Theodore!" he exclaimed, "now can I welcome you in-
deed to Margus;—a Tadmor in the wilderness; a prosperous
city in a land of desolation.—But how came you hither?"

"I will tell you shortly, sir," replied Theodore; "but, in
the first place, let me atk you, why stands this poor man be-
fore you thus? "AfflCLA.

u He was sent hither," replied the bishop, "by Attila, that
great and mighty king, whose words are as true as his arm is
powerful. He promised me, long ago, to protect and defend
you; and this slave, it seems, betrayed your purposed journey
into the mountains to the ear of Bleda, your enemy. There-
fore is it that Attila sends him hither, to receive what punish-
ment I will. I doom no man to death; but I was about to sen-
tence him to solitude and chains in the tower by the water side."

u God has spared you a great crime," replied Theodore.
" This man betrayed me not. Far from it. He aided to save
my life, when, ere another evening sun had set, my fate would
have been sealed. Twice has he contributed to deliver me
from danger. Oh! set him free, my uncle. Take oft' that
chain! it is not fitting for him. His mind is noble and gene-
rous, though his body is as thou seest. But what have we to
do with that? God, wise and mysterious, has made him as
he is; let us not trample on God's handiwork."

The negro sprang forward, dragging his chain after him;
and casting himself at the feet of the young Roman, he
dewed his hand with tears. " It is not," he cried, "it is not
that you come to save me, but it is that you speak as if I were
your fellow-man."

" Far be it from me, my son," said the bishop, " to treat
any one possessed of our common nature otherwise than as a
Christian should do. We are all worms in the eyes of God,
the greatest, the proudest, the most beautiful, as well as the
lowly, and the distorted.—Take the chain from him, and let
him go free. Now, tell me truly, man, I adjure thee by what-
ever thou holdest sacred, tell me, was it thou who bore to

Bleda the tidings of this youth's journey, and if so-"

"There is no if!" interrupted the negro, with solemn vehe-
mence: " I opened not my lips. Was I not the first to warn
him, that Bleda hated him? Did I not convey to the ears of
Attila himself timely notice of his brother's purpose, when
Bleda whetted the sword against him between Yiminacium
and Cuppas? Did I not hear Bleda vow, that till age palsied
his arm, or death closed his eyes, he would pursue that youth
with vengeance, and seek the destruction of that bold Arab,
who dared to struggle with and overthrow him? Did I know
all this, and do all this, and yet betray to the tiger thirsting
for blood the track of the deer that he sought to overtake?
Did I know all this, and do all this, and yet tell to Bleda, that
he, who had shown me pity and sympathy, came as it were to
offer his throat to the knife within eight hours of that fierce
man's dwelling-place? Oh no! I opened not my lips. There
were whole tribes of Bleda's people round, when the boy
Ernac told me that the Roman was about to depart from them

attila.

land. They bore the tidings to the King; and he gained from
Ellac, the eldest son, the course of his whole journey, and the
number of people whom they supposed would follow him. The
number proved ten times more than they expected, and Bleda
had too few with him to attack them all. He took vengeance
on the Arab, however; and the Roman youth, after Bleda's de-
parture, fell into a trap baited with his freedman's blood. I
betrayed him not, but I aided to save him, and he knows it."

44 I do," answered Theodore: 44 had it not been for thee, and
for one whom I will not name, I had ended my life long ere
now. But say, how am I to return to the dwelling of Attila,
when the tribes of Bleda lie across my way ? "

"Did not those who told thee to come hither tell thee
more?" demanded the negro.

44 They told me nothing," answered Theodore, 44 but that it
was the will of Attila I should pass by Margus as I returned.
Of Bleda, they said nothing."

44 Bleda, oh Roman," replied the negro, 4 4 the powerful,
the revengeful, the unforgiving, is like a dry stramonium
bush in the desert, whose bitterness is parched up and gone,
whose very thorns are withered and powerless. His name, his
mighty name, is like the whisper of the wind among the rocks,
speaking of tempests that we feel no more, of blasts from
which we are sheltered!—Bleda is dead, oh, Roman; his arm
is in the dust."

u Dead!" said Theodore, a presentiment of the dark truth
coming over him, even before it was spoken; 44 dead! How
did he die?"

"Those who told thee to come hither," said the negro,
u were right to tell thee no more. Over the name of Bleda,
and over his fate, there hangs a cloud: the Huns speak of it
not, and are wisely silent; but of this I am sure, that there
are not twenty men throughout all the land who do not feel
that they are more at ease since there has been one great and
unquiet spirit less in the world."

44 But his children!" exclaimed Theodore, now fully con-
vinced, by the dark hints of the negro, that the death of Bleda
had been of an unusual and a bloody kind. 44 His family? his
children ? what has become of them ? "

44 They are safe," replied the negro, 44 they are safe and
well; and one fair maiden, good, and gentle, and kindly as
thou art, would fain have saved even me, lowly as I am, from
a fate that she knew I deserved not. But her intercession
was of no avail; and to say the truth, for I am well nigh
wearied out of this sad life, I grieved more that she should
plead in vain than that I should be the object for which she
vainly pleaded."AttlLA.

193

v u My nephew shall try to make life more supportable to
thee," replied the bishop. 44 Thou shalt go back with him,
and he shall clear thee before the King. For well thou
knowest, that when Attila has resolved the destruction of any
one, no land can prove a shelter, no distance a barrier, no time
an impediment, till he be avenged or appeased."

44 I know it well," replied the negro ; u and I know also,
and willingly will say it, that fierce and stern as that great
king is sometimes called, no one is more easily appeased for
personal offences, no one more attentive to justice where truth
can be made plain. Even with his brother Bleda, did he not
forbear to the very last, though he well knew that his designs
were pointed against Attila, not against the son of Paulinus?"

44 How so?" demanded the bishop : 44 thy words are dark,
my brother; I know not and cannot even divine the cause of
Bleda's hatred to my nephew. He injured him not."

441 could make my dark words clear," answered the negro
in Greek. 44 But I love not to talk of things that do not con-
cern me, when there are many ears around."

The bishop paused for a moment, and giving the attendants
of Theodore and the Huns who had brought the negro thither
into the hands of one of his own officers, he bade him enter-
tain them well, and return to conduct the unhappy Zercon
thence in a few minutes. The attendants of the bishop easily
divined his wishes, and the hall being instantly cleared, the
negro was left alone with Eugenius and Theodore.

44 Now," said the bishop, 44 now explain this mystery, why
a man in command of reason should hate and seek the death
of another who had never injured or offended him, and that,
too, at first sight."

44 Speak, Zercon," added Theodore, 44 and let us know the
whole, for I have heard from Ardaric and others, a part of the
story, yet much remains unexplained. Was it not some pro-
phecy that-"

44 Listen, and you shall hear," said Zercon. 44 When Attila
first heard that this noble bishop had carried off some trea-
sures-"

441 carried off no treasures !" exclaimed the prelate,44 and
so I proved unto the King."

44 But he heard that you had," answered the negro, 44 and
that cause—with many another offence committed by the Ko-
mans, together with some idle time on his part, and no other
object of conquest before his eyes—made him resolve to pour
the tide of war upon the eastern empire. When Attila then
first determined upon war, he gathered his myriads together
on the first plain beyond the mountains; and while messengers
came to and fro, in order to avert hostilities which were

w1 u

ATTXLA.

already resolved, the King went up to the mountains to ask a
holy man, who dwells there, the issue of his enterprise. So
has he done in all the wars of the last five years, and the
words of the hermit have ever proved true; for he promised
Attila victory, and to those who know him it needs not be a
prophet to foresee that. Now, also, he assured him of suc-
cess, but upon one condition. He told him that if he would
ride down towards the Danube with but few followers, he
would meet a Roman on the Hunnish bank of the river, whom
he should spare, and protect, and love. If wrong befell that
Roman, or any of his family, the old man told him, either
from the hand of Attila himself, or any of his people, and if,
for seven years, he, Attila, did not secure and protect him
against all his enemies, not only his course of victory would
cease, but death itself would cut him off in his return to his
own hearth. 4 His fate,' said the hermit to the King when he
told this tale, 4 his fate is bound up with yours! See that no
evil happen to him, for worse will instantly fall upon yourself.
You shall do him no wrong—you shall show him all favour.
Go now and seek him!'—Such were the old man's words."

"The Bishop of Margus smiled, as the negro proceeded,
but Zercon went on with his tale: "Attila rode on from that
spot; but ere he had reached the banks of the great river he
was met by some people posting inland to say, that a Roman
had ventured to cross the stream but slenderly attended, not-
withstanding the daily feuds that already gave notice of the
coming war, and to ask what they should do with him. At
those tidings, Attila and Bleda both saw the first part of the
old man's prophecy fulfilled, and from that moment they
doubted not one word of the rest. Attila went on without his
brother, and found this youth—Ye yourselves know all the
rest."

" Still we see not why Bleda should seek his life," replied
the bishop, "unless, indeed, he sought to take his brother's
also; and then he might have taken it at once."

"He sought not to take his brother's life," replied Zercon:
"he dared not, or he would; but he believed the prophecy,
^nd thought that if this young Roman, on whom his brother's
life and fortunes depended, were away, a hundred accidents
in the course of war might lay the head of Attila in the dust.
Ever through life did he covet whatever Attila possessed, and
therefore was it that he sought at first to take a life on which
that of his brother depended. Afterwards revenge was added
to the same ambition; but his plans had gone still further.
His daring had increased with impunity; and day by day he
was nerving his heart to contend with Attila himself, vainly
hoping that many of the great King's chiefs—perhaps evenATTILA.

195

some of the monarch's children—would join him. But his
life and his plots ended together."

"Wert thou with Bleda?" demanded Theodore, to whose
ear the prophecy of the old man, and its partial accomplish-
ment, appeared strange and interesting: "wert thou with
Bleda and Attila when the hermit told him to go down to
meet me?"

" I was!" replied Zercon, showing his white teeth with a
wild laugh—" I was! Attila, when he set out, chose Ardaric
and Onegisus to go with him; and Bleda asked the king of
the Gepidae whom he had better choose, for they made a
a solemn ceremony of it. Ardaric, who believes in no such
things, replied, 4 Why, take your black jester!7 and whether
Bleda thought that too a prophecy, or not, I cannot tell, but
certainly he took me, and I stood in the mouth of the cave
while they conversed within."

He was interrupted by a woman entering to draw water
from the tank, in the midst of the hall; and ere she was gone,
the bishop's officer returned to conduct Zercon from his pre-
sence.

" Use him well," said the bishop, " and kindly. Put him
among the most favoured slaves; give him water to wash his
feet, and food and wine. Nor must any one make a jest of
him. It is forbidden in my dwelling to mock any of God's
works."

The slave and the negro retired, and Theodore was left
alone with his uncle, round whose lip a somewhat doubtful
smile had hung during the whole of Zercon's account of that
prediction which had obtained for his nephew security in some
respects, and brought him into danger in others.

"The words of the good hermit, I rather think," he said,
as soon as the negro departed, " have led even the mighty and
clear-sighted Attila into error."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Theodore, in some surprise; "then
you do not credit his pretensions to be a prophet?"

u He is better than a prophet, my son, he is a wise man,"
replied the somewhat worldly prelate; but instantly seeing,
by the mounting colour in his nephew's cheek, that his pro-
fane words had shocked the sensitive mind of youth, he
added, " Far be it from me to say that the gift of prophecy is
not excellent; but it is better to be a good man, and wise
unto God, than to be a prophet, and offend. This hermit is a
man of all great qualities and Christian virtues; austere unto
himself, charitable towards others; holy in life, spending his
years in meditation and constant prayer! There is much
reason to believe that to such a one the gift of prophecy might
be extended. So much did I think of his wisdom, and so far

N 2AtTILA.

did I trust in his advice being holy and good, that, ere the
Huns poured down upon the Roman empire, I sent messengers
to ask nis counsel as to mine own conduct in such a moment
of trial. He loves me well; and for many years I have pro-
fited by his wisdom and experience, till I am what I am. To
show him and all men that personal fear was unknown to the
bosom of Eugenius, I told him that on a certain day I would
cross the Danube myself and advance towards the mountains,
il he would come down to meet me; and I doubt not that his
prophecy referred to me and not to thee. Attila came down
sooner than was expected, and encountered thee on the way:
thy sudden coming delayed me for a day; and ere I crossed
the river, the myriads of the Huns were pouring down from
the mountains. I obtained a promise of security, however,
from Attila himself; saw him, found him mild to treat with,
and easily appeased. The wiles of the Byzantine court he
abhorred; but I told him the truth. I offered to show him
mine own treasury and the treasury of the city, and that we
should purge ourselves, by the most solemn oath, of all share
in taking that treasure, which his people declared they had
lost; but at the same time I proposed to repay it with fourfold
its value as amends. He received the proposal well; swore
to me solemnly that he would protect thee and Flavia, and
all her household; and, upon some other conditions which he
made, he promised to give the citizens of Margus peace.
Thou seest how he has fulfilled his word."

" I see it, indeed, my uncle," answered Theodore; " I see
that Margus, like an oasis in the Libyan sands, is fresh, and
bright, and luxuriant, in the midst of ruin and desolation.
But, alas! alas! would it have been so if Margus had not
opened her gates to the invader ? if the first city of the Ro-
man empire had made a stand against the barbarians as they
poured upon the frontier ? "

" The only difference would have been," replied the bishop,
his brow growing dark, " that Margus would now have been
in the same situation as the rest. What troops had we to
resist? What means of defence had Theodosius given us?
None! He thought but to appease the evil spirit of the war
by drawing a line in my blood between himself and the wrath
of Attila; and he took no measure to defend his territories,
made no effort to protect his people. How did Viminacium
stand, which had ten centuries witnin its walls ? how did Tri-
cornium resist? how Singidunum? how Naissus, Sardica, Ra-
tiaria, and all the cities of the Illyrian border ? Singidunum
tesisted for a day; Viminacium saw the Hunnish myriads
with the dawning light, and was a heap of ashes ere nightfall.
So was it with all the rest!—Theodore, I am satisfied. In theATTILA.

197

midst of the desolation of the land, where many hundreds of
thousands have fallen, where every trace of cultivation, and
of sweet domestic peace, has been swept away, I have saved a
Christian people in peace and prosperity, without one drop of
bloodshed, either of our own or others."

Theodore thought that this was one of those few accidental
cases where good had sprung from evil; but his heart, as a
Roman and a man, told him that his uncle's reasoning was
false. He replied not, however, and the prelate went on,
<lI have done all this, Theodore, and I am satisfied. Is
it not enough for the shepherd to save his sheep from the
wolf, though the monster be obliged to seek his prey in some
other flock? Would it not be enough for me to have deli-
vered from peril and death those whom God has given to me,
without any consideration of others ? But when I know, and
did know, that nothing I could have done would have saved
myself or benefited them who have since fallen, ought I not
to be satisfied ? Whenever in my own heart a weak doubt
arises, one shout of the glad multitude, who owe their lives
to me, is sufficient to put all at peace within my breast. Yes,
I can look back to every circumstance, and say, This have I
done, and I am satisfied. But I have done more, oh Theo-
dore!" he added, his mind seeming suddenly to turn into
another path, and a different expression coming over his coun-
tenance—"I have done more! The weak, pale, cowardly
Theodosius, who, trembling on his throne, would have spilt
my blood, out of the true tyrant's vice of terror—the hereti-
cal wretch, led by the subtle Eutyches to persecute all those
who hold the pure and orthodox faith—dare no longer wag a
finger at Eugenius, or talk of punishing the citizens of Margus
for submitting to an enemy they could not resist, and from
whom he refused to defend them. He dare not dream of
striking a hair from the head of one of the citizens of Margus!
Nor, since Attila is thy protector, would he dare to lay hands
upon thee, even if thou wert to cross the courts of his palace
to-morrow—No, not for his very throne!"

Theodore was unconvinced; but he refrained from reply,
and turned the conversation to another part of the same sub-
ject, by relating to the bishop the kindly offers of protection
which Flavia had received from Valentinian.

" He has kept his word," replied the bishop, " for such was
the tenor of a promise that he made to me. Think not that
I went rashly and hastily into even that act, which I knew
would save Margus. To Theodosius I had applied for aid in
vain, and I then applied to Valentinian. He could not aid
me, but he justified my conduct, and promised me personal
protection in case of need. I sent him messengers, when $U198

attila.

was secure, and he engaged to give both to Flavia and yourself
justice, protection, and support, in the empire of the West."

Theodore felt that his uncle was kind, far more kind than
he could have expected or hoped; he felt, too, that his mind
was powerful, and his heart not without high and noble
feelings! but, alas! the threads of cunning selfishness ran
hither and thither through the whole, and, like the veins
of some inferior substance in a precious stone, rendered
nearly valueless the better part. Theodore felt that he could
love Eugenius; but he would not have been Eugenius for the
world.

Thus passed the day; but the next morning, as Theodore
sat at meat with his uncle, it was announced that Edicon,
one of the favourite officers of Attila, together with Maximin,
ambassador from Theodosius, approached the city of Margus,
in their way from Constantinople to the country of the
Huns; and when Theodore beheld the reverence and respect
which the ambassador himself, and those who accompanied
him, evinced towards the prelate who had first received the
barbarians into the empire, he could not help feeling how
brilliant a thing in the eyes of man is successful evil. During
a whole day the ambassador and his train sought repose
in Margus—and Theodore determined to accompany him on
his onward journey. His uncle forced upon him a casket of
gold ere he departed, conquering his aversion to receive
it, by declaring that it was a debt he had owed Paulinus; and
Theodore, feeling that it might be needful, made no farther
resistance.

CHAPTER XXVI.

Near the bend of the Tibiscus, on a meadow that might have
refreshed the weary eye in summer by its beautiful verdure,
the Romans pitched their tents at the close of their first day's
journey in the land of the Huns. The night was dark and
gloomy; no golden sunset had cheered the world on the
departure of the light; and covering all the heavens, in long
wavy lines from the horizon to the zenith, stretched out
a canopy of heavy clouds, like waves of molten lead rolled
over the sky. Maximin, struck and pleased with Theodore,
had invited him to his tent; and there, by skilful and kindly
inquiries, he won from the son of Paulinus a sketch of
all the events which had affected him personally since the
death of his father. There was much that Theodore omitted,
Mcause he trifled not with the confidence of others; but
jbeaximin learned enough to show him that the youth was
held by Attila in a state of honourable, but unwilling, cap*ATTILA.

199

tivity; and he resolved to use his best efforts to redeem him
from such a situation.

While they thus conversed by the dull lamplight, the pat-
tering of some heavy drops of rain was heard upon the tent,
and, mingled with the rushing murmur of the Tibiscus, came
the low sobbing of the rising wind. Their conversation, how-
ever, was too interesting to allow them to give much attention
to the storm without; for, besides the feelings of sympathy
which Theodore had excited in the bosom of the noble
Maximin, he had much information to communicate concern-
ing the manners and habits of the Huns, and the character of
Attila himself; all which the ambassador knew might prove
most valuable to him at an after period.

The rain increased whilst they talked; the river roared and
raged; the wind rose into fierce gusts, and the poles of the
tent were seen to quiver under the violent blasts, while the
trickling drops began to welter through the tent, and threat-
ened to extinguish the light. At length, after a long moaning
sound, a fiercer gust than all the rest swept the sky; the
tent-poles shook, bent, gave way, tearing up the earth into
which they were driven; the cords and pegs, which stretched
out the covering, were broken or loosened in a moment, and
the tent, with all that it contained, was dashed with fury to
the ground.

As soon as Maximin and Theodore could disentangle them-
selves from the falling mass, they found that the whole
of their little encampment had shared the same fate. All
was confusion and disarray. Every light had been extin-
guished : the torches, drenched with the fallen deluge, could
not be lighted. The night was as black as the jaws of
Acheron; and all that could be distinguished was a glistering
line of water, every moment approaching nearer, as the
Tibiscus, filled by a thousand mountain-torrents, began to over-
flow the meadow in which the Roman tents had been pitched.

While engaged in removing, with difficulty and haste, the
horses and baggage to a more elevated situation, a number of
lights were seen coming over the nearest hill; and in a few
moments forty or fifty Huns, bearing torches of resinous
pine, which neither the rain extinguished, nor the wind blew
out, came down to render assistance to the party of whose en-
campment in the neighbourhood they had heard before the
storm. While some remained to aid in saving the baggage
from the encroaching Tibiscus, others led Maximin, Theo-
dore, and their companions, towards the village, which they
said was not far off; and as they went, Theodore saw several
of the new comers sporting, as an old acquaintance, with the
negro Zercon, who had returned with him.200

ATTILA.

Calling the unhappy jester to him, Theodore asked who
were to be their entertainers; and a feeling of pain, as well
as interest, passed through his bosom, when he heard that
their steps were bent towards the dwelling of Bleda's widow.

u I knew not that the village was so near the river," said
Theodore, " and yet I know the country well."

"She dwells not where she did dwell," replied Zercon
44 When gall is mingled with hydromel, we abhor the sweet
drink that we used to love, and its very sweetness makes the
bitter more nauseous. Scenes that we have loved, when asso-
ciated with painful memories, like honey mixed with gall, are
more repugnant to us from the remains of sweetness. She
has never dwelt where she did dwell since her husband's
death. It was in visiting that spot, after having been hidden
for many weeks, that I was found by the soldiers of Attila,
and driven on foot to Margus."

Theodore made no reply, but walked on thoughtfully,
by the side of Maximin. In a few minutes they saw before
them the village towards which their steps were bent, and the
porch of the widow's dwelling, from the windows of which
streamed forth many a light to guide them on the way; and
gladly the Romans approached the hospitable walls which pro-
mised them shelter from the inclemency of the weather.

As they entered the wooden portico, the widow of Bleda,
and a number of other women, came forth to meet them, but
Neva was not amongst the rest. With a calm but somewhat
sad demeanour the widow welcomed Maximin and his com-
panion Priscus, and Edicon, who followed next. But when
her eyes fell upon Theodore, she paused for a moment, and
gazed on him with a dark and melancholy look. At length
the tears burst forth in large drops from her eyes; and,
casting her arms round the young Roman, whom in his illness
she attended as her own child, she exclaimed, u It was not
your fault, my son! it was not your fault! Be you welcome
also!"

The table was already spread for a banquet in the great
hall. Three blazing fires of odorous pine were lighted to dry
the garments of the guests, and everything bespoke rapid
preparations made to exercise the kindest rites of hospitality.
No sooner were their vestments dry, than large portions
of venison, and various kinds of game from the neighbouring
woods, were set before them; and while the widow stood by
to see that nothing was wanting to their comfort, a fair train
of girls, followed by several slaves, came in to hand the cups
of rich and excellent wine, which flowed abundantly around.
At their head appeared Neva, the daughter of the house.
She was clad in deep grey cloth, with broad furs of sable bor-ATTILA.

201

dering her robe. Her arms, up to the shoulders, were bare,
and the snowy whiteness of her skin, beside those dark furs,
iooked like Indian ivory contrasted with ebony.

Theodore saw her enter with feelings of deep agitation, for
he feared lest she should be pained and grieved by the sight
of him for whom she had done and suffered so much. It
would appear, however, that some one had prepared her for
his presence, for she looked not upon him when first she
entered, but went round with the rest, and only raised her
eyes once to his countenance ere she approached him in turn.
That one glance showed Theodore that she recognised him,
but was nevertheless quite calm: and when she approached
him, and took a cup of wine from one of the attendants
to give it to him, she stood by his side, and, looking in his
face with a melancholy smile, she said aloud, "How art thou,
my brother? Art thou well after thy long journey? And
hast thou seen the friends thou lovest? And are they
happy?"

Theodore could have wept; there was something so sad,
and yet so resigned under her grief, in the tone of that fair
young creature, who, if ever sorrow spared a human breast,
should surely have been sheltered from the arrows of adver-
sity. He strove against his feelings, however, and replied
calmly, thanking her for all her kindness and all her genero-
sity. Maximin gazed with some surprise to see the tender
interest which the family of the dead king seemed to take in
his countryman, but he made no remark aloud; and retiring
soon from the banquet, the whole party of journeyers sought
repose.

Weariness made most of them sleep long; but Theodore
was awake and up by the dawning day. Sleep would not
visit him in that dwelling; and with the first grey light of the
morning, he left the chamber which had been assigned him.
He found Zercon, the jester, stretched, sleeping, on a skin at
his door; and the moment the passing of the young Roman
woke him, he started up, and ran away through some of the
passages of the house. Theodore went on into the porch and
gazed out, and in a moment after Neva was by his side.

" I bade poor Zercon watch for you, Theodore," she said,
" because I wished to ask you, ere you went, to wander for an
hour once more with Neva in the morning woods. Will you
not, my brother? I have many a question to ask you, and I
cannot ask them here, where everybody may hear them, or
interrupt them. Will you not come, my brother?"

"Willingly, sweet Neva," replied Theodore, still holding
the hand she had given him in his. " Let us go." And they
wandered forth together along a path which, winding ia202

ATTILA.

amongst the trees, turned at each step of the hill, showing
the woody world below under some new aspect every moment.
The wind had cleared the sky, and the day was fine; but
Neva seemed more sad than on the night before. She said
but little for some way as they wandered on, but asked him
questions about his journey, in a wild, rambling way. At
length, however, with a forced smile, but a trembling
tone, she said, "And of course you saw your promised
bride?"

" I did," said Theodore, u and I told her that I twice owed
my life to you, in sickness and in danger."

Neva, however, seemed to take but little notice of hi*
reply. Continuing, apparently in the same train of thought
in which she had begun, " And did you think her very beau-
tiful?" she said—u as beautiful as ever?"

" More so," answered Theodore, " far more so."

Neva smiled " May you be happy!" she said; u may you
be happy! Doubtless the time since I saw you last has been
a happy time to you and her, but it has been a terrible time
to me and mine. You know that they came and slew my
father, even on his couch of rest?" and she fixed her full
bright eyes upon him with a look of painful earnestness.

Theodore saw that she waited his answer, and replied, " I
heard so, for the first time, three days ago, at Margus."

u Did you not know it before ?" she cried eagerly. " Did
no one tell it you? Did you not know that it would be so ? "

" Never!" answered Theodore. " How could I guess that
so fearful, so terrible a deed was so near its accomplishment?"

" Thank God for that!" she cried; " thank God for that!
That is peace and balm indeed. But let us sit down here,"
she added, pausing at a rocky bank, where a break in the
woods showed the country stretched beneath their feet, and
the Tibiseus wandering in the distance—"let us sit down
here, and talk over it all. Oh, Theodore! my heart has
been sad since I saw you. They came and slew my father in
the night, and I knelt at the feet of his terrible brother, and
begged for his life in vain; and afterwards they said that it
was for what he had done against you that he was slain.
I feared and fancied that you had stirred up Attila against
him, and I remembered that I had set you free, and that I—
I might thus have had a share in my father's death."

She paused for a moment, terribly agitated; but ere Theo-
dore could find words to comfort her, she went on rapidly;
" But think not," she said, " think not, for one moment, that,
even had it been so, I would have wished what I had done,
undone. I saved the innocent from the cruel death they
meditated against him. I saved the good and the innocent,ATTILA.

203

and I had nought to do with the rest. Yet it was terrible,
Theodore—oh, how terrible!—to think that I had aided to
spill my father's blood, by saving him that I love;" and,
leaning her head upon his shoulder, she wept long and
bitterly.

" Weep not, Neva!" said Theodore, " weep not, my sister!
You did but what was generous and noble, and that deed had
no share in your father's death. All my own followers, but
one or two, had escaped when I was taken, and they, not
I, bore to the ears of the King the tidings of what had hap-
pened. I did nothing to provoke him against thy father; but
had I been slain, the wrath of Attila would have been still
reater. Weep not, dear Neva!" he continued, as her tears,
aving once more burst forth, flowed on apace: " weep not!"
And, holding her in his arms, he called up every argument to
console her. He held her in his arms: he used many a
tender and endearing epithet: he even pressed his lips upon
her cheek; and yet no feeling but one, pure, noble, and gene-
rous, was in his heart at that moment. There was a being
that loved him with the most devoted affection which the
human heart can feel, clinging to him in her deep distress,
weeping on his bosom, pouring out her griefs and apprehen-
sions to his ear; and though he could not return her love, as
love, yet his heart told him that he would be ungrateful if he
felt towards her otherwise than as a brother. The kiss that
he pressed upon her cheek was not cold, because it was
kindly; and the arms which encircled her held her tenderly,
because gratefully; but it was with the embrace of fraternal
protection. Shame upon those who cannot comprehend such
feelings! That kiss and that embrace seemed but to say,
" Neva, you have lost your father, but you have yet one in
the world, who, if he cannot, it he ought not, to feel for you
as you feel for him, will protect, will console, will sympathise
with you—nay, will love you dearly, tenderly, though with
but a brother's love."

Neva felt that it was so. She would have started from his
arms with fear, had there been aught of passion in their
touch; she would have fled from him for ever, had there been
aught of fire on his lips: but it was all kindly tenderness, and
she laid her head upon his shoulder to weep as she would
have done upon a brother's.

After a while, her tears ceased, and she looked up: " You
have taken the thorn from my heart, Theodore," she said;
"I shall now sleep at nights. My fancy had conjured up
many strange things; for though I knew you to be kind and
generous, yet I knew you had been greatly wronged, and that
the poor Arab, who had watched you with me through a long,204

ATTILA.

sad sickness, had been slain by my father's commands; and I
thought, that in your anger, you might have gone back to
Attila, and demanded blood for blood. Then I, by saving
you, might have slain my own father; and I was afraid to
ask my own heart if I would not have done so, even if I had
known how it was all to end. But you give me peace, by
telling me that the end would have been the same even had
you been slain."

uThe end might have been worse, my sister," replied
Theodore, " for Attila's wrath might have known no bounds;
itnd besides, his anger against your father was of no new date.
I heard him warn him, months before, that the cup of his
indignation was full, and that another drop would make it run
over. That drop was certainly the death of the poor Arab
Cremera, but of that Attila was aware ere I reached his
dwelling after my escape, and the vengeance he took was all
unasked by me."

" Oh, thanks be to the gods!" replied Neva, gladly, "for I
have felt as if a rock had fallen upon my heart and crushed
it, ever since that thought crossed my mind. But now, Theo-
dore, now I am happy."

" And happy, entirely happy, should I too be, dear Neva,"
replied Theodore, " if I could find any way of showing to
you my deep gratitude and regard. Oh, Neva, that I could
be a brother to you, and protect you against danger and sor-
row, and wipe every tear away from your eyes!"

"And so you shall," she answered, with a smile which had
still its share of sadness; though as soon as the bitterness of
her tears was over, she had withdrawn herself gently from
the young Roman's arms, and now sat apart. "And so you
shall, xou shall wed your fair bride, and I will come and
dwell near you, and see your happiness, and find pleasure in
it too, Theodore, and never be envious: and you will be kind
to me; and she will too, I am sure, for your, sake. All the
time, too, that you dwell amongst the Huns, I will watch for
moments to help and befriend you, so that I shall have a right
to share in your regard, and in hers too; and then, perhaps,
the end of our days may glide by in peace. Oh, how gladly
will I devote a whole fife to guard and care for you! Re-
member, too, your promise! Send to Neva when you need
aid or counsel. Aid, strong and powerful, she can procure
you even yet; counsel, if she cannot give it wisely, she can
obtain from those who can. And now let us return, my
brother. You will be glad to know that you have made poor
Neva as happy as it is possible for her to be."

Thus saying, and with one of those blander and more
beaming smiles which Theodore had often seen upon her face?ATTlLA.

205

ere yet a grief had shaded it, she turned and led the way
down the hill. The world were now all abroad; but she took
her way on through the midst by the young Roman's side,
seemingly careless of all attempt to conceal an attachment for
which she felt no shame.

CHAPTER XXVII.

Splendour and feasting reigned in the halls of Attila. Round
the immense hall of his cottage palace were spread tables on
every side; and the wooden walls, quaintly carved and orna-
mented, were further decorated for the festal day, by large
green boughs torn from the fir, the laurel, and the ilex.
These, gathered together in a knot, with cords of woven
rushes, were fixed against the panels as high up as the arm
of a man could reach; and, bending over like a plume of
feathers, each nodded above some trophy of barbarian arms,
the shield, the bow, the spear, the corslet, which, tastefully
grouped together, hung, not without poetic meaning, in the
midst of the evergreens. Above all, waved a thousand ban-
ners, and between the trophies enormous torches shed a light
redder than that of day, but scarcely less bright than noon.

Below, six long tables were covered with an immense mass
of gold and silver. Cups, vases, bekers, of every form and
shape, glittered on those boards; while round about, seated
at easy distances, appeared all those bold and ruthless chiefs,
who, under the command of a greater mind, led on the
myriads of Attila to battle. There might be seen every garb,
from the furs of the extreme North to the silks and linen of
the far East; and there, upon the persons of those daring
leaders, blazed gems and precious stones, of which the volup-
tuous monarchs of Persia and of India might have been
envious. There, too, were all faces, forms, and complexions,
from the small-eyed Tartar of remote Thibet to the fair-haired
Northman, and the blue-eyed Goth. There was the splendid
features of the Georgian and Circassian hordes; the beautiful
Alani, who brought a race of loveliness from the side of the
Caucasus and the shores of the Caspian, and the hard-featured
Hun, or the frightful Ougour, glittering with jewels and pre-
cious stones, above the unwashed filth of his native barbarism.

All was splendour and pomp: cushions, of which luxurious
Rome itself might have been proud, covered with crimson
and lined with down, were spread over the seats, and sup-
ported the arms of the guests; and the bright gleam oi the
torches was flashed back on every side from some precious or
gome glittering object.206

ATTILA.

In the middle of the side opposite to the windows was
placed a small wooden table bearing a single dish, formed of
oak, and a cup of wild bull's horn: a dagger, that served for
a knife, lay beside the dish, and a drawn sword of enormous
weight stretched across the table. That table, with a seat of
plain unadorned white wood, was placed for the use of the
lord of all those around; and there he sat, the plain dark
Hun, covered with no jewels, robed in no splendour, clad in
the simple habit of the Scythian shepherds, but with more of
the monarch in his looks than gems or diadems could have
given, and with the consciousness of indisputable power sitting
proud upon his towering brow. What were rubies or diadems
to Attila? They were parcels of the dust on which he
trod!

At the tables, on either hand, sat Ardaric, king of the Ge-
pidse, Valamir, king of the Ostrogoths, Onegisus, Ellac, Edi-
con, Maximin, Priscus, Theodore; and at tables further off,
were placed Constantius, the Latin secretary of Attila, and
Vigilius, the interpreter of Maximin's embassy. Many another
king, and many another chief, was there; and nearly five
hundred guests, almost all leaders of different nations, showed,
by their different features and their different garbs, the extent
of Attila's dominion. In the same hall, also, were collected
the ambassadors from several distant countries; and there
appeared humble envoys from Valentinian, emperor of the
West, as well as Maximin, whose coming from the Eastern
empire we have already noticed.

Viands in profusion were placed upon the table, and deli-
cacies of every kind gratified the palate of the most luxurious:
rich wines, of many a varied sort, circled in abundance; and
barbaric music, wild, but not inharmonious, floated through
the hall, mingling with, but not interrupting, the conversation
of the guests. A multitude of slaves served the banquet
with rapidity and care; and no one had cause to say that, in
the hospitality of Attila, he had been at all neglected.

At length, an elevated seat was placed in the midst of the
hall; and an old but venerable man, with long white hair and
snowy beard, slowly ascended and took his place thereon,
while an attendant handed him up a small rude harp. In a
moment, all the Huns were silent, while, with careful hand
and bent down ear, he put some of the strings of his instru-
ment into better tune. The next moment, he looked up for a
single instant, with the natural glance turned towards the
sky which almost everyone uses when seeking for elevated
words and thoughts; and then, running his hand over the
strings, he produced a wild and somewhat monotonous sound,
to which he joined a rich, deep voice, a little touched, per-AMtLA.

207

haps, but scarcely impaired by age. It was more a chaunt
than a song; but every now and then the plain recitation
ceased, and he burst forth into a strain of sweet, of solemn,
or of majestic melody, as the subject of which he sung re-
quired.

The matter of his song was war and glorious deeds; and
though the tale referred to former times and other countries,
when Ruga first led the conquering Huns to triumph over all
other nations o> the earth, yet ever and anon, with dexterous
skill, he alluded to some late exploit in which the warriors
around him had had a share. The noble, reckless daring of
Ardaric, the keen sagacious wisdom of Valamir, were mentioned
with loud applause; and many another had his share of fame;
but still, when wonderful policy, or heroic courage, or warrior
skill, required some more striking and extraordinary compa-
rison, the deeds of Attila still rose to the poet's tongue, and a
new inspiration seemed to seize him, when he borrowed his
illustrations from the life of the mighty man before whom he
sat.

While gazing upon him, as he struck the harp, with his
white beard mingling with the strings, Theodore could have
fancied that he beheld the great master of the epic, singing,
amidst the isles of Greece, the marvellous deeds of her pri-
meval warriors; and for the first time he could guess what
had been the enthusiasm, what the inspiring interest, with
which the voice of Homer had been heard, and which, graving
each word deep on memory, had served to transmit the great
first model of the poet's art to after-ages from his own rude
and early day.

Breathless silence hung listening to the song, except when,
on some more powerful appeal to the passions of his hearers,
a loud and approving shout of gratulation burst upon the
poet's ear. Even the slaves paused in their office; and, when
the song was over—after one moment during which not a
voice was heard—some lip broke the charmed quiet with a
word of applause, and one universal cry of admiration com-
pleted the triumph of the verse.

A slave filled hastily the wine cup for Attila, and as the
monarch rose from his seat gave another to the bard.

"Father of song," said the King, UI drink unto thee—may
thy hand never lose its strength, nor thy voice its sweetness,
nor the footstep of time wear the memory of mighty deeds
from the tablet of thy brain!"

The cup was filled again, and to each of his most famous
warriors, calling upon them by name, Attila drained the cup
with some words of thanks and praise. To Maximin and
Priscus, also, he drank, and then with ready celerity the slaves208

ATTItA.

cleared the dishes from the table, and another service
6plendid as the first supplied in its place.

At every course, Attila thus drank to his guests, and song
and music went on, but not with the effect they produced at
first. The merriment grew higher and more loud; and Attila
at length despatched a slave across the hall to bid Vigilius,
the interpreter of the Eastern embassy, to advance and speak
with him.

With a bending head, and air of profound reverence, the
cunning Byzantine approached the King. The monarch mo-
tioned him to come nearer, and then addressed him in a low
tone, laying at the same time one finger of his sinewy hand
upon the blade of the naked sword that lay beside him. What
he said, no one heard; but the effect upon the countenance of
Vigilius was strange and fearful. The rose at no time flou-
rished very luxuriantly upon his cheek; but now that cheek
turned pale as death. A green and ashy hue, something even
beyond the tint of death itself, spread over all his face. His
eyes opened wide, his jaw dropped; and both Maximin and
Theodore, whose looks were fixed upon him, thought that he
must have fallen to the ground. Attila, however, bowed his
head, as a signal that the interpreter might retire; and then
perceiving that he could scarcely walk, the King beckoned to
an attendant, saying coldly, " Lead him back to the table, or
from the hall if he prefer it."

But Vigilius returned to the table, and drank cup after cup
of wine. Attila looked round to Ardaric with a meaning
glance, and then he bade one of the slaves send in the jesters.
A moment after, two of those miserable beings entered the
hall, and one of those scenes of rude and dissolute merriment
ensued which makes the heart ache for human nature. Laugh-
ter rang from every part of the hall; but the face of Attila
was unmoved even by a smile. He sat and heard with calm
and thoughtful gravity; and though he looked round from
time to time, and noticed, with careful consideration, his various
guests, yet it is probable his mind was far away, occupied with
more important interests.

At length, gliding in amongst the slaves, who, with their
busy services, occupied the greater part of the space which
the tables left unfilled in the centre of the hall, appeared the
boy Ernac, and took his way towards the table at which his
father sat. The first smile that crossed Attila's lip beamed on
it as the boy appeared; and greeting him with many a fond
caress, as he hung at his knee, he spoke with him for a few
moments in a low tone, with an expression which showed how
that stern heart was melted at the sight of tender youth.
After a while, lifting his eyes, he looked towards the part ofATTCLA.

209

tbe hall at which Theodore was seated, and at the same time
spoke a few words to his son. The boy's eyes instantly fol-
lowed those of his father; and bounding away as soon as they
lighted upon Theodore, he was at the youth's side in a mo-
ment, and greeting him, with eyes radiant from pleasure up-
turned towards his face, while nis lips poured forth words of
gratitude and gladness.

u I thought thou hadst gone away, and left us for ever,"
he said, " though my father said thou wouldst return. Yet, I
remember, when I lost a young wolf that I had tamed, they
all told me it would return, but it never came again. It was
too wise," he added, laughing, but a gleam of intelligent light
beaming from his eyes,—" it was too wise, when it had got
back to its woods and to its own way of life, to come back to
captivity and strange customs."

Ardaric, who sat near, laughed at the boy's simile; and
Theodore, smiling also, answered, u And so I suppose, Ernac,
because we Romans say the great founder of our city was
nourished by a wolf, you thought I must needs follow the
example of your wolf's whelp. But did it promise you it
would return before it went?"

u No," answered the boy, laughing; " and you did promise
my father to come back. I know that is what you mean; and
I did not intend to say that you were wrong to keep your
word. If my wolf had returned, I should have loved it better,
even though it made no promise, because that would have
showed it loved me."

" And do you love every one who loves you, Ernac?" de-
manded Theodore : "if so, love me, for I love you."

" And so do I, noble Theodore," answered the boy: "un-
grateful should I be if I did not love you. I always love
those who are brave and generous, and I shall ever love you,
because you saved my life, and risked your own to save it. So
I will try in return to love you better than myself, and I will
ask my father to make you a king instead of me."

" But would you not wish to be a king, Ernac ?" demanded
Ardaric. " Power is a great thing, boy! Power and command,
to a brave and wise man, are not to be despised. Would you
not wish to be a king ? "

"Not I!" answered the boy: "I will be a chief under my
father or my brother, and lead men to battle; but I never saw
that kings were happier than other men. I would rather have
some one to tell me what to do, and to make sure that I did
not do wrong, than have no one to guide me, and be obliged
to blame myself every day. Even you, noble Ardaric, you are
a king, and yet you come to fight under my father's standard,
and ane willing to do what he commands."

o210

ATTILA.

Aslight flush came over Ardaric's cheek; but he replied, with-
out anger, u True, Ernac; but we have not every day an Attila,
The wisest, and the noblest, and the bravest, may be proud
to obey him; but a weaker king might find a foe in Ardarie
where Attila finds a friend. With pleasure we obey those that
we respect, but we spurn from us those that we despise."

"That is what I mean," said Ernac: "I would sooner obey
some one whom I could love and reverence, than take all the
trouble of making others respect and yield to me. No, I would
rather not be a king; but I would fain see Theodore a king,
and striking down enemies beneath his arm, as he struck down
the wild urus."

Both Ardarie and Theodore smiled, perhaps to think how
readily that unambitious spirit might learn in after-years the
lesson of aspiring; but if they thought so they were wrong:
for such as it then showed itself was the natural moderation of
the young chief's spirit; and it never became contaminated,
even in mingling in scenes of strife and contention, where
every one strove for dominion except himself.

They looked up, however, at the same moment; and both
remarked, as their glance accidentally wandered over the
opposite table, that the eyes of Ellac, the eldest son of Attila,
were fixed upon them and Ernac with a look of jealous
malignity, as the boy stood by them and prattled of all his
fancies.

Ardarie turned to Theodore, saying, in a low tone, " Were
all as moderate as this fair boy, a bitter strife might be averted
from the future."

But as Theodore was about to answer, Maximin and the rest
of the Romans rose to withdraw; and knowing to what a
pitch of excess the revels of the Huns were often carried, the
son of Paulinus followed his countrymen from the hall.

Late and long the intoxicating juice flowed in the banquet
chamber of Attila; but early on the following morning Maxi-
min was admitted to the presence of the King, and a long
audience terminated as favourably as the Roman ambassador
could wish. Even Yigilius seemed to forget the fear that some
casual words of Attila had called forth: and at the end of a few
days, the envoy and his train took their departure from the
Hunnish village, bearing with them rich presents. Several
Roman captives also had been liberated at their request; but,
alas! though Maximin tried eagerly to persuade Attila to free
Theodore from the promise he had made to remain amongst
the Huns, the monarch was, on that point, inexorable.

Some months passed by in the sports and occupations of
winter, and Theodore became more and more accustomed to
the manners of the barbarous nations amongst which he lived,ATTILA.

211

The favour of Attila towards him was unbounded; and the
commanding mind of that great conqueror was not without its
effect upon the heart of Theodore. He became fond of the
proximity and conversation of the Hunnish king, and felt ~a
sort of strange and exciting pleasure in the vague sensation of
awe with which Attila inspired all those who approached his
presence. The monarch's kindness attached him, and -his
greater qualities gained the young Roman's reverence, even
while the strange excess of his worse passions mingled a degree
of regret in the sensations which he felt towards him.

At the same time, the favour in which Theodore stood with
Attila, though it caused him some enemies, gained him many
friends and courtiers; and, kind-hearted, liberal, bold, skilful,
and active, possessing all those qualities, in short, which bar-
barous nations most admire, united to the graces and accom-
plishments of civilised life, Theodore won the love of many
for his own sake; so that the halls of his dwelling were far
more frequently filled with the noblest and greatest of Attila's
chiefs, than those of Ellac, the monarch's eldest son.

At length, as spring began again to blossom over the earth,
the interpreter, Yigilius, once more appeared at the court of
Attila, accompanied by his son. But then came forth the
secret of his former journey, and of the words that Attila had
spoken. The base intriguer was instantly seized and brought
before the King, on whose right hand stood Edicon as his
accuser. Around were placed the chieftains of the Hunnish
nation, and in their presence Edicon charged the interpreter,
Yigilius, with having endeavoured to seduce him, during his
embassy to the court of Constantinople, to take the life of
Attila on his return. Seemingly yielding to the entreaties of
Yigilius and Chrysapheus, he had feigned, he said, to enter
into all their plans; but immediately on reaching his native
land he had revealed the whole to Attila, who, with noble
magnanimity, had suffered the suborner of his subjects to come
and go unharmed under shelter of the character of Maximin the
ambassador, who had been kept in ignorance of the base
designs of those who sent him. But when, after having been
warned that his treachery was discovered, the interpreter dared
again to show his face in the country of the Huns, bearing
bribes to the officers of the Bang, vengeance might well be
demanded, and Attila determined that the accusation should
be publicly made, and the crime fully punished.

Yigilius, of course, denied his crime; but when the very
purse which contained the bribe he brought to Edicon was
laid before him, and death—bitter death—was awarded by the
assembled chieftains, both to himself and to the son, who was
the companion of his journey and the sharer of his guilt, his

Q 2212

ATTILA.

courage failed; and, confessing his crime, but laying the
burden thereof upon the eunuch Chrysapheus, he petitioned
for life and pardon with all the eloquence of terror.

Attila gazed upon him as he would upon a writhing worm in
his path-; and scorning to tread on so pitiful a thing, he sent
his ambassadors to demand of Theodosius the head of the
chief instigator of the treason meditated against him. Theo-
dosius bought the pardon of his minions with gold wrung
from his people; and Attila continued to treat with the
monarch of the Eastern empire, while he prepared to turn his
arms against the West.

These things, however, have been related on an eloquent,
though not impartial, page ; afnd to that I must refer those who
would go deeper into the history of the time. This is but a
story of a narrower sphere.

CHAPTER XXVHI.

He stood alone at the door of his dwelling, gazing forth upon
the summer sunset, as—reflected in rays of gold and rose
colour from the summits of the mountains where the snow still
lingered—it spread in floods of brightness over the western
sky. During the day there had been in the royal village of the
Huns a certain degree of silent activity, the coming and going
of messengers here and there, the frequent gathering together
in small groups, the examination of horses and arms, and the
arrival of strangers from distant lands, which betokened, in
general, some approaching expedition. As Theodore stood and
gazed out on the splendours of the dying day, he thought that
ere now, on such an evening as that, he had drank draughts of
deep enjoyment from that well of sweet sensations, unpolluted
nature; but yet before the sun had risen again, the bright
hopes to which that exciting draught gave rise had been
trampled, like flowers before a war-horse, beneath the feet of
fate. Perhaps it was that the indications of some near-coming
change, which he had witnessed during the day, had occa-
sioned such feelings, and called up such memories; but as he
stood and gazed, a slave from the dwelling of Attila ap-
proached with rapid steps, and put into his hand some small
leaves of vellum, rolled carefully up, and tied with waxed
threads.

" From the land of the Alani," was all that the slave said, as
he delivered them, and then departed without waiting for any
questions. With a beating heart Theodore opened the packet,
and sitting down on a seat before his door, he read as long as
the light of the declining day would permit, and then entering
his dwelling, concluded his task by the lamp.ATtltA.

213

THE LETTER.

u You have not come, oh Theodore! Yon have not written.
And yet to come was impossible, neither could any messenger
bear me a letter hither, for the snow has lain upon the moun-
tains deeper and more terrible than ever I thought to behold.
Why then should I think of things that were impossible for
you to do? It was because I longed for that which was
impossible; it was because love would not be persuaded of
difficulties in the way of gratification.

44 Oh, how weary have been the hours, how dull, how tedious,
since you left us to return to your barbarian home! Each
moment has seemed to linger on the way, longer and more
tardily than the rest; and the wintry year, as it went along,
seemed to creep with the laggard steps of age, slowly and more
slowly, as every new hour was added to the burden that it
bore. Neither have the objects around me been such as to
give my mind any means of withdrawing itself from that on
which it dwells. The white robe of winter has covered all;
clouds have hung upon the sky, and obscured the sun; the
forests have disappeared beneath mountains of snow; and the
grand features of the Alps themselves, softened and rounded
by the same monotonous covering, have lost those fine and
striking forms which we looked upon and admired together,
when you were here.

44 During the summer, I found a thousand objects to take—
no, not to take my thoughts from you, but by recalling sweet
moments and beautiful scenes which we had enjoyed together,
to create a bright illusion for my heart, and make me think
the past not so irretrievable, the present less painful, the future
more full of hopes. Then I could gaze over the lake, and
mark the sinuosities of the shore, till I could have fancied
myself at Salona, and mistaken that small water, with its tiny
waves, for the grander and more splendid Adriatic. I could
git upon the little grassy promontory beneath the clump of
pines, and think of the mound of cypresses by the banks of
the Hyader; I could gaze upon the mountains, and remember
blue hills that rose between us and Sirmium; and, with all,
and each, and everything, one beloved idea would mingle like
sunshine, giving light and beauty to the whole, one dear form
would wander by my side through the world of imagination,
rendering all harmonious by the music of his voice.

44 During the summer, I could gaze upon the flowers, I could
listen to the birds, I could taste the fresh breezy air of morning,
and think of you. Nothing that was sweet to mine eye, nothing
that was dear to my heart, nothing that was melodious to mine
ear, could I see, or know, or hear, without remembering you214

ATTILA.

But since then, the whole has changed; ere you had been
gone ten days, the snow came down, covering the whole
country round, even to our very door. The flowers are gone;
the air of summer breathes no more; the birds are mute; no
objects that we have seen together strike mine eye; no sounds
that we have loved to listen to, salute mine ear; and yet, day
and night I think of you; but not with bright hopes or roused-
up memories; rather with a sad and longing regret that you
are not with me, to cheer the darkened prospect, and be the
sunshine of my wintry life.

" Oh, if it be possible, come to us soon, my Theodore, come
and soothe us by your presence, and direct us by your advice.
There are rumours abroad amongst the nation with which we
dwell which add difficulty and uncertainty to the heaviness
of exile, and the pain of being separated from you. They say
that the king of this land has offended Attila, and that the
implacable monarch threatens vengeance. All hear the tidings
with fear and horror; for his wrath is unsparing as the breath
of the tempest, which with one blast overthrows the weak and
the strong together. Messengers are now sent to propitiate
him, and they bear this letter; but Heaven knows, and Heaven
only, whether any excuse will be received, any atonement
permitted.

" Come to us then, my Theodore, if you can; and if you
cannot come, find means to write to us speedily; inform us what
we are to expect; tell us what we ought to do; for terrible,
indeed, would be our situation, in the midst of a strange land,
and of a people who, though kind, are but the friends of
yesterday, if war were to be added to all that is already
painful in our situation.

u My mother says that you will warn us of any danger, and
inform us what is the best course for us to pursue. She de-
clares that she has the most perfect confidence in you, and
that at the court of Attila you will soon learn, and be able to
warn us of the result. But still I perceive that she is anxious;
still I see that she sits alone, and thinks with care over the
future; still I mark that she listens eagerly to every tale and
rumour concerning the approaching events.

"Ammian is as thoughtless as ever, thinking justly and
wisely when he does think, but seldom giving himself the
trouble to reflect at all; and yet, Theodore, it is time that he
should think, for every day the change that is working itself
in his form strikes me more and more ; and though but a few
months have passed since you saw him, I think you would say,
could you behold him now, that he has made no small progress
toward manhood. Nevertheless, his pleasures are still as wild,
as roving, as uncertain as ever: he seems to find delight onlyATTCLA.

215

in perils and dangers; in the rough exercise of the mountain
chase, in springing from rock to rock, where even the moun-
tain hunters tell him to beware, or in traversing the turbulent
strearhs, bridged by the ice, when the footing is scarcely solid
enough to bear him as he passes. Then, again, when he has
roamed far and wide, for many a day, he seems wearied with
one kind of sport, and sits down to weave wreaths of ever-
green for Eudochia's hair, or to sing us the songs that he
composes in his wanderings, to the tunes that he catches up
from the pipe of the mountaineers, as they sit watching their
flocks in some sunny spot upon the hill-side.

" Often, too, Theodore, when I see him and Eudochia sitting
together with all that fond affection which they have shown
towards each other from infancy, I think how strange and yet
how happy it would be, if the same feelings, which have
sprung up in your heart and mine, from the same childish
regard, should with them also arise to bind them for ever to
each other. He loves her, certainly, even now, as much as he
loves anything, and he has, too, the power of loving deeply,
notwithstanding all his wildness.

" How he loved your father, Theodore! how deeply, how
lastingly! Even now, seldom a day passes but he thinks or
speaks of Paulinus; and making his javelin quiver in his hand,
longs to plunge it in the breast of Chrysapheus.

" Such feelings are strange, and I know not whence they
arise; yet, when I think of them, I feel as if I, too, could
experience them with the same intensity. If I picture to
myself any one injuring you, oh Theodore! I fancy that I, too,
could hold the dagger or cast the spear. Think you not that
we ought all to have been born in the old times of Rome,
when men sacrificed everything for their country, and even
women shared in the same patriotic devotion? Always, Theo-
dore, when my mind rests upon you, I imagine you overthrow-
ing tyrants, hurling down the Tarquin, driving Appius from
his polluted seat, or leading armies for the defence of Rome;
and I believe that I could have stood by your side, have shared
your dangers, consoled your cares, enjoyed your triumphs, or
died in your defence.

"But whither am I wandering? Far from the present
scene, and present dangers, into the wide land of imagination,
to encounter the chimeras of my own brain. Dangers enough
and perils now surround us, without my dreaming of others
and your Ildica will show, beloved, that she can bear with
firmness, if not act with energy, in difficulties, perhaps as
great as those which her fancy paints.

" I will not say, Come to us, my Theodore! for that may
be impossible for you to do: I will not say, Write! for that216

attila.

may be equally so; but come if you can, write if you are able.
Tell us how we ought to act, and we will do it. Show us if
there be really the danger which rumour teaches us to appre-
hend, and say what you think the best way of avoiding it!

" My mother will not write herself, but she bids me ask,
had we not better now accept the invitation of Yalentinian,
and retire to Rome? We have gold enough remaining for a
long time to come, and in the Western empire we have power-
ful friends—but then we are further from you, beloved.
Nevertheless, what you advise, that we will do.

"Already, one of those weary seven years of your capti-
vity has passed away; but oh! if I look back to the time when
we parted after the terrible days we spent by the Danube, the
space between seems interminable. Many and many a year ap-
pears crowded into that one ! and yet it is vacant, filled with no-
thing but the tedious passing of empty hours, absent from him I
love. It is like looking over the sands of the desert, one long,
unvaried, interminable waste, with but one bright spot of
verdure in the midst of the desolation, the few short hours
that you passed with us during the autumn. Blessed and
happy, indeed, are those hours, ever embalmed in memory.
They were in their passing a dream of delight, and now, even
in recollection, they serve as an antidote to all the cares and
sorrows of the present!

" Yet those seven years will reach their end; and I shall
see you again, and once more lean my head upon your bosom,
and hear your voice, and tell you all my thoughts. Let them
fly, let them fly quickly, though they may be taken from the
brightest season of our life; yet if the spring be without sun-
shine, well may we long for the summer.

" Farewell!"

Theodore pressed the letter to his lips—to his heart. Her
hand had touched it, her spirit had dictated it; and the very
sight of those beloved characters was balm to his bosom. The
news she told, however, was painful; the danger that she ap-
prehended great, if the rumours on which her fears were '
raised had themselves any foundation in truth.

Without hesitation, Theodore took his way at once to the
dwelling of Attila, and was admitted to the presence of the
King.

The monarch's brow was gloomy, but he received the
Roman youth with tenderness. u What wouldst thou, my
son ? " he said. u Thou hast had letters, I find, from the land
of the Alani. Do they bear thee good tidings ? Thy face is
sad."

"They say that the chiefs of the Alani fear the wrath of
Attila," replied Theodore, boldly.AWILA.

217

"They have cause !" answered the monarch sternly—44 they
have cause! but if thou wouldst send any letters back, pre-
pare them quickly, for by to-morrow's noon the messengers
return, and some of mine own accompany them."

" I would fain ask a boon," replied Theodore anxiously.
"In the land of the Alani, as thou well knowest, oh, mighty
monarch, I have those whom I love better than life itself. If
thine arms, victorious as they ever have been, are now
destined to be turned against the Alani, I would fain visit
those dear friends, and provide for their safety. They are
but women and children, and cannot protect themselves."

"Thou canst not go, my son," replied Attila. "Thou
goest with me wherever my steps are directed. Thus have I
resolved for thy sake, as well as for mine own. When last
thou wert absent, dangers, and well nigh death, befell thee!
The same may occur again. Bleda is dead; but even for thy
sake Attila could not slay a son. Thou understandest well
that which I mean. Whilst thou art with me, thou art safe ;
but amongst distant tribes such is not the case. There, thy
death might be accomplished without leaving a trace to tell
me how. I know not yet whether the Alani are to be crushed
as a swarm of wasps, or hived as bees. It depends upon them-
selves. Let them obey Attila, and they are safe; but at all
events, I go towards the western seas; and though Italy will
not be visited, some of my host may sweep the mountains as they
advance. It were better that they were not encountered by
women—women such as these, who, I have heard from those
who went with thee thither, are exceeding beautiful. Bid
them remove to some other land. They dare not, I think
you tell me, return to Illyria on account of the base, weak Theo -
dosius; but if thou wilt, I will issue my commands to that
throned slave, to receive them with friendship and favour.
He dare not disobey!"

"Thanks, oh great King!" replied Theodore; 44but will-
ingly we will not tread that land again, so long as he is
emperor. Valentinian, however, in the West, offers them
peace and protection. Thither will I send them, if, indeed, I
may not see them ere they go. I fear not any danger to my-
self."

44 It must not be," said Attila, in a tone that left no reply.
44 Thou must go with me ; but I promise thee that, this expedi-
tion over, thou shalt have permission to visit them in that
great pile of stones which you Romans call the capital of the
world, and shall abide with them longer than thou didst
before. In Rome thou wilt be safe; but I could not trust
thy life in barren mountains and passes which would defy our
search. The word of Attila is given: thou shalt visit them in218

ATTILA.

Eome! and my promise, like thine, my son, can never be
violated."

"I thank thee, oh Attila," replied Theodore—"I thank
thee; and feel that thou art generous. So they be safe, and
free from harm, I am content to abide with thee."

"They shall be safe," replied Attila; ufor my messengers
to Yalentinian shall command him to respect them as the
children of his master; and the Alani shall have orders to
guard them on their journey into the Roman state. Now hie
thee hence, and write thy letter—a weary task, I should think
it! What need have men with letters? Was not speech
enough? But they must still add to what the gods give
them; and all their additions do but spoil Heaven's gifts."

Theodore took his leave and withdrew ; and going back to
his dwelling, he called one of his attendants, saying, "Haste
thee to Constantius, the Roman secretary of the King; ask
him to send me parchment, and reeds and ink, or if he have
no vellum, let him send papyrus."

The materials for writing were soon brought to him; and
sitting down by the fresh-trimmed lamp, Theodore spent the
next four hours of the night in pouring forth to Ildica all the
feelings of his heart.

THE REPLY.

441 have not come, oh dearest, and most beautiful, I have
not sent, because to do either was impossible; and even now,
my prayer has been refused, when I petitioned Attila to let
me go, in order to guard thee from difficulty and danger. He
gives me the means, however, of sending thee this letter;
and although it will soon cause the distance between us to be
increased, yet gladly and eagerly do I seize the opportunity of
bidding thee fly from the land of the Alani, ere it become
dangerous for thee to tarry. Fly, my Ildica, bid our mother
fly, as speedily as may be; for although the anger of Attila
towards the nation with whom thou dwellest may be appeased,
yet the myriads of the Huns are arming for some distant
expedition, and he himself has said, that a part of the host
take their way by the Norican Alps. On their course is
danger and destruction; and even where they come as friends,
perils not small, to all whom they approach, precede and
accompany their march.

" Oh that I could be with thee, to guide and guard thy
footsteps! Oh that I could be with thee, to shelter thee in
my arms, from every danger and from ev^ry injury! But it
must not be: and I must bid thee go further from me, quit
the calm retreat, where even in exile we have known together
some of our brightest hours of uninterrupted joy, and plungeATTILA.

219

into the crowd of a wide, vicious, luxurious city, where thou-
sands will strive to efface the memory of the absent from thy
heart ,; where thousands will strive to win the hand that has
been promised unto me; where thousands will deem thy beauty
and thy love prizes to be won by any means, conquests to be
made by any falsehood.

"Yes, my Ildica, thou must fly to Rome; and yet I bid
thee do so without one fear, that any thought or any feeling of
her I love will be estranged from me by absence, that her affec-
tion will be diminished by any art of others to win it for
themselves, or that her heart will not be as wholly mine when
next we meet as when last we parted. If I know my Ildica
aright, and judge not Rome too harshly, the capital of the
empire will be but a wide desert to her, who has no feelings
in common with its degenerate and voluptuous inhabitants.
Ravenna itself would be worse; and I grieve that it is so, for
my Ildica's sake, knowing well, that even where the best and
the brightest of other days assembled round her, they could not
steal one feeling of her heart from the first grateful object
of her young but steadfast love.

u Go, then, to Rome, my Ildica! and, amidst the best ol
those who still remain, thou mayest, perhaps, find some who
will cheer thine hours during our separation, some whose
example and advice may be necessary and salutary both to
Eudochia and to Ammian. Long, I fear, alas! too long, will
be that separation; for although Attila has fixed a time at
which I may once more fly to see thee, yet that time is named
as the end of the expedition on which he is now about to set
out; and it is only in the knowledge of one all-seeing Being
how long that expedition may continue, or whither it may lead.

" Still, however, it is a bright hope, a hope that will cheer
me and console me, though it may make the day seem long,
and the hours fly heavily, till they dwindle down to the mo-
ment of my glad departure. Of what may intervene, I will
think the best: dangers may happen, sorrows may befall; but
I will not anticipate either the one or the other, and will only
think that every hour which passes only serves to bring nearer
the time of our re-union.

" What I most fear is, that the arms of Attila are about to
be turned against some part of our native land; for where
indeed could he lead his hosts without meeting some portion
of the Roman empire ? He demands, too, that I should ac-
company him ; but be assured, sweetest Ildica, that the hand
of Theodore will never be armed against the land of his
fathers; and though, as a Roman, I feel that I should be
justified in striking to the earth the head of a tyrant, or of a
tyrant's favourite, by whom my father was unjustly doomed220

ATT1LA.

to die, there is a difference between the country and its op-
pressor. I might be a Brutus, but I would never be a Corio-
lanus. If I go with Attila, and if his arms are turned against
the empire, I may go as a spectator to the war; but let it be
remembered—and oh, Ildica, make it known, wherever a
Eoman ear will listen—that I go against my will, and as a
captive; that I leave my sword behind me in these wars;
that my shield is hung up by the hearth I quit in this bar-
barian land; and that if I fall amidst the events which may
now ensue, I fall without dishonour.

"Let me turn, now, to sweeter thoughts; let me think of
some dearer theme. I have dreamed, I have fancied, that
after this expedition is over, perchance Attila may abridge the
period of my captivity, and permit me to return, and at the
altar of our God claim my Ildica as my own for ever. Oh,
beloved! how my heart beats even when I think of that hour,
when I think of the moment that shall make thee mine
—mine beyond the power of fate itself—mine through life
and through eternity—united unto me by bonds that nothing
can sever—wife of my bosom—mother of my children—
one, one with me in every thought, in every feeling—
in hopes, in fears, in joys, and sorrows, one! Oh, Ildica!
what were heaven itself, could we but think that dear bond,
that tie which binds the soul itself, could be burst even by the
hand of death. Oh, no! I will not believe it, that even in
another life I shall not know, and see, and love thee still;
that purified, perhaps, and elevated, calmed down and tran-
quillised from the agitating fire that thrills through every vein
when I but think of thee, the same intense affection which I now
feel shall not survive the tomb, and become one of the bright-
est parts of a brighter state of being. Yes, Ildica, yes, it
shall be so! Those who doubt it, know not what love is; for
oh, surely, if there be feelings in this life at all that deserve
to be immortal, it is those which would make us sacrifice life
itself, and all that life can give, for another.

" Thou thinkest of me, Ildica; yes, I know thou thinkest
of me. My heart is a witness for thine, that not an hour of
the dull day passes without some thought of those we love ;
and it is strange, oh, how strange! that out of objects which
have no apparent connection with such images, the idea of her
I love is brought before my mind, and my heart, like the bee,
draws the honey of those sweet associations from everything
it finds. If, when hunting in the neighbouring woods, the
sweet breath of the wild cherry blossom is wafted past me by
the wind, the image of Ildica, I know not why, rises up
instantly before imagination; and every sweet perfume of the
odorous flowers seems to gain an additional fragrance fromATTTLA.

221

the associations that they call up. If the singing of the spring
birds strike mine ear, do not the tones of that dear voice come
back upon memory, and thrill through my inmost heart?
Everything is lost in thee ; nothing that I admired, or loved,
or delighted in before, seems now to have any separate
existence in my eyes, but is all beheld with some reference to
her I love.

u Oh, Ildica! do we not love each other better for all the
anxieties and cares which have surrounded the first days
of our affection ? If so, let us not regret them, for they have
been stern, but kind-hearted friends, who may have chastised
our youth, but have left us an inestimable treasure ere they
departed: yes, inestimable, indeed, for there are gems to
adorn existence, as well as to ornament the body; and the
brightest of all the diamonds of the heart's treasury is love
such as I feel for thee.

" Tell Flavia that I love her as her son; and tell her all I
feel for thee. It will be more pleasant unto her ear than
aught I could say unto herself. Bid her not mourn more
than needs must be to return to Rome—the city which she
knew in days of happiness—now that so much of that happi-
ness has passed away. Bid her cheer herself with hope, for
the clouds are beginning to break away; and the sun may
soon shine once more, if not for her as bright as ever, yet
with a tranquil splendour that will refresh her heart.

u Cast thine arms round Eudochia, and kiss her with love
for her brother's sake, telling her how deeply and bitterly he
regrets that he is not permitted to guard her youth, and foster
her beauty and her virtues, till a husband's hand took from
his own the task. Greet Ammian, too, with love, telling him
that he must curb his wild spirit, and keep all his courage,
and all his energies, to protect those whom God has placed
under his charge, and left without other safeguard.

u One word more, my beloved, to end this long epistle.
Doubt not that at Rome you will find protection ; for you have
it from one whom you have seen, but hardly know—from one
so mighty, however, that, alas! experience shows, even Rome
herself must tremble at his frown. Attila protects you; and
unto Yalentinian he has sent a message to respect you and
yours, as if you were his children. The weak and corrupt
monarch, that Rome must obey, dare as soon neglect this
warning as fall upon his sword. The Alani, too, have orders
to conduct you safely to the Roman territory. Oh that
every step should thus bear you farther from me!

u As I cannot see thee, as I cannot embrace thee, I would
willingly write to thee for ever. But it must come to an end.
Farewell, sweet Ildica! farewell, my beloved! Remember222	ATTCLA.

me still, as heretofore! Love me ever! Love me as well as
I love thee! I ask—I can have—no better love. Farewell,
again and again, farewell!"

CHAPTER XXIX.

We must pass over the events of some months, and change
the scene to the heart of France.

In the vast plains between the Seine and the Marne, where
the eye can roam unobstructed over many a mile of open
country, runs a brook of the clearest water, which, wandering
on through vineyard and corn-field, joins the latter river not
far from Soulanges.

At the time I speak of, however, no corntspread over that
wide plain, no vines obstructed the progress of the eye, and
nothing but thin low grass, which had sprang up where
wheat and oats had been cut down or burned, covered the
brown surface of the earth with a robe of autumnal green.
A wanderer, who stooped down to bathe his weary brow
in that rivulet, had gazed, before he bent his head, upon the
wide scene before his eyes, and over the whole plain not
a living creature was seen to move. A raven winged its slow
flight across the sky, but that was the only sign of life which
the keenest eye could discover. When the wayfarer raised
his head, however, and gazed again, a brown shadow seemed
to lie upon the land near the horizon, and, mounting upon the
base of a ruined land-mark, he saw that dull shade creeping
onward towards him. He looked up to the sky to see if it
were a cloud, which, borne by the wind, might interrupt the
light of the sun; but over the whole heaven was spread
a thin filmy vapour, which intercepted all the stronger
rays.

He gazed again, and the shadow seemed to assume the
form of a wide range of heathy bushes blown about by
the air. Still the cloud advanced, and gradually spreading
like a high wave, seen rushing in a long bending fine over the
shore, it came forward across the plains, stretching out as far
as the eye could reach. Distinct and more distinct at length
the brown masses raised themselves above the earth, and
in the end innumerable horsemen might be seen advancing
with a slow pace from the westward. A cry of terror burst
from the weary wanderer, and he fled as fast as his limbs
would bear him. Ere half an hour had passed, the war-horse
of Attila pawed the ground beside the fallen land-mark, and
the myriads of the Huns spread out over all the plain.

" Let the ground before me be cleared," cried the King \ATTILA.

223

and then poising his javelin above his head, he cast it forward
With prodigious force. A hundred cubits farther than any
other arm could throw, it still sang on through the air, then
touched the earth, and quivered in the ploughed-up ground.

u There pitch my tent," continued Attila ; " there fix our
camp. Turn all faces back towards the west, for Attila has
retreated far enough, and here we have space to wheel our
horses on the foe. Oh Theodoric! Theodoric! thou hast de-
ceived and betrayed thy friend. I offered to make thee a
king indeed, instead of a puppet in the hands of Rome; but
iEtius with his loud promises, and Avitus with his fair flat-
tery, have seduced thee to the side of Attila's enemies, and
ere two days are over, either he or thou must die. Had it
not been for thee and thy Goths, the Romans of Gaul, like the
Romans of the East, had been now crouching in trembling
terror at the feet of Attila. But they shall still tremble!
Shall it not be so, oh Yalamir? Will not thy subjects dye
their hands in the blood of their degenerate kinsmen ? Shall
it not be so, Ardaric ? Will not thy Gepidae smite the heads
of the vain loquacious Franks ? Attila will beard the Roman,
and even here shall be the spot. Make the camp strong, and
let no one sit apart from the rest. Let the waggons be placed
around, and the spaces beneath them filled up, and leave no
entrance but one; for if we destroy not this Roman army in
the field, we will wait it in our camp, and by the head of my
father I will not quit the land till it is dispersed. Rid the
wise men and the diviners sacrifice, and consult the bones of
the slain, that I may know what will be the event of to-mor-
row. Tell them that we fight, even if we die. Let them
speak the truth, therefore, boldly. Ha! Theodore, my son,
ride hither with me."

The young Roman spurred on his horse at the monarch's
command, and rode on beside him while he surveyed the field.
Theodore, however, was not armed, and he only feared that
Attila might be about to ask him some question in regard
either to the Roman discipline, or the arrangements of his
own troops for battle, to answer which he might feel incompa-
tible with his duty to his country. But Attila, as he proceeded,
gave directions to the various leaders who followed him, inter-
rupting, from time to time, for that purpose, his conver-
sation with the young Roman, which turned to a very different
theme.

" Those diviners," he said, " I have no trust in them.
Would that we had here that holy man from the mountains
beyond the Te'xssa I Then should we have some certainty in
regard to the result of to-morrow's battle. Dost thou know,
my son, what are the means which the Christian augurs use224

ATTILA.

to learn the future as they do ?—Valamir, my friend," he con-
tinued, turning to the king of the Ostrogoths, 44 seest thou
yon mound, the only one which interrupts the eye as it wan-
ders towards the east? Though that mound be scarcely bigger
than a great ant-hill, much may depend upon it—even the fate
of the battle," he added, in a low voice. 44 We will range our
host along this brook, at the distance of two hundred cubits;
the hill will be before us, but let it be seized ere the strife
commences.—Say, Theodore, knowest thou how the Christian
augurs are accustomed to divine ? "

44 The Christians have no augurs, oh Attila!" replied Theo-
dore. " There have been, and there are, prophets amongst
them, to whom is revealed, by God himself, some of the events
that are to come."

" That is but a pretence," answered Attila. "We judge by
the bones of the victims: other nations by their entrails.
Some divine by the sand, some by the lightning, some by the
flight of birds; but all who have any knowledge of the future,
gain it from some manifest sign. So must it be with the
Christian augurs; but they conceal their knowledge, lest
others should learn it, and be as wise as they are.—Ardaric,
my friend and wise counsellor, place thyself early upon the
right. Thou wilt never fly nor bend, I know, but let us all
be calm in the hour of battle. Let not rage and rashness
make us forget that victories are as often won by calm and
temperate skill as by impetuous daring. Lo! yonder come
the Romans! I would fain that they should not live another
night on the same earth with Attila; but it is too late to de-
stroy them to-day. I will not look upon them, lest I be
tempted over-much.—What say the diviners ? " he continued,
turning to an attendant who came running up from a spot
where a large fire had been hastily lighted.

44 I know not, mighty King!" replied the slave ; 44 but the
sacrifice is over, and they come to seek thee."

Attila paused, and waited, while a crowd of Huns and
slaves, all eager to hear the announcement, came forward,
accompanying the diviners. They, unlike the Roman augurs
of a former time, were dressed in no graceful robes; but,
covered simply with the rude garments of the Scythians, they
were only distinguished from the rest of the Huns by a wilder
and fiercer appearance. As they came near, however, Attila
dismounted from his horse; and the diviners approaching
with less reverence than the rest of his people displayed to-
wards him, the elder of the party addressed him boldly.

44 Hear, oh Attila! " he said—44 Hear what the gods pro-
nounce by the bones of the victims! Of the result of the
battle we know nothing, and therefore we cannot promise youATTILA.

225

the victory; but we know that the leader of your enemies
shall die in the strife. To-morrow's sun shall rise upon him
living, and set upon him dead. We have spoken what we
know."

u JEtius shall die, then! " said Attila—" So let it be! But
can ye say nothing farther ? Can ye not tell which will be
successful in to-morrow's strife ? "

"We had no answer," replied the diviner, with a gloomy
look—u the gods left it doubtful."

" They left it to our own valour, then! " cried Attila, in a
voice of triumphant confidence. u Our hearts and our arms
shall make it no longer doubtful.—Lo! yon Romans still ad-
vance over the plain. They must not come too near us.—
Ardaric, let thy Gepidae recross the stream, and insure that
the enemy do not approach within a hundred bow-shots.—
Theodore, wouldst thou leave me, my son? " he added, seeing
the young Soman's eyes turned with a look of natural interest
upon the advancing legions of iEtius—" wouldst thou leave
me, my son ? If so, Attila gives thee leave to go. I fear
not that there should be one brave man added to yon mighty
host of cowards. I have saved thy life, I have loved thee
well, I have treated thee as my child; but if thou wouldst
leave Attila, at such a moment as this, thou shalt go in
peaoe."

Theodore sprang to the ground and kissed the hand of the
monarch. "I will not quit thee, oh Attila!" he said—"I
seek not to quit thee, and of all times I would not quit thee
now. Fight against my native land, I cannot; but through
to-morrow's field I will ride unarmed by the side of Attila,
and defend him as far as may be from every danger in the
strife. I am grateful, oh mighty King! for all your favours:
I love you for all your kindness and all your noble qualities;
and doubt me not, I beseech you, for though I fight not on
your part, none will be more faithful to you than I will. Oh,
doubt me not!"

" I do not doubt you," answered Attila; " but let us to our
camp."

Difficult were it to describe, impossible to convey any ade-
quate idea of the scene of tumult, din, and confusion, which
the camp of the Huns presented during that night. The
circle of waggons placed in a double row, and forming in
reality a strong fortification, was nearly completed, when
Attila led the way thither, and turned his steps towards his
own tent. Fastened to strong stakes driven into the ground,
between the inner wheels, the waggons were immovable from
without, but easily turned or withdrawn from within; and
embracing an immense extent of ground, they affoxded

F226

ATTILA.

space for the mighty host which Attila had led into the plains
of Gaul.

During that night, and comprised in a space of a few miles,
mbre than a million of human beings, either in the Hunnish
or the Koman army, prepared for battle, and panted for car-
nage. No still quiet followed in the train of night: the blows
of the hammer and the mallet, the ringing of armour, the
voices of guards and commanders, the tramp of thousands
passing to and fro, the murmur of innumerable voices, the
loud and ringing laugh, the war-song shouted high and strong,
the sounding of trumpets, and of wild martial music, the
neighing of thousands of horses, raised a roar through the
whole air, in the midst of which the sounds of an accidental
conflict, that took place between the troops of Ardaric and
those of Theodoric, the Gothic ally of iEtius, were scarcely
heard; though so fierce was the struggle for the bank of the
rivulet, that fifteen thousand men were left dead within a
stone's throw of the Hunnish camp.

Thus passed the night; and early on the following morning
Attila appeared at the door of his tent, and was soon sur-
rounded by the different leaders of the nations under his com-
mand. His countenance was serene and bright; and the
attendants, who had passed the night in his tent, declared that
he had slept as calmly as an infant, from the moment that he
lay down his head to rest, to the moment that he woke
to battle. Calmly and tranquilly he asked the tidings of the
night; and in a brief conversation with the leaders, assigned
to everyone his proper post, and pointed out the great objects
to be striven for in the coming conflict. Towards the third
hour after daybreak, one of the watchers before the camp of
the Huns announced that they saw movements in the Roman
camp; and Attila, instantly springing on his horse, led forth
his troops himself through the single aperture which had
been left for that purpose. Two hours more elapsed ere the
whole of that mighty host were in array; but then to any
eye looking along oyer the wide plain, strange and fearful
must have been the sight, yet grand and magnificent.

On one side of that little brook, running pure and clear,
between those hostile armies—like the bright stream of divine
love, pouring on its refreshing waters of peace amidst the
strife and turbulence of human passions—stretched forth the
host of Attila, nearly seven hundred thousand horsemen from
every land and every nation of the North. There, in the
centre, under his own immediate command, appeared the dark
line of dusky Huns, little embarrassed with defensive armour,
but bearing the strong and pliant bow upon their shoulders,
and at their side the quiver loaded with unerring arrows; theATTILA.

227

large heavy sword, too, was in the hand of each, and at many

a stirrup of the wilder tribes hung, as an ornament, a gory
human head. Far on the right appeared the Gepidae, fairer in
complexion, more bulky in limb, and more splendid in arms
and apparel, but generally reputed less active, less fierce, and
less persevering than the Huns. On the left, again, were
seen the Ostrogoths, tall, fair, and powerful; and the inter-
vening spaces were filled up with a thousand barbarous tribes
—the Rugi, the Geloni, the Heruli, the Scyrri, Burgundians,
Turingians, and those called the Bellonoti. A thousand
tongues were spoken in that host, a thousand varieties of face
and garb were seen, but all were actuated by the same feel-
ings—hatred to the Romans, and reverencefor the mighty Hun.

On the other side of the brook, again, appeared, not less in
number, and not less various in appearance, the vast army
which iEtius had collected from the different nations that in-
habited Gaul; the long-haired Frank, the blue-eyed Goth,
the sturdy Armorican, the powerful but doubtful Alan; and
there, upon his right, appeared Theodoric, the wise and
valiant monarch of the Visigoths, with his white hair, speak-
ing the passing of many a careful year, and his three gallant
sons, ready to obey, with the activity of youth, those direc-
tions which the wisdom of his age might dictate. In the
centre were placed all the more doubtful allies of the Roman
empire, mingled with such as might act as a check upon their
wavering faith. On the left of the line appeared the Roman
eagles, under the command of iEtius in person. There, too,
might he be seen, in the eyes of the whole army, riding from
rank to rank, and with bold and cheerful words encouraging
his soldiers, and exciting them to great exertion. Small in
person, but graceful, well-proportioned, and active, with the
lion heart of the hero, and the eagle glance of the great gene-
ral, the whole aspect of iEtius breathed courage, and in-
spired energy. Wherever he rode, wherever he appeared, a
cheerful murmur greeted him; and when at length he gal-
loped his splendid battle-horse along the line, and riding up
to Theodoric embraced the old chieftain without dismounting
from his charger, a loud and universal shout burst from the
army, and seemed to the ears of the Romans a presage of
victory.

Calm, grave, and immovable, sat Attila upon his black
charger, a stone's throw before the line of the Huns. On him
every eye in his own host was turned; and in that moment of
awful suspense which precedes the closing of two mighty
powers in the first shock of battle, the barbarian myriads
seemed to forget the presence of their Roman adversaries in
the intense interest with which they regarded their terrible228

ATTILA.

leader. Armed, like themselves, with a bow upon his
shoulder, and a sword in his hand, Attila sat and gazed upon
his forces, turning from time to time a casual glance upon the
Romans, and then looking back along the far-extending line
of Huns, while a scarcely perceptible smile of triumphant
anticipation hung upon his lip.

He sat almost alone, for his nearest followers and most
faithful friends remained a few paces behind; while, with that
stern, proud glance, he ran over his often victorious bands,
and seemed waiting with tranquil confidence for the approach-
ing strife.' At length, all seemed prepared on every side, and
the stillness of expectation fell upon the field. It continued
till it seemed as if all were afraid to break it, so deep, so pro-
found, grew that boding silence.

Slowly turning his horse, Attila rode back towards the cen-
tre of the Hunnish cavalry, and then, with a voice so clear, so
distinct, so powerful, that its deep rolling tones are said to have
reached even the Roman lines, he exclaimed, " Unconquer-
able race, behold your enemies! I strive not to give you confi-
dence in me or in yourselves. Here is no new leader, no in-
experienced army. Well do you know how light and empty
are the arms of the Romans. They fly not with the first
wound, but with the first dust of the battle! Fearing to meet
you unsupported, and remembering that where Romans have
encountered Huns the Romans have fallen like corn before
the reaper, they have called to their aid degenerate tribes,
who have taken shelter in the vicious provinces of Rome,
after having been expelled from amongst the native Goths, from
the Gepidae, the Heruli, the Alani. These, whom we have
driven from amongst us—these weak, corrupted, degraded as
they are—form the bulk, supply the strength, afford the
courage of the army before you. Behold them as they stand!
are they not as one of their own fields of corn, which we have
a thousand times trodden down beneath our horses' feet ? We
are no weak husbandmen, that we should fail to reap such a
harvest as that. On warriors, on! Pour on upon the Alani I
Break through the degenerate Goths! At the sound of our
horses' feet, the Roman eagles, as is their custom, will take
wing, and fly; and yon dark multitude shall disappear like
the mist of the morning! Why should fortune have given
unto the Huns innumerable victories, if not to crown them all
with this successful day ? On, warriors, on! Drink the blood
of your enemies! Let the wounded, in dying, strike his
javelin through his foe, and no one dare to die, ere he have
brought a Roman head to the ground. I tread before you the
way to victory; and if any one follow not Attila, he is already
dead!"ATTILA.

229

A loud acclamation burst from the nearer ranks, and ran
along all the line of the Huns, while even those who had not
heard, poured forth their own clamorous applause of the
words which they fancied had been spoken; and the clang of
arms dashed violently together, mingled with the deafening
shout that rose up from the barbarian host.

" Seize on yon hill, Valamir!" cried Attila, while the roar
continued: " it should have been done before."

The monarch of the Ostrogoths hastened to obey: but
scarcely had his troops been put in motion, when a correspond-
ing movement was seen upon the part of the Romans; and
the terrible strife of that day—the most fierce, the most san-
guinary that Europe ever has seen—was commenced by the
struggle for that low hill, between the two rival tribes of
Goths.

For a time the rest of both armies remained unmoved, as if
spectators of the combat; but rage and emulation increased
in their bosoms every moment as they gazed, and at length it
became impossible for the leaders on either part to restrain in
their troops the burning thirst for battle. On poured the
Huns upon the Eomans; on rushed the Romans on the Huns.
The whirling masses of the Scythian horsemen, enveloped in
a cloud of dust, from which shot forth a hail of arrows, passed
through and through the ranks of the enemy, casting them-
selves in vain upon the firm legions of iEtius, scattering the
Franks and the Sicambres, sweeping down whole ranks of the
Alani and the Goths. On, in heavy ]ine, with their long
spears lowered, poured the multitude of the Gepidae, bearing
slaughter and confusion wherever they came.

But still Theodoric and his Goths maintained the hill; still
iEtius and his legions fought unconquered on the plain; still
the Franks and the Alani, knowing that valour alone could
save them, continued the combat against the Huns. Hour
after hour passed by; rank after rank was mowed down; the
rivulet, late so pure and clear, flowed onward, one unmingled
stream of blood; and the feet of the Hunnish horses, as they
charged again and again the confused, but unsubdued, masses
of the Romans, splashed up a gory dew from the pools that
lay unabsorbed upon the loamy soil. So great, so terrible
was the slaughter, that the horses could scarcely keep their
feet amongst the bodies of the dead and dying. Each waving
sword dismissed some erring spirit to its last account; each
footfall trampled on the writhing limbs of some mangled fel-
low-creature.

In the foremost ranks of battle, wherever danger was pre-
eminent, wherever the foes remained unbroken, wherever the
carnage was most intense, there was seen Attila; and wher-m

ATTILA.

ever he appeared, there for the time was victory obtained.
Through the whole of that day, too, Theodore was by his side;
and for the second time he saw upon him what his followers
not unaptly called " the spirit of the battle." Though prompt
and clear in every command, keen and ready to seize every
advantage, the calm and moderate sternness of his demeanour
was gone; and, fierce as the lion of the wilderness, rapid as
the leven bolt of heaven, remorseless and unsparing as the
hurricane, he swept on. No one stood before him for an in-
stant ; no one was struck a second time; but wherever an ad-
versary crossed his path, there was left, at a single blow, a
disfigured corpse upon the ground; or else his horse's feet
trampled out the faint sparks that his sword had left.

Death seemed to march before him against his enemies, nor
ever turned to approach himself; and only twice, when sur-
rounded almost on every side by the foe, could Theodore
interpose to parry with an iron truncheon, which was the only
weapon that he bore throughout the day, the blows of a spear
and a javelin, which were aimed at the monarch's throat.
The young Roman knew not that he had seen the service
rendered; but at length, when the day was far spent, Ellac,
his eldest son, crossed the path of the monarch, saying, " Ride
not in the battle with the Roman, oh my father ! He is of the
country of our enemies, and may kill thee when thy back is
turned. Let me slay him even now, lest the traitor destroy
thee!"

" He has saved my life twice this day!" cried Attila, urg-
ing forward his horse. " Out of my way!" he continued,
seeing that his son still stood before him. 44 Out of my way!
or, by the God of battles, I will send thee to the land of
spirits! Out of my way!"—and he raised his sword over his
son's head, as if about to cleave him to the jaws.

Ellac saw that the moment was not his; and, reining back
his horse, he sought another part of the field, while Attila
pursued his career, and strove, but strove long in vain, to ob-
tain possession of the hill. At length, as the closing day
waxed faint and dim, and the grey shade of evening, falling
over the whole bloody scene, announced that the battle must
soon close, or be prolonged into the night, Attila for a moment
gained the summit of that long-contested eminence, and slew
with his own hand the last of the Gothic warriors, whose
especial charge had been to defend that post. Up to that in-
stant he had rushed on, like a devouring flame, leaving
nothing but ashes behind him; but there he suddenly paused,
gazed forth upon the confused and mingled masses of the
Huns and Romans, that, with equal success, and very nearly
equal numbers, were seen spread over the plain for manyATTILA.

231

miles around. He then lifted his eyes towards the sky,
marked the dim grey that mingled with the blue, and the
bright star of evening betokening that the brighter sun was
gone; and with a sudden calmness said, in a low tranquil
voice, " It is too late for victory to-night! It is too late!—
Let the trumpets be sounded!" he continued, to some of
those who followed—u Let the trumpets be sounded, to recall
all men to the camp! Gather together the ten nearest squad-
rons upon this slope! The Romans, I think, have had enough
of strife to-day, and will not seek it farther; but they have
fought well for once, and Attila must defend his own, while
they seek a place of repose for the night."

He added some further orders; and in a few minutes was
heard, from the Hunnish camp, the sound of trumpets giving
forth the peculiar notes of recall, with which the Huns and
other barbarous nations were acquainted; and, separating
themselves gradually but securely from the masses of the
Romans, the various tribes which had followed Attila to that
bloody battle were seen moving, in firm and regular order,
towards their camp.

What would have been the result of this movement, under
other circumstances, it is difficult to say, had the eyes of
iEtius marked the proceedings of the Huns, or the mind of
Theodoric directed the movements of the enemy; but tram-
pled under the horses1 feet, not far from the spot where Attila
then sat, lay the disfigured body of the Gothic king, and the
Roman general was far away, embarrassed with a party of the
Gepidae, by whom he had nearly been taken.

The inferior commanders of the Roman host gladly per-
ceived that a battle, of which they were beginning to despair,
was not entirely lost; and seeing the dark cloud of Huns,
with which Attila on the hill covered the manoeuvres of his
troops, they dared not act any very vigorous part, with
thinned and exhausted troops, against so bold and well-pre-
pared an enemy. The trumpets of Attila continued to sound
for two hours after nightfall: his forces entered the camp un
molested, and the last of the host who quitted the battle
plain was the monarch of the Huns himself. *

* Such. I believe to be the real history of this famous contest. We
derive all our knowledge of the particulars from the Goths and Romans,
as the Huns were not historians, or at least did not write their own ver-
sion of the events in which they were engaged. Even in the present age,
when both parties do not scruple to render their pretensions to success on
such occasions permanent, how often do we see a battle lost claimed by
the loser as a battle won ! and, of course, it is more likely to have been
so when there was no check found in a counter-statement. The histo-
rians, however, suffer one or two important fects to appear, which prevent232

attila*

CHAPTER XXX.

" Let the dead be numbered!" said Attila, as he entered his
tent—u Let the dead be numbered! I have lost many of my
children! Let every chieftain of every tribe count up their
numbers, and tell me how many are wanting. We are brave
men, and can look our loss in the face.—Theodore, my son, I
thank thee; and I give thee leave, as a Roman, to rejoice
that, for the first time, Attila has fought without winning a
victory.

Thus saying, he passed on, and Theodore turned to where
his own tents were placed. It had been a day of terrible ex-
citement ; and no man probably, in either army, had felt such
strange and contending emotions as the young Roman, who,
riding by the side of Attila through that terrible conflict,
exerted every energy to defend the monarch's life, and yet
from his heart wished success unto his enemies. Though
every moment his own person had been in danger—the more,

us from believing that JEtius and Theodoric obtained a victory over Attila
on the present occasion. In the first place, it is clear that the immense
Roman and Gothic army dispersed itself immediately after the battle in
which Theodoric was killed. Reasons have been assigned for this pro-
ceeding, which are in themselves improbable and unsatisfactory, but
which, when coupled with the fact that Attila afterwards sacked Langres
and BesanQon, and with the strong reasons which exist for believing that
iEtius himself retreated at once into the Lyonnaise, render the victory of
the Romans somewhat more than doubtful. It seems to me very clear
that the battle may have had an indecisive termination, but that ^Etius,
finding that the Goths and Franks could not be induced to try the for-
tunes of another day against Attila, retreated himself in haste towards
Italy, while Attila, whose loss had been very great, proceeded by a new
road towards his own land, ravaging the country, and taking several very
important towns in his way. The very words of Jornandes admit that
Attila was but little depressed by the event of the battle, and imply that
his after-march was still as in a career of victory. Nor is there the
slightest proof, that I have been able to discover, that iEtius, as some
have declared, followed the monarch of the Huns even at a distance.

If such were the way that the Romans and Goths employed a victory,
they must have been moderate and generous indeed; and, under such cir-
cumstances, it might be doubtful whether they did not treat their enemies
more mildly than their friends. The character of JEtius is represented
by his panegyrists, on the present occasion (probably to screen him from
the disgrace of defeat), in a very singular and not creditable point of
view. He cheated both the Goths and the Franks, we are told, in order
to get rid of them; and then, when left alone with Attila, escorted his
great enemy quietly out of Gaul, suffering him to sack and destroy what
cities he pleased as he went. Is this reasonable ? Is this probable ?ATTILA.

perhaps, because he sought to take the life of none himself—
yet, during the day, he had not felt even that slight exciting
shade of apprehension which is rather pleasing than other-
wise. His whole thoughts had been divided between Attila
and the Romans. He had sought most eagerly, and he had
found completely, an opportunity of proving his gratitude to
the monarch of the Iiuns for all the great and singular favour
which he had displayed towards him.

That gratitude had, indeed, been great. It is true, he had
discovered that Attila had a personal object in the first signs
of forbearance which he had shown towards him; but Theo-
dore was not one to scan narrowly the causes of gratitude, or
to weigh it out in very fine and accurate scales; and yet,
though he would willingly have given his life to save that of
the mighty king who had protected and befriended him, he
could not find in his heart to wish his fellow-countrymen de-
feated. Thus, he had watched the wavering progress of the
figlit with an anxious and a beating heart, longing every mo-
ment to spring forward and rally the legions when he saw
them shaken, or to form again the cohorts broken by the
Hunnish cavalry.

The same feelings continued, and agitated him still, after
he had re-entered the camp. Throughout the night a low
and moaning murmur went up from the plain between the
two armies; and when Theodore, raised upon one of the wag-
gons, gazed over that bloody field, as it lay in the tranquil
moonlight, he could see amongst the piles of dead, which now
broke the flat line of the land, a number of objects moving
slowly, and darkening here and there those spots where the
beams of the calm, bright planet were reflected from heaps of
corslets and shining arms. The whole camp around him,
except a few solitary warriors keeping guard, seemed now to
have fallen sound asleep, wearied out with exertion; and none
of the noises of the preceding night broke the stillness of the
air. Horses and men, equally tired, uttered no sound; and
that low moan, not unlike the sighing of a melancholy wind,
was all that interrupted the silence. As Theodore gazed, a
step near him made him turn ; and the next moment, mount-
ing upon the same part of the rampart on which he had
raised himself, Ardaric stood by his side, and gazed out in the
same direction for some time without speaking.

" What can that faint moan proceed from ? " said Theodore,
at length. u You hear it, do you not, noble Ardaric ? The
stream is too small to be heard here!"

"I hear it well," answered Ardaric. "It is the groaning
of the many wounded, I suppose ; though I never listened to
such a sound before."234

ATTILA.

44 "Nor ever, probably," said Theodore, u saw such a field?"

"The world never has seen such till this day!" replied the
king of the Gepidse. " The number of the dead is fearful. I
alone have lost seventy thousand men: so say the leaders of
the tribes. Did you not think the enemy seemed to have suf-
fered as much as we had, at the close of the day ? "

"Fully!" answered Theodore. "But is it possible that
the sound we hear can proceed from the wounded and dying ?
It is horrible to think upon!"

"It may be the spirits of the unburied dead mourning
over their fate," replied Ardaric. " But what are yon moving
objects ? They must be either the Romans come to seek for
their friends, or the wounded crawling about amongst the
slain. Hark, that cawing! and see, they fly up for a moment
into the air!—It is the ravens already at their repast. The
carrion eaters in all lands, the vulture, the worm and the
crow, have cause to be grateful to Attila. On yonder field, I
should guess, must lie, either dead or wounded, some half
million of men. What a banquet! See, they settle again!
and now some wise crow, perched upon a Roman corslet,
shall peck, unreproved, the throat of one of those who used
to call themselves the masters of the world."

"Cannot we go forth and aid the wounded?" demanded
Theodore. " It is dreadful to think of leaving them to die."

" Why so ?" demanded Ardaric. " They will be at rest all
the sooner. Those who had any strength left have crept into
the camp long ago; those who had none are as well where
they are, for neither can they serve us nor we them. It is
only a pity that those ravens are not vultures, such as we have
in the East: they speedily make the dead and dying one.
But, doubtless, there are wolves heie too, out of the great
forest behind us. They will soon clear away the carrion. I
should not wonder if that moaning, which I took for the
groans of the wounded, were the well-pleased murmur of the
wolves over their unexpected feast."

" Nevertheless," said Theodore, " I should much like to
take a small body of men with me, and pick out those we can
aid amongst the wounded."

"What! and have the Romans or the Visigoths upon you,
declaring that you were pillaging the dead!" replied Ardaric;
" and then I should be obliged to go out to defend you. More
Goths, more Huns would come up, and a night-battle would
finish what a day-battle has so well begun. No, no, my young
friend; by my counsel and good-will, not a man shall stir forth
from this camp either to-night, or to-morrow, or the day after,
so long as yon army lies before us. Our loss is nearly equal
now. We are in an enemy's country, where we cannot hopeATTILA.

235

to increase our numbers by a man: they are at home, and
probably, ere to-morrow, may receive reinforcements. Could
we have crushed them in the battle of yesterday, the whole
country would have been ours at once ; but as we failed to do
that, we must no longer leave them the advantages they
possess. Here, in our camp, we must await them, where our
defences are as much as half a million more warriors. They
cannot starve us, for we have food enough for months, what
with our horses and our cattle; and if they attack us boldly,
they must be utterly defeated. No, no, Theodore, my friend,
no one must leave the camp. Attila, I know, will seek to go
forth and destroy them in the open plain; but all voices will
be with me, if he asks counsel of any one: and, having asked
it, he will take it if we all agree. Now let us to our tents, my
friend. After all, these tents are convenient things, though,
when we first entered the Roman territory as enemies
we had none, and despised them as idle luxuries, unworthy
of a warrior. Now, not a leader amongst us but has
many."

" So would it be, Ardaric, with every other Roman luxury,"
replied Theodore. "What you contemn now, you will learn
to tolerate, and at length to like."

" The gods forbid!" answered Ardaric. u Then will we cut
our beards, and call ourselves women."

" The Romans have not fought like women this day, my
friend," replied Theodore.

"True! true!" replied the other. " A fair reproof, Theo-
dore ! They have fought well, and I did them injustice. Now,
good night, and sleep you well. I was heated, and, to say the
truth, somewhat anxious; and I came forth for the cool air,
and for something else to think of than to-morrow. I have
found both, and have also made up my mind, even while gaz-
ing upon that plain. Sleep you well!"

Sleep, however, was not known to the eyes of Theodore
during that night. He was not yet sufficiently habituated to the
mighty trade of war, to see thousands perish, and know that
thousands more were lying around in agony, with a calm and
unconcerned bosom. He lay down to rest his limbs, but sleep
visited not his eyelids. Shortly after dawn, he rose and went
out before his tent; but the host of the Huns was already up
and stirring, and multitudes covered the tops of all the wag-
gons, gazing out over the plain, and towards the Roman en-
campment. Attila was still within his tent, though his battle-
horse stood, caparisoned, by the side of the standard which was
planted at the entrance. But Theodore was told that six or
seven of the chief leaders were in council within the tent;
and joining himself to a party of Hunnish chiefs, who stood in236

ATTILA.

the open space hard by, he remained waiting, with no slight
anxiety, the result of the conference.

At length the curtain of the tent was raised, and Attila, fol-
lowed by his chief leaders, came forth. But little alteration
was visible in his countenance, and yet that alteration had ren-
dered the expression more harsh and severe. He was speak-
ing when he came out, and the deep tones of his powerful
voice reached to where Theodore stood.

"If it must be so," he said, u why let it be so. Nor do I
say that your counsel is not wise and prudent, though I feel
within me the power to crush yon swarm of insects, as I would
emmets beneath my feet.—Still I would spare the people, if it
may be so. But let it be remembered that Attila must never
be defeated! It is sufficient not to have been victorious;
we must die here, or conquer! Let my Huns, with their un-
erring bows, mount upon the ramparts of the camp. Let the
other nations, my friends and allies, stand by to support them;
then raise me up a funeral pile before the entrance of this tent.
There shall be the bed of Attila, if fortune and the God of
battle should desert him! To the ramparts, my friends, to the
ramparts! Let no man say that Attila does not yield to wise
counsels, even when they are opposed to the most burning de-
sire of his heart."

With extraordinary celerity, and perfect order, the Huns
immediately spread themselves over the long line of chariots
which formed the rampart of their camp; and, intermingled
with the Gepidse, and with the spearmen of Valamir, stood
prepared, with their bows in their hands, and the arrow rest-
ing on the string, to send the winged death amongst the Ro-
man legions, as soon as they should advance to the attack.

Several times during the course of the day bodies of the
Roman and Gothic troops were seen whirling about over the
plain, and twice a large division advanced very near the Hun-
nish camp, as if to feel their way towards a general attack.
But a hail of arrows, darkening the sky, and carrying death
and confusion into their ranks, caused them to retreat even
faster than they came; and day closed without the expected
attack.

Early the next morning, a rumour became prevalent in the
Hunnish camp that the Roman army was dispersing; and on
examining more accurately, it was found that an immense body
of Goths, and another of Franks, had quitted the camp of iEtius
before daylight that very morning. Infinite were now the con-
jectures throughout the barbarian host, as to what would be
the conduct of Attila under the present circumstances. It was
not soon decided, however. Scouts returning to the camp
after having been sent forth to ascertain the movements of theATTILA.

237

enemy, and reporting that the Goths and the Franks had halted
at the distance of a few leagues, after quitting the Roman
army, the ramparts of the Huns remained guarded during the
whole of that day; and no one was suffered to quit the camp,
except some small parties, sent forth to reconnoitre.

Attila only once quitted his tent during the whole day, when
the unexpected appearance of a large body of cavalry, sup-
posed to be Goths, on the eastern side of the plain, led to the
belief that a general attack was about to take place upon the
camp of the Huns. They passed away, however, without ap-
proaching ; and Attila, returning to his tent, remained in soli-
tude during the rest of the day.

By dawn of the next morning, the Romans themselves re-
moved to a greater distance, and towards noon an order was
given for the Hunnish army to prepare to march. None knew
the direction that they were about to take, none knew what
purpose was in the bosom of the King; and when he himself
rode forth amongst the troops, not even Ardaric, his most
familiar friend, was aware of the course they were about to
pursue.

A few words announced the intentions of the monarch.
"To the south," he said: "I will not be further bearded by
these Romans, though they be leagued with all the runaways
from the hardy North. On to the south, I say! Let them
attack me, if they dare!"

The tone in which he spoke was such as showed no inclina-
tion to receive counsel or follow advice, and his orders were
instantly obeyed. No obstruction was offered to his march:
the Roman army, as a whole, had disappeared; and though
from time to time a few small bodies of cavalry was seen upon
the right of the Huns, showing that iEtius either followed or
accompanied the march of the invaders, yet no attempt was
made to bring on a general battle: and when, at the end of a
four days' march, the Roman cohorts approached somewhat too
near, they were speedily driven back by the Hunnish cavalry.

On the fifth day, towards noon, the towers of a large and
important city appeared, crowning the summit of some high
hills, round the basis of which the barbarian army had been
winding since the morning. Massy walls, close and elevated
flanking towers, built from the bowels of the rock on which
they stood, announced a well-defended fortress, which in the
time of Rome's greatest glory might well have been looked
upon as impregnable. Nevertheless, no sooner did the eyes of
Attila rest upon it, after gazing over the country round, as if to
ascertain its capabilities for military manoeuvres, than, stretch-
ing forth his hand towards Langres, he exclaimed, "It must
fall! Valamir, my friend, lead the troops to the attack, I,238

ATTlJbA.

with one fourth part of the army, wait upon this gentle slope
for the coming of the Roman, if he dare to show himself. Let
not the sun set, and see this city in the hands of the enemy."

Langres fell, and iEtius struck no stroke to relieve it. Some
of its inhabitants found means to escape into the recesses of
the mountains, and some even hid themselves in various parts
of the town, where they were not discovered, but all the rest

Eerished by the sword; and the streets of Langres flowed with
uman blood. As was very customary with the Huns, it was
fired in several places, ere they left it as night fell; but the
solidity of the buildings, and the incombustible nature of the
materials, saved it from anything but partial destruction, and
Attila passed on, without waiting to see that it was utterly con-
sumed.

Besan^on shared the same fate as Langres, and on the morn-
ing after its destruction Attila gazed from the heights in the
neighbourhood, and exclaimed with a glance of triumph, as he
beheld no force on any side, either to watch his progress or
oppose his will, "We are not defeated! Let them write it in
their histories, that after a pitched battle, in which five hundred
thousand men were slain, Attila rode unrestrained through
Gaul, and sacked two of her finest cities before the eyes of
JEtius. But they will not write thi truth—they will not, they
dare not, lest in after-ages every boy should spit at their
memory. Now we may safely turn our steps towards our
native land, lest the winter again set in, as it did when we
were coming hither, and bind us with icy chains amidst the
fastnesses of the mountains."

The direction taken by the army was now towards the east;
and quitting Gaul, Attila plunged into the passes of the Jura,
pausing from time to time amidst the sweet Helvetian valleys,
as if he even hoped that the Eomans might follow him thither,
and once more try the fortune of battle. He who through
his life had gone from victory to victory, whose steps had been
upon the necks of conquered nations, and whose daily food
had been success, had met with a check, had encountered dis-
appointment, had been unsuccessful, if not defeated; and he
seemed to thirst for an opportunity of wiping away the only
stain, slight as it was, which a thousand battles had left upon
his sword. None of his confidence had abandoned him: his
reliance on his own mighty genius and daring courage was un-
shaken ; but yet the check received in that undecided battle
had wrought a change in Attila, and that change unfavourable.
Ever stern and unyielding, he had now become fierce and iras-
cible ; nor was that all: many of the vices of the barbarian
character, which had been kept down, and, as it were, over-
awed in his nature by the greater and more splendid qualities.ATTILA.

239

so long as success had attended him, now seemed, like slaves
on the first reverse of their master, to rise up turbulently in
his bosom, and threaten to usurp the supreme control.

It was remarked, also, that Attila—fearing, perhaps, that
his first want of success might have deprived him of some por-
tion of his vast influence over the minds and hearts of his fol-
lowers—had become suspicious, wily, exacting in regard to
outward reverence, occasionally violent, and often intem-
perate. He assumed, too, a greater degree of pomp and ex-
ternal magnificence ; as if the simple splendour of his power-
ful mind was sufficiently tarnished by the one slight reverse he
had met with to require the substitution of a meaner sort of
majesty to dazzle the eyes where the heart was unsatisfied.

The change, indeed, was not very great in any one particu-
lar, but still enough so in each to attract the attention of a
person who remarked so closely as Theodore, and, in the
aggregate, sufficient to strike the eyes of others. This mood,
too, increased in him daily; and as he marched onward, it
drew the attention of Ardaric himself.

Through those wide beautiful valleys, clad in the everlasting
green with which a temperate climate and a happy soil has
robed them, the Hunnish cavalry wound on, feeding their
horses by the banks of the streams and lakes, which, scattered
in bright confusion throughout the free Helvetian land, have
rendered it, in all ages, a country of enchanted sights.
Through those deep passes, too, clad with the fir and pine,
whose evergreen garmenture bore no token of the approach-
ing autumn, the long and dusky troops of barbarian horsemen
poured on, lifting, with wild enthusiastic delight, to the moun-
tain, the rock, the rugged precipice, the variegated foliage,
and all the beauties of uncultivated nature, those eyes which
looked with scorn or abhorrence upon all the productions of
civilised art, and on the mighty master works of the human
mind.

Every now and then, however, where the beech, or the ash,
or the elm, or the oak, was mingled with the unchanging trees
of the mountain, the sear aspect of the withering leaves, the
tints of yellow and of brown, told Theodore, but too surely,
that the autumn was far advanced. The expedition of Attila
had now lasted a year and nearly nine months. It was more
than that since he had heard the slightest news of Ildica. It
was two years since he had seen her he loved: but time could
do nothing to diminish feelings such as his; and the longing
once more to clasp her to his heart, grew daily stronger and
stronger, instead of decreasing. He thought the rapid marches
of the army slow and tedious—the way seemed long and inter-
piinable240

attila.

At length began to appear tlie wide plains, the dark woods,
the broad rivers, which announced once more their approach
to the land of the Huns. Their last three days' march, how-
ever, was through fallen and falling snow: but Theodore was
not to be disheartened; and on the very day that followed their
arrival on the banks of the Tibiscus, he claimed audience of
Attila, and, reminding him of his promise, demanded permis-
sion to set out on his visit to Italy.

The answer was stern and decisive. 41 It is impossible!"

The monarch said no more, and Theodore, grieved and dis-
appointed, waited on through a long, dark, tedious winter.
With the first blossoms of the spring, however, as the young
Roman sat within his dwelling, leaning his head upon his hand,
and thinking of the past, the boy Ernac, now growing up in
splendid beauty, ran gladly in, exclaiming, u My father calls
for you! Come, Theodore, come! Attila demands your pre-
sence ; and he is in a milder mood than he has been since his
return from Gaul."

A glad hope passed through the bosom of Theodore, and
rising from his seat, he followed to the presence of the King.

CHAPTER XXXI.

Rome, immortal Rome! the capital of the greatest and most
despotic of governments, wThether democratic, imperial, or
clerical, that ever this world has known; the fountain head of
the mightiest and most pervading power that ever has been
exercised on earth! Rome, immortal Rome! the heart of the
whole world during centuries of glory, from which issued forth,
poured through a thousand veins and arteries, the impulses of
civilisation to the remotest points of her mighty limbs! Rome,
immortal Rome ! wonderful in her rise, her duration, and her
fall! Wonderful in her splendour, wonderful in her decay!
Even when the time shall come, that men pass the ploughshare
over her walls, or that the beasts of the field find grass in her
desolate dwelling-places, still shall she remain immortal in
history and tradition; still shall she walk the earth amongst
the spirits of the past, exercising over the destinies of un-
numbered ages an unseen influence through the record of her
marvellous deeds! Rome, gigantic spectre, still haunting the
ruins of the greatest empire that the world has ever seen!
Rome, from which arts, and knowledge, and power, and
religion, have flowed to distant ages, as from a source; but
which—Oh, strange to say!—has ever presented in herself the
spectacle of anarchy, vice, and irreligion; and which stood
forth from the whole world as the darkest and most pollutedATTlLA.

241

spot through many centuries, and for many crimes. Rome,
immortal Rome!—We must now bend our steps through
Rome.

It was on a spring holiday, in one of the brightest months
of the year, ere Summer had brought her burning heat, and
after Winter had lost his chilling frown. The vegetable world
was all in flower, and nature, like an April bride, was crowned
with garlands. The sky was all in smiles; the air was all
balm; and the whole of a soft and pleasure-seeking popula-
tion was pouring forth into the streets, or thronging the public
places of the city which had once been, indeed, the queen of
empires, and was still majestic, though her reign was over.

Some show or some amusement, some procession or some
festival, called the gay multitude forth towards the forum;
and oh, how merrily, as they went along, did the laugh ring
up into the sky—did the gay song, or the loud jest, ech<?
through the streets.

Amongst the many who took their way onwards, through
one of the long narrow streets, were two girls carrying a
basket of flowers between them, and thus singing as they went
of the sweet burden they bore.

FLOWER GIRLS' SONG.

Oil, the flowers of spring! the sweet smelling flowers,

Gay-robed companions of life's happy hours;

They have come again to visit us here;

They have come hand in hand with the yonng bright year.

Oh, flowers ! Buy my flowers!

Oh, the flowers of spring ! the beautiful flowers,

In garlands we twined them in infancy's hours ;

And every blossom we strung on the wreath
Was like the sweet moments that flew beneath.

Oh, flowers ! Buy my flowers!

Oh, the flowers of spring! the beautiful flowers,

They have wreathed the door-posts of love's own bowers;

They have given their breath to the lover's sigh,

And their hues to the loved one's cheek and eye.

Oh, flowers! Buy my flowers t

Oh, the flowers of spring! the beautiful flowers,

Fed with May sunshine, and bathed with spring showers

When you have babes, as soon you may,

Let them sport with flowers thro' their young bright day.

Oh, flowers! Buy my flowers!

Oh, the flowers of spring! the beautiful flowers,

When manhood puts forth his mightiest powers;

Each noble thing does its wreath require—

The warrior's sword and the poet's lyre.

Oh, flowers! Buy my flowers!

Q242

ATTILA.

Oh, the flowers of spring! the beautiful flowers,

They are dear to us still, when old age lowers;

We gaze on the blossoms that spring at our feet,

And the perfume of memory rises sweet.

Oh, flowers! Buy my floweret

Oh, the flowers of spring! the beautiful flowers,

They have still their charm for all life's hours;

And when at length in the tomb we are laid,

Let our last bed of flowers be made.

Oh, flowers! Buy my flowers i

Oh, the flowers of spring! the beautiful flowers,

Where saw you flowers so fair as ours ?

They are sweet to the scent, and bright to the eye,

Oh, take them before they fade or die.

Oh, flowers! Buy my flowers! *

So sung the flower girls, as carrying between them their
basket, heavy with the rifled treasures of the spring, they
walked on amongst the crowd, selling, from time to time, a
wreath or a nosegay. The passers by, however, unembarrassed
with any burden, were more rapid in their movements. The
crowd became thinner and thinner, as the more early hurried on.
Scattered groups succeeded, hastening forward with an accele-
rated pace, lest they should be too late, or gain but bad places at
the show; and at length the numbers were so much diminished,
as to leave the street nearly vacant; while the girls themselves,
finding that they had been outstripped by their customers,
hurried their pace as fast as they could, in order to find a new
market, where the multitudes were assembled.

At the time when the street was the thinnest of people,
however, the trampling of horses, coming at a quick pace, was
heard, and both the girls turned round to look, the one ex-
claiming, " It is the bishop, I am sure," and the other reply-
ing, "No, it is the quaestor, by the number of horses: the
bishop always goes in his chariot, foolish girl."

" Wrong, both of us," rejoined the first; "it is but a large
troop of barbarians."

" Oh, they will buy our flowers, then," cried the other. " I
dare say they are from JEtius's army; and the barbarians
always spend their money as fast as they get it."

* After writing the above song, a friend suggested to me that it bore a
resemblance to some other verses of which we could both recal a part
but not the whole. We could neither remember the author's name nor
where they were printed; but I have since found, that the poem alluded
to is by Mrs. Hemans; and the author of " Conti," a work full of interest,
enthusiasm, and high feeling, lately pointed out to me, that the stanzas
are printed amongst the minor poems following " The Forest Sanctuary."
Shey commence, "Bring flowers I" and in two or three of the stanzas
there is much similarity with the above.ATTILA.

243

As they thus spoke, the troop which called forth these ob-
servations approached; and the two girls—one of them was
remarkably pretty, and the other thought herself so—turned
their faces, with an air of modesty which it is possible they did
not really possess, towards the point straight before them, and
taking up again the burden of their song, " Oh, flowers! Buy
my flowers!" they went on carolling gaily, as the strangers
came near.

He who rode at their head was a young man of about two-
and-twenty, dressed in the Roman costume; but those who
followed were clothed, though with some appearance of splen-
dour, in the wilder garb of the Huns. Riding up, the young
stranger stopped his horse by the side of the first flower girl,
who instantly held up a bunch of very beautiful blossoms,
singing on, with an air of sportive coquetry, "Oh, flowers!
Buy my flowers." Theodore, for he it was, took the flowers,
and gave her a piece of money, saying, at the same time,
u Canst thou tell me, pretty lass, where dwells Julius Lentulus?
His house used to be here, methinks; but it is long since I
saw it, and where I thought it stood, appears nothing but a
high wall."

"True, beautiful youth," replied the girl—"true, his house
stood there; but Valentinian wanted the land to make a fish-
pond of; so he pulled down the house, and Julius Lentulus
was obliged to remove; and now dwells farther up, at the side
of the Aventine. The emperor, however, betook himself to
Ravenna; the fishpond was never made, and the Edile had the
ground walled up; for he dare not give it back to Julius Len-
tulus for fear of the emperor."

" Canst thou not direct me more exactly ? " demanded Theo-
dore ; " for I wish to find the house instantly."

"Ay! now I warrant thee," answered the girl, "thou art
seeking the pretty Eudochia: often does she buy flowers of me
when I go by the Aventine. Ay! I warrant thee, some old
lover of hers; for I remember when she came back from exile
in the barbarian land herself, some two or three years ago.
But alas! fair youth, thou hast a rival—Nay, not one for that
matter, but a hundred, though only one that is dangerous."

"Pray who is that?" replied Theodore with a smile, which
encouraged the girl to run on.

"As fair a youth as any in the imperial city," answered the
girl: "she calls him her brother Ammian; but once, as I
rested in the gardens of their villa without the walls, I saw
their lips meet as brothers and sisters rarely do meet; and I
found afterwards that there was no such near blood between
them."

Theodore's cheek reddened from feelings that would be

Q 2ATTlLA.

difficult, arid are unnecessary, to define. " Alas, poor youth !,f
continued the girl—"alas, poor youth, I am sorry for thee!
but these things must be borne, sweet heart, and thou wilt soon
find thee another bride."

"Thou art mistaken, pretty lass," replied Theodore:
" Eudochia is my sister, and Ammian I love as a brother; but
have you no news of the lady Flavia and-"

" Ha, ha, I have thee now!" cried the girl; " thou wouldst
ask after the fair Ildiea. Thou art safe, then, stranger, thou
art safe. She lives as a nun, and keeps her maiden beauties
from the searching eyes of admiration. Seldom have I even
seen her, but she is very beautiful. Thou wilt find her, too,
by the Aventine; and if thou wouldst know where Ammian
is, I could tell thee too."

The girl assumed an air of mystery as she spoke, which
excited Theodore's curiosity; and, without appearing to be
anxious on the subject, he merely asked, " And where, pray,
is that?"

" I do not know whether I will tell or not," answered the girl:
" it might cost the pretty boy his life; but thou wilt not repeat
it, and may keep him from such follies hereafter. He has
gone out," she added, approaching closer to Theodore's horse,
and speaking in a lower tone—"he has gone out to witness
secretly a great sacrifice which is to be offered to Jupiter by
the people who dwell at the foot of Pincianus: I saw him going
thither as I came along; for I heard that the good old Pagans
—as we Christians call them—were about to risk their throats
for the sake of offering a sacrifice to a god in whom they do
not half believe, and I went thither to sell my garlands. As
we came back, we saw the young wanderer going thither for
sport, and we decked him and his horse out with flowers, as if
he were verily to be the sacrifice himself."

" God grant that it may not be so!" thought Theodore; but
he merely asked, "Are not the laws against these sacrifices
very severe here in the West ? They are so in the Eastern
empire at least."

" Death to every one who witnesses them," replied the girl;
" but since the emperor has dwelt at Ravenna, people have not
been so strict, and one may swear by Jupiter, or even by Yenus,
without danger. What it will be now that Valentinian has
returned, I cannot tell; but I must on to the palace to sell him
flowers, for he will soon be going to join the procession, and
the propositus always buys flowers of me and Claudia for the
emperor's own use, he tells us."

Thus saying, she tripped on; while Theodore turned his
horse's head towards the Aventine Mount; and on inquir-
ing for the house of Julius Lentulus he was directed to aATTILA.

245

stately, but somewhat gloomy, edifice, enclosed within its
own walls and gardens, and bearing an air of majestic decay,
which harmonised but too well with the state of the city and
the country. On reaching the gates he asked at once for
Flavia; but the old janitor considered him attentively for some
moments, ere he gave him admission, for the person he inquired
for received but few visitors.

"What is your name?" he asked—"what is your name,
young lord? I am not going to admit you and all these
barbarians to the lady Flavia, who rarely sees any one. Then
that wild youth Ammian has gone forth, and there is no one
but the lady and her daughter within."

Beyond the great gates stood the house, with its long colon-
nade ; but planted in the space between were some bushes and
low apple-trees, which prevented Theodore from seeing any-
thing but the two steps which raised the portico from the
ground, and the lower part of the pillars which composed it.
As he looked on, however, he saw a female figure pass along
the colonnade ; and though he could not see the face, yet the
sight of the small graceful foot that moved the full and floating
robe was enough to make his heart beat high.

" I am Theodore, Ancinus," he said. " Let me pass, my
good friend. These strangers can wait for me without. I am
Theodore, son of Paulinus; I say let me pass."

There was a cry of joy from within; for the tones of that
voice had caught the ear of Ildica, and she had paused to
listen—there was a cry of joy, a few steps, quick as those of
the fawn bounding after its mother over the morning dew, and
Ildica was in her lover's arms.

" At length! at length!" she exclaimed, as, twined in his
arms and pressed to his heart, she raised those large dark
lustrous eyes to his face, swimming with tears sweeter than
the happiest smile that ever shone upon the human counte-
nance. " At length, at length, my Theodore, thou art come!
Come after two long years and a half! Oh how weary has
felt my heart under the passing of that tedious time ; and how
busy has fancy been with all the dangers and with all the
horrors in the storehouses, the wide dark storehouses of pos-
sibility! How I have tortured myself to think why my
Theodore did not write; but thou art come, and the clouds
are all dispelled."

u Beloved, I did write," replied Theodore. a Twice have
I written; but it was under such circumstances that I could
hardly hope thou wouldst ever see the characters my hand
had traced. Nor have I heard from thee, my Ildica; but
fancied no neglect, no forgetfulness, no change of affection,"
:i I too wrote, beloved," she answered; u but I wrote only246

ATTTLA,

once, because no other occasion presented itself of sending
letters to the country of the Huns. Forgetfulness! neglect!
change of affection! Oh, Theodore! could anything in life
change that which I feel sure death itself can never alter ?
What have I thought of but thee since last we met? But let
us to my mother; let her share our joy."

" That joy will be greater, my beloved, when you hear all,"
replied the youth; and, still circling her fair form with his
arm, while her hand remained clasped in his, he accompanied
her back into the house where Flavia sat, unaware of his
arrival.

aJoy, dearest mother, joy!" cried Hdica: "here is our
Theodore returned."

u Ay, and returned," added Theodore, " never to quit you
again! Attila—though I saw that it gave him no slight pain—
has freed me from the rest of the term which I had bound
myself by promise to remain with him. He has but exacted
that I shall never bear arms against his people, nor provoke
them to strife with me; for he has a superstition that the first
injury inflicted by any of them upon me, will be followed by
his ruin or his death."

" Happy superstition!" cried Flavia, embracing him: " and
so I trust our long sorrows are over, my dear son. We have
needed thee much; but now that thou wilt not leave us more,
my cares are at an end: and when I have seen thee and my
Ildica united for ever, I willingly quit a world of which I have
long been weary."

" Quit us not, my mother!" replied Theodore, "quit us
not! but remain with us tc witness our happiness and to share
it! But oh, let that happiness be made complete as soon as
may be. Let no time elapse ere Ildica becomes my own. Till
I hold her to my heart, my own dear wife, I shall fear lest
every hour that flies may bring some new misfortune to sepa-
rate us again. Say, Ildica, say, when will you be mine ? "

The blood rose in the beautiful girl's cheek, and neck, and
brow, spreading through that pure and ivory skin like the
blush of dawn upon the snowy heads of the mountains; and
feeling how the crimson was mounting in her face, she hid
it upon her lover's breast, replying, " When my mother
thinks fit."

"To-morrow! oh, to-morrow, dear mother!" cried Theo-
dore.

" Nay, nay," said Flavia with a smile, " not quite so soon
as that! Let it be the following day. What say you, Ildica?
Is that too soon ? "

" Speak, beloved! speak!" cried Theodore; but she still
hid her eyes upon his breast, and yet the soft clasping of herATTILA.

247

hand upon his, told him that she gave no unwilling consent.
Feeling that she was much agitated, he sought some other
theme to release her mind from its happy burden, till custom
should render it lighter to hear.

44 She consents, my mother!" he said, 44 she consents! but
where is Eudochia? She must come and share our joy. I
wonder she has not yet heard of her brother's return."

44 She has gone to the capitol," replied Ildica, raising her
head: " there is a splendid sight there to-day; and Ammian
sent a messenger to say he had found a place for her where
she could see it all."

"Ammian!" exclaimed Theodore: "I heard, as I came
along, that he had gone out of the city towards Pincianus."

44 Oh no," replied Flavia: u he went to the capitol, and sent
both a messenger and a litter for Eudochia, saying that he had
found a place for her at the house of Julius Sabinus, otherwise
she should not have gone."

But Theodore was not satisfied. Though the words of the
flower girl might be idle words, yet they remained upon me-
mory, and a cloud came over him as of new sorrows approach-
ing. At that moment they heard voices at the door, and one
of them speaking with the tones of a woman in loud entreaty.
Theodore listened:—44 I must see him, I must speak with
him," cried the voice. 44 It is not to sell my flowers: it is on
business of importance to him himself, that I seek to see him.
Only tell him I am here, and see whether he will not let me
speak with him."

"That is the voice of the flower girl," cried Theodore,
" who told me that Ammian had gone out to Pincianus. Some
evil has happened, I fear!"

44 Again!" cried Ildica, " again!" and she cast down her
dark eyes towards the ground, with an expression of deep
despondency, as if she asked of the dust from which we rise
and to which we fall, 41 What is this inscrutable fate, that
dogs us through existence, never suffering us to know a mo-
ment's happiness, without pouring into the cup the bitter drop,
that turns it all to gall ? "

Theodore had in the meantime advanced towards the
gate, and was met midway by the flower girl, with whom he
had spoken, and who had now passed the gate-keeper, and
was hurrying in.

44 You told me you were her brother!" she cried, as she
met him—44 you told me you were her brother! If so, and if
you would save her from Valentinian, fly to the palace, quick!
They have borne her thither. I saw her carried to the inner
court in a litter, and heard her cries and entreaties, when she
discovered where they were taking her to. If you are her248

ATTILA.

brother, hasten thither quickly with your Huns! You may
save her yet; for almost all—guards, attendants, officers—
have gone to the show. You may save her yet, perchance—
or at least avenge her!"

CHAPTER XXXiI.

In a room in the imperial palace lighted from above, and far
removed from any of the chambers usually inhabited by the
emperors, upon a luxurious couch of down, covered with crim-
son, and strewed with the flowers of the hyacinth, whose
sweet perfume, mingled with that of a thousand other flowers,
gave the whole chamber an atmosphere of delicious but over-
powering perfume, lay Yalentinian, the weak, luxurious,
vicious monarch of the West, clothed in a light and floating
robe of silk, and with his odour-dropping hair bound effemi-
nately with a fillet twined with flowers.

He seemed to listen eagerly for some sounds; and in a mo-
ment or two the trampling of feet, some sobbing cries, and a
voice in the tone of expostulation, were heard. The next in-
stant the door of the room—for it was one closed by a door
furnished with locks and bolts—was thrown open, and a
litter was born in, and set down in the midst of the chamber.

The slaves of Yalentinian—for, though not habited in the
usual garb of the imperial household, they were but the
ministers of his pleasure—instantly withdrew, and starting
from the litter, a lovely girl, terror in her aspect, and her eyes
dewed with tears, stood gazing wildly round the room, as if
seeking some means of escape. She was yet in her early
youth, and modesty and innocence were written in every line
of her fair countenance. But neither modesty, nor innocence,
nor youth, had any effect upon the corrupt and selfish man
before her, who, as soon as the slaves were gone, advanced, and
taking her hand, endeavoured to soothe her, pouring into her
ear all the vile but honeyed words of a consummate corrupter.

Snatching her hand from his, and shrinking back from him
into one corner of the room, Eudochia gazed upon him in
silent terror, as she would have gazed upon some poisonous
serpent suddenly crossing her path. But Yalentinian still
pursued, exclaiming, u But listen to me, fair Eudochia. It is
the emperor seeks your love. It is Yalentinian who commands
your obedience. The wealth and splendour of a world shall
be poured out at your feet, the love of your sovereign shall
encircle you with all earth's choicest gifts;" and he went on,
with words on which we will not dwell, to wrong her innocei^i
ear with evil persuasions,ATTILA.

249

For a time Eudochia gazed in silence, as if terror and hor-
ror had deprived her of the use of her intellect; but as
Yalentinian concluded, and was again approaching her, she
suddenly seemed to recollect herself, and, with a quick start
forward, cast herself at his feet.

u Hear me, oh emperor!" she cried, " hear me, if there be
one spark of noble feeling left in your bosom. If you be a
monarch, if you be an emperor, if you be a man, hear me, and
set me free! I cannot love you, 1 ought not to love you, but
as a subject loves an emperor. You are already wedded; my
heart is already given to another! Wrong not your empress,
wrong not me, by seeking love that never can be yours. Let
me go! oh, let me go! and show yourself really worthy of
your high station. You cannot—surely you will not—be the
first to violate the lawTs which you are bound to maintain.
How would you punish another were he to treat me even as
your slaves have done ? Oh, let me beseech, let me entreat,
let me adjure you, by all you hold sacred, to set me free!
Hear me, hear me! Oh, monarch, hear me!"

And with uplifted hands, and streaming eyes, she went on,
urging him to justice and compassion; but even her terror
and distress had charms for the base tyrant. He attempted to
throw his arms around her; he kissed her fair brow as she
knelt imploring at his feet. But at that act Eudochia felt all
the spirit of her race rise up within her as she saw her prayers
unheeded and her appeals to justice only provoking deeper
insult. She sprang upon her feet, she freed herself from his
arms, she snatched from his girdle, even in the struggle to
cast him off, a small eastern dagger, which the weak tyrant
wore. uStand back!" she cried—" stand back! or, by the
memory of my father, who died to save his country, I will
drive this blade into thy heart, thou Tarquin!"

" Girl, you dare not!" cried Yalentinian, drawing back;
" you dare not raise your hand against your emperor!"

u All girl as I am, I dare raise my hand against any tyrant
on the earth," replied Eudochia, " let him clothe himself with
whatsoever name he will. Come not near me, or you die!
Tyrant, I am resolved! My honour is as dear to me as life
to you! Let me go free, or Yalentinian shall this day cease
to live and reign!"

" Well, well! thou shalt go!" said the emperor, in a soft-
ened tone; " but I must call the slaves, to make them open
the door from without. Promise me that thou wilt not strike
me as I approach the door."

" I will not," replied Eudochia, " so as you set me free."
c< You shall be free," answered Yalentinian, moving towards
the door—uyou shall be free,"250

ATTILA.

But when between Eudochia and the entrance of the room,
within a single step of either, he suddenly turned, sprang
upon her, wrenched the dagger from her grasp, and, casting
it on the other side of the couch, exclaimed, " Now, girl!
now! what punishment shalt thou undergo for daring to hold
a dagger to the breast of thine emperor ? "

Eudochia gazed round in hopeless despair. But then came
a sound of hasty steps and angry voices; and, with sudden
hope rushing through her bosom, she uttered scream after
scream, to attract the notice of any one who might be passing
near. Yalentinian seemed not to have heard, or not to heed,
the sounds, for he pursued his evil course; but while he en-
deavoured to silence the unhappy object of his passions, the
door of the chamber was shaken violently.

The bolts and locks resisted; but another and another blow
came crashing upon the wood-work. Yalentinian, with a
cheek as pale as death, retreated towards the couch, and
sought for the dagger, which was the only weapon he had
worn. The next moment the door gave way, and the bro-
ther of Eudochia, followed by twenty or thirty of the armed
Huns, rushed into the chamber. His sword was drawn, and
bloody in his hand; and stretched across the long passage
might be seen the corpse of one of the base instruments of
the tyrant's vices, who had dared to resist the passage of the
Roman, hastening to the deliverance of his sister.

Theodore caught her in his arms, and Eudochia wept upon
his bosom. But such thoughts as had inspired the bosoms of
his ancestors were in his heart at that moment, and he gave
her little time to weep.

"Are you safe, my sister?" he cried, with his eyes still
glaring on Yalentinian. Are you pure ? By the memory of
our father, I adjure you! are you unpolluted?"

" I am, Theodore! I am!" she answered: " thanks to God,
and to you, I am!"

u Yile slave!" cried Yalentinian, attempting to assume the

air of empire; " who are you? How dare you-"

But Theodore cut him short. u Base, effeminate, soulless,
tyrant I" he answered, "well may you thank God that I
arrived in time to save you from the crime you sought to
commit! Well may you thank God! for your cowardly and
pitiful life had surely been ended here, had you succeeded in
injuring her; and your soul had been sent to hell burdened
with the sin it had just perpetrated."

Yalentinian trembled and turned pale, the coward blood
forsaking his heated cheek, at the stern aspect of the young
Roman. He attempted, however, though in a weak and falter-
ing voice, to call for his guards and his officers; but TheodoreATTILA.

251

replied, with a look of withering scorn, 44 You call in vain,
tyrannical disgrace of Rome—you call in vain. The means
that you have taken to insure that your crime should be ef-
fected in silence and secrecy, have left you as powerless as the
lowest slave in your dominions. All the better and the purer
part of your court, sent forth to take part in the procession,
have left you alone in this wing of the palace, with none but
the slavish ministers of your pleasures near thee. They are
in the hands of my followers, except yon rash fool, lying
there in his blood, who attempted to stop a brother flying to
his sister's rescue.—Thou art in my power," he added, 44 to
take or leave thy pitiful life as I will; and couldst thou but
see how contemptible a thing thou hast made thyself, as thou
standest there, quivering with fear and guilt before thine in-
jured subject, shame would surely supply the place of virtue,
and thou wouldst blush for the crimes that have degraded thee
so low,"

"Traitof !w exclaimed Valentin!an, with the blood rushing
up into his face—44 traitor, thou shalt rue this day!"

44 Monarch, I shall not," replied Theodore, 44 were even
your power as extended as it is weak and circumscribed; were
the Romans found base enough to suffer a tyrant to oppress
a citizen for defending a helpless girl, and that girl his sister,
you dare not, no, you dare not openly raise a hand against my
life. Know that in me you see one whom Attila, at whose
very name you tremble, looks upon as his son. Letters are
already in thy court announcing my coming, and bidding thee
do me justice in all things; and thou darest as soon raise
thy hand against me, as thou darest offer thy neck to the
axe."

44 So," cried the base monarch, glad like all weak minds
convicted of crime to seek revenge in scorn, where they have
no refuge in justice, and no power of retaliation—44 So thou
art one of those degenerate Romans who fight against their
country in the ranks of the barbarians!"

44 Monarch, thou liest," answered Theodore, boldly. 441
have never fought against my country. My sword has never
been drawn, my spear has never been pointed, against a
Roman breast. I have saved the life of Attila; I have saved
the life of his son, but I have taken no part in his wars; and
defy thee to show that I have ever been guilty of one act
against my country. Little, too, would it become thee, oh
emperor, to reproach any one for betraying his native land.
Hast thou not given tribute to the barbarian? hast thou never
sacrificed the innocent to the fury of the Huns? hast thou
never encouraged the hordes of Scythia to invade the Roman
territories ? But I leave thee, oh monarch My sister is safe.252

ATTILA.

Thy crimes are averted ; and, as if clad in a panoply of iron,
my innocence defies thy power, and scorns thy menaces.
Come, Eudochia, come. The litter and the slaves which
brought thee hither, as the object of a base monarch's pas-
sion, shall carry thee back as pure as when thou earnest."

Throwing his arm round her, but without sheathing the
sword he carried in his right hand, lest any opposition should
be made to his retreat, Theodore placed her in the litter;
and, at a word to some of his followers, the slaves of Valen-
tinian, who had borne her thither, were brought in, raised
their fair burden from the ground, and obeyed at once the
young Roman in bearing her away homeward. The dark
Huns, who had accompanied him, surrounded them on every
side; and Theodore himself, after casting one more look of
mingled scorn and indignation upon the tyrant, from whom he
had just snatched his prey, followed his sister from the palace,
without obstruction, and almost without notice, so carefully
had Yalentinian removed from the precincts of those apart-
ments every one who might witness, or report, or interrupt
the commission of the crime he had meditated.

While his own slaves had been compelled to bear Eudochia
away, the weak monarch of the West had remained, with im-
potent fury burning in his bosom, and eyes glaring angrily
upon that which he could not prevent. His features had
worked, his hands had wrung each other, his colour had
varied, under the influence of passion, like the complexion of
a timid girl. He had more than once sought for the hilt of
the dagger, too, as if he would fain have struck it into the
heart of the bold youth who taunted him so scornfully. But
fear had restrained his violence; and when Eudochia was
gone, he remained, for several minutes, motionless as a statue,
gazing down upon the floor, without any perceptible move-
ment, except a slight pressure of his hands together, and the
sterner knitting of his angry brow.

What were all the dark and the painful thoughts, the
burning bitter shame, the lowered but still fierce and veno-
mous pride, that now raged within, it matters not to inquire ;
suffice it, that so intense and potent were they, that they
seemed to absorb his whole soul and mind; and there he re-
mained, as we have said, for many minutes, without speech or
movement. At length, however, the imprisoned tempest
burst forth, and stamping violently upon the ground, he
poured forth a torrent of curses and imprecations upon him-
self, upon Theodore, upon Eudochia, upon the whole world;
and then casting himself down upon that flower-strewed
couch, he raved and gnashed his teeth, in the agony of anger,
degradation, and disappointment. After a time, starting upATTILA.,

263

again, he leaned his brow for a moment or two upon his hand
as if in thought, and then called loudly for his attendants.

uHo! without there I" he exclaimed: "is nobody near?
Is everybody fled? Are ye all fools, or cowards, or traitors?
Does nobody answer to the voice of the emperor ? "

As his voice ran along the passages of the building, with
slow and fearful steps, a single eunuch crept out from some
corner, in which he had concealed himself; and stepping
with evident terror over the body of the fallen slave, who had
been slain in attempting to prevent the entrance of Theodore,
he approached the door at which the monarch stood, and cast
himself at his feet.

"Pitiful, cowardly wretch!" exclaimed Yalentinian, "why
didst thou abandon thy lord, to be insulted by that frantic
boy; or if thou hadst not power to resist him and his barba-
rians, why didst thou not fly, by the opposite passage, to the
chief apartments, and call up the chamberlain and his
guards?"

" I had but time to hide myself in the bath, from which
there is no outlet," replied the eunuch. " My comrade was
smitten to the ground in a moment; and I should have shared
the same fate, without serving thee, oh great monarch! if I
had not darted away, where first I could find refuge."

" Well, get thee gone quick," replied the emperor. " Call
up hither, instantly, the prefect of the palace, and also the
chamberlain. Lose not a moment."

The eunuch hastened to obey; and after having been ab-
sent some time, which Yalentinian passed sitting on the edge
of the couch in deep and angry thought, he returned with
several inferior domestics, but neither of the two high of-
ficers he had been sent to seek.

" Where is the prefect, where the chamberlain?" exclaimed
Yalentinian, with his eyes flashing and his brows knit into a
more bitter frown than ever. " Do all my servants neglect
and abandon me?"

" Both the prefect, and the guardian of the secret chamber,"
replied the slave, " as well as the count of the domestics, and
all the other high officers of the palace, are gone, by your
own imperial order, to grace the procession around the
capitol."

Yalentinian again stamped with rage; but, after a few mo-
ments' consideration, he sent away the greater part of the
attendants, and calling to him one in whom he seemed to have
more confidence than the rest, he demanded, " Dost thou
remember, Elius, whither we were told that wild youth, Am-
mian Flavius, had gone this morning ? "

" I know well, oh, emperor," replied the domestic—" I254

attila.

know well; for the men who lured him thither were sent by
myself, to get him out of the way. The inhabitants of two
of the villages at the foot of Pincianus hold to-day, we hear,
a secret sacrifice to Jupiter; and this wild youth,, whom any-
thing that is strange or extravagant will mislead, was easily
induced to go out to witness it, notwithstanding the penalties
of death pronounced against all present."

"Hark!" said Valentinian: u as soon as the procession is
over, send out to Pincianus men enough to drown all these
incorrigible Pagans in their own blood. Let them slay all
they find. Jupiter shall have victims enough; but on no
account let them touch this Ammian. Take especial care
to save him. Let him be brought into the city guarded. He
shall be impaled alive! We will put down these sacrifices—
but hark thee again, there is more to be done!—Get thee
gone, eunuch. Thou art a coward, and not fit to listen to the
deeds of brave men.—Elius, a youth has been here, and
snatched the girl from my hands;—her brother, it would
seem—that Theodore whom we have heard of. He has borne
her back to the Aventine. He has insulted me, the emperor.
He has slain one of the slaves, and he must die, Elius. But
on account of this Attila, it must be no public act.—He must
die, Elius! but it must be by some chance accident, or in some
casual strife. He must die, Elius, he must die! Let not the
sun rise upon hiin again: I leave it to thee, my faithful ser-
vant—I leave it to thee to do justice upon the traitor. There
is a fair estate, not far from Aricia. Thou knowest it well—
rich in wine, in oil, and corn—it is thine, if this Theodore be
dead ere to-morrow morning. See to it I"

" I will find means," replied Elius, calmly.

Valentinian gazed in his face, and finding there a look of
assurance, which had never failed him, he felt as satisfied as
if the deed were done, and with a slow step he sought the
other part of the palace.

CHAPTER XXXHL

There is even now—when the sweeping hand of ages has
levelled with the earth so many of the things which in the
times we speak of were in their splendour—there is even no*
at the foot of Pincianus a deep shady grove of tall trees, amidst
the stems of which the treacherous sunshine of the Roman
spring pours its mellow light with a peculiar charm. This,
however, is but a small vestige of the magnificent wood that
at one period covered the side of the hill, and swept over the
undulating country at its base, a wood consisting solely of highATTILA.

251

upright trees, springing from a green and luxuriant turf, which
their own shadow kept cool and verdant. A bright stream,
long since licked up by the burning sun, then meandered round
the foot of the hill full of delicious water, brawling sportively
with the stones which formed its bed; and by the side thereof,
every here and there, an open space appeared as if left by the
taste of some skilful planter, either for wanderers through that
enchanted scene to pause upon and gaze on the cool wave, or
for the gay and happy to meet in and prolong the hours with
feast and revelry.

At either end of the wood, nearly a mile apart from each
other, the one being situated half way up the slope, the other
at its base, were two villages, which, though not remote from
Home, had, from various accidental circumstances, maintained
in all ages much less communication than might have been ex-
pected with the great city, and which preserved with peculiar
tenacity those old manners and customs which the secluded
and the rustic adhere to with such fond affection. In vain had
the customs of the city changed—the villagers of Pincianus
changed not with Rome. In vain had empire succeeded re-
public, and effeminacy and luxury flowed in with demoralising
power—the villagers retained their old simplicity, and when
they carried their produce to the town, but shrugged their
shoulders at the strange and women-like men that they beheld.
In vain even had the emperors put down by severe laws the
poetical religion of their forefathers, and established a purer
faith in its place—-the villagers still loved their old deities and
served their old gods. Even more, they resisted the words of
truth, when the ministers of truth visited them in person; and
driving forth from amongst them the preachers of the Gospel,
they returned to their old rites with persevering zeal.

Severe and more severe measures had been employed to put
down Paganism. Temples had been changed into churches;
altars had been overthrown; the blood of the priest had been
mingled with the blood of the victim, and the lives ot the
worshippers had been taken in the very act of sacrifice: but
still the villagers adhered to their old faith, and through nearly
a hundred years of persecution and suffering had retained,
either openly or secretly, their reverence for the things their
fathers had revered before them.

A season of comparative tranquillity had succeeded; and
though the persecution of the idolaters had been cruel and
virulent during the first years of the reigns of Theodosius and
Valentinian, yet for the last lustre this rigour had been re-
laxed ; and though still obliged to conceal, as far as possible,
the rites and ceremonies which they practised, those who per-
severed in heathenism had suffered no very severe inflictions.256

ATTILA.

It was in one of those open spots, by the side of the stream
which we have already described, that on a bright May day
were assembled a multitude of people, clothed in white gar-
ments, and met together, apparently, for the purpose of offer-
ing sacrifice. The turf, out of which no tree grew, covered a
space of nearly a hundred yards in diameter; but over a great
part thereof hung the wide-spreading branches of the large
oaks around, giving shade to the sylvan amphitheatre thus
formed on the banks of the little river. The waters flowed on
clear and sparkling; the murmurs of a distant fall filled the
air with music; bright sunshine was pouring over all the scene
and dancing through the leaves upon the turf below; flowers
crowned the heads of all the assembly, and gemmed the verdant
carpet on which they trod. Everything was smiling and beau-
tiful ; and, if the mind could be divested of the remembrance
of the dark and sinful object for which the idolaters met, the
whole scene had in it something so graceful, so poetical, so ex-
citing, that one might well gaze with raised enthusiasm, even
if one took no part in the rite which was about to be performed.

With such feelings stood Ammian Flavius, a little apart from
the rest, leaning against one of the trees, at a little distance
from which two servants held his horse. Four years had now
passed since the period at which the reader first beheld him;
and while Theodore had expanded into a handsome and power-
ful man, Ammian, from the wild and beautiful boy, which we
at first portrayed, had grown up into a tall, graceful, manly
youth. His fine features, his noble air, and his symmetrical form,
might well attract attention; and many were the eyes that turned
upon him, amongst those who met to offer on that day a sacrifice
to their false deity. They gazed, however, without any mingling
of apprehension ; for it was not uncommon for some of the wild
youths of the great city to steal out in secret to witness those
rites to which their concealment gave an additional charm.

The day had waned considerably, and the sun was approach-
ing the west. The flamen of Jupiter, as he called himself,
though the office had been long abolished, stood in his purple
robe beside a small altar raised in the midst, and strewed with
flowers, and a number of gay laughing boys led along, with
sportive glee, a milk-white bull, its neck wreathed with
garlands, and its broad brow crowned with flowers. Long
nurtured for the purpose of the sacrifice, and rendered familiar
with the hands of men, which had never yet been raised
against it with violence, the noble beast, unconscious of its
coming fate, walked calmly in the midst, suffering itself to be
led up to the altar with an untightened rope. Beside the
priest stood the cultrarius, leaning on his axe, and all pressed
near to witness the ceremony of immolation.ATTILA.

257

The invocation and the prayer had been pronounced; and
the cultrarius, turning to the priest, demanded in the ac-
customed form, " Shall I do it ? "

"Do it!" replied the priest; and swinging the axe above
his head, the stout peasant who performed that office laid the
monarch of the herd, at a single blow, dead at the foot of the
altar. The priest was hastening to apply the knife, when
Ammian hurrying forward exclaimed, " I hear coming horses,
my friends, be upon your guard."

All looked up and listened, and some thought that they also
heard the sounds ; but if it was so, those sounds ceased almost
instantly, and the ceremony proceeded, while Ammian, with
his colour slightly raised at the mistake he appeared to have
made, retired again to the tree by which he had formerly stood,
and continued to gaze upon the proceedings of the rest.

Before many minutes were over, however, a troop of Roman
horsemen appeared on the other side of the stream; dashed
through its shallow waters; and with their spears and swords,
carried slaughter and confusion amongst the heathen worship-
pers. The priest was at once struck down; but the cultrarius
defended himself with his axe for some time, and was at length
slain by a javelin thrown from some distance. Resistance was
also made by several others who had arms concealed upon
their persons; and if the whole body had taken the same pre-
caution, they might, in all probability, have resisted success-
fully the force sent against them, which did not consist of more
than fifty or sixty men.

In the midst of the strife, five of the soldiers, leaving the
others to pursue their attack upon the heathen, cut straight
across, and surrounded Ammian; who seeing that no words
were spoken, but death inflicted indiscriminately upon every
one, drew his sword, and determined to sell his life dearly.
He was overpowered, however, before he could offer any
effectual resistance, by one of the Romans springing from
behind the tree, and clinging to his right arm. In another
moment he found himself tied with cords, and dragged away
into the midst of the confusion, where the soldiers were still,
with merciless activity, slaughtering the unhappy wretches
whom they had detected in celebrating the forbidden rites.

Without preserving any order themselves, the troopers
pursued wherever they saw a victim to strike; and the villagers
taking advantage of the trees, in many instances kept their
cruel persecutors at bay for some time; while the shifting of
the horses here and there; the rushing of the crowd of
victims, now driven into a body together, now scattering wide
to avoid their pursuers ; the efforts of resistance ; the gestures
of supplication; the shrieks of the women and children; the

n258

ATTILA.

groans of the dying, formed altogether » scene or agony and
horror such as the eyes of Ammian had never before beheld.

In the midst of it all, however, he suddenly perceived a
horseman clothed in the wild arms of the barbarians mingling
with the Roman soldiers. Another and another appeared as
if by magic, urging their swift horses through the trees on all
sides. The Romans, accustomed to see the barbarians in the
emperor's service, seemed to look upon all, except the villagers,
as their friends, and took no notice of those who appeared
amongst them, till the number became formidable—equalled
—surpassed their own; and then he who appeared to be the
commander of the imperial troop suddenly drew up his horse
and gazed upon the strangers.

" The barbarian is striking a Roman," he exclaimed. " What
is the meaning of this? Fellow, art thou mad?"

The only answer which he received from the man to whom
he shouted forth those hurried questions, was a javelin cast
by an unerring hand, which smote him between the eyes, and
cast him lifeless beneath the horse's feet.

All was now confusion tenfold confused. The well-armed
barbarians, hand to hand, and man to man, drove back the
Roman soldiers. The villagers, mad with rage against their
oppressors, and inspired with hope by the unexpected aid they
had received, became in turn the assailants, and following the
Huns amongst their retreating adversaries, armed with the
knives which they bore upon their own persons, or the swords
which they caught up from the dead or dying, cut the sinews
of the Roman horses, or gave the stroke of death to any one
who fell wounded from his charger.

For a short time the imperial troops resisted; but they were
soon driven across the stream into the open country. Ammian,
whom they had placed on his horse, was led along with them,
his arms tied as they were behind him, and unable to resist.
But at length the rout of the Romans became complete, and
they fled precipitately towards the city; while a small body
of the Huns, urging their horses into double speed, dashed
with a furious charge into the midst of the fugitives; reached
the point where Ammian was borne along, slew the man who
led his horse, and seizing his bridle-rein hurried him away in
the opposite direction, leaving the Romans to pursue their
flight without further interruption.

So rapidly did the barbarians urge their horses on, that
Ammian had neither time nor breat-h to ask any questions.
Only onc e they paused, as, pursuing their course at full speed,
they took their way towards the ancient Umbria; and that
was wh<jn they perceived that the adverse force, recovered
from its terror, had detached a small body to watch theirATTILA.

259

motions. Then, wheeling so suddenly upon it that retreat
was impossible, they left not one of its number to bear back
the tidings which it had been sent to obtain. Soon after, the
sun set, and with a short twilight night came on. The star
of evening, however, shone fair over the whole world, and
light sufficient lingered in the skies to show a small lake spread-
ing out across their path. At the spot where the road, taking
a direction on either side of the lake, divided into two, stood
a barbarian dressed and armed like the rest, and apparently
waiting for them. A few eager and quick words were spoken
in a tongue which Ammian did not understand; but he guessed,
by seeing the man point down to one side of the lake with his
spear, and by various other gesticulations used on both sides,
that he was directing the Huns to some body of their comrades;
and he ventured to ask whither they were about to carry him.

" Fear not," answered the man who led his horse, in very
good Latin, while another took advantage of the pause to cut
the cords that bound his hands—"fear not, you are with
friends, and you are saved from death: we bear you to a place
of safety, where you will hear more."

Thus saying, he took the road to which the other man had
pointed, and galloped on at the same quick pace as before.
The moon was now rising over the neighbouring hills; and at
the distance of about a mile they came to a number of tents,
pitched in a meadow, by the bank of the lake. Several large
flat boats were gathered together along the shore, and eight
or nine armed men were watching on the verge of the lake;
while round two or three fires, lighted at a short distance
from the tents, were seen a multitude of barbarians revelling
as usual over their evening meal.

The sound of the coming horses had no effect upon the
Huns; but seemed to call the attention of the persons, who-
soever they were, within the tents,* for the hangings of two
of them were pushed back, as Ammiam and his conductors
approached, and several people in the garb of Romans came
forth. By the moonlight the youth could not distinguish their
features, but there was more than one woman of the party;
and as he sprang from his horse with feelings of joy, mingled
with doubt, he was clasped to the bosom of his mother Flavia,
and then pressed in the arms of Theodore. Eudochia, Ildica,
too, were there; and in a few brief words he related to them
all that had happened to him. At length, shading his eyes
from the light, he was led into the tent, and found the whole
of Flavians household assembled as it had quitted Dalmatia,
with the exception of those whom the stern monarch of the
grave had taken as his allotted tribute during four years of
wandering.260

ATTiLA.

44 What is all this? how is all this?" exclaimed the youth,
gazing round: "are we about once more to try our fortunes
on the wide world?'

^Even so, Ammian," answered Theodore: u circumstances
compel us to it, even when we fancied we were united once
more, to dwell in peace together for the rest of our days."

" Well, I care not," cried Ammian: u one land is the same to
me as another; and wherever liberty is, we may find or found a
Rome for ourselves. But hearken, Theodore! Listen to me,
my dear brother! In all our past wanderings some one of us
has been separated from those who were as dear to his heart
as a part of itself. There wants some magic link between us
to bind us all together; so that wherever we go we may, as
slaves to our affections, be chained inseparably to one another.
I have a bond to propose, Theodore, which, though it be
formed of flowers, will yet prove as strong as adamant. You
are to be united to my sister by the dearest ties; why should
I not be united to yours by the same ? Thus shall we become
all, indeed, one family. What say you, my beloved Eu-
dochia?—But you have said already, dear one," he added,
casting his arms round her, " and it is needless to ask you.
Theodore, Eudochia is mine—my promised bride! What say
you, my brother?"

" Nothing in opposition, Ammian," answered Theodore with
a smile; "nothing, but that you are very young, and some-
what wild, my brother!"

u Out upon such buts!" cried Ammian, laughing. u I am
young; but people would laugh at me more if I married when
I was old. Youth is the time of love, and Cupid should
surely be the only god that leads us to his brother. As to my
wildness, I own it has been so; but it is past. To-day, for tlie
first time, I felt it, and regretted it, and whatsoever I regret
the possession of, I cast away, from that minute. When the
imperial soldiers burst upon my poor friends with their white
bull, and seized upon me myself, slaying all around me, I
thought of Eudochia, Theodore; I felt I had done wrong; I
regretted my wild thoughtlessness; and resolved, if Heaven
spared me, never more so to offend again. I thought of Eu-
dochia, Theodore: that thought cured me of my wildness, and
will be my safeguard against the same disease again."

" Well may it be so, my son," replied Flavia; " and when
you know all that has befallen to this dear girl, since you left
us this morning, you will still more deeply feel the evil of such
heedlessness, you will guard your bosom still more strongly
against its recurrence."

"What has happened?" cried Ammian, his lustrous eyes
flashing with eagerness—"What has happened?—Valen-ATTILA.

261

tinian?—Ah, I know it all! I saw him gaze, and sigh, and
pass us ten times on the course the other day.—What has
happened, my mother? Tell me! tell me!"

"I will," answered Flavia; but Eudochia clung to her, ex-
claiming, "Not now! not now, my mother! Oh, not now!
Oh, then I will go away!" and hiding her blushing face upon
Ildica's bosom, she hurried away with her into another tent.

All was then told to Ammian of Eudochia's danger and her
rescue, and deep and sad seemed to grow his feelings as he
listened. u Fool that I was to leave her! Fool that I was to
suffer myself to be seduced to witness that idiot sacrifice! for
seduced thereunto I was, doubtless, by the agents of that im-
perial villain. Why did you not slay him, Theodore? I
would have slain him where he stood."

u And so would I," replied Theodore, " if he had committed
the crime he intended. He should have died that moment
had my own death followed the next; but Eudochia was
saved; and I had still hopes of being able to remain in Rome.
When I returned to the Aventine, however, I heard enough
to make me resolve on flying. I found, too, that the Huns,
who had accompanied me from Dacia, bore the commands of
Attila to all their fellow-countrymen, in the service of Valen-
tinian, to return instantly to their native land. I had nearly
a hundred with me, several thousands more are at Rome and
Ravenna; and I found that I could retreat from the wrath of
the tyrant without his power being sufficient to prevent me.
As we came hither, we saw a small body of horse go out from
the gates towards Pincianus, where we had heard you were;
and, fearing some danger, instead of merely sending a mes-
senger to bid you join us, I sent a sufficient body of my fol-
lowers to defend you in case of need. Their leader, who has
been faithful to me for four long years, pledged his own life
to bring you to me in safety; and here at length you are,
though I hear with pain that Roman blood has been shed.
Doubtless we shall be pursued; but every hour fresh parties
of the Huns are coming hither to accompany us, and ere to-
morrow morning we shall be too strong for Valentinian to
effect aught against us. However, Heaven forbid that the
time should come when I may have to draw the sword against
my fellow-countrymen, even in my own defence; and to avoid
it, we will cross the lake an hour before daylight to-morrow
morning, then on through the mountains, to rejoin Attila, who
has ever befriended me, and will, I doubt not, befriend m§
still."262

ATTTLA.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

In a mountain pass, a little to the westward of the spot where
now stands the small town of Bassano, amongst the first
shoots of the Rhsetian Alps, travelled onward the family of
wanderers, whose various course we have traced from the
beginning of this tale, as, compelled by circumstances and
dogged by misfortune, they were driven from land to land.

They were no longer, however, alone and undefended
amidst all the strife and danger of those perilous times:
for the small body of Huns which had guarded Theodore in
his journey to the imperial city had formed a nucleus, round
which the Hunnish auxiliaries in the neighbourhood of Rome
had gathered, as he re-trod his steps towards Pannonia; and
a little army of barbarians now accompanied him on the way.
Those who had been attached to him from his first arrival in
the Hunnish territory had not failed to magnify his deeds and
reputation to every detached troop who joined them, /he
favour in which he stood with Attila was told and commented
on; and his power and influence, as well as his courage, skill,
and conduct, were so highly represented, that each party
tacitly submitted to his authority; and in all great things,
such as the direction and general regulation of their march,
suffered the young Roman to retain the command of the
whole force, as well as of his own particular followers.

He was thus enabled to save the country, through which
he passed, from pillage; and though two or three times re-
ports reached him of bodies of the imperial troops following
his path, and even rumours of iEtius having returned, and
being on his march across the fertile plains of Lombardy with
a powerful army, met his ear, he was happily enabled to
reach the foot of the Alps, without having recourse to one act
of violence against any Roman citizen whatsoever.

The spot where they now halted for the day, was by the
banks of one of those small lakes, whereof so many fertilise
and beautify the lower passes of the Alps. On every side
around rose up the mighty mountains; and over their wooded
sides the clear masses of light and shade flew swift as the soft
large clouds were borne by the quick wind through the lus-
trous summer's sky. It was evening time; and in all the
thickets round about, the nightingales—sweet untaught cho-
risters, in whose tuneful art no time nor cultivation can improve
a tone, or sweeten a single note—were chanting their thrilling
anthem to the God of nature. In the clear mirror of the
lake, deep down, appeared the inverted mountains, with theATTILA.

263

softened sky beyond, and every quick change of light and
shade.

It was a lovely scene; and though the hearts of Theodore
and Ildica had now become sadly learned in the lessons of
frequent disappointment, yet that spot recalled their sweet
refuge on the other side of those dark Alps, where, amidst
the friendly Alans, they had enjoyed some brief, but never-to-
be-forgotten, hours of unalloyed delight. It recalled that
place of refuge; and the hopes which they there had felt; and
though those hopes had again been disappointed, they blos-
somed anew, different, yet the same;—changed a little in form
and arrangement, but not less beautiful, not less sweet—
flowers of another spring, but of the same kind, from the same
stem, from the same earth.

They had pitched their tents in a situation which recalled
their former resting-place the more strongly, as it was upon
a projecting point a short way up the hill. Below them
lay the encampment of their Hunnish followers, and around
them the domestic servants of their house; and as they sat
there, and wisely encouraged once more the happy feelings
that were willing to return, Theodore urged that, as they
were now once more in safety, Ildica might give him her
hand, whenever they could meet with a minister of religion
to sanctify their union. Ildica said not one word against it;
and as, with a slight blush, and downcast eye, she gave no
unwilling consent, Theodore thought her far more lovely than
ever, although a shade of melancholy, gathered from frequent
disappointment, anxiety, and grief, hung over her, as if it
had been a veil, seldom, if ever, raised entirely, even in her
happiest moments. That shade of melancholy also was some-
what darker now, inasmuch as her fair and beloved mother
had shown signs of failing strength, under the long and weary
journey which they had just been compelled to take. Theodore
hoped that the day's repose which they were now enjoying in
that calm scene might sufficiently restore Flavia to proceed
with comfort; but Ildica clearly saw that her mother could
bear no great fatigue, and from some casual words which had
fallen from her parent's lips she had gathered that it was her
intention, as soon as the double union of her children with
those of Paulinus had taken place, to retire for ever from the
busy world, and pass her remaining days in one of those
places of seclusion which were at that time to be found in
almost every part of the world. Ildica could not contemplate
such a separation without pain; and though she shrunk not
from her union with one whom she loved so deeply and in-
tensely, yet she feared the parting with her mother, whom
she had loved so long, and who loved her so tenderly.264

ATT XL A.

Upon the brow of the promontory, Theodore and Ildica sat
and gazed, and thought over the future, with sweet hopes,
and dark apprehensions crossing the expanse of thought, like
the sunshine and the shade that flitted across the mountains
before their eyes; and ever and anon they spoke over many
things, with that unreserved confidence which is one of the
sweetest drops in the ambrosial cup of love. Since they had
last met, the tone of Ildica's mind had undergone some altera-
tion. It had become deeper, more intense, more enthusiastic.
In everything that engaged her — though there might be
fewer things that did so—she took a profounder interest; and,
whether it was her love for Theodore, her devotion to the
bright faith in which she had been reared, her love for her
mother, or any other thing in which her heart was concerned,
there was a depth, a strength, an energetic eagerness in
her whole feelings, which raised and ennobled her still more
than ever in the eyes of her lover.

They sat and gazed. Wide-spread over the valley below,
and up the sides of the hill, even higher than themselves,
might be seen various parties of the Huns, seeking forage for
their horses, or food for themselves; and as the eye of Theo-
dore was turned towards the entrance of the valley, where
mountain falling over mountain seemed to close up the pass,
he thought he saw a considerable degree of bustle and move-
ment, in a body of about thirty or forty of the barbarians,
whom he had marked winding down in that direction, by the
banks of a small stream that entered the lake hard by. It
subsided in a few minutes, however, and he took no further
notice, pursuing his conversation with Ildica, and looking on
well pleased, while the Huns, in a spot void of other inhabi-
tants, engaged themselves in a thousand peaceful occupations,
as if they never sought for strife, or dipped their hands in
blood.

Half an hour more had elapsed, or perhaps scarcely so
much, and Theodore and Ildica were deep in the business of
their own hearts, when suddenly a step sounded amongst the
tents behind them, which—wherefore he knew not—made
Theodore start, and turn round.

What was his astonishment, when, not a spear's length
from him, he beheld Attila himself, * who, advancing with a

* The march of the armies of Attila in all his expeditions is very
doubtfully displayed by ancient historians; but that in his advance into
Italy he took and sacked the city of Augusta Vindelicorum, or Augsburg,
is clear, previous to the capture of Aquileia, and therefore that he must
have traversed some part of the Julian or Rhsetian Alps, is equally
certain. Any one who casts his eye upon the map will see that his
direct way into Italy, from Yindelicia, was "by the passes of the Tyrol;ATTILA.

265

slow step, looked upon the young Roman with a smile as dis-
tinct as ever crossed his stem, fixed countenance. The next
moment, however, the glance of the barbarian monarch turned
upon Ildica; and the light of suddenly-excited admiration
shone forth from his eyes. It was but momentary, however,
and addressing himself kindly to Theodore, he said, " So, my
son, thou hast left the bright court of Yalentinian to come
back to the barbarian. Thou art welcome ; for I may chance
to have much need of thee : and thou shalt find, as thou hast
found, higher honours, and a kinder monarch, in the land of
the stranger than in thine own."

Thus saying, he sat himself familiarly down upon the bank
between Theodore and Ildica. She, however, rose, and was
about to retire into the tent; but he stopped her, gently say-
ing, "Do not depart! Fear me not, fair one; I will not
injure thee. Who is this, my son?" he continued, address-
ing Theodore—"is this thy sister?"

"ISTot so, oh King!" answered Theodore, who had always
found it best to speak to Attila the straightforward truth,
without the slightest disguise or concealment. " Not so: she
is my promised bride, and in a few days will be my wife."

" 'Tis well!" said Attila; "'tis well! She is beautiful,
and doubtless good. I will witness thy nuptials, and give
thee the bridal present; for I hear, from those whom I met
but now at the end of the valley, that thou needest a pro-
tector, and one shalt thou find in Attila."

Ildica still stood lingering, as if anxious to retire ; and the
monarch of the Huns perceiving her embarrassment, added
suddenly, " Well, hie thee in, then, fair one : thou fearest the
barbarian king; but Attila can be gentle to those he loves.
I will pass this day with thee, my son ; and this timid girl
shall see, that he, whom she has been taught to look upon as
a cruel tyrant, can sit him down as peacefully to a calm and
humble board as the most polished and effeminate Roman of them
all can cast himself on his couch to gorge upon a thousand
dishes. Hie thee in, fair one : I will speak with thy lover alone."

Ildica obeyed; and after she was gone, Attila remained for
several moments in a deep fit of thought. Then, raising his
head, he turned to some of his attendants, who stood near,
saying, " Get ye gone, and bring up hither the roe deer that
the men took in the forest as we came along, with what fish
ye can find in the stream. Here will I take my evening meal.
Get ye gone, all of you."

and any one who is acquainted with the nature of the country will, if he
take into consideration that the army of Attila consisted entirely of
cavalry, conclude that the Brenner was the pass by which he conducted
his myriads towards the plains of Lombardy,266

ATTILA.

The attendants departed as they were bid; and. Attila
again fell into a deep fit of thought, after which he turned to
Theodore, and said, abruptly, "I am glad thou hast come
back. This Valentinian, this woman-emperor, is insolent,
and must be punished; and I am well pleased that thou
dwellest not amongst those who will soon feel the sword of
Attila. Knowest thou what has happened in the East?"

"I heard as I went to Home," said Theodore, "that the
base murderer of my father, Theodosius, is no more; but I
have heard no further tidings, and only guess that the empire
has fallen to his sister, Pulcheria."

uAnd that Pulcheria has taken unto herself a husband,"
added Attila, " on whom she has conferred the rule of the
land. We hear that he is a brave man and a wise man. If
he be wise, he will pay our tribute, or he will have to do with
braver than himself."

" Doubtless he will pay it," replied Theodore, with a sigh.
" Hast thou sent to demand it, oh mighty King ? "

"I have," answered Attila. "For if it be not paid, after
conquering Rome, I march against Constantinople. But,
doubtless, he will pay it."

"Is this new monarch's name known?" demanded Theo-
dore : " I know most of those who were in favour at the
court of the East; but I know none on whom Pulcheria was
likely to shower such gifts."

u His rise has been sudden," answered Attila. " He had
gained some renown as a soldier, and was a military tribune;
but enjoyed no great favour with the empty Theodosius: his
name is Marcian."

"Marcian!" exclaimed Theodore, with joy sparkling from
his eyes: u he was the dearest friend of my dead father, and
since my father's death has been equally the dear and con-
siderate friend of his friend's children. He is, indeed, great
as a warrior—noble and wise as a man."

Attila's brow grew dark, as if he loved not to hear such
praises of the Eastern emperor.

" Think you," he demanded harshly, " that he will pay the
tribute ? Think you, that he will yield obedience to our com*
mands ? "

" I think," replied Theodore, firmly, " that he will yield to
no demand urged in a haughty tone. Were I the greatest
monarch on all the earth, I would rather have Marcian for my
friend than for my enemy."

"Ha!" cried Attila; "he had better set his naked foot
upon an asp than cross my path of victory. Ha! what sayesfc
thou ? will he dare to raise himself up against Attila ? "
"Perchance not, oh great King," replied Theodore—"per-ATTIL4

267

chance not; but it will depend upon Attila's demeanour
towards him. Marcian is no Theodosius. Bred in arms from
his youth upward, his birth-place was the battle-field; the
camp his cradle; war and strife the sports of his youth; com-
mand the employment of his manhood. He is no silken
reposer on soft couches, but a hardy soldier, for whom the
palace will scarcely afford a pillow hard enough to prop his
head. If Attila entreat him fairly, Marcian is one to reve-
rence and to love the high qualities of that mighty monarch,
and to grant him the friendship that one great man is fond to
feel towards another ; but if Attila declares himself the enemy,
and seeks to become the master of the emperor, Marcian will
draw the sword, and it will never be sheathed till one or the
other lie in the cold grave. Oh Attila, you have never yet
met with Marcian. Better, oh King, better far, to have him
for your friend than for your enemy!"

Attila rolled his dark eyes fiercely as Theodore spoke ; but
for some minutes he answered not, and then, gradually resum-
ing his stern calmness, he said, " We shall see! We shall
see! I seek not to wrong him—but we shall see! So this
Marcian was your father's friend; and you know and love
him yourself? "

"I do, oh Attila!" answered Theodore, " and I have cause.
After my father's death, Marcian sought out, protected,
befriended me ; enabled me and mine to pursue our flight in
safety, and risked even the emperor's wrath, in order to favour
our escape. I love him dearly, and he for my father's sake
loves me. He is one of those men who, like thyself, oh
King, are hard and firm, as some fine gem, which nothing but
a gem will cut; but upon which the lines once engraved, no
power will afterwards remove; and there they last as clear
and definite under the wearing power of time as if nothing
but a soft stream passed over them. My father's love will
never be forgot."

"The tribune might remember," said Attila, "what the
emperor may forget."

"Not so, oh King!" answered Theodore; "Marcian
changes not. The same was he as a common soldier in the
Roman ranks, as when a tribune, possessed of vast power.
When in the lowest military station in the state, his conduct,
his manners, his mind, showed him worthy of the highest;
and when midway to power and dignity, unlike the changeful
herd of ordinary men, authority sat as lightly on him as
obedience. What he was as a soldier he was as a tribune,
and will be as an emperor. Though not born in that high
station, he was born for it; and not only his virtues and his
talents, but many another more marvellous indication showed268

ATTILA.

that one day God would place in his hand the destinies of the
Roman people."

uIndeed!" cried Attila, fixing his eyes upon the young
Roman with a greater expression of surprise than he ever
manifested on any ordinary occasion. u Indeed! What were
these portents?"

" They have been many, as I have heard," replied Theo-
dore. " Escapes from danger almost miraculous ; and twice,
when sleeping in the open field, an eagle has been seen to
hover over his head, and shade him from the scorching sun.
These I report but on hearsay. Once, however, I can speak
myself to an event of the same kind. After a great earth-
quake, some four years ago, he was coming from Salona to
Aspalathos, and was met by us upon the road. He pitched
his tent where we encountered him; and while we were still
with him, an eagle, which had followed his troop all day,
came down and rested on the tent-pole."

Attila started up, and seemed troubled. "This is very
strange," he said ; "you were present yourself?"

" I was," answered Theodore. u There is no more doubt
of it than that I stand here."

"An eagle !" exclaimed the monarch : "So wild and fierce
a bird, to alight and rest amidst a troop of men!"

"It is strange, indeed, oh King!" said Theodore; "most
strange, but no less true; and its very strangeness made all
men, but himself, believe that it was an indication of some
future greatness."

Attila replied not, but remained several minutes with his
eyes bent upon the ground; and then, starting somewhat
abruptly, he exclaimed, "Let us into thy tents, my son; I
will eat with thee, and drink with thee, this night; and then
leave thee till to-morrow, when thou shalt go back with me
to Tridentum. There my own ambassadors, and those of
Marcian, come to seek me ; and as I will not ask thee to bear
arms against thy country, instead of taking thee with me to
sweep away Valentinian and tread upon Rome, I will send
thee to this noble monarch of the East. Thou mayest do
more with him, perchance, than a mere stranger."

The heart of Theodore beat high, for he saw before him a
prospect of better things, and happier days. The hope of a
journey to Constantinople, where he might place Ildica, and
all who were dear to him, under the generous protection of
Marcian, was in no slight degree joyful, and he at length
beheld, or imagined that he beheld, a certain and permanent
refuge for the future, and a happy termination of all his
wanderings. Gladly then did he express his willingness to
accept the office, which Attila proposed to confer upon him;ATT1LA,

269

aftd though there was something dark, and even gloomy, in
the countenance of the King, as he followed the young Roman
into his tent, yet the eyes of Theodore were lighted up with
joy and satisfaction, which spread itself to all around.

He found no opportunity of relating what had happened, or
of explaining the hopes and prospects which had cheered his
breast, yet Ildica saw sufficient in the glad smile of Theodore's
lip to feel sure that some new source of joy had been opened
out for them all. At heart, indeed, she was anxious for her
mother, who, ill at ease, and reposing in another tent, entered
not that in which the King partook of the evening meal with
her children; but still the demeanour of the monarch himself,
and the satisfaction which she saw upon the countenance of
Theodore, banished the darker apprehensions which had
mingled with her former hopes.

The dark monarch of the Huns, retaining all his simple
iiabits, drinking from the cup of horn, and served on no richer
materials than wood, unbent in the tent of the young Roman,
as far as his own stern nature would suffer him to do, from the
rigid gravity of his usual demeanour. He spoke kindly and
gently to Theodore and the rest, whom he made sit around
him, and from time to time his lip almost relaxed into a smile,
at the wild light spirit of Ammian, which would have way,
notwithstanding the overawing presence of that mighty and
terrible man. On Eudochia he gazed as on a beautiful child;
and though he but seldom turned his eyes towards Ildica, yet
when he did so, there was in them an expression which showed
that her exquisite beauty, however graceful and refined, was
appreciated by the barbarian monarch, as much as it could
have been by the most delicate sculptor of ancient Greece.
Theodore, however, felt no alarm; and as soon as Attila had
mounted his horse, and departed for his own camp, which was
at the distance of but a few miles, the young Roman hastened
to communicate to Ildica and her mother his hopes and wishes.
He told them the prospect of his being sent on a mission to
Marcian; and he besought her he loved to give him her hand,
and to go with him as his bride to the city of Constantine.
Flavians countenance lighted up with joy at the thought, and
Ildica said not nay. Again the time of their union was named,
with but an intervening day, and Theodore lay down to rest
with as much happiness as hope can pour into the human
breast.

CHAPTER XXXY.

It was in a vast hall in the ancient city of Tridentum, hang-
ing orer the Adige, where, rushing through the mighty rocks270

ATTILA.

of the Ehsetian Alps, that river pours on to fertilise the
plains of Lombardy, that Attila stood alone, on the evening of
the day following his meeting with Theodore. He had sent
on messengers to demand the peaceful surrender of the city;
and he had promised, in simple but direct terms, that if no
resistance were shown, no violence should be offered. The
citizens, without any means of defence, gladly embraced the
chance of safety; and Attila, entering with a few thousand
men, occupied the public places and buildings; while the
innumerable army that followed him lay encamped upon the
mighty hills that sweep up round about the town, and the
trembling inhabitants, shut up in their houses, waited in ter-
rified expectation, hoping that the monarch's promise might
be kept, but fearing lest it should be broken.

Attila stood alone; and little could he have brooked that
any eye should behold the unwonted emotions that then
shook his firm unbending nature. To all his host it had
become evident, indeed, that since his encounter with iEtius a
great change had come upon him ; that his mind had lost a
portion of its mighty calmness ; that his strong passions had
been gradually triumphing over the powerful intellect which
had alone sufficed to rule them. But none had ever beheld
him moved as he now was moved; and Attila himself,
finding that he was shaken by the tempest within his breast,
as he had never before suffered himself to be, grew fierce at
his own weakness, and added to his own emotions, by his very
anger at not being able to suppress them; and yet those
emotions were not displayed like the passions of ordinary
men.

He stood in that hall alone, and remained for many minutes
with his eyes bent sternly on the ground, while over his
harsh features passed a thousand shades of varying expression.
But his form at first seemed calm; and the only movement
perceptible through his whole frame was the clasping and
the unclasping of his left hand upon the hilt of his massy
sword. At length, however, he broke from that quiescent
attitude, and strode quickly up and down the hall, then
paused again, and once more gazed upon the marble pave-
ment, enriched by the beautiful art of ancient Rome, with a
thousand flowers and fruits smiling up out of the cold stone.

But the eye of Attila saw not the rich mosaic over which it
wandered ; and after another deep long pause, he exclaimed,
" Why should I not ? Is he not my slave, my prisoner ? Is
not his life, and all he has, mine own? That which I left to
him upon sufferance, can I not resume when I will? By all
the gods I will do it! He has had favours enough at my
hands already. He may well sacrifice something to gratifyATTILA.

271

Attila!" And again he fell into a fit of musing, which was at
length broken by the door of the hall being slowly opened,
and Onegisus, one of his most attached chieftains, entering,
with a cautious and apprehensive step.

44 So," said Attila, speaking to himself—44 So—So I will do

it. I would not see his grief, nor hear his complaints-Ha!

Onegisus ! What seekest thou ? "

44Pardon me, mighty King!" replied the chieftain; "I
come from thy son Ellac. He finds not food enough for his
troops upon the mountain, and he would fain force these
dronish citizens to give up the stores they have concealed
from us in their houses."

u Thou meanest he would fain plunder the city," replied
Attila, sternly. 44 But it must not be: Attila has pledged his
word. Tell him to seek for food in the valleys, or if his
troops be women, who cannot bear an evening's hunger, let
him lead them down into the plains beyond. There shall he
find food enough !—Yet stay, Onegisus, I would speak with
thee on another matter. Ellac was busy at mine ear to-day
with the beauty of this maiden, this Roman girl, who, some
people say, is to be the bride of Theodore. Thinkest thou,"
he continued, putting on a tone of indifference—4 4 thinkest
thou that Ellac covets her for himself?—That cannot be, you
know, unless she herself be willing; for I have promised
protection both to him and her."

44 Not so, oh mighty King !" replied Onegisus, casting down
his eyes, and, to speak but truth, appearing pained and embar-
rassed—4 4 not so. Ellac has but lately taken unto himself a
bride, as thou well knowest, and he seeks no other. He did
but think that this maiden was too beautiful to be cast away
upon a stranger. Perhaps he fancied that she were fair
enough even to attract the love of such a king as Attila
himself."

4 4 Vain talk!" cried Attila, sharply. 4 4 She is very beautiful,
it is true—as fair, perhaps, as the eye of man has ever seen—•
but Attila has other thoughts before him. Conquest! Vic-
tory ! Onegisus: they shall be the brides of Attila. Bear
Ellac my message, and tell Ardaric I would take counsel
with him."

Onegisus retired without reply, and Attila remained waiting
the coming of Ardaric ; but the monarch had, with the words
he had spoken, resumed his habitual self-command: the
sound of his own voice had recalled him to himself; and no
trace of the varying passions which had lately agitated him
could now be seen upon his countenance.

But, alas! Attila was not what Attila had been. The firm
immovable nature which he now assumed had then been really272

ATTILA.

his own. He had formerly been what he now appeared. A
change, a sad change, had come over him since he had fought
without conquering. He felt fallen from that height of irre-
sistible power which he had once possessed : he felt irritated
at its loss ; angry with himself for the very irritation that he
felt; and obliged to have recourse to duplicity to conceal the
change from himself and others. For that duplicity again he
contemned himself, and gave way to many a wilder passion,
which had formerly been controlled, in order to relieve his
thoughts from irksome contemplation. He conquered almost
all external appearances, however; the victory of his internal
enemy was within. With him it was like a sudden strife in a
banquet-hall, where contention raged fiercely in scenes that
had once been calm, and where few signs betrayed to those
without that fury and wrath struggled within those halls, from
the windows of which the lights beamed calmly, except
when a passing shadow flitting rapidly across told of some
violent movement, the nature of which could hardly be
divined.

Thus seating himself in an ivory chair, that stood at the
further side of the hall, he waited for his friend and counsellor
with a calm countenance, playing with the hilt of his sword,
and apparently listening to the murmurs of the river as it
flowed by the building, and gazing upon the changeful light
and shade as it danced upon the blue masses of the opposite
mountains.

Ardaric," however, was not long ere he appeared; but it
was evident that there was some degree of embarrassment
upon his countenance.

" Hast thou seen this new ambassador, my friend?" de-
manded Attila, as soon as he approached. u Hast thou seen
this Apollonius?"

" I have, oh King," replied Ardaric ; but there he paused,
and spoke no further.

" What said he then?" exclaimed the monarch of the
Huns impatiently. " Why art thou such a niggard of thy
words, my friend ? What answer gives the puppet on the
Eastern throne unto our just demand? What says he to our
contract with Theodosius? Has he sent the tribute therein
promised ? "

"No tribute has he sent, oh Attila!" replied the King of
the Gepidae, looking suddenly up, as if forced at length to tell
unpleasant tidings, and resolved to tell them plainly. u No
tribute has he sent, oh Attila! and touching the contract he
replies, that it was only between Attila and a monarch that is
dead; and that Marcian is not Theodosius. Further, he
declares, that he will have no talk of tribute; and he bidsATTILA.

273

your own ambassador say, that Marcian has gold for his
friends, but steel for his enemies."

Attila had remained with his left hand resting on his sword;
but as he heard the bold reply of Marcian to his demands
upon the Eastern empire, the long sinewy fingers clasped
upon the hilt; and though he uttered not a word, he drew
the blade half out of its sheath in the agony of suppressed
rage, while his white teeth might be seen shut close together,
as if to imprison in his own breast the angry thoughts that
struggled vehemently to burst forth. In the meanwhile
Ardaric, who had now told the worst, and whose purpose was
to soothe rather than to irritate the Hunnish sovereign,
hastened to add what he thought might, in some degree,
mitigate his wrath. "Nevertheless so, Attila," he said,
" though this man's words and actions are bold indeed, yet he
is not without that reverence for the fame and might of Attila
which all inferior kings must feel; and this ambassador, this
Apollonius, is loaded with presents far more costly and splen-
did than ever were wrung from the weakness of Theodosxus."

Attila sprang up from his seat, and grasping firmly the arm
of Ardaric, he gazed sternly in his face, exclaiming, " Seek
not to sooth me, Ardaric, seek not to restrain my wrath ! It
is vain! It is unnecessary ! The conduct of Attila shall not
be governed by rage! Indignation shall have no share
therein! Policy shall rule all: my conduct is determined;
has been long determined, Ardaric ; and thou shalt see that,
provoked even to the utmost, Attila can play the lamb till the
time be come for him to play the lion ! Slaves, ho !" he con-
tinued, raising his voice; and instantly a number of attendants
rushed into the room, amongst the first of whom was Zercon,
the black jester of his dead brother Bleda.

There was something in the sight that seemed to irritate the
King, and, fixing his flashing eyes upon the hump-backed
Moor, he cried, "Who bid thee hither? What dost thou,
listening to the King's private counsel? Take him away, take
the foul impotent lump away, and strike the eaves-dropping
ears from off his head ! Away with him! Answer not, but
let it be done !—Thou !" he continued to one of the attendants
who had followed—"Thou! Get thee to this ambassador
from the East. Tell him that Attila has not time to give
attention to such trifling things as the tribute due from
Marcian; but that as soon as he has a moment for lighter
affairs, and things of no importance, he will see him. In the
meantime, let him deliver the presents that he bears unto my
officers. Hence ! Do my bidding quickly !"

The attendants withdrew, without a second warning; and
Attila resumed his conversation with Ardaric, who felt not a

sm

ATTILA.

little relieved to find that the mighty King to whom he had
attached himself could still so far govern his rage as to consult
the dictates of good policy, rather than those impulses of
passion, to which he had but too frequently given way since
his encounter with JEtius.

"I have thought over all this, my friend," said Attila,
calmly, " since a conversation which I held yesterday with the
young Roman, Theodore."

Ardaric marvelled somewhat at the cold epithet which
Attila bestowed upon Theodore, whom during the two or
three last years he had been accustomed to call, not the
young Roman, but " my son," or u my adopted son." Never-
theless he was well pleased that the conversation of Theodore
had produced such an effect, and he replied, " Thy conduct,
oh Attila ! shows that you have considered well, and, as ever,
have determined wisely."

" I think I have, my friend," replied Attila; " for if I had
not, indignation would have trampled upon reason, and I
should have been tempted to abandon that in which I am
engaged, to tread upon the neck of. the dog that thus snarls
at my heels. But, as I have told thee, ever since that con-
versation, I have thought over this. The youth, it seeme,
has known this Marcian for many a year, and tells me that ho
is, as he shows himself, bold, cautious, and vigilant. Now,
though Yalentinian and Marcian separately are but as scor-
pions on which Attila would set his sandal's sole without
a fear, yet the bite of the two might be dangerous, or at least
painful. As it is, iEtius, possessed of Gaul, and planning to
raise himself up there a separate kingdom, looks on not
unwillingly while I crush the petty sovereign, whom he
has long despised and ruled. But if Marcian, joined to
Yalentinian, were to give the western emperor a chance
of resisting Attila with success, iEtius would be obliged
to unite his forces to theirs, lest, at an after period, they
should march together to punish the rebellious or negligent
subject, who left them to struggle unassisted against the
mighty power of the Huns."

u Wisely and well hast thou considered all things, oh
Attila! I, less politic, had only thought of the union of
Marcian with Yalentinian as dangerous to us. But if the
power of the East and the West were swelled by all the
forces of Gaul, armies might be collected which, perchance,
we should find to be overwhelming. How then, oh Attila, do
you purpose to deal with Marcian?"

" As a skilful fowler, Ardaric, when he approaches his half
sleeping game, coming nearer and nearer, while he pretends
to be looking and going another way. We will treat his am-*ATTILA.

275

bassador as if angry, but not enraged past all endurance. We
will send him back with messages regarding the tribute, which
will seem as if we were more covetous of gold than of honour,
and Would, perhaps, take a part, if we could not obtain
the whole. Thus shall he lull himself with embassies; while
we, marching on, sweep Valentinian from the earth, lay
Rome in ashes, and scatter the dusty fragments of her once
mighty power unto all the quarters of the earth over which
her empire in other days extended. Still as we advance and
conquer, as if wholly absorbed in the great undertaking
before us, we will make greater and greater concessions
to this Marcian, and he, if ne be a ti^e Roman, will exact
more and more, till at length, with justice on our side, and
conquest on our sword, our strength united and increased,
and our troops fresh from victory, we will pour into the
fertile plains of Greece, and, with our free and martial tribes,
leave not a trace of any former yoke throughout the land. If
my foot shall ever again tread the plains of Thrace, never
again, so guard me all the gods, who have made me what
I am, will I go back one single step, so long as one stone of
all Byzantium stands upon another !"

He was still going on, when a door at the further end of
the hall opened, and the attendant, whom he had sent to the
ambassador, presented himself. The man paused far a mo-
ment, with a pale countenance, as if uncertain whether to
advance or not. He was evidently under the influence of
terror; but Attila's irritation had subsided while pouring
forth his plans into the ear of Ardaric, and he made the
attendant a sign to advance, with an expression of counte-
nance which partly re-assured him. Hurrying forward then,
he cast himself prostrate at the feet of the King, exclaiming,
" How shall I dare, oh mighty Attila, to relate the bold words
of the most insolent Roman that ever approached thy pre-
sence ? "

u Speak, speak!" said Attila: "thou art pardoned, if any
pardon be needful, for repeating what it imports the king to
hear. Speak! what said the ambassador ? "

" His reply, oh King>" answered the attendant, looking up,
ais L ilf doubting the assurances of pardon that he heard—
Ms reply was, 1 Tell Attila the King, that though the time
of the servant of Marcian is of less value than the time of the
monarch of the Huns, yet the dignity of the emperor must
not be trifled with, and his ambassador is not o*ie to sacrifice
it. If Attila be willing to see me, let him fix the time and
keep it. Hither have I followed him to Tridentum, from the
wilds of Upper Dacia, and I will follow no further, to be a
spectacle to his nation, or to others. As to the presents, they276

ATTILA.

re of little import; some thirty vases of solid gold, and some
caskets of jewels; but if Attila would have them, he must
receive them with his own hands. To him were they sent,
and to none other will I deliver them.' Such were his words,
oh mighty King," continued the attendant—" I have repeated
them truly, and if I have offended, let me die!"

To the surprise of the attendant, and even of Ardaric,
something like a grim smile passed over the harsh features of
the Hunnish king. u He is a bold knave, this ambassador,"
he said, " he is a bold knave, and well chosen to do a danger-
ous embassy! Tell him to get him hence, and take his pre-
sents with him! Say also, that Attila, though he loves
courage, will not bear insolence, and therefore it is he will
not see this man. However, he is not willing to lose the
friendship of Marcian, who promises to fill the royal seat of
the old Caesars more nobly than late monarchs have done, and
therefore Attila will send back unto him Theodore, the son of
his friend Paulinus, with power to treat of things that con-
cern the friendship of the two nations. He shall accompany
the ambassador on his way. Go! tell him the words of the
King."

Ardaric, at the mention of the mission of Theodore, sud-
denly cast down his eyes and bit his lip; and as soon as the
attendant had risen from Attila's feet and departed, he
exclaimed, " Hear me, oh Attila, and take thought before you
determine upon sending this young Roman on such a task to
the new emperor. Theodore is bold and faithful, I know it
well, and love him truly. But he is one of those who will
think his duty to his country superior to aught else on earth.
He will reveal to Marcian all your plans and purposes, tell all
the secrets of your court, and of the past, as far as may affect
the future, and think it a duty to caution Marcian against
trusting to the semblance of moderation you put on."

" Wouldst thou do so, Ardaric, if thou wert a Roman?"
asked Attila, with a smile; and then, before his friend could
answer, he added, " Perhaps thou wouldst. In truth, I be-
lieve so. But I am prepared against that also, Ardaric. This
Theodore has now with him a beautiful, a most lovely girl—
his promised bride; and even to-morrow morning he fondly
thinks she shall be his. He is mistaken, Ardaric; for I will
keep her and her mother here, as sureties for his doing my
bidding to the letter—as hostages for his speedy return.
However strong may be his wishes to serve his country, be
you sure that nature and passion will have its way. What is
it that passion will not do ? To what will it not blind our
eyes ? What will it not make us see, in things the most dif-
ferent? With this Theodore, it will act to give the fairestattila

277

colouring to everything that may keep Marcian at peace with
Attila, and give him the opportunity of returning speedily, to
claim his beautiful Dalmatian bride. He will tell no tales,
Ardaric! He will give no advice! He will speak no warnings
that may raise up an eternal barrier between him and that
most lovely woman! He will think he does his duty to his
country, and will do it, as far as nature will let him; but pas-
sion will still have a voice in the council of his bosom, and
make him do his duty unto me !"

Ardaric made no reply, but looked gravely down upon the
ground, and Attila fixed his eyes upon him for several mo-
ments, as if in surprise at his silence. But there was some-
thing in the breast of Attila, a consciousness, a sense of du-
plicity even towards Ardaric, which made him forbear to
question his friend. Attila was afraid to ask why Ardaric
replied not! Attila, the mighty, the unconquered, the uncon-
querable Attila, was cowed by his own heart! Yes, Attila
was afraid!

CHAPTER XXXYI.

It was the same hall, but the things within it were changed.
It blazed with lights; it was crowded with people ; and the
leaders of the Hunnish host stood round Attila the King,
while in the clear deep tones of command he gave directions
for their march on the following day. On his left hand, at
some distance from the chair in which he sat, appeared a
group in the Roman dress, consisting of Ildica, Ammian,
Eudochia, and Theodore, with a number of the household
slaves of Elavia, and the barbarian followers of the young
Roman gathered together behind them.

Seated in the midst of her children was Flavia, the only
person, except the monarch, who did not stand; but there
was the weariness of illness on her face and in her attitude,
and the chair she occupied had been looked upon by her and
lier family as a token of Attila's kind observation.

Suddenly the tones of Attila ceased as he gave his last
commands to the leaders round him, and then, after a pause,
he exclaimed, " Theodore! Come hither, my son; the King
has a duty to impose on thee!"

Theodore gave a bright glance to Ildica, and advanced till
he stood before the monarch, his countenance beaming with
happy anticipations, and his heart beating high with the glad
hope of soon bearing his sweet bride back to their own dear
land. But the countenance of Attila was stern and grave;
and Ardaric, who stood on his right hand, cast down his eyes
as Theodore approached.278

attila.

u My son," said Attila, " thou art very young, and yet unto
thee am I about to entrust a mission on which may depend
the lives of millions, the fate of empires, and the destiny of
the whole world. The monarch of the East has sent unto me
hither a bold and insolent ambassador; and were I to read
the feelings of Marcian in the conduct of his messenger, I
should instantly employ those arms, which carried death and
victory to the shores of the iEgean Sea not many years ago,
to humble the pride and punish the faithlessness of this new
emperor. Bat I have heard what thou canst tell of him—
thou who hast known him from thy childhood; and Attila is
inclined to respect and love Marcian. Attila may be his
friend, if Marcian will; for while he treads upon the worm,
and struggles with the tiger, he admires the lion and the
eagle—kings in their kind like himself. Go then to this thy
friend: return to him with the ambassador he has sent hither,
and tell him the words of Attila. Say, if thou wilt, that on
thy report of his great nobleness, Attila desires rather to be
at peace than at war with Marcian; and ask what he will do
to gain our friendship. It is not the pitiful thought of a few
ounces more or less of yellow earth that moves Attila, and if
Marcian be poor, let him say so; but justice Attila will have
in all things, and his honour and dignity will he defend so long
as he has life. Go, then, to Marcian; tell him these things.
Tell him what Attila is, and bring us speedily thine answer.
If thou usest diligence, thou wilt find us between this and
Some. Seek the envoy from the East, and depart with him.
Thou shalt have the train of a prince to honour Attila's mis-
sion, and gold to pay thy journey through a sordid land, and
amongst a grasping people."

u Willingly, oh Attila!" replied Theodore, a do I accept the
charge; and honouring thee, as I do from the depth of my
heart, for all the noble deeds that I have seen, and loving
thee for all the kind ones thou hast done to me and mine,
I will labour with the zeal of true affection to do thy bidding
well."

As he spoke, a red flush came over Attila's forehead; and
a large vein that wandered through the brown skin of his un-
covered temples swelled and writhed like a snake caught
under the fork of an husbandman. Theodore, however,
marked not the unwonted emotion, and went 011. " Nor do I
doubt," he said, " success in my undertaking; for, in the
same manner, do I love and honour Marcian for the same
noble deeds and the same kindness unto me and mine. I
hope, I trust, I think that he loves me too, and therefore do
I judge that I, perchance—however young and inexperienced
I may be—that I may succeed better than one older and aAtrmu

279

stranger, Give me but to-morrow for repose, and on the fol-
lowing day I am ready to set out."

44 Thanks for thy willingness, my son," replied Attila, 44 and
thanks also for thy love; but thy young limbs scarcely do
need repose, and the time thou seekest cannot be afforded
thee. By the first ray of light to-morrow morning this inso-
lent ambassador must leave the camp, and thou must go with
him on the way."

Theodore's countenance fell. "Alas!" he said, "I have
told thee, oh King! that after many a painful year of absence
I have found and brought with me my promised bride, one to
whom my heart is tied by bonds of old affection, with whom
my childish hours were spent, to whom the thoughts of youth

have all been given-" Attila made an impatient gesture

with his hand. uThou hast thyself promised, oh King,"
added Theodore quickly, 44 to witness and confirm our union."

44 And so I will," answered Attila sharply, 44 when thou
returnest from the mission on which I send thee."

44 Oh let it be before," exclaimed Theodore eagerly—44 oh
let it be before. I ask but a day, a single day, and then all
can go with me to our native land, my bride, my mother, my
sister, and her promised husband, Ammian. Once more re-
established in peace, in the bright country of our birth, all
my hopes will be fulfilled, and-"

44 And thou wilt never return to Attila," said the deep voice
of the King.

44 On my life, on my soul, on my hopes of happiness in this
life and hereafter," exclaimed Theodore vehemently, 441 will
return, if I be in life, ere two months be over, and bring thee
an account of my mission and its success."

44 It cannot be," said Attila sternly—44 it must not, and it
cannot be. Youth, I will not tempt thee by granting thy re-
quest. We are all subject to be led astray. Nature is strong
within us, is stronger far than all good resolutions; and with
thy bride, thy mother, and thy family, beneath the shield of
Marcian, in thy native land, thou wouldst have strong temp-
tation to remain, and bitter agony of heart to leave them all
and come back hither. I say not that the frail thread which
bound thee to return would even then be broken ; but I say
that Attila will never willingly stretch it more than it is
formed to bear. Thy mother and thy bride shall stay with
me, not as a pledge for thy good faith, for even wert thou to
prove faithless, Attila would never injure those beneath his
protection; but as inducements to make thy return speedy
and joyful. Thy bridal must not be till thou hast seen Mar-
cian, and return to me. Attila has said it, and his words are
not revoked."280

ATTXLA.

The angry blood rushed up into Theodore's cheek, and his
eyes sparkled as few were accustomed to flash in the presence
of that mighty and terrible iron arch. u Then, oh King," he
exclaimed in a sharp voice, " then, oh King-"

But at that moment a hand was laid upon his arm,
and Flavia, anticipating the refusal that was about to burst
from his lips, stood by his side, saying, in a low voice, " Go,
my son, go! obey the will of the King!" but her interposi-
tion seemed to come too late, for the dark thunder-cloud of
wrath had gathered heavy on the brow of Attila; and while
the chieftains near gazed with painful apprehension on the
unwonted signs of emotion which he had suffered to appear,
he demanded, in a voice that rolled like distant thunder round
the hall, u Darest thou dispute the commands of Attila?"

Theodore's eye quailed not, however, under that fierce
glance; and, with his spirit all in arms, as it was at that mo-
ment, he might have replied with words that would have
sealed his fate for ever: but without waiting to hear him
speak, Ildica, trembling with apprehension for him she loved,
but filled with energetic resolution by that very love itself,
glided past him, and, kneeling at the feet of Attila, raised her
hands towards him in earnest supplication.

"Forgive him, oh mighty King!" she cried, "forgive him!
He will go willingly; he will go, and do thy bidding truly
and faithfully. I, I will be the hostage for his faith and his
obedience. Forgive him, oh forgive him! and let not your
great soul be moved by the momentary rashness of one who
loves thee well, and will serve thee, as he has served,
honestly, truly, bravely, zealously."

The cloud cleared away from the brow of Attila, as he gazed
upon that beautiful creature kneeling at his feet, and he re-
plied at once, " He is forgiven; let him do our bidding, and
return. We will protect thee and they mother till he comes
again, and none shall harm thee. Thou art rash, oh Theo-
dore, and hasty in thy youth ; but Attila is great enough to
be able to forgive : and, to show thee that thou art quite for-
given, we will grant thee one favour. But yesterday we were
told that yon youth, Ammian thou callest him, and the maiden,
thy sister, were plighted to each £>ther, and that for his and
her sake it was that thou fleddest from Yalentinian. Thou
thyself must return to seek thy bride and her mother; but if
thou wilt, thy sister, ere the earth be three days older, shall
give her hand to him, and follow thee with our presents to the
court of Marcian."

Theodore turned with a melancholy smile to Ammian and
Eudochia, who, in the anxiety of the moment, had advanced
to his side. He saw happiness in the bright eyes of the one,ATTILA.

281

and in the blushing downcast face of the other; and then,
looking again towards Attiia, he replied, " My bitter disap-
pointment, oh King! shall neither make me selfish nor un-
grateful. I receive your offer as a favour, and am thankful
for it as such. Let their union take place, oh King, as speedily
as may be, and let them join me in Thrace. It will take, at
least, from my mind part of the load which bears it down, to
see them in peace and security."

uBe it so, then," replied Attiia—"be it so. They shall
follow thee quickly. Thou knowest thy mission; thou knowest
my will. Early to-morrow morning, with thine own attendants,
and those that I shall send unto thee, thou settest out for Con-
stantinople. So fare thee well upon thy journey! All now
may go—Attiia seeks rest."

With a sad but calm brow Theodore led Ildica and Flavia
from the great hall of the palace of Tridentum, to a distant
part of the same building, in which a lodging had been assigned
to them. Eudochia and Ammian followed: but no one spoke
for some time ; till at length, when they re-entered the chamber
from which they had been summoned to the presence of Attiia,
Ildica raised her eyes, and gazed sorrowfully in the face of her
lover. Flavia, too, paused and looked upon them for a mo-
ment with a sad and heavy heart, and then beckoning to
Ammian and Eudochia, she quitted the room, and left the two
alone.

Ildica cast herself upon the bosom of Theodore, and they
both wept bitterly. u Oh, my Theodore! oh, my beloved!"
cried Ildica, as soon as tears would let her.

He pressed her to his heart in silence; but ere he could
find words to reply, the door of the chamber was thrown open
by one of the household slaves of Flavia crying, " One of the
barbarian kings, noble Theodore, would speak with you
instantly;" and almost as he spoke, Ardaric entered the
chamber. The King of the Gepid® pointed to the door, and
the slave, who gazed upon him with some wonder, instantly
closed it and retired. Then advancing to Theodore, Ardaric
took him in his powerful arms, and pressed him frankly to his
bosom.

" Theodore, my brother," he said, speaking the language of
the Huns, which Ildica did not understand—u Theodore, I love
you well, and grieve for you. We have fought together, and
been enemies; we have eaten bread together, and been friends.
Our enmity lias been wiped out, our friendship never can;
and I think that Attiia deals hardly with thee.—But look to
thy fair bride," he continued, "she looks pale and faint: let
her go from us; I will not keep thee long; but yet I would
fain speak with thee, ere thou departest."282

ATTlLA.

44 Ildica, my beloved," said Theodore, in the Latin tongue,
but speaking slowly, so that Ardaric might hear and com-
prehend what he said, 44 this is one of my best and noblest
friends. While I am absent, thou mayest trust safely in him.
He has something of importance to tell me, and I will seek
thee again instantly!"

Ildica made no reply, but retired into the inner chamber, to
her mother.

uThou hast spoken truly, my friend," continued Ardaric;
<4 she may trust in me when you are gone ; and she may have
cause to trust. Attila has dealt hardly with thee, I know not
why. I love not to inquire.—Let me not wrong him by sus-
picions ; but ever since that fatal battle in Gaul he has been
an altered man. Had he been always thus, he would never
have reached the height of power he has attained. He has
grown more like his brother Bleda, jealous, hasty, intemperate
—ay, and deceitful too. He may hide his future purposes
from mine eyes, perchance; but Ardaric knows that he is
changed, and is upon his guard."

44 I see it too," cried Theodore—44 I see it too; but even if
this change bodes ill to me, what can I do to guard myself
against it ? What evil, think you, he meditates against me ? "

44 Nay, I cannot tell," said Ardaric: 441 know not, nor will
pretend to guess; and as to guarding against it, I can give
but one advice—return as speedily as may be. Lose no time ;
fear not to kill your horses ; and as you named two months to
Attila himself, be not a single hour beyond that time, as you
value happiness and peace."

44 But why," exclaimed Theodore, 44 why think you that his
wrath points more particularly to me?"

441 know not well how to answer," replied Ardaric. 44 When
we see a dull grey vapour gathering over the western sky, we
say there will be a tempest soon. When we see the light
clouds making the mottled heaven look like a dappled steed,
we augur it will rain. Light signs forbode heavy storms ; and
when I see many a changeful variation in the mood of a man
once so firm and steadfast, I am apt to augur evil, and to guess
where it may fall. Towards you, to whom he was once kind
as the spring rain, Attila is now harsh and fierce, and I argue
thence that, for some cause, you have lost that favour which
shielded you hitherto. But there is another reason why I bid
you be upon your guard. You once tarried long, I have heard,
in the house of Bleda, the brother of the king, and must have
often seen his daughter Neva."

44 Often, very often," answered Theodore: 44 a sweet, de-
voted, beautiful girl, whose whole happiness seemed to rest
in doing good to others. But I injured her not 1"atti1a.

288

44 Thy fate seems of deep interest to her," replied Ardaric,
with a passing smile, 44 for she sought me out this evening, as
we were encamping on the hills-"

"Is she here, then?" cried Theodore, in surprise.

44 Yes, and thousands of others," answered Ardaric: u the
camp is full of women. One would guess we were going to
people some uncultivated land, for we bear almost all our
women and children with us. But Neva is here; for, alas,
poor girl, her home is now desolate. Her mother died some
few weeks ago.—But, as I have said, not only the men of the
land, but the women of the land also, have come forth to
war."

u Then I shall leave my Ildica," said Theodore, 44 with a
lighter heart. Where there are women, she will find some to
pity and console her."

44 Many, I trust," answered Ardaric; 44 but let me tell you,
for the time wears, that this fair girl, Bleda's daughter, for
whose orphan state my heart has often ached, sought me out
this evening, and, calling you 4 her brother Theodore,' be-
sought me to aid and to support you against your enemies.
Her words were somewhat wild and rambling; but it was
evident she had reasons to fear that evil threatened you."

44 Upon the journey?" demanded Theodore.

44 No, no!" rejoined Ardaric. 441 cannot tell you my own
suspicions: I must not repeat the words she spoke. We may
be both mistaken; and even were we right, our warning could
be of no avail, if you neglect to follow the advice I have
given. Hasten to Marcian; lose not an hour upon the road ;
fulfil your mission quickly, and bring back a reply, for good or
bad, without delay. Suffer yourself not to be entangled by
any one in long discussions; but simply tell your message,
receive your answer, and return within the space that you
yourself have mentioned. In your absence I will protect, as
far as may be, the precious pledges that you leave behind:
my wife is in the camp; and though she speaks not their
tongue, our hearts, oh Theodore ! shall speak for us. Ardaric
has some power, and it shall be used for your service. Now
fare you well, for I must leave you;" and pressing Theodore
once more in his arms, he turned and quitted the apartment.

The young Roman paused for a moment in deep thought;
and then, with a heavy heart, sought those from whom he was
to part so soon.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

Trent was still in possession of the Huns—though the main
body of their innumerable host had passed on—when, on the284:

ATTILA.

third day after the departure of Theodore, two young and
beautiful beings stood before the altar of the high church of
that venerable city, in youth's brightest day to pass youth's
brightest hour. There is certainly, in that peculiar moment
of happiness in which the young heart of woman plights its
full faith to the man she loves, a beatifying influence, which
gives to features, not otherwise remarkable, a loveliness of
expression that they possess not at other times. It is the
beaming forth of the sweet chastened joy of fulfilled hope and
gratified love: it is the picture, presented by the speaking
face, of many of those beautiful feelings whereof external
loveliness is but the type and symbol. Joy, timid modesty,
pure affection, bright hope, unshaken faith, the fruition of long-
nourished wishes, the fulfilment of the brightest expectation
of a woman's heart—all, all are there when she kneels before
the altar with the man she loves, to bind that solemn tie which
nothing but the grave should break.

There knelt Eudochia by the side of Arnmian ; and though
a slight shade of sympathising melancholy stole across the
sunshine of her face, when she turned her eyes on Ildica, yet
her look was as bright as hope and happiness could make it,
and in the serious but still enthusiastic countenance of her
young lover might be read, in its very gravity, a deeper hap-
piness than ever his lighter smiles betrayed.

Ildica, poor Ildica, had twined the flowers in the fair bride's
hair; and though a tear had fallen upon them, spangling their
sweet leaves like a drop of morning dew, yet she had struggled
hard to banish every selfish regret, and share to the full in the
joy of those dear beings, whose union, and, as she trusted,
whose happiness, that day was to secure.

Beside Ildica stood her mother; but oh! what a sad change
had the passing of less than five years wrought in the fair
form of Elavia, since first we saw her on the bright shores of
the Adriatic! She had known grief, deep grief, before that
period; she had tasted disappointment, and undergone mis-
fortune of many kinds : but there is a time of life, when the
springs of health, and sources of enjoyment, flow up so full
and bounteously, that the most scorching heat cannot dry them
up; when the earthquake itself cannot overwhelm them;
when still they flow on, under the fiercest sun of summer, and
are but choked up in one place to burst forth and sparkle in
another. But there comes an after-period, when, choked up,
and nearly obliterated by the sands of time, the fire of lesser
misfortunes will exhaust them quite, and leave the empty
fountain, the dried-up spring, without a drop of water to
moisten the lip of hope. So had it been with Flavia: the
misfortunes of her early years, the loss of her loved husband,ATTILA.

285

fhe tyranny of a capricious and greedy monarch, an anxious
widowhood, watching over her orphan children, had rendered
the stream of life calm and dull, but had not diminished its
waters, nor seemed likely to shorten its course. But when a
later epoch of existence had come on, and fresh sorrows,
labours, anxieties, and cares, had fallen fast about her, the
very hopes she had nourished, and the placid joys, which had
rendered life verdant, faded by the wintry blast of late disap-
pointment, like the withered leaves of winter trees above a
fountain, had dropped fast and thick, and filled up the very
well of life itself. Her step was feeble ; her once bright eye
was dim; and though the graceful line of that fair form re-
mained, though the black hair was little more silvery than
before, and the white teeth had lost none of their ivory purity,
yet the pallor of her countenance, the bloodless lip, the languid
drooping eyelid, and the quick, difficult respiration, all spoke
that " the body was broken by its cares and labours," and the
spirit, weary of its ruined tenement, was hesitating whether
it should not fly for repose.

She gazed, however, with a bright and cheering smile upon
Ammian and Eudochia, as they knelt to pledge that sacred vow,
which she, too, hoped and believed would secure for them as
much happiness as this world could bestow. She herself felt
within her bosom rise up at the sight, the memory of bright
hopes, and aspirations passed away, and the spring of life for
the moment flowed more freely. They, as they looked upon
her, saw a happy change, and gladdened their own hearts
by the thought that her health was better, and looked forward
to the future, with hopes for her as well as for themselves.

Others, however, were present in the church; and Attila
himself, with arms folded on his bosom, stood not inattentive
to the words which a Christian priest addressed to the fair
young beings met together there, to be parted no more. That
priest was a venerable and a fearless man; and after his bless-
ing had been spoken, and the indissoluble contract sealed, he
poured forth an exhortation to maintain and hold fast the
purer faith, in which they had been educated, touching boldly
on the doctrines of his holy religion as contrasted with the
Pagan superstition of many who heard him, and appealing to
the consciences of all men to decide whether sublime purity
of soul and body were not the doctrines which God might
teach and men revere.

Attila listened in silence, though many of the barbarian
chieftains around frowned angrily to hear their ancient faith
assailed from the lips of one of a people whom they looked
upon as conquered and trodden upon under foot. Attila,
however, listened , as we have said, in silence; and only twice286

ATTILA.

during all that ceremony did he take his eyes from the
priest, to turn them for a moment upon the lovely counte-
nance of Ildica, and glance oyer that unrivalled form which
might well have made the sculptor blush at his imperfect
works. They were withdrawn as quickly as turned thither,
and he fixed them on the priest again, and listened to his
glowing eloquence as one who could admire, though uncon-
vinced.

The ceremony was over, the prayer prayed, the exhorta-
tion made. The feet of Ammian's horse was heard without,
pawing impatiently the ground; the litter which was to bear
Eudochia into Thrace was prepared; the slaves who were to
accompany her, and the guards which Attila had directed to
conduct them in safety to the frontiers of the Eastern empire,
stood ready before the gate. But when the bridegroom and
the bride rose up from the altar, without turning to bid their
mother farewell, they advanced hand in hand to Attila, and
knelt together at his feet.

"Oh, great King!" said Ammian, "thou hast made us
happy, and we have to beseech thee to add yet one favour
more. To return unto our native land is joy, for we love no
land like that; but if our mother return not with us, the joy
withers, and like a flower in the night, it may be beautiful,
but we cannot see it, for want of the sunshine to make it ex-
pand. Let us beseech thee, then, oh King! crown thy great
goodness unto us, and either let our mother and our sister
bear us company on the way, or let us remain here till they
may go there too."

Attila listened with the same calm, steadfast look which, in
former days, used never to be absent from his countenance ;
and no feature of his face could have betrayed the slightest
emotion produced by the words of Ammian. When the youth
had done, he replied, " Thy mother and thy sister must not
depart; and I have promised the son of Paulinus that thou
shouldst join him with his sister in Thrace."

He paused for a moment, and thought deeply, turned his
eyes to Ildica and Flavia, and then added, "Nevertheless, ye
shall stay or go as your mother wills. If ye go not, the
breach of the promise be upon you. Attila has prepared to
fulfil it; but he will not, he cannot, drive a son from a mother,
and that mother ill as she is."

Ammian and Eudochia rose and clung to Flavia, each ex-
claiming, " Oh let us stay, my mother ! let us stay till Theo-
dore returns!"

Flavia pressed them to her heart, and kissed the fair brow
of that sweet girl: but she did not reply for some moments;
while Eudochia, linking her hand in that of Ildica, exclaimed.ATTELA.

287

"Plead for us, dear Ildica! Plead for us, my sister!" and
Ildica turned her lustrous eyes upon her mother, as if doubt-
ing and inquiring what she should do.

To Elavia it was a moment of the most intense pain, to
which the heart of any mortal being can be subject—it wa3
the struggle of duty against the tenderest, the noblest of
human affections—it was a dying mother placing one of her
children in safety, with the certainty of never beholding him
again, even while obliged to leave another in the midst of
perils, without any support. It was a moment of intense,
intolerable pain; and yet she conquered it.

" Eudochia," she said calmly, " it must not be, my beloved
child! Ammian, do not agitate and distress me! Theodore
might wait for you. Your staying might delay his return.
At all events, it is but for a short time that we are parted,1'
and she raised her eyes to heaven, while her lips still moved,
but in silence. " Go, my children, go," she said: " hasten
Theodore's return; bear him my blessing."

"Must it be, my mother?" cried Ammian.

" It must, beloved!" answered Flavia, kissing him. " Take
her, oh take her from me," she added, unclasping the arms
of Eudochia, who clung round her knees, weeping. uDear,
affectionate girl, farewell! Take her, Ammian, take her!
God's blessing and her mother's be upon you, my sweet chil-
dren !" Ammian raised Eudochia, and half bore, half led
her from the church.

The eyes of Attila remained fixed upon the countenance of
Flavia, with a deep, earnest, contemplative gaze, which might
have been painful to her, had not other feelings absorbed
every thought; and when, as Ammian and Eudochia disap-
peared through the portal, Flavia raised her robe to her eyes,
and for the first time wept, Attila, the stern, dark Attila him-
self was moved, and pressing his sinewy hand upon his brow,
he exclaimed aloud, "Noble, noble woman!" Then turned,
and, as if stung by some sudden pang, strode hastily out of
the church.

There came a sound of rude music from without, and of
young voices singing, as a troop of boys and girls, gathered
together for the marriage, accompanied Eudochia and Am-
mian on their way to the gate of the city. But oh, how
strange and harsh sounded that bridal song upon the ears of
the sad few who remained within the church! Flavia stood,
and wept; and the large drops rolled slowly over the fair
cheek of Ildica. But at length Ardaric, who had not followed
Attila when he departed, advanced, and in a kindly tone,
which spoke to their hearts, notwithstanding his small know-
ledge )f their language, bade them take comfort.288

ATTILA.

"Let us leave this place," he said at length. "You have
need, lady, of repose; to-morrow morning, or at latest to-
morrow night, the last of our forces quit Tridentum. It were
needful for thee to pass all the intervening time in repose;
and if thou wouldst take some simples, such as our people
know well how to prepare, it might give thee strength for the
journey. But let us quit this place—the sight of it only
makes thee grieve."

" Let those sounds cease without, and then I will go5" re-
plied Flavia; and as soon as all was quiet in the street, the
mother and the daughter, left alone in the midst of a strange
and barbarous host, took their sad way back towards the
dwelling which they had inhabited since their arrival in the
city of Trent. There Adaric left them; and entering into
their own apartments, Flavia sent away all the slaves.

As soon as she was alone with her daughter, to the surprise
and grief of Ildica, the lady sunk upon her knees, at her own
child's feet. " Pardon me, Ildica, pardon your mother," she
said—"Pardon your mother, if, in the agony of this day, and
in the anxiety to secure safety and happiness for one child, I
have failed to purchase, even at his risk, support and protec-
tion for another."

Ildica cast her arms around her, and striving hard to smile,
she said, " Alas, alas! dear mother, why should you ask par-
don of me? Know you not that your Ildica would gladly,
willingly, sacrifice everything but virtue, and honour, and the
love of those who love her, to secure the happiness of her
dear brother, and the sweet sister of her infancy ? Oh no,
think not that I regret even for a moment that you have sent
them from us, if by their presence they could not have com-
forted and supported you. Ildica has a resolute heart, my
mother, and can bear, with strong determination, whatever
fate her God may send her. With her own hand she can pro-
tect her honour, if need should be; and she fears nothing
else: for death is little terrible to her, and that is the worst
that can befall."

" But, alas! you know not all, my child," answered Flavia,
sinking into the seat to which her daughter led her, but
still holding lldica's hand, and gazing in her fkce. " Dear
beloved girl, I am dying!"

" Speak not such cruel words, dear mother," replied Ildica,
not knowing how terribly the ravager had proceeded in the
frame of the loved being who was now her only support.
" I see, indeed," she added, " that you are far from well; but I
trust that fatigue and anxiety is the chief cause, and that now
you have seen so happy an event as the marriage of our dear
Ammian with Eudochia, now that yo\\ know them to be inATTILA.

289

safety; now that the speedy prospect of returning to our own
land is open before us, now that nothing is wanting to our
future peace and happiness hut Theodore's return—I trust, I
hope, I am sure, dear mother, that joy will prove a good
physician, and restore you quite."

"Ildica," answered Flavia, "let us not deceive ourselves,
my child. I shall never see the Dalmatian shores again. How
long this shattered prison may keep the struggling spirit in
its ruined walls, I know not; but in my bosom there is kept
a fatal calendar, whereon is marked how much each day takes
from the small remaining store of life, and I feel that that
store i3 nearly gone. Like a spendthrift with his treasure,
Ildica, I would now fain hoard the little that remains, but
know not how, and fear that it will fail me soon. When, five
days ago, we halted by the little lake in those grand moun-
tains, I felt that Death was coming, but still thought that re-
pose might keep him yet at bay, and give me time to reach
some surer resting- place. But in that day's repose, the active
enemy still strode on his way ; the next day's journey brought
him nearer still; and the sad scene of your dear Theodore's
parting led him onward almost to the door. I have shut my
ear while he knocked, listening to Hope while Ammian's
bridal has gone forward; but I felt that Death went with me
into that church, and has come hither to sit beside me till I
follow him to a brighter land, where the dark herald leaves
us for ever at the gate."

Ildica wept bitterly, and her mother, after pausing for
several minutes, proceeded:—"Must I tell thee not to weep,
my child ? Nay, I will not do thee so much wrong! Yes,
weep, my Ildica! weep as I would weep for thee; but listen
to me. I have said that I felt myself dying when in yon
church I sent from us Ammian and Eudochia. I sent them
from us, knowing that I might soon have to leave thee here
alone, in the midst of a barbarous people, till thy Theodore,
thy husband, shall return—alone, with none to protect thee
but domestic slaves, who, though faithful and attached, are
still but slaves. Was not this cruel, Ildica? Wilt thou for-
give me?"

" Forgive you, dear mother!" cried Ildica, looking up re-
proachfully at the very thought of forgiveness being neces-
sary ; " think you that for my selfish sorrows I would have
had Ammian and Eudochia stay in scenes of danger when
peace, and joy, and safety were before them ? If peril awaits
me, Ammian could not, with his single hand, have averted it.
If Death be following me, too, in any shape, he could not
have shielded me from the lifted dart; and—for the sake of
a few kind words and tender consolations, the balm of sym-

T290

ATTILA.

pathy, and tlie fine elixir of kind familiar looks to soothe and
cure a wounded heart—think you, dear mother, that I would
have perilled his young happiness, and perhaps cast the cloud
of misfortune over his whole life? No, let me meet the
coming ills alone. There are many with whom I would
gladly share the cup of joy, but none whom I would force to
drink a part of the bitterer draught which I am bound to
quaff. Forgive you, dear mother! oh, there is nothing to
forgive!"

"Dear Ildica," cried Flavia, pressing her to her bosom,
" noble, beloved, girl! Sure, sure I am that, through what-
ever scenes the will of Heaven may lead you, you will bear
up nobly still, and never, never forget that you are the
daughter of a Roman. Remember, Ildica— oh, ever re-
member—the land and race from which you spring. Think
of their great deeds and steadfast courage. Remember that,
amongst the best and greatest of our ancient names, your
father might have boldly, confidently written down his own;
and9 whenever difficulty or peril falls upon you, think how a
Roman of old days would then have acted, and so act!"

"I will, my mother,'7 cried Ildica, sinking on her knees
beside Flavia; " I promise you, by all which is most sacred,
that I will! Nothing shall ever make me forget that I am a
patrician's child, bound by my nobility of blood to noble con-
duct. And should the time ever come that I must be tried,
the names of my ancestors shall not be blotted out from the
roll ot fame by any weakness of mine. I promise it t I vow
it! " and, with high resolution beaming in her beautiful eyes,
she rose, and stood in the maiesty of loveliness by her dying
mother's side.

" May God bless you, and give you strength in all things,
my true child!" Flavia answered; " and yet, Ildica, avoid
all such trials; turn from all such dangers when you may.
Seek not for dangers, but act boldly in them. And now, my
child, one more direction, and I leave you to the keeping of
your own heart, and God's directing Spirit. If I should not
live, which is, indeed, beyond all likelihood, to witness Theo-
dore's return, let no vain sorrow for the dead restrain you
from giving him your hand at once. If but a single day have
passed since the grave has closed over me, meet at the altar
with the tear of memory dimming the eye of hope; but delay
not your union by a single hour. Wed him, my Ildica! wed
your beloved without a hesitation; and fly with him, as
speedily as may be, to our dear, beautiful land, where peace
and safety shall attend you. To him, Ildica, to him only of
all the world, could I give you without a fear, without a sigh
—to him, noble, just, wise, brave, firm yet tender, generousATTlTxA.

291

yet prudent, ardent yet temperate. Oh, Ildica! oh that I
could see that day! ray last brightest hope, my fondest wish,
my only remaining aspiration on this side of tne grave would
then be fulfilled; and, as calmly as for a happy sleep, I coula
lay down my head in the tomb, and say, 4 Come, quiet
Death! life has all finished well!'"

The tears streamed anew down the cheeks of Ildica; and
her mother, after a short pause, drew her gently to her,
kissed her pure brow, and added, " Now leave me, my sweet
child, for one half hour. We shall both be the better for a
brief solitude."

Ildica withdrew without reply; for she sought not to add
to her mother's emotions by emotions of her own. In her
own chamber she turned the hour-glass, neither to fall short
of nor to exceed the space of time that Flavia had appointed;
and she would fain have bent her thoughts to contemplate all
the frowning features of her present fate, and the still darker
countenance of the future. She felt, however, that to do
so would unfit her mind for the task of soothing and con-
soling the last days of her mother; she felt that she might
be shaken and overwhelmed by the burdens which she was
destined at different times to bear, if she suffered imagination
to attempt to raise them all up at once, in order to feel and
try their weight. She resolved, then, that she would not
contemplate them, until they came upon her one by one; and,
murmuring the holy maxim of Him who alone could teach us
the wisdom from on high, " Sufficient for the day be the evil
thereof," she sank upon her knees, and passed the half hour
in prayer. When she rose, she was calm and prepared, feel-
ing that, though philosophy may teach us to resist firmly
the evils of life, it is only religion that can teach us to bear
them meekly.

Her mother received her with a smile; and she too was
calmer—for the fatal truth had been spoken between them,
the dark secret had been told; and Flavia herself, prepared
to die, was glad to have prepared Ildica for her death. The
rest of the day passed over tranquilly; and Flavia seemed
relieved, and even better. There was a slight flush upon her
cheek, which, though it was not exactly the rosy hue ol
health, gave a false appearance of returning powers. Her
eye, too, was bright, and she breathed, or fancied that she
breathed, with less difficulty. She cherished no hope,
however; and Ildica was not deceived into the belief that
her mother could recover. Her disposition had once
been full of hope ; but the spring had lain so long under a
heavy weight, that it had lost its elasticity ; and the evening
passed calmly, but not cheerfully.292

ATTILA.

At length, towards her usual hour of retiring to rest,
Flavia took out of a casket a golden bracelet of an antique
form, and, laying it on her knee, gazed upon it thoughtfully.
It had been the first present that she had received from her
dead husband, and in all her wanderings, under every blast of
adversity, that bracelet still had remained with her. She had
worn it on the shores of Dalmatia; it had been carried forth
amidst the rocking of the earthquake ; it had been restored,
with other property, at the command of Attila, after having
been taken by the Huns; she had possessed it amongst the
Alani, she had carried it with her to Rome; she had brought
it thence to where she sat even then. Every night, through
a long life, she had gazed upon that token of early affection;
and now, with her thoughts turning to her husband, she
looked upon it again, thinking, " I go to join him, where we
shall never be separated more !"

As she thus thought, she tried to clasp it on her arm ; but
suddenly it slipped from her fingers, rolled from her knee,
and dropped upon the ground. With a quick motion, she
stooped forward to catch it ere it fell, or pick it up. Then
suddenly pressed her hand upon her breast, and sunk back
upon the cushions that supported her, exclaiming, "My
child! my Ildica!"

Ildica darted forward, and caught the hands that her
mother now extended towards her. The lips of Flavia still
moved, but no sound followed: she fixed her eyes, with a
look of deep love, upon her child; the brightness of being
was still there; the flame of life's lamp shone in them still
brightly; but, in a moment after, it waxed dim and faint:
light and life, lustre and meaning, passed away; the jaw fell;
the features became rigid; and the grey hue of vacant death
spread over the soulless countenance. A loud long shriek
rang through those apartments; and when the slaves rushed
in, they found their mistress dead, where she sat, and her
daughter lying senseless at her feet.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

Long and dark was the sleep that fell upon Ildica : the over-
wrought mind, the over-excited feelings, the heart and brain,
stretched beyond their bearing to support each other, had
worked in the mortal frame that complete overthrow of the
equipoise, which such a state almost invariably will produce.
The sleep of Ildica's mind—for the reasoning soul remained
asleep long after the eyes had opened again to the light of
day, after her mother's death—was not the sleep whichATTILA»

293

brings repose; and when at length she really woke, and
gazed about her with full returning consciousness, she found
an unknown scene around her.

She was stretched upon a rich couch, round which fell the
hangings of a tent; and though two of her own female at-
tendants sat at the further side, there was watching over her
a tace as beautiful as she had ever beheld, but which was alto-
gether strange to her eye. It was beautiful, as I have said,
most beautiful; and though the hair was dressed in the bar-
barian mode, and the garments were not such as the Romans
wore, yet the pure and snowy skin showed tints very dif-
ferent from the dingy complexion of the Huns ; and, though
Ildica knew not the face, yet there was something in it—
something in the exquisite loveliness of those devoted deep
blue eyes—that was not unfamiliar to her imagination. It
was as if somebody, in former times, had sung, or told, or
written to her about eyes like those. Her mind, however,
wandered still; and she could not recall where, or how, such
an impression had been made upon her. But she saw, as
she moved, those eyes bent upon her with a look of tender
pity; and laying her hand upon that which rested on the
couch beside her, she would have spoken; but her voice was
so weak, that she herself started at its altered sound.

" You are better," said Neva, for she it was who sat be-
side her—uyou are better; I see you are better." And
though the tongue in which she spoke was but a mixture of
Latin with her barbarian dialect, yet her looks spoke elo-
quently, and Ildica began to remember, or rather to guess,
who she was.

Neva watched her gently and assiduously; and Ildica re-
covered health and strength; and grateful and tender did she
feel towards that fair companion, who wound herself day by
day so closely round her heart, that she only wondered that
Theodore could have continued to love Ildica, when he had
unknowingly won the heart of Neva. But though Ildica re-
covered rapidly, that illness had wrought a change. She
remained long in deep silent fits of thought. Sometimes,
when she was spoken to, her mind, intensely occupied with
the dark past or the dim future, seemed to deaden her ear,
and she made no reply. But what was still more strange, she
spoke of her mother, she talked of her death, she inquired of
her burial, without a tear moistening her eyelids. She would
fain have wept; she longed to do so ; out no drops, no kind-
relieving drops, came from the dried-up well to give her ease.
Her mother and Theodore were the two great themes of her
thoughts; and of her lover's coming back, she talked with joy
and smiles to her own attendants; but with kindly care, which294

ATTILA.

showed how thoughtful she was for others, she avoided, as fa?
as possible, the mention of his name to Neva.

Bleda's daughter, indeed, was now her chief companion;
shared the same tent, and spent whole hours with her on each
succeeding day. On Ildica, she seemed to look as on a supe-
rior being; and seated at her feet, with her arm resting on
the fair Dalmatian's knee, she would gaze up into her face,
trace all those beautiful lines, and mark the full lustrous eye,
the swelling lip, and clear and rounded nostril, pure and de-
lined, but soft and graceful, as if chiselled from the Parian
marble. Thus she would gaze, and think in her own mind,
that it was no wonder such a face and form as that, with such
a spirit as shone through all that beauty, had lighted and
kept alive, as pure and unextinguished as the fire of Vesta,
the flame of love within the heart of one worthy of her—
within a heart incapable of forgetfulness or falsehood.

Twice only did it happen that Ildica, who, however sadly
her own heart might be wrung, forgot not easily the feelings
of another, mentioned even the name of Theodore in the
hearing of Neva. The first time the fair girl coloured and
looked down; but the second she was sitting, as we have
said, at Ildica's feet; and though her countenance glowed,
she gazed up, and asked, 44 When you saw him, did he never
mention Neva's name?"

Ildica bent down her head, and kissed the fair girl's brow,
saying, 44 Yes, dear Neva, he did mention you."

44 And what did he say ?" demanded Neva, burying her
face in Ildica's robe—44what did he say?"

44 He told me," answered Ildica, pressing her hand gently,
44 he told me how kind and good you had been to him; how
you attended him in sickness, saved him by your care from
death, and rescued him in his moment of utmost danger from
the hands of those who would have slain him. He told me
all, dear Neva, he told me all."

Neva cast herself upon Ildica's bosom and wept. 44 Then
he told you," she murmured through her tears, 44 how I loved
him, and how kindly and gently he soothed the feelings he
could not return; how nobly and honestly he told me that he
loved another, whom he must ever love."

Ildica pressed her in her arms; and, raising her eyes to-
wards heaven, she said in a low voice,44 Oh God! why should
I hope to be happy, when this sweet being is wretched ? "

44 Nay, nay, Ildica," cried Neva, starting back, as her ear
caught those words, 441 am not wretched ; I am as happy as
my state will admit; I am happy in possessing the next best
blessing to the great one of his love : I have his friendship,
his gratitude! I am happy in having served him; I am happyATTILA.

295

in having seen the being that he loves, and in loving her my-
self ;" and she pressed a fond kiss on Ildica's glowing cheek.
"Now, Ildica," she continued* "now, you know how I feel.
I have seen you; I know you; I am sure you are worthy of
him; and so help me all the gods, as—if it were in my power
this moment to take him from you and bind him to myself—-I
would rather die than do it! Speak to me about him when
you will, you will inflict no pain upon my heart. He is your
own, your beloved, your rightful husband. Neva is contented
with her lot."

Ildica smiled sadly. " Oh Neva," she answered, " it is
hard to be generous in love ! There is no one thing on earth
I know of that I would not give to make you happy, except
the affection of Theodore."

" And now I would not have it, could wit be given," Neva
replied; "but he will soon be back again, dear Ildica. More
than three weeks, out of the two months allotted for his ab-
sence, have already passed, and he will soon be here : Ildica
will then be his bride ; and Neva will weave the bridal
flowers for her hair. Only remain within your tent, Ildica,
as long as you can; and when the army marches on again, be
carried in your litter without speaking, so that Attila may
think you are still ill."

Ildica started, and gazed on Neva with surprise. " Why
should I try to deceive Attila?" she demanded: "I have
long wondered why you should all oppose my going forth to
breathe the free outward air when I am ill no longer. Tell
me, dear Neva, tell me what I have done to offend Attila?"

"You have done nothing to offend him," answered Neva:
" Oh no; it is not his wrath that we fear! It is, that the
sight of your beauty might inflame his love. Therefore was
it that Ardaric, who loves your Theodore, so strongly coun-
selled, that you should hold the semblance of sickness as long
as may be."

Ildica sank back upon the cushions that supported her, and
hid her pale face in her hands, as if the doom of death had
been pronounced in her ear. Terror overcame every reason-
ing power for some moments, and it seemed m3 if the fate
which had been spoken of as merely possible, was certain and
inevitable; and with her hands covering her face, and her
bosom heaving with convulsive sobs, she sat for several mo-
ments in silence; while Neva, alarmed by the state into
which her words had cast her, tried, by every kindly effort,
to soothe and re-assure her.

At length, the fair Roman suddenly removed her hands,
exclaiming, "I had forgot myself, Neva! and had given way
to terror, a feeling that should have no empire in m bosom.296

ATTILA.

I do not, I will not fear this man, terrible as he is. I will hide
myself from his eyes most willingly. Till Theodore comes
back, I will never quit my tent: but if my evil fate should
draw his looks upon me; if what you fear on my account
should occur, he shall find that the daughter of a Roman can
act a Roman's part. No, I will not quit this tent till Theo-
dore returns."

44 Alas! dearest Ildica," replied Neva, 44 ere two days be
over, you will be forced to leave it. Attila has ravaged all
this part of the country: these plains, so fertile and so popu-
lous not a fortnight since, when we first issued forth from the
mountains and encamped a two days'journey from Tridentum,
are now as bare as the summit of the Alps, and not a human
being save the followers of the mighty King can be seen for
miles around. The white bones of the Romans who have
been slain, indeed, whiten the ground; and troops of wolves
have followed us from the mountains, as if they had been
called by the voice of Attila himself to the feast he fails not
to prepare for them; but nothing living and breathing is to be
seen but ourselves and those fierce beasts; and the day after
to-morrow we are appointed to march on and carry the
same bloody scourge, the same fiery sword, further into the
empire."

Ildica looked up towards the sky. 44 Oh God!" she mur-
mured, 44 must such things be ? Hast thou no chosen instru-
ment, as in the days of old, to check the ravager in his course,
to smite the mighty murderer of nations ? " and, clasping her
hands together, she fixed her eyes upon the ground, falling
into a long, intense fit of gloomy meditation.

44 It is strange," she continued, when, rousing herself at
length from her reverie, she found Neva still sitting beside
her in silence, and gazing anxiously upon her—"it is very
strange! But who can tell the purpose of the Almighty?
who can see into the wise counsels of the Omniscient? who
can tell at what trifling stumbling-block this great conqueror
may fall down, or what small and insignificant means may, in
the hand of God, bring all his sanguinary expeditions to
an end?"

44 I do believe," said Neva,44 that when he killed my father,
Bleda, I should have slain him myself if I had ever been
within arm's length of him, and alone. But he is much loved
by his own people, and they keep a watch for him; and now
he has been kind to me, and wiped out the memory of my
father's death by tenderness and affection both to my mother
and myself."

41 No personal revenge," said Ildica, thoughtfully, 44 can
ever justify us in shedding a human being's bWd—at least IATTILA.

297

think so, Neva; but in our own defence, or in the defence of
those we love, or of our country, or our faith, surely, surely
God, the God of Hosts, will hallow and sanctify the deed. I
think so, Neva, I believe so, but I will meditate upon it: I
will inquire from the only source where we can find sure
guidance."

u Where is that?" demanded Neva.

44 In the word of God," answered Ildica, abstractedly; and
•gain she fell into a fit of meditation, from which her fair
companion did not choose to rouse her. At length, Ildica
woke up of herself, and the sort of shadowy gloom which had
hung upon her seemed in a degree banished by reflection;
for when she looked up, a smile, faint and chastened, indeed,
but still most beautiful, played upon her lip for a moment.

441 cannot but think, dear Neva," she said, " I cannot but
hope, that we have been combating imaginary adversaries.
Why should Attila think of me ? why should any idle beauty,
that you talk of, make him persecute one who never injured
him, or wrong a man who, like Theodore, has served him
well, and whom he himself professes to love?"

44 You know him not, Ildica, you know him not," replied
Neva: 44 his passions are fierce, and devouring as the flame ;
and we poor women, but the slaves of his pleasures, are no
more in his eyes than merchandise, things to be used while
they please, and to be cast away when the gloss of novelty is
gone. Besides, those passions, though they once had a check,
have now none. He is changed, Ildica, he is changed! Within
the last two years a change has come over him, which renders
him no longer the same man. In former days you might rely
upon his justice, if not upon his humanity; you might trust
in his friendship as much as you -were compelled to fear his
enmity. He was sincere, though never frank; and those who
knew Attila well could calculate his rising up, and his going
down, and his course throughout the day, as surely as they
could calculate the rising and setting of the sun himself. But
he is changed, Ildica, he is changed! He has grown sus-
icious of his dearest friends, deceitful towards those who love
im best, intemperate in all things; and while by day he
revels in blood, at night he revels in wine, till drunkenness
closes the day, which was begun with slaughter. The only
thing that ever withholds him from gratifying his desires is
shame; and if we can but keep thee from his thoughts till
thy lover returns, the fear of sinking lower in the esteem of
his chieftains will keep him from doing thee a wrong, from
violating his word."

44 But why should I fear," said Ildica, " more than all the
many women who, I learn, are in the camp ? "298

ATTILA.

u Because thou art more beautiful than them all," answered
Neva, looking up in her face with a smile.

<" Yes, but he let Eudochia go," replied Ildica: " he suf-
fered her to depart, without one apparent wish to stay her;
and she was much more beautiful than I am—younger, love-
lier in every way."

" Oh no," cried Neva, u not half so lovely! But, besides,
if I must tell thee all, I heard my cousin Ellac, the great
King's son, contriving with Onegisus to inflame Attila's love
for thee. He has hated Theodore ever since he set foot
amongst our tribes, and he knew that he could take no more
terrible revenge upon him, that he could bring down no more
certain destruction upon his head, than by raising up against
him Attila, as a rival in his love. I heard them lay Jheir plot,
and I know that they executed it in part. For that purpose
was Theodore sent forth; for that purpose wert thou kept
here; and had it not been for thy illness, and for Ardaric's
protection, who loves thy promised husband, thou hadst re-
ceived, ere this time, terrible proofs that our fears for thee
are anything but vain."

" I do remember," answered Ildica, " that on that sad night
before Theodore's departure, one of the barbarian leaders, a
noble, looking man, whom he called Ardaric, and in whom he
afterwards bade me trust implicitly, came to us, and warned

him of some approaching danger-"

" It was I who warned Ardaric," interrupted Neva, " be-
cause I knew that he was sincere and true, and loved thy
Theodore well. All that he knew he heard from me, or from
that unhappy Moor, that deformed and mutilated negro,
whom thou hast seen twice follow me into thy tent. He also
watched and saw much ; and, with a shrewdness all his own,
perceived that Attila was not unwilling to follow where his
baser son would lead him."

Ildica clasped her hands, and gazed down upon the ground.
" Oh, Neva !" she said at length, " you must aid and protect
me; for—though I know, and feel sure, that if the hour of
difficulty were to come I should find courage, on the instant,
to behave as befits my race and nation—though I feel sure and
confident that there is no act which I should fear to do, that
justice and my honour required of me—yet, Neva, yet I
would fain shrink from the trial. In the contemplation of it
I am but a woman; and my very soul sinks, faint and
dispirited, at the very thought of what I may be called upon
to suffer and to do."

"I will aid you, I will assist you, dear Ildica," replied
Bleda's daughter; u and there are many more in the camp
who can assist you better, and who are willing to do so too:ATTILA.

299

but I hear some one in the outer tent. It is the voice of
Zercon, I think, speaking with your slaves. In him, too, you
may trust; for he is one who will be faithful unto death. He
has known me from a child, and loves me well; and since my
father's death, there is scarce a bitter cruelty in all the long
dark catalogue of inflictions which man's savage, demon-like
heart has invented, that Attila has not practised upon him.
He hates Attila, therefore, and he loves all who are persecuted
by his persecutor."

"I have heard Theodore mention him," replied Ildica.
" Did he not aid - in his escape? I would fain see him again,
and speak with him. All who may assist or aid me are valuable
to me, dear Neva."

Neva advanced, and drew back the curtains of the inner
tent for a moment, saying, u Dost thou seek me, Zercon ?
What wouldst thou with me? Come hither, and speak with
me," she added, ere the man could reply. Returning to the
side of Ildica, she seated herself near her on the cushions;
while the negro, Zercon, came forward, and drew the curtains
of the tent behind him.

" I came to warn you," he said, " that there are orders gone
forth, for the whole host to move forward, by dawn of day to-
morrow, upon Verona itself. Be wary, be cautious, lady," he
added, fixing his eyes upon Ildica; u all has gone well as yet;
but the malice of enemies has but a slight slumber."

" My friend," said Ildica, in a calm but sad tone, "I have
to thank thee both for thine interest in myself, and for the
services thou hast rendered to one dearer to me than myself.
This sweet lady near me, thy dead master's child, tells me that
thou wilt befriend me, and will be faithful unto me, even unto
death."

11 That were saying little, lady," replied the negro. " Death,
to me, is not a thing to be feared. I will serve thee, if I can,
through severer trials than that; though I think that all the
skill of Attila himself will hard*/ discover a new torture or
indignity which the body of man can suffer—without being
separated from the spirit—that he has not already practised
upon this wretched frame."

"I am sorry for thee, my friend, I am sorry for thee,"
replied Ildica. "Thy sufferings should teach us to bear our
lesser evils with more patience and fortitude."

" Lady," said Zercon, " the difference between thy state and
mine renders the computation of evils in our several cases very
different also. Those evils, which to you are of the greatest
magnitude, to me are less than the string of a piping gnat;
and it is not that we bear them differently but that our states
from infancy to this hour have rendered them really different.800

ATTILA.

You have been nurtured in ease, in peace, and happiness.
God made you beautiful as the day, and poured through your
young veins a stream of lordly blood, drawn from a source of
mighty conquerors. Philosophers and schoolmen taught you
how to enjoy; and wise and good relations showed you, from
your youth up, the path of virtue, and bade you prize honour
as much, or more, than life. Your heart and feelings, your
mind and soul, even like your tender body itself, are subject to
a thousand pangs, acute and dreadful, to which mine are all in-
sensible. I, born on an arid soil, sprung from a despised race,
gifted with deformity, nurtured in hardship, companion from
my infancy with famine, thirst, disease, and pain, tutored but to
bear, and bred up in the bitterest school of suffering—I look
upon evils which to other men are great, as enjoyment—actual
happiness! I may have heard the voice of philosophy, too; I may
have listened to wise and learned men; but the only doctrine
which has been preached to me is to suffer all things; the only
lesson that I have learned through life has been endurance.
The couch that feels hard to other men as a flinty rock, is a
bed of down to me. Contumely and disgrace have lost their
sting: my body is insensible to blows and my heart to indig-
nity. If I lie down to rest without the mutilating knife of
tyranny lopping away my limbs, I mark the day with a white
stone, and cry, 1 Oh happy chance!' And, though I have been
too well tutored in bearing the worst, ever to take refuge at
the altar of death where tyrants dare not follow, till fate shall
lead me thither, yet, when the hour comes that opens that
sanctuary to me, how glad will be its shelter, how heavenly its
repose! Lady! oh, beautiful lady! if you can give me any
service which can merit death, I will bless you as for an inesti-
mable boon."

"Alas! my friend, I know not what may come," answered
Ildica, with tears standing in her eyes. " The time may not
be far distant when I, too, shall look to death as the only
relief."

"I understand you, lady," answered Zercon, uand I know
your danger; but it is one from which your own hand can
righteously deliver you, if ever it becomes imminent. Zercon
—the poor, the despised Zercon—can give you a gift worth
more than a talent of gold in the hour of peril. Look here!"
and approaching closer to Ildica, he drew from his bosom a
small dagger, the blade of which might be somewhat more
than a span in length. The haft was small, and formed of
ivory; and the blade, when he took it from the sheath, though
dull in colour and in polish, was evidently sharp as a knife
both at the point and edge.

"This steel," continued Zercon, "hard as a diamond, andATTILA.

801

sharp as a graver's tool, would, if struck with a firm hand,
pierce the strongest corslet that ever came from the armourer's
anvil. In the hand of an infant, it would slay a giant; and I
give it unto you, lady, against the hour when terror shall give
place to resolution, and horror shall conquer fear."

He spoke like a prophet; and Ildica took the dagger, and
gazed upon its blade. "Do you mean," she asked, after
a long pause, 41 that I should use this thing against my own
life?"

"No," answered Zercon, eagerly; "no! I have never used
it against mine; but I felt that there was a point at which
endurance was bound to stop; and that, if the time should
come when opportunity favoured the blow, I was called upon
by the immutable command of nature to strike in my own
defence. That opportunity has never come; for it would but
little serve me, when a tyrant ordered his slaves to cut away
my ears or my thumbs, to take the life of one or two of
his instruments. Had he been within arm's length himself, he
had died as surely as I lived."

Ildica mused with a melancholy look, still holding the
dagger on her knee, while Neva, with the negro slave, gazed
up in her face. The Moor seemed to read her thoughts.
"Lady," he said, "I hold the same faith as you do. I have
held it from my youth; but I am justified. Head in that book,
if thou canst read; not in the latter part alone, but in the
former also; and thou shalt find that our country's defence or
our own has been held just and righteous cause for slaying the
oppressor. Lady, I say no more. Conceal the weapon in
your robe ; and should you ever have cause to use it, let it be
no hasty, ill-considered blow, aimed in the terror of the
moment, but with calm deliberation, in a chosen time, with
the strength of virtue and of justice, and the firmness of
conscious right. I have given you what, if wisely used, is
better than a jewel; but I will serve you with my heart's
dearest blood, to avoid the necessity of ever using it; and now
farewell."

He retired as he spoke; and Ildica, taking up the dagger,
held it for a moment firmly in her hand, and then placed it
in her bosom. Neva gazed upon her as she did so, with a
look of deep emotion; and then sinking on her knees beside
the fair Roman, threw her arms around her, and hid her face
upon her lap, murmuring, " Oh, may you never have to use
UP302

ATTILA.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

Scarcely was Zercon gone, when the hangings of the tent,
which he had let fall behind him, were again pushed aside, and
an old woman, of some barbarian tribe, frightful in features,
and fantastically dressed, entered and stood before Ildica.
Neva started up; and when she beheld this personage, she
turned very pale.

" What wouldst thou?" demanded Ildica, in her own lan-
guage ; but the woman did not seem to understand her, and
continued to gaze upon her from head to foot.

"What wouldst thou?" repeated Neva, in the Hunnish
tongue ; in reply to which the old crone burst into a loud and
scornful laugh, adding, "I came to see what I have seen!"
and, turning as she spoke, she left the tent without waiting for
further inquiries,,

"Who is that, dear Neva?" demanded Ildica. "She is
rude and strange in her demeanour."

"Alas! alas!" replied Neva, "I fear her coming bodes no
good. She is skilled in healing, and dwells amongst the wives
of Attila; and I doubt not that she has been sent to see if thou
art as ill as we have reported."

At these words, Ildica herself turned pale, and gazed anxi-
ously upon the countenance of Neva. She had no time, how-
ever, to inquire further; for scarcely had the woman left the
tent, when there was a cry of "Attila! Attila! The King! The
King!" and the domestic attendants, who had followed the
fair Roman girl and her mother through all their fortunes, ran
in with looks of apprehension from the outer tent, and sur-
rounded their beloved mistress.

The moment after, the cry of "Attila! Attila!" was repeated,
the hangings were again drawn back, and the dark monarch of
the Huns advanced at once into the tent. There was a mortal
paleness upon Ildica's countenance; but, from the moment that
the cry of "Attila! Attila!" had sounded on her ear, till the
moment that he came into her presence, the eyes of those who
surrounded her saw an expression of high and noble resolution
gathering upon that fair, lofty forehead, as the eJectric clouds
upon a summer's day may be seen rolling round some mountain
peak, till that which in the morning light was all clear and
fair, becomes, ere noon, awful in the proud majesty of the com-
ing storm.

All rose and retired a step as Attila entered, except Ildica;
but she, with queen-like calmness, kept her place: and it wasATTILA.

303

wonderful to all eyes to behold that sweet and gentle girl, full
of tenderness and soft affections, changed in a moment, by the
power of a great mind and mighty resolution, into a proud and
lordly being, fit to cope with the great conqueror of one half
of the earth. There she sat immovable, gazing with the un-
quailing light of her lustrous eyes upon the dark monarch as
he advanced towards her; and even Attila himself—though
the cause was surprise and admiration only—paused for a single
instant midway in his approach, and scarcely could believe his
eyes, that this was the same creature whom he had last beheld
dissolved in tears beside her departing brother. Her beauty,
however, was as radiant, though it shone through another air;
and, again advancing, he seated himself beside her calmly on
the cushions, saying, "They have deceived me: they told me
you were ill!"

" I have been ill, oh King!" replied Ildica, in a voice not a
tone of which faltered, even in the slightest degree—"I have
been ill, very nearly unto death."

"Illness seldom wears so lovely a form," replied Attila, in
a softened voice. "Attila trusts that thou art better, fair
maiden; else thy beauty belies thy state."

" I am better, oh King," answered Ildica; " and I trust that
a few days more of repose may restore me completely unto
health."

"Were it not better for thee," said Attila, "to seek the
open air, and draw in the pure breath of the summer day,
than sitting here in the close atmosphere of a tent to waste the
hours of sunshine?"

" The covering of this tent, oh King," replied Ildica boldly,
" shuts out from me more things than the pure air; and if, in
going forth, I should gain advantage from the sweet breath of
heaven visiting my lips, the sights that I should behold would
carry tenfold poison to my heart by the sure channel of the
eye—at least if all be true that I have heard."

" What hast thou heard ? " demanded Attila quickly, rolling
his eye over those that surrounded them—"What hast thou
heard, sweet Ildica?"

"I have heard," she replied, unwilling to call down the
anger of that terrible monarch upon any one else, however
sure she might be of encountering it ultimately herself—" I
have heard but the usual tale of warfare: I have heard of po-
pulous cities taken, and made desolate; of blood drowning out
the fire on the dear domestic hearth; of thousands, and tens
of thousands, slaughtered, and their bodies lying unburied in
the fields, or nailed, if they resisted, to the trees of their own
fruitful gardens. I have heard of the whole land swept of its
produce, its arts obliterated, its monuments destroyed, its hus-ATTILA.

bandmen slain, even its women and children put to the sword
—and that land my country!"

She paused; but Attila made no reply, and sat listening as
if he expected her to go on. u Pardon me, oh King," con-
tinued Ildica—"pardon me, if I am bold to say thus much;
but as it was grief which brought me nearly unto death at first
—deep, bitter grief!—I am told that any grief whatsoever, added
anew, may complete what the other left undone, and bring me
at once unto the grave."

" A mother's death," replied Attila, without any sign of anger
at the bold and proud demeanour of the fair Roman girl—u a
mother's death, so sudden, and unexpected, might well shake
the strength and fortitude of a daughter; but as to other things,
I see not why she should let her mind rest upon them."

"Let me not boast, oh Bang!" replied Ildica, resolved to
leave no word unspoken, which might guard her against all she
feared—" Let me not boast, but yet I may say, my fortitude is
never shaken. It was the bodily strength gave way, and not
the resolution of the heart. Neither was it a mother's loss
alone: that was the last of many sorrows. Before it, went
the parting with my brother and the sister of my heart; and
before that again, the still bitterer parting with my promised
husband, with him I love, and always have loved, better than
anything on earth."

Attila's brow grew dark, and he fixed his eyes bitterly upon
the ground. Ildica marked the expression, however much he
strove to control it, but she proceeded all the more eagerly;
and had he been a tiger ready for the spring, still she would
have gone on. u Yes, oh King! that, though the first, was the
bitterest stroke of all—for who shall tell how I love him, how
deeply, how sincerely, how beyond all other things I love him?
Without him, life to me is a dark blank, and when you forbade
our union, and sent him from me to a distant land, you struck
the blow that undermined my health; you filled high the cup
that my mother's death caused afterwards to overflow."

She paused again, and Attila looked up, and replied, "Thy
voice is sweet and musical, lovely girl, but thy words are harsh,
and somewhat grating to mine ear. Attila seeks not to make
thee unhappy; but be not rash, and change the tenderness
which he feels for thee and thine into a less gentle temper. I
would not force thee to behold sights which may be painful to
a woman's eye ; but to-morrow early thou, as well as the rest,
must set out upon our onward march."

" Must we then go on ? " said Ildica: "I had hoped, as thou
hast encamped here long, some cause might induce thee to turn
thy fiery sword another way, and not let the edge fall heavy
upon Rome."ATTILA.

305

" We must upon our march!" replied Attila, u we must upon

our march! The country around us is exhausted of its stores.
We have dried up the land of its wine and oil, like the sum-
mer's sun shining on a scanty brook. All is consumed; and
where the foot of Attila's horse has trod, grows no grass after-
wards. I paused here," he added, with a grim smile, " be-
cause my son sent me word, that a pitiful city of the Venetian
province resisted the army of Attila, one of those stony piles,
in which you Romans love to dwell, called Aquileia."

"What! Aquileia, the beautiful, the proud," exclaimed
Ildica, "the provincial Rome?"

"The same," replied Attila. "It dared to shut its gates
against those I sent to possess it; and when I reached them
myself, I found that it had made its resistance good. It was
different from the usual Roman towns. There were more than
women and boys within. The catapult and balista had been
plied in vain. The walls held out; and as I rode around, the
soldiers on the towers, in their fancied security, laughed loud,
and mocked the arms of Attila. But there was a certain stork
—wiser, by the gods' own teaching, than the fools within—
who saw the horse of Attila pause before the spot where she
had built her nest upon the ramparts, and auguring destruction
to the towers on which he looked, she took her young ones on
her back, and flew away for ever. Over the fragments of that
nest, strewed upon the ruins of that wall, passed the horse of
Attila ere nightfall; and now let after-ages look for Aquileia,
and find some scattered stones spread over a desolate plain.
The brothers of those who defended it shall never gather their
bones into their family sepulchre; for the flames of that city
have confounded all, and nothing but dust is left. Thus perish
all who resist the will of Attila," he added, and fixed his eyes
full on Ildica.

" They did but die," replied the Roman girl; and she gave
him back his glance, as proudly as it was sent. The light of
irrepressible admiration rose in that mighty monarch's eyes,
and for several minutes he remained gazing upon her in silence;
but there mingled with that steadfast look an expression which,
in spite of every effort, called the quick and modest blood into
the cheek of Ildica.

"Those whom Attila loves," said the King, "are as sure of
benefits, as those who resist him of punishments; and surely
the regard of one, before whom the proudest monarchs of the
earth bow down their heads, is a prize worth having, to those
whose hearts are noble and their spirit high. The great, the
generous, and the lofty-minded, should ever love each other;
and I say to thee, fair maiden, that thy noble and thy daring
mind has this day commanded the esteem of Attila more fully

V806

ATTILA

than even thy radiant, thine unequallei beauty has called forth
the admiration of his eyes."

44 Esteem, oh Attila!" replied Ildica, in a calm, solemn tone,
44 must ever create esteem; for it is founded on virtue, and
ever springs from it. Those we esteem we would never de-
base, and dare not injure ; and Ildica rests tranquilly upon the
esteem ot Attila for protection against all men—even should
it be against himself."

Attila cast down his eyes, and for a few moments remained
in thought; then turning to the attendants round, he said in
a tone that admitted no reply, 44 Leave us!"

One by one, those who stood near quitted the tent, Neva
following more slowly, and with downcast eyes. Ildica lifted
her heart to heaven, and prayed internally for strength and
wisdom, for she felt that the hour of trial might be coming
near. The hangings of the tent fell; but scarcely had they
fallen, when there came sudden voices sounding eagerly with-
out, and in a moment after Onegisus entered the presence
of Attila,

44 Let me die, if I have offended, oh mighty King!" he said,
in breathless haste; 44 but I have tidings that admit no delay."

" Speak them!" said Attila.

44 ifitius, oh King, has passed the mountains," replied the
chief: 44 he brings with him the legions of Gaul. Yalentinian
has quitted Ravenna, and gathers an army under the walls of
Rome. The fleets of Marcian are upon the Adriatic."

Attila listened without a change of countenance. 44 Thy
news from the East is false," he said: 44 Marcian stirs not.
Yalentinian is a fly in a spider's web. Is it sure that iEtius
has passed the mountains ? "

44 The tribe of Ilgours, who were in the country of the
Burgundians," replied Onegisus, 44 followed his march, and
have sent on messengers to warn the King."

44 Then it is true," said Attila, rising, " and we must scourge
him back into Gaul. Attila marches for Milan. I leave you,
my friend, to tread upon Yerona and Padua, and to sweep the
plains behind me of all adversaries. Leave nothing dangerous
behind, and follow with all speed. Where are Ardaric and
Yalamir ? They must accompany me this night!" and with a
slow and deliberate step he quitted the tent, giving no sign of
emotion of any kind, unless his leaving Ildica without a word,
or even a look, might be construed into a proof of how much
the tidings he had just heard affected him at heart.

Ildica lifted her eyes to heaven, and clasped her hands, ex-
claiming, 41 Oh God, thou dost not desert me in my utmost
need! On thee will I rely I" and with a heart relieved, she
burst into a long but happy flood of tears.ATTILA.

307

"To Milan I" she thought, uto Milan! That is far off.
iEtius, too, is before him. Ere I shall see his face again,
Theodore will have returned, and I shall be delivered!" and
again she wept. Her attendants flocked around her; and
some seeing her state, without knowing why, mingled their
tears with hers.

uWeep not, my friends," she said at length, uweep not!
I weep for joy! Leave me alone for a while; and give me the
ivory scrinium with the silver clasps. There is a book therein
I would fain read to tranquillise my mind."

The attendants obeyed; and bringing her the casket which
she had mentioned, set it down beside her and retired. Ildica
opened the scrinium, and, from amongst a number of rolls of
parchment and papyrus, selected a manuscript in vellum,
gathered together into the form of two or three small volumes,
and pored eagerly upon the pages, seeming to find there
matter for deep meditation and solemn interest. Now, her
eye ran rapidly over the lines, and her hand turned the pages
without pause ; and then again she would suddenly stop, and
looking up, as if for light and direction, would think for
several minutes over what she had just read, as if the sense
were doubtful, or the precept difficult of application. But the
book was one which, in every age since first its words were
traced upon that page of light, has caused, and well might
cause, the mind of man to lose itself in lofty musings. It was
the book which to the eye of the inspired patriarch of old was
shown, in the vision of those heavenly steps by which the
angels of God came down to earth, and ascended back again on
high. It was the book which leads the soul step by step from
the thoughts of earth, and the common and familiar things
which the mind of man can grasp, up to those wide and
sublime regions, where, standing at the footstool of the Al-
mighty throne, we still gaze up on high, and thought loses
itself in the boundless space of mercy, power, and wisdom. It
was that book, down each gradation of which angels and pro-
phets came to visit earth, and lead back into heaven the just,
the humble, and the true.

There, as she read, the eye might see the history of that
sacred Being during His short stay on earth, whose life was
mercy and purity; whose words were wisdom and holiness ;
whose birth, and whose death, were equally miraculous and
beneficent, an example, a teacher, a guide, a sacrifice, an atone-
ment. There, too, as her eye ran back over the long record,
which marks the preservation of the revealed knowledge of
our God, holy, and true, aad wise, throughout ages and
amongst nations, corrupt, perverse, unfaithful, the eye might
trace the simple, touching story of the early fathers of man-808

attila.

kind, and see displayed in the candid words of divine truth
their thoughts, their errors, and their virtues, without a shade
of palliation or excuse. There lay revealed the mighty trial
of Abraham's triumphant faith; there, the sweet history of
Joseph and his little brother ; there, the tale of Ruth, and of
the widow and her son, and the mighty faults and virtues of
Israel's psalmist king; there, bis son's instructive wisdom and
monitory fall; there, all those affecting scenes, which, in their
grand simplicity, defy the brightest eloquence of every people
and of every time, to move the heart of man as they do.

But it was not on such scenes that the eye of Ildica prin-
cipally rested. She sought for matters more assimilating with
her fate and fortunes at the time. She read of the battles of
the chosen people of God, their wars, their victories, their re-
verses. She paused, and thought upon the history of Sisera
and Jael; but oh, how her heart thrilled when she read the
tale of the tyrant warrior, from whom a woman's hand de-
livered the people of the Lord! She read! she trembled! she
gasped for breath! She laid down the book and wept aloud!

Oh let us leave the secret feelings of her heart to commune
with themselves undisclosed! for who can say what those feel-
ings were, how deep, how sad, how terrible ? Who can tell
them all perfectly, who can display the struggle, and the min-
gling, and the strife, wherein a thousand opposing thoughts,
and hopes, and fears, bright sympathies, noble aspirations,
lofty purposes, and mighty inspirations, together with woman's
shrinking modesty, intense love, and tender nature, contended
like hostile nations bent on mutual destruction within the nar-
row battle-field of that fair, beautiful bosom ? Who can tell
them all? and if not all, should we trifle with a part? Oh
no, no! we have said enough!

CHAPTER XL.

Through the most fertile plain that Europe can display,
amidst the olive and the fig, the loaded vine and the ripening
torn, with on one side a vast and interminable view over lands
laughing in the richest gifts of nature, and on the other, mount-
ing up into the sky, the gigantic mountains which separate
that bright land from all the rest of earth, passed on a multi-
tude of those savage warriors who were destined to change
the rich plains of Lombardy, from the garden of the world to
the most desolate spot of this quarter of the globe.

Eut, alas! not alone did those fierce warriors take their
way, unaccompanied by any of the children of the soil. OnATTILA.

309

the contrary, closely following their march, appeared a body,
which contained within itself sad samples ol all the vice, the
weakness, the baseness of the land. There was the skilful
engineer, whose warlike but not perilous art provided the
means of destruction for other men's hands to use; there
was the theoretic strategist, whose pen prepared the plans of
battles that he could not fight; there, the sculptor and the
limner ready, ever to transmit unto posterity the features of
those whose actions commanded admiration, though not
applause; there, the thousand fawning slaves ready to forget
all ties, so long as they could cover baser bonds by the golden
ties of interest. Besides all these, were the captives, not
chained, indeed, but dragged along by fetters as powerful as
rings of iron, selected and preserved from slaughtered
myriads, for a fate worse than death itself, on account of those
qualities which adorn and beautify the blessed state of free-
dom—Beauty, skill, strength, and activity: these were the
sad gifts that purchased slavery.

In the midst of these—herself a captive, though surrounded
by her own slaves, now all in bondage to another—was borne
along the fair Dalmatian girl, whose fate has occupied so much
of our attention. Her way was cleared by parties of the Huns
appointed expressly for that purpose ; and honours, too queen-
like, awaited her wherever she paused. In many a place she
found garlands strewed in her way, and tutored rejoicings
greeted her at every resting-place. But oh! the coldest
silence, the most icy indifference, would have conveyed more
warmth to her heart, than those demonstrations of a distinc-
tion which she feared.

Seldom, very seldom, did she raise her eyes; but, poring
earnestly on a book before her, seemed buried in contempla-
tions from which no external objects could awaken her. Twice
only during the second day's journey from Yerona did she
look up, and then her attention was called forcibly towards
too terrible a sight, by the wild ejaculations of the attendants
who surrounded her. On either side of the road appeared,
when she did look up, a range of trees which had been planted
to afford a pleasant shelter to the weary wayfarer from the
burning rays of the summer's sun. But now, fixed upon those
trees, were immense crosses of wood, on each of which, ex-
tended by nails in the hands and feet, was seen the dead body
of a human being contorted with the agonies of a painful
death. Nor had one nation alone, nor one country, furnished
the victims for that awful sacrifice; for there were seen the
dark-visaged Hun, the fair-haired Frank, the large-limbed
Goth, the strong-featured Roman—all, in short, against whom
any charge of deceit or infidelity towards Attila and the Hun-310

ATTILA.

nish nation could be brought, were arrayed in fearful assem-
blage to terrify the passer-by.

Ildica gazed on them when jcr attention was forced towards
them; and then clasping her hands, she looked up on high;
while her lips murmured woman's prayer for patience under
all the sad scenes which she was destined to act in and behold.
Then again, casting down her eyes, she strove to avoid, as far
as possible, such fearful sights, hoping that brighter days and
more joyful objects might come, and blot them out for ever
from the tablets of memory, or soften the harsh lines so that
they should be no longer painful. But still, as they marched
onward, fresh scenes of desolation and horror were forced
upon her sight, and whether she would or not, the indignant
heart swelled up, and a voice within her bosom exclaimed,
u Oh for a warrior's soul, and a warrior's might! Oh for an
ancient Roman's undaunted energy, to stem this dark and ruin-
ous torrent in its course, to drive back the destroyer of my
native land, to snatch the bloody scourge out of the hand of
fate, and hurl it for ever into the gulf of death!"

At length a large and magnificent city appeared before her;
and Ildica prepared her eyes to witness the same utter de-
struction which she had beheld in every other town. Her
astonishment was great, however, on entering Mediolanum,*
to behold the inhabitants pursuing their ordinary occupations;
the shops opened, and their wares exposed, in the very pre-
sence of those ruthless barbarians who had come to spoil and
desolate the land. It is true the great body of Attila's army
was encamped without its walls, and that but a few thousand
of the Huns were permitted to enter the city; but still, with
its gates in their possession, and its walls covered by their
troops, Milan was at the mercy of the Hunnish multitude, and
nothing but the awful name of Attila saved it from destruction.

The troops of Onegisus entered not the gates of the city;
but the litter of Ildica was borne forward through the principal
streets, and at length stopped before a magnificent pile of build-
ing, which was in fact the royal palace of Milan. Those who
accompanied her waited for directions from some one within;
and after a brief pause, the litter was again carried on into
the interior of the palace. At the foot of the great staircase
it was set down, and Ildica with her attendants was bade to
follow on foot. From room to room, from hall to hall, from
gallery to gallery, she was led onward by several of the bar-
barian chiefs, beholding as she advanced, with wonder not un-
mixed with pleasure, that amidst all the splendour which that
building displayed, amidst all the monuments of art which it
contained, no act of violence had been perpetrated by the
* MilaiuATTILA.

811

hand of the barbarians, but that there every object remained
untouched, or at least uninjured. At one spot, indeed, she
beheld a painter busily employed in labouring with the brush
upon the walls, but he was a Roman; and on looking nearer
she perceived that he was making a complete change in one of
the pictures, which represented some barbarian kings kneel-
ing at the feet of a Roman emperor.

" What doest thou, my friend?" she asked.

"Iam working at the command of the mighty Attila" re-
plied the painter, u in order to change this picture so as to suit
the changes of the time. When I have done, two Roman
emperors will be seen kneeling at the feet of a Scythian king."

Ildica walked on without reply, feeling bitterly in her
heart the truth of the sad lesson which Attila thus
taught.

At the further extremity of the building she found the
apartments assigned to her; and in a moment or two after
she had entered them, and when the Huns who conducted her
had withdrawn, Neva, whom she had not beheld for many
days, approached and took her fondly in her arms. The
girl's countenance was sad, however, and while she gazed
upon Ildica, the tears rose in her eyes.

u Shall I say welcome?" she asked—" shall I say welcome,
when I fear that much grief awaits you? shall I say welcome
to a place where you must hear many things that will grieve
you ? "

At these words the dull heavy weight fell again upon Hdica's
heart, and the struggle recommenced, the painful struggle, of
strong and high-minded resolution against woman's natural
fears and apprehensions. " Speak," she replied, " speak, dear
Neva. Tell me what new cause of sorrow and of terror has
arisen. Tell me what step has been taken in the warfare that
fate seems resolved to wage against my happiness on earth."

" Alas!" replied Neva, "alas! that my lip should tell it;
but it is only right to warn thee of what you might hear too
soon from other lips, and might hear unprepared. Attila
speaks of thee often: Attila speaks of thee with love: Attila
speaks of thee as of one destined to be his; and thou knowest
Ildica, that his will is like the will of fate."

uNot so, Neva; not so," replied Ildica. uThere is a will
above his!" But while she thus expressed her trust, the
tears rolled from her eyes in despite of every effort, and she
wept bitterly. " There is a will above his," she said, " holier,
more merciful, and mightier far! In it will I trust, Neva, in
it will I trust! But what do I do weeping ?" she added—
" what do I do weeping, when I have to think, to resolve, and
act ?—what do I do weeping, when lo he comes, and I have512

ATTILA.

need of vigour, not of tears; of determination, not of terror?

Hear you not his step, hear you not his step ? He is coming!
he is coming! Hear you not his step ? " and as she spoke, she
grasped the arm of the fair girl tight in her hand, and gazed
towards the door with a look of wild and painful anticipation,
which, had it not been too well justified by her circumstances,
might well have passed for the vivid but wandering glance of
insanity.

" It is not his foot you hear," replied Neva, fondly linking
herself to Ildica, and striving to assuage the fears which she
had herself occasioned. "That is not his step—I know it
well, Ildica! I have known it, and trembled at it, from my
infancy. As the beasts of the field have an intimation of the
earthquake, and fly trembling from the walls over which the
impending ruin is suspended—as the light summer insect, to
whom the falling drop of a spring shower is a deadly ocean,
finds some warning to seek shelter, beneath the foliage,
against the coming destruction—as the birds cease their song,
and the cattle seek the fold before the approaching storm—so
unto me has been given an augury of danger and of terror, in
the world-shaking step of that awful king. I have heard it in the
sunshine of summer, and the sunshine has become clouded: I
have heard it in the dead of the night, and night has assumed
the horror of the grave.—But hark! Whoever it is that
speaks with the attendants without—that voice is not Attila's,
nor was the step."

As she spoke, the curtain was withdrawn, and there ap-
peared, not the form of the Scythian king, but that of Ardaric,
chief of the Gepidae. His countenance, as we have already
said, was naturally frank and open; and, unlike that of Attila,
it displayed, as in a highly-polished mirror, every emotion of
his heart, except when, by some great effort, he drew an
unwonted veil over the picture of his thoughts, which there
found their ordinary expression. His face was now clouded ;
and advancing towards Neva, he spoke a few words to her in
the Hunnish dialect; and then turning towards Ildica, ad-
dressed her, though with considerable difficulty, in the Latin
tongue.

Agitated, terrified, and confused, it was with difficulty
Ildica gathered his meaning. She found, however, that what
he said consisted of warnings of approaching danger, like
those which Neva had already given, and of caution, and
advice, as to how she should avoid or mitigate them. Though
for the time Ildica's mind could scarcely grasp those counsels,
yet they returned beneficially to her in the hour of need.
She heard him tell her, that delay to her was more valuable
than beaten gold, and remind her, that in her case any sort ofATTILA.

313

duplicity was justifiable to foil a tyrant, who knew no scruples,
and joined deceit with power. But all that Ildica could re-
ply, under her overpowering sense of the fearful struggle she
saw approaching, was, " Can I not fly ? Oh, can I not fly ?"

"For fifty miles around on every side," replied Ardaric,
"the troops of the Huns are spread over the country; and
for more than fifty miles beyond those, scattered parties from
a thousand different nations, but all attached to Attila by
vows, by love, or by fear, roam through the country, and
keep, as it were, an outer watch on his camp. The eagle may
escape from the net woven to catch a sparrow; the lion may
rend into a thousand pieces the toils which were set to catch
the stag or the elk; but thou canst no more escape from the
midst of the host of Attila than a small fly can disentangle
itself from the meshes of the spider."

Ildica wept bitterly, nor was it with the kind of tears which
bring relief. They were not tears for the past—the dark irre-
trievable past, for the beloved, and the dead, for the hours
wasted, or the pleasures passed away—they were not tears, in
short, for any of those things which may be mourned with
mourning sweet and profitable—but they were the deep,
bitter, fruitless, tears of apprehension, wrung forth by the
agony of a fearful but unavoidable fate. She wept bitterly,
she wept wildly, she noted not Ardaric; she heeded not the
voice of Neva. Hopes and consolations they offered her in
vain. Advice and direction seemed to fall unheeded on her
ear. She appeared not to notice their presence, nor to be con-
scious of their sympathy. Indeed, so totally was she ab-
sorbed in the overpowering sorrows of her own heart, and the
fearful contemplation of the destiny before her, that she knew
not when they left her, nor wakened from the vision of her
woe, till another voice demanded, in a tone that made her
start wildly from her seat, "Why weepest thou, maiden?
why weepest thou so bitterly ? "—and Attila stood before her.

She gazed upon him with a wandering and anxious look,
while one might count ten, but then the triumph of the
powerful mind began again. The moment of terror and
apprehension was over—the moment of resolution and of
action was come. Womanly weakness had had its hour, and
was passed. The Roman heart was re-awakened by the voice
that called her to the trial. The sight of Attila, like the
fierce sun shining on the dewy grass after a storm, dried
up the tears in her eyes; and after that brief pause she
replied, " I weep, oh King ! because as a woman I am weak;
because I am apprehensive of the future; because I am
uncertain of the present; because I grieve for the past>
Little cause is there to ask any one living why he weeps.314

ATTILA.

Thou wouldst do more wisely wert thou to ask any one in this
world why he smiles."

44 Maiden," replied Attila, 44 dost thou think that such
vague words can deceive me ? Thinkest thou that so thin a
veil can hide the features of thy mind? Thou weepest for
thy lover! thou thinkest that he is either dead or faithless,
because he has not come so soon as he promised!"

44 Thou art mistaken, oh Attila!" repliedIldica; "I neither
think him dead—for God protects the good, the virtuous, and
the noble—nor do I think him faithless; for to judge so
harshly of him would be to wrong the God who formed his
heart, and made it upright, true, and constant. I may have
fears and apprehensions, but they are not of him, nor of his
truth. What they are, matters not to any one; for though I
may be carried captive after a mighty conqueror's army, the
freedom of my thoughts he cannot touch ; and I am still at
liberty in heart and soul, above his reach, and far beyond his
power."

Her words, however bold, seemed to give no offence to
Attila; but, on the contrary, as she spoke, a brighter and a
warmer fire glowed up in his countenance, and taking her
unwilling but unresisting hand, he led her back to the seat
from which she had risen, saying, u Thou art bold as well as
beautiful, and well fit to be the bride of some great warrior,
whose soul is capable of prizing such as thine."

44 May such be my fate !" replied Ildica. " Theodore, to
wjiom all my thoughts and feelings are given, is worthy
of much more than this weak hand. Hast thou heard news
of his return, oh King? and dost thou come to make me
happy with the tidings?"

Attila's brow grew dark for a moment; but the angry cloud
sotfh passed away, and the light of other passions returned to
his countenance. 11 No, Ildica, no!" he said. 44 I come not to
tell you of his return, for no news of his coming has yet
reached the camp, though the time fixed by his own lips
as the utmost period of his absence has well-nigh expired.
No, Ildica, no ! I come to tell thee of a brighter and a loftier
fate which may be thine, if thy mind be capable, as I am sure
it is, of higher aspirations and more noble hopes."

"I seek no loftier fate, oh King!" cried Ildica, shrinking
from his eager gaze, and striving to delay the utterance
of words by Attila, which, with woman's keen insight into the
heart of man, she knew would bind him to pursue his purpose
by the bond of pride, stronger, far stronger, than even passion
itself—'41 seek no loftier fate, I entertain no higher aspi-
rations ! To be the wife of him whom my heart has loved
from infancy to womanhood—to wed him who has loved meATTILA.

315

through every change of fate, through peril and danger,
through absence and temptation—to wed him who has so
loved me, and whom I so love, is to my mind the brightest
fate, the loftiest destiny, that woman could obtain."

"But if he be dead?" said Attila, fixing his dark eyes full
upon her.

" Then," replied Ildica, seeing the danger of the slightest
hesitation in her answer to such a suggestion, "then will
I either die also, or, vowing myself to silent prayer, quit for
ever an idle and a sorrowful world, and hide myself with some
of those lone sisterhoods who spend their days in solitude."

"Not so," answered Attila, drawing closer to her; " thou
shouldst have a better destiny; thou shouldst be the bride of
Attila—his chosen, his best-beloved bride; honoured and re-
vered above all others; queen of his heart; mistress of his
actions; sovereign of all the nations that bow to his com-
mand."

Ildica sprang from his eager arm, and cast herself upon her
knees before him. The terrible words were spoken! There
was no escape left but in determination strong as his own!
She could no longer avoid the theme most dreaded; and her
task was to meet it boldly and at once!

" Hear me, oh King! " she cried earnestly—" Hear me! I
am small, and thou art great! Hear me, and save me even
from thyself! I love another, deeply, devotedly, truly; but
even were that other dead, I could never love thee as thou
wouldst wish to be loved—nay, as thou deservest to be loved.
Mighty warrior! great and magnanimous King! unequalled
conqueror! wilt thou debase thyself to contend with a woman ?
Wilt thou degrade thyself to violate the sanctity of thy word,
to wrong the innocent and the unoffending, to betray those
who trusted thee, to destroy him who loved thee ? Wilt thou
risk being defeated by the strong and resolute heart of a girl
like me ? Monarch! I am not in thy power, but in God's.
To God I will appeal against thee; and sooner than become
thy bride, will give my spirit back to Him who lent it. Think
not that thou canst frustrate my purpose, and debar me of my
will. A camp has always weapons whereby my own life can
be reached; no tent, but has its cord ; no banquet, but has its
knife. Not a tower of this city but affords me the means
of defying the mighty power of Attila; and the flinty bed
beneath yon window would, to me, seem a couch of down
compared with thy bridal bed, oh King! But thou wilt spare
me! thou wilt spare me! I know thy better thoughts, and
nobler nature. Thou dost but try me. Thou wilt still
be just and wise, and esteemed of all men! If Theodore
be dead, tell me so; and I will vow myself to God—I can816

ATTILA,

bear such tidings with calm grief; but never, never can I love
Attila as Attila should be loved ! Oh, let me reverence and
admire him still! Force me not to see in him the Pagan king
—the destroyer of my country—the enemy of my faith—the
slayer of my promised husband—the betrayer of his trust—
the falsifier of his word—the tyrant of a woman whom he had
vowed to protect!"

So rapidly, so earnestly, so vehemently did she speak, and
at the same time so lovely did she look in the attitude of
eager supplication, that Attila had neither time nor inclination
to interrupt her ; and, though admiration and tenderness were
crossed by jealousy, at the words of love which she bestowed
on Theodore, and by anger, at the daring terms she feared
not to apply to himself, he remained silent for a moment after
she had done, gazing on that splendid countenance, and that
beautiful form, awakened, as both face and figure were, into a
thousand fresh graces, by the imploring earnestness of her
address.

u Take care," he exclaimed at length, " take care. Kemem-
ber, love may be turned into hate; and the hate of Attila is a
thing to be feared."

"Not near so much by me as is his love," replied Ildica.
" Oh King! thou canst but slay me, and I fear not death. No
torture that the cruelest tyrant ever yet invented is equal to
the torture of the mind; and were I to wed Attila, could my
mind ever be free from agony?"

u Why? why? " demanded Attila, fiercely. u Is it that this
form is hateful to thee ? Is it that this hand, which a thou-
sand conquered kings have felt proud to kiss, is abhorrent
in thine eyes?"

"No, no! oh no!" cried Ildica, taking the hand that he
had partly extended, and pressing her lips upon it—"No,
mighty King, far from it! It is, that I love another with a
love that death itself can never change. It is, that our faith
is different, all our thoughts unlike, that thou art the avowed
enemy of my country.—Yet all that were nothing, compared
with my love for another. Were he dead to-morrow, still
would he live in my heart, as vividly, as strongly, as if I saw
him every day. This is no vain dream, no idle fancy! I
have known it, and proved it, during long, long years of
absence; and I should but gaze upon thee, and think upon him
—I should live in the past, and hate the present for his sake!
—Oh, mighty Attila! be generous, be noble! and command,
by thine actions, the only kind of love that Ildica can yield
tnee. Heaven is my witness, that far from feeling towards
thee the cold abhorrence whichfthou seemest to think I
experience—far from striving lcf'hate thee even as the enemyATTILA.

817

of my country, and to regard thee with detestation, as many
of my nation do—ever since that day when first in the plains
of Margus thou savedst the life of him I loved, and didst free
me and mine from terrible captivity, I have ever loved thee
with deep veneration. I have thought of thee as at once
mighty and generous, a conqueror, but a noble one, the enemy
of my country, indeed, but a great, a wonderful, a just, a
lofty-minded man. Thus have I thought of thee, and thus
has my beloved Theodore ever taught me to think, by word
and by letter, by the tale of thy great deeds, and by his know-
ledge of thy noble nature."

Attila was evidently moved! and, folding his arms upon his
breast, he turned his eyes from Ildica, as if from some impulse
of shame, and fixed them on the ground. The fair girl, how-
ever, saw that she had produced some effect, and she proceeded
eagerly in that strain which had been thus far successful.

" Think, oh Attila," she exclaimed, " think what has been
the conduct towards thee, of him whom I so dearly love. 1
know not half of what he has done, for he boasts not of good
actions; but sure I am that you have ever found him faithful,
zealous, and true; and thou canst in thine own mind trace, as
in a picture, all that he has done for thee and thine. Have I
not heard, here in the camp, that he saved the life of thy
youngest child, the beautiful youth whom they call Ernac?
Have I not heard that in some battle in Gaul more than once
he risked his life to defend that of Attila? Has he ever failed
thee in the hour of need? Has he ever spoken to thee, or of
thee, one unjust word? Has he ever betrayed thee in small
things, or in great? Has he ever been untrue to thee, oh
King? And wouldst thou now betray him; wouldst thou
make his life miserable, who always sought thy welfare?
Wouldst thou take that life which was risked to save thine
own? Wouldst thou take his bride, the chief object of his
existence, from him, who, from the jaws of destruction,
rescued thy beloved child?"

"$To, no, no!" cried Attila, taking both the hands that she
held out towards him in the act of adjuration—uno, no; I
will not wrong him! Thou hast conquered! Whatever I
may feel, however strong and burning be the passion that
thou hast kindled in my heart, I will not take his bride from
him who saved my son. Rise, maiden, rise! and set your
heart at rest! If the son of Paulinus return to claim thee for
his bride, his bride thou shalt be, and I will send ye together
far from me, that the memory of these feelings may never be
re-awakened by the sight of thy beauty. A week hence is
the utmost term that he allowed himself to return; I will add
thereunto another week, ere I see thee again, that I may not318

ATTtLA.

increase the fire that burns even now within my heart. If
he be not then returned, Attila will cause diligent search and
inquiry to be made, that his fate may be clearly ascertained.
Attila will do justice to the son of Paulinus; but if he be
dead, as in these times of trouble and pestilence he well may
be, Ildica will do justice unto Attila."

Her heart sunk at his last words; but she had gained so
much already, that she dare not risk all again by reply. All
she answered then was, " God defend us both!" and covering
her fair face with her hands, she gave way to the many
mingled emotions that struggled in her breast—Present re-
lief— future apprehension—hope, never dying, consoling
hope—her dark inseparable companion, fear—the agitation of
a great struggle achieved—and the overpowering sense of
success beyond her anticipations—she could not restrain them
all—she gave way, and wept.

Attila gazed upon her for several minutes, in silence, and
then exclaimed, "Thou art too lovely! But be comforted,"
he added, "thou mayest be happy yet!"

Thus saying, he turned, and left her to indulge her tears in
peace.

CHAPTER XLI.

" On to Rome! on to Rome! On to the eternal city! On to
the ancient capital of empires! On to the throne of mighty
kings of old! Attila has conquered iEtius! The two mighty
men have met; and the weaker has given way. Attila
triumphs over iEtius! On to Rome! on to Rome! The world
is open and prostrate before the sword of Attila. On to Rome!
on to Rome! On to spoil, and to victory, and to triumph!"

Such were the cries that ran through the host of the Huns,
as they marched on from Milan, towards the devoted city of
the Caesars. And mighty and terrible, indeed, was that innu-
merable multitude, as, composed of a thousand nations, it
flowed on like an overwhelming deluge upon its way. Those
who stood and gazed upon its wide-extended front, as, rushing
on irresistible, it swept the fair plains of Lombardy, might
well want language and figures to express the awful advance
of the barbarian world.

The dark thunder-cloud, sweeping at once over the clear
blue sky, and shutting out sunshine and daylight beneath its
ominous veil, is too slow in its course, too unsubstantial in its
form, to afford an image of that living inundation. The ava-
lanche that sweeps down the side of the Alps, overwhelming
flocks, and herds, and cities in its way, is but petty when com-
pared with the immense masses of that fierce and furiousATTILA.

aio

ultitude. The long wave of the agitated sea, when cast
by the breath of the tempest upon the echoing shore, would
give but a faint idea of that rushing multitude of armed men.

No! Neither bounded to a narrow space, nor gradually
and slowly carried forward, nor checked in its course and
retiring to return again, did the multitudes of Attila advance.
But spread out from sea to sea; rushing onward with the
swiftness of the wind; irresistible, overpowering, vast, like
the dark tide of lava when it rushes down the channelled
sides of Etna, came the barbarian myriads, finding brightness
and beauty before them, and leaving darkness and desolation
behind.

Through every road, over every field, into every city,
across every river, they passed. Like the sword of the de-
stroying angel in the dwellings of the Egyptians, nothing
seemed to stop them, nothing to impede their progress, even
for an hour. Terror and lamentation went through all the
land; and the voice of weeping was heard, from the banks of
the Athesis to the straits of Scylla; Ravenna, defensible as it
was, was abandoned in a day; and Rome itself wailed in
trembling for the approach of a new, a fiercer conqueror than
Alaric.

At length the tent of Attila was pitched by the side of a
grand lake, where from its bosom flows the stream by whose
banks the sweetest of the Roman poets sung. No longer
simple as when he first entered Greece, appeared the camp of
the barbarian king; no longer was seen the ring of waggons
only, and the multitude sleeping in the fresh air of night; but
there, tents of every form and every hue diversified the plain
which stretches along, from the base of the gigantic mountains
that enclose the stormy waves of the Benacus, to the soft
green fields of the fair Mantuan land, where the " silver-grey
cattle," of which Yirgil sung, still bathe in the placid waters
of his native Mincius.

Far and wide, as the eye could see, extended that vast en-
campment; and the air, for many a mile, rang with the neigh-
ing of horses and the clang of arms. At the very junction
of the lake and the river, on a high sloping ground, whence
the eye of the monarch could behold both the far plains
covered by his innumerable host, and the waters of the lake,
with all its grand and beautiful shores, was pitched the tent of
Attila, together with those of the persons immediately attached
to the monarch himself; and splendid was the sight, when,
after a night of repose, the cloudless sun of Italy rose up and
poured its flood of splendour over one of the loveliest scenes
of earth, living and animated with the figures of those wild
but splendidly-attired horsemen.820

ATTILA.

At the entrance of the tent, beside which his horse was
held prepared, stood Attila gazing over that thrilling sight;
and, strange as it may seem, there was something in the pic-
turesque beauty of the scene, in the poetical aspect of the
whole, the mighty host, the mighty mountains, the beaming
sunrise, and the glowing lake, that found, even within the
breast of the fierce conqueror, a sympathising appreciation of
what is bright and beautiful in nature.

He stood and gazed, and felt his soul calmed and soothed

"We will stay here to-day," he said. uThe land is rich
and plentiful: the people will be happy in this place of oil and
wine. We will stay here to-day; and to-morrow, onwards
towards Rome! — But what is that?" he continued, after
gazing for some minutes longer. "What is that, winding
slowly along in the distant country, following the road by the
side of the river? It looks like a long train of horsemen
approaching slowly, and it can hardly be any of our own
tribes returning at this early hour. What can that be?"

No eyes, however, but his own were keen enough to dis-
tinguish, in the far distance, the object to which he pointed;
and he added, u Let some one be sent forth to see, and let
no man be injured, who comes to us in the garb of peace.
This day there shall be no blood shed, unless our enemies
seek it themselves. Here we will taste repose and tran-
quillity."

Several hours had elapsed; the myriads of the Huns were
all awake and stirring; thousands of wild horsemen were gal-
loping oYer the plain, exercising their horses, or practising
with the javelin or the spear: and others on foot were moving
about amongst the tents, in all the bustling activity of the
morning's duties, when the train which Attila had seen ap-
proaching through the distant country entered the Hunnish
camp, and were led forward towards the tent of the monarch.
Some of his own messengers who had gone out to meet the stran-
gers, hurried on before to inform him that envoys, from the
emperor Valentinian, were even then coming near his pre-
sence. But the monarch, who still, though changed in many
things, retained in some degree his contempt for pomp and
show, merely ordered the hangings of his tent to be drawn
up, and seating himself in the entrance, awaited the arrival of
the imperial ambassadors.

At their head appeared an old man, riding on a mule; and
though the Huns gathered round in crowds, to see an equi-
page to which they were not accustomed, yet there was some-
thing so venerable and commanding in that old man's air, that
even the rude barbarian soldiers forbore to press upon him^
and merely gazed; while—with his look now raised to heaven,ATTlLA.

321

as if in momentary supplication, now cast down upon the
ground, as if in deep thought—he rode slowly on, through
the midst of that fierce and blood-accustomed host, as if fear
and wonder were utter strangers to his bosom.

After him followed a number of other men, clothed with
princely splendour, and mounted on fiery chargers; but ever
and anon their eyes were cast around upon the sea of dark
faces that surrounded them, and an expression, perhaps
not of fear, but certainly of anxiety, might be seen upon
their countenances. At first, the Huns demanded amongst
themselves why the old man upon the mule rode first,
before the warriors; but when they compared his aspect
with that of those who followed, they saw that he was in his
proper place.

Last came a number of domestic servants and attendants,
followed by slaves beating on a long train of beasts of burden;
and in the slaves might be seen—as with hard hearts and un-
sparing hands they struck unmercifully the dumb suffering
creatures but a grade below themselves—in them might be
seen, though springing from a lower motive, the same fearless
indifference to the presence of the strange multitude as he
who led them displayed, from a sense of faith and duty.

At the foot of the little hill on which stood the tent of
Attila, the multitude of the Huns paused, and followed the
strangers no longer; and there, too, the envoys of the em-
peror were directed to dismount. The command was instantly
obeyed; and leaving the servants and the train of baggage in
the hands of some of the officers of the camp, all the rest
began to ascend the hill, towards the presence of the monarch,
who, seated in the door of his tent, with but a few of his
chief leaders around him, waited above, examining the per-
son and the air of each of the strangers as he approached.

With a slow step, dignified, calm, and collected, that old man
who had led the Eomans climbed the hill, slightly bowed by
age, but rather stiffened than enfeebled. He was tall and
largely proportioned; and his snowy hair, which, like that of
the barbarians, felt not the steel, escaping from a cap of a
peculiar form that he wore upon his head, flowed down in
wavy curls upon his shoulders. His eye, which he but
once raised towards the tent of Attila as he ascended, was
calm and mild, but full of sleeping fire; and his step, though
slow, was planted firmly on the ground, giving to his whole
demeanour an air of resolution and of power, which was not
without its effect on those who watched his advance up the
mountain.

Attila himself, as he sat in the stern silence natural to him,
and beheld the calm and equable approach of the messenger o4822

attila.

Valentinian towards his presence, might wonder at that un-
shaken firmness, which so few displayed under similar circum-
stances. He moved not a muscle, however, but gazed sternly
upon the envoy, till at length, when within ten paces of his
seat, the great Pontiff of Rome—for he it was—paused in his
advance, and said to those who followed, in a full, steady voice,
u Let Avienus and Trigetius come with me! The rest wait
h:>re'" and then proceeding on his way, he drew near to
Attila.

" Who art thou ? " demanded the barbarian king, in that full,
deep tone which was powerful and impressive, without being
rude or abrupt. " Who art thou, that comest so boldly before
Attila ? "

" I am Leo, the servant of God!" replied the Pope, bending
his head, as he pronounced the almighty name.

u Of what God?" demanded Attila.

"There is but one God," replied Saint Leo; "there is but
one God, holy, just, and true; Lord of lords, and King of
kings ! The lowest of his servants am I!"

"Thou meanest the God of the Christians?" said Attila.

The Pope bent his head in reply, and the monarch pro-
ceeded. "It is well," he said, "it is well! Now tell me
what thou wouldst have with Attila? Why comest thou to me
hither, when, but a few short days, and I had come to thee ? "
^ "It is to prevent thy coming, that I seek thee," replied the
bishop. " It is to prevent thy coming, and to stay the stream
of blood that is poured out before thy steps. It is to save from
desolation the beautiful land that thou treadest like a wine-
presser beneath thy feet, crushing all that is good and excellent,
and leaving nothing but the worthless refuse. It is to adjure
thee, by the name of God Most High, to spare his servants,
and to turn thee from a land which his holy faith hath sancti-
fied, and the blood of his saints made sacred. I do adjure thee
by his name to pause in the course which he has hitherto
made victorious, lest he take thy strength from thee, and
destroy thee as thou hast destroyed others. Monarch!" he
continued, seeing a cloud gathering on the brow of Attila,
"Monarch! I menace thee not with any human arm. None
has ever been able to resist thee successfully; none has ever
had power to oppose thee long; but know, oh King! that
thou, like all others, art but an instrument in the hands of a
mightier monarch. Thou art called the Scourge of God, and
verily he has used thee for the purposes of his vengeance.
With thee hath he wrought destruction, and inflicted punish-
ment upon the faithless and the unrighteous. In his hand
thou hast been as the pestilence or the thunderbolt. Thou
hast swept away nations. Thou has smitten down monarchs.XTrtLk.

823

Thou hast trodden the palace and the cottage alike, with the
sword of the destroying angel in thy hand; but now, in the
name of the same God, who sent thee forth to conquer and to
slay, I bid thee pause and turn back upon thy way, lest he
take thy strength from thee, and reduce thy glory into shame.
Remember, oh King! remember, that one, who like thee
was mighty, who like thee was fierce, who like thee was
unconquerable by man, trod these same plains, but a few
brief years ago; and, as a vulture, swept the land with the
wing of desolation. Remember, how Alaric, the mighty and
the strong, marched on at the head of his innumerable hosts,
and, like thee, found none to stay him. Remember, how he
heard the warning to pause, and turn back, ere he set his foot
within the eternal city. Remember, how he neglected the
warning; how he despised the words; how he conquered
Rome, and died. In all things, but in this was he like unto
thee! But in this was he unlike, for I know, and feel, and
see, as if it were before me in a vision, that thou shalt listen to
the word of the servant of God, and sheathe the sword, and
turn back upon thy way. Monarch! I tell thee, and my words
shall prove true, that none henceforth for ever shall march
against Rome, and place their camp round about it, and subdue
it unto their hand, without meeting some terrible reverse; with-
out finding death, or downfall, or dishonour follow, as surely as
night follows day. Some shall come against it and take it, and
die as soon as they quit it. Some shall assail it, and fall even
in the hour of victory. Some shall subdue it, and after years
of glory shall see the brightness of their fame tarnished with
shame, defeat, and overthrow, with long and weary inactivity,
and lingering death. But thou shalt listen to the voice of
warning; thou shalt fear the name of God, and the word of
God's servant, and shall turn thee back, and escape the peril
of disobedience."

Bold and striking as his words, was the action which accom-
panied them; dignified, nay sublime, was the expression of
his countenance. The dark eye filled with the fire of genius,
the fine features beaming with the divine light of enthusiasm,
the lips trembling with the eloquence of the heart, the arms
outstretched in passionate expostulation, the broad chest heav-
ing under its flowing robes with the energy of lofty thoughts,
while the full, powerful, melodious voice, clear, rounded,
unhesitating, poured forth the stream of words; all, all formed
a splendid whole, such as none there present had ever seen
before; and the barbarian monarch himself, and his fierce
chiefs, gave ready way to the delusions of imagination, and
believed that they beheld an immediate messenger from heaven.
Even when he had done, and remained with his firm unquailingS24

ATTitA.

gaze fixed upon the face of Attila, with eyes tliat sunk not to
encounter the look at which nations trembled, all those around,
though the impression produced by his oratory perhaps faded,
still looked upon him as a superior being, still waited for the
answer of their own monarch, with anxiety, perhaps with
apprehension.

But Attila, though struck and admiring, forgot not himse^
in wonder—that passion of the weak. From the beginning to
the end, while Saint Leo spoke, the mighty monarch fixed
upon his countenance the same stern immovarWc gaze, under
the influence of which every inferior mind gave way, every
ordinary heart lost courage. Twice his swarthy brow slightly
contracted as the prelate spoke those bold words, which Attila's
ear was seldom wont to hear; but his face was moved in no
other feature, and he made not an effort to stop the orator in
the course of his eager and energetic speech. When he had
concluded, Attila continued to gaze upon him thoughtfully
and intently; but, apparently, neither scornfully nor dis-
pleased.

At length he said, " Thou hast spoken like a god; but know,
that not the gods themselves shall turn back Attila from his
course, unless he have the justice he has demanded. Thou
art reverenced, oh Leo! as one of mighty powers; as one
inspired, perhaps, by the God whom thou servest, with elo-
quence above that of mortals; and willingly will Attila hear
thee discourse on the matters of thy high calling, as to whether
there be more gods than one; as to the nature of the soul of
man; the powers that govern him throughout life, and the
fate that awaits him beyond the grave. On such matters shalt
thou be listened to willingly, nay more, with reverent ears, as
becomes those who hear the words of one touched by the spirit
of a god. We will attend to thine exhortations in favour of Rome,
to thy warnings in regard to those who conquer it, even to thy
menaces against the life of Attila himself. But Attila turns
cot aside for words! He whom the embattled line of enemies
cannot impede, is not to be overawed even by an holy man ae
thou art. He fears not the sword; he avoids not the spear.
The twanging of the bowstring makes not his eyelids fall; the
shout of the enemy is pleasant on his ear. His battle-horse,
shall bear him onward, whithersoever his fate directs; and if
the destiny of Attila lie within the gates of Rome, to Rome
herself and to her capital will Attila go to seek it. Death
comes but once, and chooses his own time. The sentence is
written on high; and so help me Mars and my good sword, as
I would not reverse it, were it to be fulfilled to-morrow. My
grave is already dug by the hand of destiny, wherever that
grave is to be. Ana what matters it to Attila whether he lieATTILA.

325

beneath the grey olives of Italy, or the green birch-trees by
the Danube ? "

He paused a moment, gazing thoughtfully upon the prelate;
and a slight smile might have been seen upon the lip of Ardaric,
to hear his mighty leader adopting, as he went on in the career
of victory, so much of his own doctrine of fatalism.

In a moment Attila proceeded. "Thus much I have
spoken," he said. u Looking upon thee as a messenger from
the gods, and filled with a spirit of the knowledge of the future,
willingly on these points will I discourse with thee at large,
seeing that in all the lands I have visited I have never met
any one like thee. But if thou comest as an envoy from
Valentinian—lord of these lands, but unto me a slave, on
whose neck I set my foot—thou must speak of other things if
thou wouldst turn me from the path which lies before me.
Thou must speak of offerings, to atone for the past; of tribute,
to show his subjection for the future; of the complete satis-
faction of all my just demands. Thou must show Attila, that
the glory and honour of himself and of his people are to be
maintained and increased by following the course that thou
wouldst have us pursue, ere thou canst hope to stay these
myriads on their forward way, or turn the sword of Attila in
another direction. Do this. Leave my justice and my honour
no plea against him, and I will raise up a wall between you and
the desolation of my presence. Your fields shall flourish in
the sunshine. Your rivers shall flow with the accustomed
wine; the land team with oil and bread; and ye shall rear
your children up in peace, safe from the destroying sword, till
the name of Attila be no more than the whisper of the wind
through the gorges of some distant mountain."

A bright and heavenly smile beamed up over the noble
features of Saint Leo, and he replied at once, without pause or
hesitation, "Monarch, I will turn thee back!"

There was something so dignified, so majestic, so sublime in
the air, the tone, and the manner with which the pontiff pro-
nounced those few words, that Attila himself was visibly
struck and surprised. "How so?" demanded he: "how so—
how wilt thou turn me back ? Wilt thou bring down fire from
heaven ? "

"I will do more!" replied Saint Leo; "I will give thee
such justice that even the heart of a conqueror can demand
no more! Thou hast said that thou wilt turn back, if I
will satisfy thine honour and thy justice. I have offers for thee,
which, as a minister of God's word, I declare to be as full and
complete satisfaction as ambition itself could demand. Wilt
thou hear them now, oh King?"

"JSTo," replied Attila, " I will not. Thou art weary with326

ATTILA.

travel, and hast many years upon thy brow. Attila has kept
thee too long already without offering thee bread and rest.
This night shalt thou repose in tranquillity and peace. The

wine shall flow for thee, and the feast shall be prepared-"

Saint Leo waved his hand, " Fasting and prayer," he cried,
" fasting and prayer shall be my companions. Prostrate in the
dust, lifting my heart unto the throne of God, humbly calling
upon the name of my Saviour, beseeching the spirit of truth
to guide me aright! With fasting and with prayer will I
entreat the almighty Disposer of all hearts to soften thine,
and change its stern nature into mercy. Be it as thou hast
said, oh King! I will seek repose. Those who came with me
have need of it; and in the meantime my words have fallen
upon an ear that will not lose them lightly. When may I
hold further commune with thee ? "

"Two hours ere noon to-morrow," replied Attila. "Till
then, seek refreshment and repose, and Attila will take counsel
as to the very smallest offering which he can receive as a
propitiation to suspend his sword. In the meantime, I give
thee unto the care of these my officers. Thou fearest not to
rest within the camp of the Huns ? "

"I am in the hand of God!" replied Saint Leo, throwing
wide his arms, and looking up to heaven; u I am in the hand
of God! Why should I fear?"

CHAPTER XLII.

There were frequent messengers came and went to and from
the tent of Attila, and there was movement and agitation in
the camp. Round the monarch sat his tributary kings ; and
various were the different shades of expression which passed
over the countenances of those fierce chiefs, as they listened
to the words of their leader, and heard all that had befallen
since, on the preceding day, the great pontiff of Rome had
appeared to stay them in their advance.

u It was but a vision of the night!" said Attila. " It was
but some idle dream, and yet it came before me, full, tangible,
complete. There was no wandering of thought to other
things, no confusion of fancies, no breaking off and beginning
again ; but it was all clear and definite, accurate and minute;
and yet it was but a vision, an idle dream, which Attila will
heed no more than he would a fanciful cloud wrought into
strange forms by the wind that bears it."

"Heed no visions, oh Attila!" said Ardaric—"The only
sure vision will be the walls of Rome."

"And yeV oh mighty King!" joined in Onegisus, "one at
least here present would fain hear the substance of the dreamATTILA.

827

that disturbed thy slumbers. It has been held by wise men
and by priests long versed in sacred things, that dreams come
forth from the gods, and are one means of making their will
known to men. I at least would fain hear what vision it was
that broke the sleep of Attila."

"And I also! and I! and I!" said many voices round, as
soon as the demand was made; and leaning his broad brow
upon his hand, with his eyes fixed thoughtftdly upon the
table at which he sat, Attila not unwillingly proceeded to
speak as they required.

44 It seemed to me as if I had slept some hours," he said,
44 and that I was awakened by a noise, when, looking up, I
saw all things around me as I had seen them when I closed
mine eyes. There were the hangings of the tent, there the
clothing I had put off to rest, there burned the feeble lamp,
there lay the strong sword. Two javelins crossed hung upon
my right, and a spear lay near me on the ground. I saw it
all as distinctly as ere I closed my eyes that night, when lo!
the hangings of the tent were moved, raised up; and, with-
out sound or motion of their limbs, the figures of two men
approached my couch. A cloud of light environed them
around, hiding in its blaze all things behind it. The lamp
grew dim as if it had not been lighted, and in this cloud,
borne on to where 1 lay, the strangers came, clothed in
strange robes, simple and unadorned, with hair and beards of
snowy whiteness, and the marks of extreme age upon the
face of each. One, however, was older than the other, and
of coarser features, though there was a fire and eagerness in
his large eye, which spoke a mighty and energetic spirit,
prompt in its emotions and its acts. The younger seemed
more calm, and of a loftier aspect, and on his countenance
were seen the traces of high thoughts, perhaps, too, of some
sufferings endured with fortitude, but felt with keen percep-
tion. A smile, bland and beautiful, sat on his lips, and there
was in his glance that quick yet thoughtful movement which
I have seen in men, deep arguers on right and wrong, subtle
in their eloquence, and powerful to untie the tangled intricacy
of questions remote and difficult. Around them in that
cloud of light there shone a greater light, as if it issued forth
from them and from their garments; and though they seemed
of flesh as we are, yet there was a difference that scarcely
can be told, but which rendered their bodies more glorious
and pure to the eye than ours. I would fain have stretched
out my hand to seize my sword, but I lay as if chained down
by adamantine bonds. I would fain have spoken, to demand
who dared in such a sort to disturb the sleep of Attila, but
my tongue refused its office, and my lips moved without a328

ATTILA.

sound. Approaching, as I have said, without any visible
motion of their limbs, but borne forward by some unseen
power, they came near, and stood by the side of my couch:
there gazing upon me for a moment, their eyes seemed filled
with pity or with sorrow; and at length the younger said,
4 Attila! Attila! thou hast fought, and thou has con-
quered, and unwittingly, but not unwillingly, thou hast
done the will of God! Now turn thee back upon thy way,
for thou shalt smite this land no more. Turn thee back
upon thy way, and hesitate not, for we are sent to bid thee
sheathe the sword, lest it fall upon thine own head. Turn
thee back, turn thee back, and that speedily, as thou wouldst
live and conquer still!' And with that the light grew faint,
the figures seemed to dissolve, the cloud passed away; and I
was lying in my own tent, with the lamp burning feebly by my
side. It was but a vision, an idle dream, and it is passed!
Attila heeds it not. It was but a vision, an unreal vision!"

"It was a strange one though, oh mighty King!" said
Onegisus; " and I would fain ask yon holy man, who came
hither yesterday, if he can give the interpretation thereof,
and tell who were these that appeared unto thee."

" First let those who slept in the outer tent," said Ardaric,
H be closely questioned, if any one passed by them in the
night."

"I have questioned them already," said Attila—"I have
done more: I rose instantly; for my limbs and my mind
seemed freed as if from a heavy weight; and drawing back
the curtains that divide the tent, I found that no one living
could have entered, without treading on the sleeping bodies
of those of my warriors who lay without. It was but a vision,
an idle vision of the night!"

" I put no faith in visions," said Ardaric: " they never
visit me. If I dream 'tis of some empty thing taking fanciful
shapes without regularity or continuance, forgotten as soon as
passed. I put no faith in visions."

Attila's brow contracted slightly, but he made no reply;
and Yalamir, his Gothic tributary, who had hitherto re-
mained thoughtful and silent, now raised his eyes. " Thy
vision is a strange one, oh King," he said, " and worthy of
some consideration. More, perhaps, than thou thyself art
willing to bestow upon it. Yet would I not ask the interpre-
tation of this eloquent man, whose voice was heard so power-
fully yesterday; for he of course will see therein a confirma-
tion of his own warnings. There is another in the camp,
who may be better trusted. Dost thou remember, oh
mighty Attila, a holy hermit, who dwelt in the mountains,
two or three days' journey from Margus, and who-—"ATTxLA.

329

"But he is dead," interrupted Attila; "he has been dead

two years."

"True," replied Yalamir; "but near him there dwelt
another hermit, less shrewd and wise, perhaps, but, even
more than he was, touched with the fire of the gods. Wild,
rash, and fearless, he speaks whatever the spirit prompts, and
in such a man's interpretation one may trust with confidence.
Amongst the train who followed hither this high priest of
Rome was the very man, and well acquainted with the
manners and the languages of us people of the North. He
was wandering yesterday evening through the camp; and I
myself saw him preaching boldly strange doctrines of other
gods, to a large crowd of Huns and Gepidae. Let him be
sent for, and to him let the vision be told. On his interpre-
tation we can better rely."

All voices applauded the proposal, and instantly was it exe-
cuted. Messengers went forth to find the enthusiast Mizetus,
and in a few minutes he stood before Attila and his counsel-
lors. He was silent as the grave while the vision was being
told to him ; but then—stretching forth his hands, and turn-
ing his eyes full upon the countenance of Attila, though not
with a fixed and steadfast gaze, but with a wild and rolling
glance—he exclaimed, " Is it not simple as the light of day?
Is it not open as the summer's sky ? Is it not clear as the
waters from the rock ? What need of interpretation ? What
need of any one to explain? There is but one God, oh
Attila, though thou and these, as slaves of Satan, worship
3tone, and wood, and iron. That God has been merciful to
chee, oh King, and has sent unto thee the apostles of his Son,
Peter the prince of the apostles, and Paul the chosen by the
voice of God! To thee, from another world, he has sent
those, through the midst of thy sleeping guards, who when
they lived in this world passed through the hands of gaolers,
cast from them the fetters of iron, and walked free through
the prison doors of the Roman governor. To thee has he sent
them in mercy, to turn thee back from the way of destruc-
tion. Listen to their words, tread back thy steps, sheathe the
sword, open thy heart to the word of God, and thou shalt be
safe. If thou doest not this, if thou goest on in rapine and
injustice, shedding the blood of the faithful, and smiting the
people of Christ, lo! I tell thee, when thine errand is accom-
plished, and the judgments of God wrought out, thou shalt
die by some despised death; thine armies shall melt away
like snow, the bodies of thy warriors slain shall rot under the
summer's sky, and a pestilence shall go forth from their
bones to root out those whom the sword has spared. Woe
unto you! woe unto your mighty men, for tfce sword of the380

ATTILA.

Lord is out against you, and he shall scatter you to the
uttermost parts of the earth, and shall grind your mouths in
the dirt of the earth ye have trodden so proudly, and shall
cast ye forth as dead dogs, to be an abomination to the
passer-by!"

More than one sword leaped from its sheath at those bold
words, but the deep thunder-like voice of Attila stayed them
from smiting the rash enthusiast. "Harm him not, harm
him not V cried the monarch. " By the soul of Attila, he
dies who strikes him ! Did we not bid him speak ? Did we
not call for his words ? and shall we slay him because they
are such as please us not?—Stranger," he continued, " thou
hast spoken rashly amongst rash men, nevertheless thou art
safe, and mayest depart!"

Mizetus turned to quit the tent, but ere he went he raised
his hand, and said in a solemn tone, "1 grieve for thee, oh
Attila; for thy fate is near!"

"Let it come!" replied Attila—and the enthusiast de-
parted.

"We have spent too much time on this thing," continued
the monarch, " let us now turn our thoughts to more substan-
tial warnings. Ardaric, my friend, as thou hast said, this
vision was indeed but an empty dream, and but matter for a
moment's speculation; but I have tidings for thee, which
thou knowest not of, for thy Gepidse lie high up upon the hill.
There are those here, however, who know that between sun-
set last night, and sunrise this morning, the sword of the
pestilence smote amongst the warriors, who lie by the side of
the river, nearly ten thousand men!"

Ardaric started up, and gazed fixedly on the countenance
of Attila.

"It is true!" said the monarch ; " but this is not all, my
friend. A fleet from Constantinople has wafted a new host to
our noble enemy JEtius: nor is that all either," he added,
raising his voice ; " the armies of Marcian have crossed the
Danube, and cut to pieces three of our tribes, upon the Dacian
frontier. Now, friends and counsellors, you know the whole.
Tell me what shall be the course of Attila. Shall I go on,
and lay Rome in ashes ? Shall I pause here, and accept the
tribute frbis priest is prepared to offer ? Willing am I to do
the first, willing would I be to do it, were I as sure that death
would follow within a day, as I am that there is a sun behind
the clouds that now stretch over the sky."

" Hear what he has to offer, oh mighty King," said Ardaric;
44 then, if it be enough to satisfy the honour of Attila, and
eave the glory of his warriors, accept the conditions. Let u«
retire from this pestilential land, and then—ATTILA.

831

" What then ?" demanded Attila, after waiting for a mo-
ment to let the chief conclude his sentence.

41 Nay, I know not," replied Ardaric. 44 Then—let us do
whatsoever Attila will."

A brief smile passed like lightning across the countenance
of the King. 41 And then," he said, " and then-To Con-
stantinople I and we shall see, who is to live or die; who is
to be a monarch, who a slave! The sword of a thousand
battles against the broken spear of a weak Roman! Methinks
the chances are unequal. Kings of great nations! Friends of
Attila! There is no need to ask what are the terms this Roman
bishop brings. They are known to me already—revealed to
me in no vision, Ardaric, but told to my messenger at my de-
mand. He offers a gift ten times in value all that the East
and West have ever given, an annual tribute, double that
which we received from Theodosius. A future compensation
for the dowry of Honoria, and the restitution of all cap-
tives and fugitives from the Hunnish nation! Is this suf-
ficient?"

44 It is! it is!" replied the chiefs; and a messenger was in-
stantly despatched to summon Saint Leo to the tent of the
barbarian monarch.

With the same calm dignity as before, the prelate presented
himself before the council of Attila, and in his whole de-
meanour there was that grand but simple and unassuming
majesty which commanded the reverence, the respect—
almost the love—of men of a different nation, creed, lan-
guage, manners, habits, thoughts. Attila himself rose at his
approach, and with an air not less in dignity, took him by the
hand and placed him by his side.

The pontiff felt that he had touched the heart of the bar-
barian, and he was more moved at having done so, than had
the utmost ire of that mighty king—a king who feared no
chastisement, acknowledged no laws but his own sense of
right, bowed to no superior on earth or in heaven—than had
his ire threatened the worst tortures that could be inflicted.
Through the reverence with which he had inspired the bar-
barian monarch he saw, as through a long avenue, a number
of sympathies, noble feelings, and generous sentiments, akin
to those which dwelt in his own heart; while hope stood half
way between, and beckoned to the kindred bands, to unite for
mighty purposes and grand endeavours. A moment's reflec-
tion, however, a moment's glance of the mental eye over the
sad but solemn and oracular book of experience, showed him
the falsehood of the syren's tale, and made him grieve that
the brightest feelings of the human heart, mutually perceived
and understood, and which, could they meet and co-operate,832

ATTILA.

would work oufc the blessing and happiness of thousands,
should ever thus be stopped by obstacles insignificant, and
totally unseen by those who attempt to pass them till all their
efforts for unanimity and concord are overthrown.

Calmly and clearly, in answer to the questions of the King,
he recapitulated the splendid, the degrading offers of Valen-
tinian; and he added, " This, oh King, am I commanded to
propose: this am I authorised to promise. The gift is already
in thy camp; the tribute shall soon follow; and—as a media-
tor between thee and them who suffer, standing pure and im-
partial under the eye of God, who is of no nation and of no
country, and respecteth no man for a name—I declare that
thou hast now offered unto thee more than thou canst claim
aright; more than equity could pronounce against them;
more than justice can award unto thy claim. But when unto
all this is added the great triumph of clemency, the mighty
privilege of showing mercy, the triumphant glory of sparing
wiiose thou couldst destroy; so help me Heaven, as I do be-
lieve that there is offered unto thee more than even thy con-
quering sword could win, more than thy highest ambition
could desire, more than thy vastest efforts could attain! Is it
more glorious to slaughter than to sav^ ? Is it more mighty
to destroy than to spare ? Is it a greater sign of power to
cast down than to raise up ? He that saves from the slayer is
greater than the slayer: he that shields from the destroyer is
victorious over the destroyer; and he that raises up does a
deed which shall last long after he who casts down is
forgotten! Spare then, oh Attila, spare the nations! and if in
sparing them thou gainest a triumph over thyself, thou doest
that which the noblest of thine enemies has never been able
to do, and raisest to thyself the crowning trophy of thy fame,
under which shall be written by the hand of history, 4 None
but Attila gained the victory over Attila!'"

Even had he not spoken, the terms he offered would have
been accepted; but had they been less than they were, they
would have been accepted under the influence of his voice.
The gorgeous presents were brought up, and displayed before
the tent of Attila. The gold and the silver was poured out;
the jewels and the cloth of gold were displayed to the eyes of
the admiring chiefs, who crowded round. But Attila himself
looked not on them; his eyes were either thoughtfully lifted
to the sky, in that direction wherein lay Kome, or else bent
down in deep reflection upon the ground, while traces of emo-
tion, slight indeed in themselves, but still from their unusual-
ness indicative of strong feelings within, might be traced upon
bis countenance.

When a.U the gifts were displayed, he turned abruptly toATTILA.

33S

Saint Leo, laying, H Messenger of a mighty God, Attila turns
upon his steps. Take what thou wilt of these baubles,
either as an offering to thy Deity, or as a gift unto thyself!''

"God forbid!" replied the pontiff: " the God I serve—
the only God!—dwells not in temples made with hands, and
requires no offerings from the sons of men, but a pure and
contrite spirit, a repentant and an humble heart. As for me,
I take no part in the spoils of my brethren, and I leave them
to him to whom they were sent, and of whose forbearance
they are the price and recompense."

" Thou art the first priest," cried Attila—"thou, art the
first priest of any god that ever yet I heard of wh<?
refused gold and jewels, when they were offered to him
freely!"

"Thou hast known but few Christian priests, my son,"
replied Saint Leo, mildly. " The priests thou hast known were
the servants of those whom we call Devils, Mammon, or
Plutus, the demon of covetousness; Belial, Lucifer, or
Apollo, the God of pride; Moloch or Mars, the demon of
bloodshed. The priests of all these and many others, for
their several purposes, seek wealth and splendour; but the
servants of God, the only true God, seek his glory, and know
their own unworthiness. Oh Attila, I leave thee! I came
unto thee, knowing that thou hadst a mighty name, and that
none upon this earth had been found to conquer thee ; that
kings and princes and warriors of great renown bowed down
trembling before thee, and shrunk from the very glance of
thine eye; and yet I feared thee not. I go from thee now
with my reverence not lessened, but with deep sorrow at my
heart, to find nobler qualities in thy nature ; qualities which,
guiding and directing the inferior ones of courage and mili-
tary skill, have made thee what thou art; and yet to see that
those qualities, like diamonds in some undiscovered mine, lie
wasting all their brightness, because they are not known and
estimated. The knowledge of one true God, the faith in one
redeeming Saviour, are all that is wanting to raise Attila high
above living men! I leave those in thy camp who may show
thee a light thou hast never yet seen. Listen unto them, oh
Attila! listen unto them and be saved! Yet! yet! I trust
the mild spirit of the Almighty God will touch thy heart, and
turn it into humility and righteousness. Then mounting from
the humbleness of faith, Attila will rise to a pitch of glory no
earthly arms can ever win, and stand upon a point where
mortal monarch never placed himself without the Spirit of
the Lord to raise him up on high."

" Thou speakest words I do not comprehend," said Attila,
turning away.334

ATTl&A.

44 God make them clear to thee in his own good time P* re*
plied the bishop, and slowly descended the hill.

CHAPTER XLIII.

We must now turn again to Ildica! In agony of heart, she
sat within her tent with the spirit bowed down and nearly
broken, and the bodily frame bent and shaken under the load
of grief. Before her stood the messenger of Attila, who bore
her the sad tidings of the loss of him she loved. Beside her
stood the fair daughter of the dead king, Bleda, and the wild
enthusiast Mizetus.

Tearless, all tearless was the bright eye of the Dalmatian
girl, although through the clear white skin of the temples
might be seen the blue veins swelling up like cords with the
rushing up of the agonised blood.

The enthusiast kept silence, and gazed on her with a look
of deep grief; but from the dark-blue eyes of Neva rolled
profuse the large heavy tears, and in the sorrow of her
own heart she asked many a question of the messenger
regarding all the particulars of the fate of one still too dearly
beloved.

u Art thou sure," she demanded, 44 that the winds and tem-
pests did the work of death ? Art thou sure that the com-
mands of Attila, more cruel, more unsparing, than the fierce
elements, had not their share ? "

411 know nothing," replied the messenger,44 but that which
I was commanded to say. The ship perished, and almost all
on board were drowned."

44 Almost all 1" cried Ildica, starting up and gazing eagerly
in the man's face—44 Almost all! Then there is yet hope!"

44 Alas, no!" replied the messenger. 44 All who reached the
land were slain upon the shore by some wandering bands of
warriors!"

44Even so! even so!" cried Ildica; 44 sent on purpose to
destroy him at his landing! Oh, fatal beauty! Thou hast
caused the death of him I loved most on earth;" and she cast
herself down upon the couch and hid her face in her robe;
while from time to time a sharp shudder might be seen to pass
over that fair form, as if the anguish of the spirit were de-
stroying its earthly tabernacle.

44 Art thou sure that he was in the ship?" demanded Neva,
still clinging to a hope.

44 Quite sure!" replied the messenger; 44 presents from the
Emperor Marcian—goods marked with the youth's name—
his very clothing itself, have been brought into the presence
of Attila."&TTILA.

44 Of his murderer!" said Neva; 4i of his murderer

The man, who was a Roman fugitive, made no reply; and
After a brief pause, withdrew from the tent.

"What means she, maiden?" demanded Mizetus, turning
to Neva; uwhat means she, when she says that her beauty
has caused the death of him she loved ? "

"Doest thou not comprehend?" cried the girl, gazing a
him through her tears; " dost thou not know, that Attila him-
self seeks her love ? Canst thou not guess that he took the
life of him who was his happier rival?"

"Is it even so?" cried Mizetus; "alas, unhappy maiden!
for what art thou reserved?" and, after gazing at her for a
moment or two in melancholy thought, he quitted the tent, and
turned his steps towards the royal pavilion of Attila himself.

Where was that pavilion now ? No longer on the shores of
the wild Benacus, no longer looking over the fertile plains of
Italy, but on the slope of the Carpathian mountains, amidst
the rude but magnificent scenery of the hill country. There
were congregated the myriads of the North; there was pitched
the camp of a thousand nations, covering every rise, and sweep-
ing down into every valley. But as Mizetus wandered on
amongst them, all were in movement; the Huns and the
Gepidse, and the Goths, the Heruli and the Alani, were pour-
ing forth slowly on foot, and mounting with a low rushing
murmur towards the tent of Attila. As they went, one spoke
unto the other, and the voice of complaint made itself heard.

" Why call for us now?" cried one.

"We might even now have been revelling in Rome I" said
another.

" Has Attila lost his daring?" asked a third.

"Is he to be led by the smooth words of a grey-beard in
long robes?" demanded a fourth.

And thus they went murmuring on, till, gathering together
upon the hill-side, they covered a vast extent, above which
again—with a space of many cubits between it and them, kept
clear by the officers of the King—towered the pavilion of their
mighty chief. During some time the noise of coming feet was
heard; but at length all the men of that vast host seemed
congregated there : the curtains of the tent were drawn, and
Attila stood before them. He gave one slow glance around,
and the loudest murmurer in the host cast down his eyes be-
fore that dark countenance, as if he feared that the monarch
might see the rebellion in his heart, and smite him on the
spot. All was hushed as if in death; and then the voice of
Attila was heard, spreading round and round, till scarce a
man in all that multitude could fail to catch his words.

** Ye have dared to murmur at the will of Attila!" he said.ATTILA,

u Ye have dared to think that ye knew better than he did!
Ye have dared to call his wisdom weakness, because he led
you away from Rome, whose treasures were exhausted to buy
your absence; and while ye thus complained, ye knew not
whither he was leading you! It is time that ye should hear,
in order that shame may glow like a burning spot upon your
brows. I lead ye to Constantinople, to the city of the Caesars,
to the plunder of the richest capital in the universe!—I swear,"
he continued, drawing his ^word, as if moved by some sudden
impulse, and holding it up on high before hi3 eyes, as he ad-
dressed to it his vow—" I swear that I will not leave one blade
of grass in Thrace, nor one city standing, nor the wall of one
fortress not cast down, nor one living enemy to oppose my
path! This sword will I not sheathe till I sheathe it in the
capital of the East. The feet of my horse shall never pause
for more than one rising and setting of the sun, till I tighten
the bridle in his mouth, on the shores of the Thracian Bos-
phorus. I go forth to smite and to destroy, and I will make
the land like unto one which has never been inhabited. I will
cast down everything in my way; and the vulture which fol-
lows me, to eat the dead bodies of mine enemies, shall not
have to raise his wings when he snuffs their carcasses from
afar. Ye have heard the will of Attila! Get ye gone! Sharpen
your arrows, but restrain your tongues !"

" Boaster," cried a shrill voice from the crowd, speaking in
the Greek tongue, " thou shalt die even in thy pride!" But
the crowd had already begun to move, and the noise of their
innumerable feet drowned the sounds of that warning voice.
The multitude separated slowly; Attila re-entered his tent;
and Mizetus, with his hands clasped, and his eyes, full of
wandering fire, bent down upon the ground, strayed away with
a slow irregular pace, along the course of a little rivulet that
streamed down from the higher hills. He muttered to him-
self as he went, and little note did he take of the various
groups of Huns that passed him.

"Is it not so?" he said, as he wandered on—"Is it not
clearly so ? Is it not the will of Heaven, distinctly revealing
unto me the way to save the people of the Lord? Shall this
Pagan barbarian smite the faithful and the just ? Heaven for-
bid ! God has provided a remedy. The Lord has found a means
S)f deliverance! I will do his will! I will work under the
guidance of his spirit! I will not delay, no not an hour, but
I will gird up my loins, and be doing!"

Long he wandered on, and long he continued thus mutter-
ing to himself; but at length he stopped suddenly, and ex-
claiming, "God strengthen me!" he turned and took his way-
Straight to the tent of Ildica. Her attendants, in the outerATTILA.



apartment, sought to prevent his entrance; but he said, u I
must see the Roman maiden: I come to bring her consolation."
And after some delay, and inquiry within, he was admitted.

Neva was with her still, and the wife of Ardaric, with some
other women of high station amongst the Huns, were also
present, striving to give her consolation; but Ildica, with hex
eye all tearless, and fixed upon the ground, sat in the midst, her
hands clasped together, her lip silent, her features motionless,
as it she heard not one word of all that was addressed to her.

" Daughter," said Mizetus, in the pure harmonious tongue
of her own land—"Daughter, listen to me!"

There was something in the sweet tone of the melodious
Greek—there was something in it associated with home, and
happiness, and early years, and the bright images of joys for
ever gone, that seemed to startle her, and for a moment she
looked up with a thoughtful gaze upon his countenance; but
the next moment she dropped her eyes again, and remained
as silent as before.

"Daughter, listen to me," continued the enthusiast, in that
wild but elevated tone, which will command attention if aught
on earth can awaken it—u Listen, for I bring thee consolation!
I bring thee consolation from on high! It is revealed unto
me, that thou art reserved for great things, and destined to
work the deliverance of people and of nations! It is revealed
unto me, that by thy hand shall the faithful of the Lord be
delivered, and that thou in thy beauty, and in thy wisdom,
shall do more than the mighty and the great have been able
to accomplish!"

Still Ildica gave no sign of attention. Not a feature in her
face was moved, and she remained gazing with the same fixed
meditative look on one spot of the ground, as if utterly absorbed
in deep and unbroken thought. The enthusiast paused, to see
whether she heard or not, and for a moment all was silence.
But the next instant, to the surprise of all, the lips of the fair
unhappy girl were seen to move; and, as if the Greek accent
of Mizetus had touched the thrilling chord of association
between her present misery and the moment when misfortunes
first began to fall upon her, recalling the dark and painful
moment when she quitted Dalmatia, her voice was heard sing-
ing snatches of the song that her mother's slaves had poured
forth when they left behind them Aspalathos for ever:—

"We leave you behind us, sweet things of the earth;

Our life is a race to the death from the birth;

We pause not to gather the flowers as they grow;

The goal is before us, and on we must go.

u Fair scenes of our childhood! dear homes of eur youth !

Memorials of innocence, virtue, and truth I

T$88

ATTILA.

Tlie land of our birth, the dear mother that "bore,

We leave you behind us, we see you no more!

"We leave you behind us, sweet things of the earth,

Hopes, joys, and endearments, sport, pleasure, and mirth;

Like a tempest-driven, ship, sailing by some bright shore,

Time hurries us onward, we see you no more!"

And when she had done, she looked round her, with a smile
so terrible at such a moment, that every woman's eye there
present, whether they understood the words or not, overflowed
with tears.

" Poor maiden!" cried Mizetus, " her heart is fearfully op-
pressed, her spirit sadly bowed down. Heavy has been the
burden that the Lord has given her to bear, but great is the
glory he reserves for her. Neither shall the mind break, nor
the spirit be crushed under its load; but with time, and with
care, and with consolation, this wandering mood shall pass
away. Let us now, however, leave her, for the presence of
many may irritate rather than soothe. Thou, maiden," he
continued, turning to Neva, "thou that seemest to take a
deeper interest than the rest, abide with her, and watch over
her tenderly. Watch over her! watch over her carefully! for
she has yet her appointed task to do."

Thus saying, he quitted the tent, and the women followed,
leaving Neva with Ildica alone. The next morning early,
Mizetus took his way towards the tent of Ildica, ere the army
began its march; but, as he advanced, a spectacle arrested hi?
progress for a moment, which the Huns themselves in passing
gazed on fearfully, but paused not to examine. Down from
the tent of Attila to the bank of the rivulet, extended a double
row—an avenue, in short, of enormous crosses; and nailed
upon them, as had been the case in the neighbourhood of
Verona, appeared the corpses of at least a thousand of the
monarch's own immediate subjects.

Amongst them were many of those chiefs and officers who
had been previously believed t© stand high in favour; and, as
the various masses of the Huns passed by those sad memorials,
the chiefs who had been amongst those to complain that he
had not marched on Rome, and had yet escaped the terrible
execution of that night, trembled when they beheld the ghastly
spectacle, and thanked the gods that had preserved them.

Mizetus, on the contrary, gazed fearlessly on the proofs of
Attila's stern severity, scanned the agonised countenances of
the dead, marked the contorted limbs, and murmured, as
he passed, "More, more blood poured into the cup of ven-
geance! More to be accounted for! Nor is the day far
distant!"

As the enthusiast passed on, Ardaric rode by slowly, toward?ATTILA.

m

the tent of Attila, gazing with a frowning brow, and a sad but
indignant air upon the bodies of the dead. With a sudden
spring forward, Mizetus laid his hand upon his bridle rein;
but Ardaric shook it from his grasp, exclaiming, " Why stop-
pest thou me in such a spot as this ? Get thee hence, mad-
man!"

"Not so mad as he who did this deed!" replied the en-
thusiast.

"Perhaps not," answered Ardaric; 4'but the deed is none
of mine;" and raising his rein, he rode swiftly on.

Mizetus proceeded on his way, and found her he sought,
sitting nearly as he had left her the day before. He found
that she had undergone very little change. She took her
food, and suffered her garments to be changed mechanically;
but she spoke not, or very seldom, and then with wild and
unconnected words, referring to things apparently remote.
The enthusiast remained with her long, nor ceased, during all
the time of his stay, to pour forth, in language wild but
Sgurative, and with words ready and prompt, the same un-
connected and mystical exhortations to which he had given
utterance the day before.

He was interrupted by the marching of the army to another
station in its advance upon Greece : but ere he left the tent 01
Ildica, he saw, well pleased, that he had more than once gained
her attention, though but for a moment; and on the following
day that attention was more fixedly obtained. The third day
she listened to him, though she answered not; and the fourth
day she wept for the first time. Thenceforward, though she
spoke but seldom, and though, when she did speak, there
appeared in her words a difference from the ordinary train of
thought, a slight deviation from that clear intellectual path
which her mind had ever followed, yet in some degree she
resumed her ordinary occupations, suffered herself to be moved
on in her litter, calmly, if not cheerfully, and from time to
time spoke a few words to Neva, with an effort to show her
gratitude and regard.

Thus passed the time, till ten days after the sad news of
Theodore's death had reached her ear, when, as they marched
along, and she lay in her open litter, carried in the rear of the
army, suddenly Attila himself appeared, and drew up his
horse beside her. He gazed upon her with an eye in which
there shone some pity, and he asked, " How goes it with
thee, beautiful Ildica?"

" As well as may be, mighty monarch," she replied, look-
ing firmly upon him without a trace of fear.

" Thou art better than I expected," said Attila, apparently
surprised at her calmness.MO

ATTILA.

"I am better than I had hoped or feared," she answered;
"but hope and fear are over, oh monarch!"

"Not so," replied Attila: 44 there is still, I trust, much joy
for thee on earth;" and thus saying, he rode on.

On the evening of that day, when the tents were pitched,
Ildica, as pale as marble, was seated in her own; and leaning
on the pillows of the couch, while Neva sat beside and held
her hand, she listened to the old man Mizetus, who, standing
on the other side* read from an open book, and commented as
he went.

At length he closed the pages, and, gazing full upon her,
he exclaimed, 44 Such is thy lot! Such is the will of heaven!
Such is thy destiny! and great shall be thy reward! Though
thou hast suffered, and still shall suffer, till the work be
accomplished, thy sufferings shall be forgotten in the exceed-
ing joy of thy great recompense! Such, such, I tell thee, is
to be thy fate!"

441 am ready!" replied Ildica, solemnly—441 am prepared!
—Let it come!"

Mizetus added a few words more; but ere he could con-
clude the sentence, one of her attendants entered, and an-
nounced that a messenger from Attila awaited her without.
Her cheek and lips turned paler still, but she answered calmly
and at once, 44 Give him admission!"

44 Beautiful maiden," said the messenger, when he stood
before her, 44 Attila greets thee well, and calls thee his be-
loved. He says that grief has had its due, and that joy must
have its day; and he bids my poor tongue announce to thee,
that Attila has chosen thee for the envied station of his bride.
To-morrow the army halts the whole day, and at the hour of
sunset, ere Attila sits down with his warriors to the banquet,
his bridal shall be solemnised with thee by the priests of his
faith and of thine! What answer shall I bear the King?"

Ildica heard him with apparent calmness; but Neva felt
the fingers of her beautiful hand clasp tight, with agonised
emotion, on her own.

The fair girl's lips moved, but no sound issued forth.—
Another struggle, they moved again, and her voice was heard.!

44 Who shall resist the will of the King?" she said; and
bowing her head, she suffered the messenger to depart.—
The curtain of the tent fell behind him; and starting up, she
fell at the feet of Mizetus. Then clasping the old man's
knees within her arms, she exclaimed, 44 No vow!—No vow!
—I can take no vow!—Save me from that!"

44 Fear not," replied the hermit—44 fear not, my daughter!
Thou shalt take no vow. Be but a passive instrument in the
hands of God 1"attila.

841

CHAPTER XLIY.

On an eminence rising above the banks of a river, near which
the vast army of the Huns pitched its camp on the ensuing
night, was found a splendid pavilion, with workmen still
labouring hard to complete it, when the van-guard of the
army reached its ground. Ere Attila himself arrived, the
whole was finished; and a palace of richly-ornamented wood-
work, mingled and decorated with hangings of crimson and
gold, waited his approach.

The mood of the monarch, however, was not placable; and
the workmen whom he had sent forward to prepare his abode
received no token of his thanks or approbation, notwithstand-
ing the skill and zeal which they had displayed. Those who
had accompanied him on the way had found good cause to
mark his discontented humour; and Ardaric and Yalamir,
and even Onegisus himself, had seized the first opportunity
of withdrawing themselves from the side of one who treated
all with indignity, which their free spirits could but ill bear.
The cause of this harsh humour might be, it was whispered,
that Ardaric had ventured remonstrances, and Yalamir had
seconded them, which were displeasing to the ear of Attila;
but never before in his most passionate moods had he given
way to such intemperance of language as he had that day
displayed towards two of his noblest and most disinterested
supporters. An hour after their arrival, however, they re-
ceived a summons to attend the bridal and the banquet of the
mighty king; and to the pavilion on the hill they took their
way, clothed in the most splendid robes that the camp could
{supply.

In a vast hall, decorated by crimson hangings, which many
a tributary land had combined to furnish, stood Attila himself,
already surrounded by a multitude of his officers and chiefs.
To the astonishment of every one there present, however, the
monarch of the Huns appeared not now in the plain garment
of his Scythian ancestors. For the first time in his life, gold
and jewels, and vestures of silk, covered the powerful limbs
of the mighty conqueror. The heavy iron sword which never
before had left his side was now no longer there. All the
rude weapons of war were carefully excluded from his dress;
and jewels of inestimable value bound his haughty brow.

In the same hall, at the further end, was raised a temporary
altar, festooned with green leaves and the few autumnal
flowers which the country round could supply. Elevated
upon that altar was seen the ponderous sword of the ScythianU2

ATTILA.

Mars, famous in the history of Attila's reign, from the sin-
gular manner in which it had been found. Beside it stood a
number of the Scythian priests; and the steps which led to
it were thickly strewed with leaves of the wild laurel and the
hemlock.

The countenance of Attila himself was now cleared of the
clouds which had obscured it; but still, the joy with which it
beamed as plainly testified the change which his nature had
lately undergone as the frowns that had hung upon it before.
In former days, the countenance of Attila had been a stranger
to both frowns and smiles. The stern passions which moved
him then, had wrought, and struggled within the secret cham-
bers of his breast alone, and no light emotions had seemed to
affect his outward bearing. Now, he was moved by many
things; and in spite of all his efforts to seem what he had
been, the emotions of his heart thrilled through his bodily
frame, and made themselves seen upon the surface.

"Where are the Christian priests?" demanded the voice
of the monarch, as soon as he had spoken a few words to
Valamir and Ardaric, in a tone evidently intended to soften
the harsh impression produced by his ill humour of the morn-
ing—"Where are the Christian priests?"

" None have been found in the camp, oh mighty King," said
Edicon coming forward. " I have inquired in every quarter,
and none have been found."

"None!" exclaimed Attila; "none! Where is that rash
priest Mizetus; he who by a few empty words provoked the
wrath of so many mighty chiefs. I have seen him since in
the camp. I saw him no later than yesterday. Let him be
sent for; and tell the bride, that Attila waits her coming, as
the spring-earth waits for the rising of the morning sun."

The messengers departed; and then came a pause, dead
and silent, and painful to all but those common spirits who
saw nothing in the scene they were called to witness but the
common festivity of a day. Ardaric and Yalamir gazed upon
each other; but they spoke not, till some casual movement
caused a murmur to run through the hall. Then, in a low
voice, the latter asked the former, " What think you will be
the result?"

"I know not," answered Ardaric; "but from what I hear,
she is not unwilling. Yet, from some chance words dropped
in my wife's presence, either her mind wanders, as that of one
deprived of reason, or else deeper thoughts than we know of
are at work within her brain. But lo, they come !"

As he spoke, the door of the hall was opened, and a bevy
of fair young girls, strewing the way with flowers, entered
the hall, and wound round towards the altar. FollowingATTILA.

343

them, and leaning on the arm of Neva, appeared the Dal-
matian bride, clothed in robes of white.

No fear, no agitation was in her step; but firmly and easily
she moved along the hall, beauty and grace shining like a
glory from every limb and every feature. Neva was far
more moved than Ildica; but the countenances of both were
paler than the Parian stone; while from those fair colourless
faces beamed forth the beautiful eyes of each—the deep, de-
voted, dark-blue eyes of Neva, the large, lustrous, liquid
eyes of Ildica, shining like brilliant lamps from out a marble
tomb.

They took but one gaze around the hall as they entered,
but that gaze had a different effect upon each. With Neva it
seemed to bewilder and confound: she dropped her eyes again
instantly, and advanced with a wavering and uncertain step.
The gaze of Ildica was firm and calm; though, as she beheld
the scene of barbaric splendour that surrounded her, her brow
slightly contracted; her eye flashed for an instant with a
wilder, perhaps a brighter fire. Slowly she turned her gaze
towards the altar; and without noticing any one in the hall,
approached deliberately the spot where the sacrifice of herself
was to be completed.

A number of matrons followed; and behind them again,
came the hermit Mizetus, clad in the same wild robes which
he wore in the desert and on the mountain. Attila turned to
approach the altar; but the hermit advanced towards him,
saying boldly, " Thou hast sent for me. I am here. What
wouldst thou with me ? "

" I have sent for thee," replied Attila, " to perform, be-
tween me and that maiden, the nuptial ceremonies according
to the customs of her people and the rites of her faith."

" I am no priest, oh Attila!" answered the enthusiast. " I
am one touched by the finger of God, and set apart to speak
terrible warnings, and foretell great events. But I have
neither power to loose nor to bind, to take up nor to cast
down. No ceremonies can I perform; for I am no priest
according to any human law.—But what needest thou think
of priests or ceremonies?" he continued, seeing Attila stand
thoughtfully before him. u Let the ceremony be performed
according to thine own will. Is not the will of Attila superior
to all law?"

" Thou say est right," answered Attila, advancing to the
altar. "It is!" And placing himself by the side of the
altar opposite to Ildica, he said, "Let the rites proceed!—
Oh beautiful Ildica, are you willing?"

Ildica raised her eyes, large, calm, liquid, shining as foun-
tains of living light. She gazed on him for a moment, and844

ATTILA.

then, 4 41 adjure thee, oh Attila," she cried, " to tell me truth!
—Is he dead?"

44 He is !" replied Attila emphatically.

11 Art thou certain ?—quite certain ? " demanded Ildica, still
gazing in his face.

44 As certain as if my hand had slain him," replied Attila.

u Ha!" said Ildica. " Even so!"

u What sayest thou?" demanded Attila.

44 That the will of the king is law." And she cast down her
eyes to the ground.

44 Most beautiful and best beloved!" exclaimed Attila, taking
her hand, with a look of eager passion. 44 Let the rites proceed."

They did proceed; and the strange and fanciful ceremonies
of the Pagan nuptials were begun and ended between Attila
and Ildica!

Still, during the whole of that ceremony, the fair unhappy
girl uttered not one word; but, passive before the heathen
altar, she stood like the victim so often brought there to be
sacrificed. Her lips moved not; her voice was heard not;
and, without either consent or denial, she became the bride
of that dark and mighty king.

The priests ceased; the ceremony was over; and she still
stood silent before the altar, with ner hand lying in that of
Attila. And those who stood by and saw, never forgot the
sight of those small, white, taper fingers resting in that broad
powerful hand. At length she lifted up her eyes, as if seek-
ing for the heaven; and then her lips moved for a moment,
as if in prayer.

As was the custom, the women of the highest note there
present surrounded her, and led her away to a banquet pre-
pared for her alone. Ildica ate one cake of bread, and drank
one cup of wine, and then sought the chamber reserved for
her. They would have led her in, and staid with her to adorn
her; but she paused at the door and bade them leave her.
They hesitated, and urged the custom of the land. But
she raised her head proudly, saying, 441 am Roman even
here !—But what to you is more, I am the bride of At-
tila, and I command you, leave me! I must spend the inter-
vening time in prayer," she added in a milder tone; and, ceas-
ing to urge her further, the women left her to her own
thoughts ; and every one betook them to their homes again.

In the meanwhile, Attila led his chiefs to the banquet; but,
as they went, Ardaric and Yalamir walked side by side, and
spoke together in a low tone over the scene just past.

441 comprehend it not," said Ardaric; 441 understand it
not. The memory of old affection is clearly strong in her
heart; neither do I think that she forgets ner country, norATTILA.

B45

believe that she is one to wed either for fear or for ambition!
—If there should be some higher purpose in her bosom, Va-
lamir? If she should meditate some mighty deed?—a deed
which, since Attila is no longer Attila, many a brave man in
the camp has pondered on as the last hope of many here—a
deed which, since safety has been banished from our tents,
and the swords of our friends have been drawn at midnight
against ourselves, may even have crossed my mind and thine?"

"Hush!" said Valamir; " Onegisus watches us. Let us
sit at separate tables; but humour him to the full; and, as
he has now forgot his ancient temperance, let him drink deep.
It matters not to us whether drunkenness disgrace him on this
night of pageantry or not. Cross him not, I beseech thee,
Ardaric! Thou hast had warning enough this day, that Attila
hears counsel no longer, even when given for the protection
of his own honour."

Seated at the banquet, the same scenes, or very similar
ones, took place, which we have dwelt upon before. The
same, in all respects, except in the conduct of the chief actor
therein. The rude poet sang the glowing tale of mighty deeds
and great warriors in the long-gone past; the jester excited
the roar of ribald laughter; the wine flowed plenteously; the
chiefs drank deep; but Attila, no longer calm and grave, fol-
lowed each impulse of the moment—now gave way to some
hasty wrath, now joined in the peal of merriment; and still,
in the deep wine-cup, provoked the emulation of his warriors.

It was when the night waxed late, and the banquet was
nearly over, that Zercon, the negro jester, who had already
played his part in the hall for the amusement of the guests,
entered again, bearing in his hands an enormous cup of gold,
richly gemmed at the rim and on the handles. The shape
was beautiful; the workmanship splendid; the jewels of in-
estimable value; and, as he approached the seat of Attila, the
eyes of the monarch, already inflamed with wine, gazed on
the magnificent vessel with eyes of wonder and admiration.

Kneeling before him, Zercon placed the cup in his hand,
saying, u Behold, oh mighty King, a present just arrived from
a dear friend and well-wisher of Attila. Thy messengers have
just returned from the Moesian frontier, and bear thee this
jewelled cantharus from Eugenius, bishop of Margus. Hap-
pily has it come to grace thy bridal night."

Attila took the cup, and gazed upon it, repeating thought-
fully, u From Eugenius, bishop of Margus!—The boy's uncle!
—I will use it some other night."

u Nay, oh mighty King!" said Zercon, " no night like this ;
for in it, you may pledge yourself to avenge the wrongs of
him who sent it."346

ATTILA.

"What wrongs?" cried Attila, turning upon him fiercely.
"I know of no wrongs that he has suffered."

" It comes," replied Zercon in a deep tone, " from the dead
to the living! from the impotent to the mighty! Eugenius
has been put to death, by command of Marcian, for admitting
the Huns to the Roman territory; and thy messengers have
but escaped with life and this cup, which he had just given
them for thee, as a pledge of his friendship."

Attila's countenance grew as dark as night. "Take the
cup," he cried, to one of his officers; "take the cup, and let
it be purified with fire. Then bring it to me."

The attendant took the cup, and held it over a lighted torch
in the midst of the hall. Then, after passing it through
water, he brought it to the monarch, who filled it to the brim,
and, rising from his seat, exclaimed, " Pledge me, kings and
mighty leaders! Pledge me, in our last cup this night, death
to the slave Marcian, who has dared to slay the friend of
Attila!" and he drank off the wine at once.

He had not spared the cup throughout the night; and now
that deep draught had a visible effect. He felt it himself;
and, setting down the cup, leaned his head upon his hand for
a moment; then suddenly rose, and, bending slightly to his
guests, quitted the hall with an unsteady step. Several of his
chief attendants followed, but they returned the moment
after; and many of the leaders rose and quitted the hall, con-
versing, in low voices, on the varied events lately passed.
Others remained, and protracted the debauch ; but by the first
hour after midnight the pavilion of the King was void of its
guests, and all had returned to silence.

Amongst the first that left the hall were Ardaric and Vala-
mir; and, as they passed through the camp of the sleeping
Huns, they paused for a moment beside one of the tents in
which a light was burning, and from which might be heard
the voice of lamentation.

" Hark! Her slaves weeping over her unhappy fate!" said
Ardaric.

"What! did she not take them with her?" demanded Va-
lamir.

"Not one," replied Ardaric; "not one, I hear. Neva,
dead Bleda's daughter, who dwells in our tents with my own
children, reported that she went alone; and none has been
with her so much as Neva! She went alone, Yalamir; she
went alone to her abhorred task, whatever that task may be *
Let us early to-morrow to Attila, and let us go together. My
heart is not at rest!"

Within the tent by which they stood were, as Ardaric con-
jectured, the slaves and attendants of Ildica, weeping for theirattila.

347

mistress, wko had gone forth alone, solitary, unaided, unbe-
friended, in that awful hour of trial; and had gone so by her
own choice. Collected in the outer chamber of the tent she
had occupied, they mourned as for her funeral; but in the
inner chamber of that tent were others who mourned not less,
but whose mourning was mingled with a strange agitation
which was neither hope nor fear.

By the light of a lamp, holding high a wooden cross, stood
the hermit Mizetus, and at his feet knelt the fair girl Neva,
raising her eyes to the symbol of a new faith, which the
enthusiast had lately planted in her heart. Dark and obscure
as was his own knowledge of the truth, clouded by a be-
wildered brain and distorted by wild fancies, he had still been
able to show her a glimmering of the light which was after-
wards to shine upon her more fully. Both were pale and
haggard, and moved by the anticipation of great and terrible
events; and as they passed there the long hours of that dread-
ful night, the young, fair, lovely maiden kneeling at the feet
of that old ascetic, the tears poured down her cheeks in tor-
rents ; the sobs burst struggling from her young kind bosom;
and often the agony and apprehension of her heart convulsed
her form as if in the grasp of death.

"Fear not, fear not, my daughter!" would the hermit ex-
claim. "Fear not for her! fear not for us! There is a
mightier power than any on the earth to shield us! There is
a greater arm than ever drew mortal sword to defend us!
Even were we in the gates of death itself, I would bid thee
fear not; for God has broken the bonds of the grave asunder,
and provided a ransom to deliver us from hell itself!" Thus
did he speak through the livelong night, and thus did he try
to give her consolation and support; still bidding her not to
fear, till at length he said, u Fear not, maiden! fear not! Lo,
the night is past, and the morning is come, and after the dark-
ness in which we walk upon this earth shall come the light
of a brighter day! Fear not! fear not! I say unto you, Fear
not!"

CHAPTER XLV.

All was quiet amidst the splendour of the pavilion of Attila.
Not a sound was heard within its walls, though the light
of day had made the long morning shadows short, and the
squadrons of Huns had for some hours been moving in the
plains below. Ellac and his forces had gone forth with the
dawn of day to occupy the new ground appointed for the
evening halt; and two or three hundred thousand men had
followed some hours after. The heavier cavalry of the
Gepidae and Ostrogoths hung like dark clouds upon the848

ATTICA.

sloping hills, between which the river wandered; but while
the Huns themselves continued to march on, under their
several leaders, according to the commands they had received
upon the preceding evening, the forces of the two great
auxiliary nations remained stationary, waiting the orders
of their several kings.

Ardaric and Yalamir, followed by a large train of their
chief nobles, had ridden at an early hour to the pavilion
of their great leader, to felicitate Attila on his nuptials; and
now they waited with Onegisus and Edicon, in an inner apart-
ment of the pavilion, which served as antechamber to that in
which the mighty king reposed. They had remained there
several hours; and while Ardaric spoke in a louder tone with
Onegisus, Yalamir conferred with Edicon apart. Doubt and
anxiety, however, were now beginning to cloud the counte-
nances of all; and some of the inferior attendants from time
to time looked in, to see if the kings had yet been admitted to
the presence of their chief.

44This is very strange!" said Ardaric at length: "what
may it mean?"

" It will soon be noon!" said Yalamir; " and it is more
than strange, that he, who through life has risen daily with
the morning light, should show himself thus tardy."

" It were well to wake him," said Onegisus.

" Ay, if he may be wakened," muttered Ardaric, drawing
back the curtain which hung over an ornamented door ot
woodwork. u But what is here?"

Each started forward at his sudden exclamation, and
beheld, welling from underneath the door, like water from
the shelf of a rock, and dabbling the rushes with which the
floor was strewed, a stream of dark gore, which had been
concealed by the curtain. They gazed upon it and then in
one another's faces for a moment; and no one found a voice,
till Onegisus, turning suddenly, as if to leave the chamber,
exclaimed, " I will call the attendants! We must force
the door!"

" On your life, Onegisus!" cried Ardaric, seizing him
in his powerful grasp, and drawing his sword—" You stir
not hence ! We must deal with this deed alone. Yalamir,
you are with me. Edicon, I can trust in you ; guard yonder
doorway!"

" What would the noble Ardaric ?" cried Onegisus; " why
grasp you me so tight, oh King ? I seek not to oppose your
will; for if I judge by yon dark blood aright, there is none in
all this camp greater than Ardaric. What would the mighty
king with his servant ? "

u I would nothing that is wrong, Onegisus!" repliedATTiLA.

349

Ardaric, freeing him from his grasp, as soon as he saw that
Edicon had placed himself before the door which led to the
outer halls ; "I seek nothing that is wrong ! I covet not the
greatiiess that thou talkest ofl I demand no pre-eminence!
valamir, my friend, are we not equal in all things? or, if
there be a difference, thou art superior to me in calm, consi-
derate wisdom, and no way inferior to me either in power or
right. What I seek, Onegisus, is this—only this! that we
who are here present may investigate this deed alone, and
take counsel together upon whatever exigency we may find
before us. Thou art a man of wisdom and of courage, and
true ever to thy word. Swear to me that thou wilt bear
a part in whatsoever we determine, in regard to the deed that
is past; that thou wilt join in whatever report we make
regarding the dark secrets of yon silent chamber; or we must
find means to silence thy tongue, lest it sow dissension amongst
the host, and give us over to the power of the enemy!"

" Willingly will I swear what you require, oh noble Ar-
daric!" replied Onegisus, " so far as regards the present
deed ; but if dissensions come—and I see that thy fears and
mine look the same way—I will not pledge myself to take any
given part. I will act freely as my judgment shall dictate,
when the time shall arrive! Rather than do otherwise,
I would bid you plunge your swords into my bosom even
now, and let me die before the doorway of my murdered
master!"

" Onegisus," replied Ardaric, in a solemn and melancholy
tone, " we know not yet what has befallen, but the oath that
thou hast pledged is enough. None loved Attila better than
Ardaric, while Attila remained himself; but we all feel that
Attila has been unjust! Now let us seek admittance here !"
and he struck upon the door with his clenched hand, ex-
claiming, " Ho ! does Attila sleep ? What ho! within there!
The sun stands high at noon !"

There was no answer ! All was as silent as the grave!

There came an awful pause, while each looked anxiously in
the face of the other. But then was heard a sound in the
outer chambers, and voices in high dispute; the tone of
a stranger, though speaking the Hunnish language well, de-
manding entrance ; and the tongues of the attendants refusing
him admittance. Then again were words spoken in the well-
known voice of Theodore, the son of Paulinus, u Out of my
way! By the God of battles I will cleave thee to the jaws!
Out of my way, I say ! Be it on thine own head, then, fool I
Tiiou strivest with a madman! Down!"

Then came a heavy fall.

" Give him admittance, give him admittance," cried Ardario850

ATTILA.

and Valamir in a breath : 44 oppose him not, Edicon! Poor
youth, he will find himself already avesnged;" but as he
spoke, the door burst open, and Theodore, with his naked
sword all bloody in his hand rushed in.

44 Stand, all without," cried Edicon, putting back those who
were following to seize him. 44 Leave us to deal with him.
The King has not yet come forth!" and closing the door
upon them, he drew across it the massive wooden bar that
hung beside it.

44 Oh Ardaric, Ardaric!" cried Theodore, a hast thou
betrayed me too?"

44 No, on my life, dear youth," cried the king of the Gepidse,
catching him in his powerful arms—44 we thought thee dead—
thou earnest not at the time !"

44How could I come?" cried Theodore—44Waylaid on
every shore, tossed by the tempest, turned back, delayed—
how could I come ? But unhand me, Ardaric, I am mad
with injury and revenge ; and I will in to yonder false, faith-
less tyrant, and die for my revenge !"

44 Theodore," said Ardaric, holding him still with his left
hand, but pointing with the other to the stream of blood
which flowed from beneath the door of Attila's chamber,
44 either the hand of some god, or her own, has avenged thee
and thy poor Ildica already!"

Theodore gazed on it for a moment, and an awful glow of
satisfaction rose in his countenance. Then darting forward
from the grasp of Ardaric, he laid his hand upon the door,
and attempted to open it. It resisted, and setting his power-
ful shoulder against it, he shook it with all his strength.
Again he shook it to and fro !—The fastenings within gave
way, and it burst open with a loud and sudden crash. Theo-
dore took a step forward, and then paused, while all the
others rushed in.

The light streamed down from windows near the roof,
and passing through the silken curtains, which both served
for ornament and to exclude the air of night, poured softened
into the chamber. It was an awful scene on which that calm
solemn light fell tranquilly.

There, on the floor, scarcely two paces from the door,
clothed in the same splendid robes, which, for the first and
last time in life, he had worn; with the jewelled circle on his
brow, the blazing diamonds on his broad chest and in his san-
dals, lay the dark and fearful monarch of the Huns, the victor
of a thousand fields, the mighty conqueror of unnumbered
nations!—Mighty no more ! Awful still! but awful in death,
and from a small spot on the silken vesture which covered
that breast* wherein for so many years had lain the fatfATTILA.

351

of empires, and the destiny of a would, proceeded the dark
stream of blood, thick and clotted, but not yet dried up,
which had once throbbed in that lion heart, and now had
left it, cold and vacant. The ground around was flooded
with the stream of gore; his vesture was soaked and dabbled
in it; but it was clear that he had fallen at once without
an effort or a struggle; for there he lay as calm as if in
sleep, with even a smile of joyous triumph on his lip, as he had
entered that fatal bridal chamber which was to be unto him
the hall of death.

It was an awful sight; but still more awful, still more
terrible was the object on which the eye rested, when it was
raised from Attila. A few cubits beyond him, in a seat,
wherein she had evidently waited his coming, sat Ildica, the
beautiful Dalmatian bride. On a table beside her stood
a lamp, just dying out; on her knee rested her right hand,
with the fair delicate fingers clasped tight round the hilt of a
small dagger, from the point of which some drops of blood
had fallen upon her snowy garments ; her other hand grasped
tight the arm of the chair. One of the shining tresses
of her long dark hair had dropped from the pin that held it,
and fallen upon her bosom, but in all else her dress was
as she appeared at the altar. Her cheek, her brow, her
neck, were clear and pale as alabaster. The only crimson
left was in her lips.

Some have written that she was weeping, but they lied!
She wept not. Not a drop of moisture was in her eye, though
its liquid light, pure and unquenched, beamed there as bright
as ever. But those dark lustrous eyes, as if the whole world
had vanished from her thoughts, as if for her the whole
universe, except one dark and fearful object, was annihilated,
were fixed immovably on the corpse of that mighty king,
whom no warrior had been found to conquer, but who had
fallen in the hour of joy, intemperance, and inconsummate
injustice, by her own weak, delicate hand.

The blows of Ardaric upon the door, the sound of his voice,
the crashing of the shivered fastenings, the tread of many
feet in that awful chamber, had not roused her, even in the
slightest degree, from that deep trance of overpowering
thought. Her ear seemed deafened, her eye blind, her lips
dumb, her whole form turned into stone, by the gorgon
aspect of the just but terrible deed which her own hand and
mighty resolution had achieved.

Well might she so remain; for the stern and resolute men
who now stood before her, accustomed as they were to blood
and slaughter in all the fiercest forms, prepared, too, as they
^vere for the sight of death, were, nevertheless, overawed by352

ATTILA.

that still, solemn, fearful scene, and stood for a space gazing
silently, as if they, also, were petrified with the objects they
beheld.

The first who raised his eyes from Attila was he to whom
that dim chamber contained an object dearer far than any
other thing on earth; and, gazing for a moment upon her, he
exclaimed, " Oh, Ildica! oh, beloved! thou hast been true
to me, indeed I"

The counter-charm was spoken; the beloved tones were
heard. Ildica raised her eyes, started from her seat, gazed
wildly upon him, and, with a loud piercing shriek, fell sense-
less at his feet.

Theodore threw his arm round her, caught her from the
ground, and, pressing her tight to his bosom, placed himself
opposite to the chieftains who had entered with him. Then
raising the drawn sword, which still remained in his hand,
towards the sky, he exclaimed, " Almighty God, I thank thee
even for this day! Ardaric, Yalamir, Onegisus, Edicon, call
in your warriors! call them in, and let them slay us together,
for this deed which she has done, and in which I glory ! Had
her hand not done it, mine should have striven to do it. Call
them in, and let them mingle our blood together. Thrilled
with the same emotions through life, and faithful unto death,
that blood may well flow forth at the same moment; and
still will it keep apart from that of Attila! Call them in!
call them in! or, if ye be generous, plunge your own swords
in our bosoms! Lo, here I drop my weapon, and offer you
my throat!"

"Onegisus," said Ardaric, "Attila has died in doing an
injustice. What sayest thou!"

Onegisus paused, and looked down, while many emotions
were evidently contending in his breast. At length he raised
his eyes to Ardaric, and said, "It must not be known that
Attila died by the hand of a woman!"

" Wisely bethought!" cried Ardaric. "The shame would
travel through the whole world! Let it be given forth that
Attila has slain himself. See, she has dropped the dagger.
Let it be laid beside him."

" Not so," said Yalamir; " that were a still greater shame!
Let it be said that he died from the bursting of his mighty
heart after the intemperance of last night's revel: and that
we found him suffocated in his blood, and the bride—as all
may see her carried forth—in a dead swoon from terror."

" But what shall be her fate?" demanded Onegisus; "what
shall be her doom hereafter ? "

" Onegisus," replied Ardaric, solemnly, " thou hast a wife
whom thou lovestl thou hast a daughter dear unto thin§ATTILA.

358

heart! Look upon yon fair girl, and think she is thy child.
Kemember the terrible cause that she has had; remember
that her mind, as all of us have seen, has wandered since the
tale of this youth's death; remember all that thou wouldst
remember were she thy child, and then say what shall be her
doom!"

Onegisus turned away his head; and stretching forth his
right hand, " Let her go free !" he said ; " let her go free !
But if it come to Ellac's ears, fearful will be the conse-
quences."

" Fearful to those who fear him," replied Ardaric, his lip
curling with scorn. " She shall go safe. Yalamir, Edicon,
what say ye ? "

" Let her go safe !" replied Edicon.

" She has done a great deed of sovereign justice," replied
Yalamir, more boldly. " Let him blame her who will. I
give her mighty honour! Let her go safe!"

"All are agreed 1" cried Ardaric. "Edicon, my friend,
call up to the antechamber my train and that of Yalamir, and
let her be carried instantly hence; not to her own tent
though, but to mine, under the care of my wife. I can trust
thee, Edicon, from what passed between us yesterday—I can
trust thee. Take this ring! Bid my squadrons come down
hither with all speed !

"And my brave Goths," added Yalamir, "shall glide
down and interpose between us and the Huns. Theodore,
stay thou with us. Yalamir and Ardaric pledge their hands
to thee for thy safety, and the safety of thy bride."

Theodore stood as one dumb; for life was a thing which
had passed from his thoughts and his hopes, and he had only
longed to die with her he loved. Eagerly, however, did he
grasp the hands of Ardaric and Valamir, and willingly did he
entrust the fair inanimate form of that unhappy but heroic
girl to the noble friends who had interposed to save them
both. Borne upon a couch from that fatal chamber, he be-
held her carried forth towards the tents of Ardaric; and in a
few minutes after, the faithfulness of Edicon to his trust was
displayed by the rapid movement of the Gepidae down to-
wards the pavilion. Dark and powerful, the squadrons swept
around, while the Goths of Yalamir marched on likewise,
and cut off the spot where the corpse of the mighty king
reposed, from the great body of the Hunnish cavalry. Nor
was their appearance too soon; for all, by this time, within
the pavilion and without, was a scene of clamour and con-
fusion, which might well have ended in bloodshed, had not
the two monarchs possessed power at hand to enforce obe-
dience to their commands.

%854

ATTILA.

uThe decease of Attila was already known, and consterna-
tion was spreading amongst the ranks of the Huns. The
report, too, was not wanting, that he had met a violent death!
but those only were admitted to view the body upon whom
the chiefs who had first seen it could depend ; and the word
of Onegisus satisfied the great mass of the people. Mes-
sengers, however, were despatched to Ellac, and the other
children of the dead monarch, with all speed, by the chiefs
of the Huns, who had remained behind; but Ardaric and
Yalamir took every precaution in order to meet in arms,
should it be needful, either the natural thirst for vengeance
of the young monarch, or the first outbursts of characteristic
insolence, which his newly-acquired power might call forth.

Instant preparations also were made for rendering back
unto the bosom of the earth, the clay of that mighty being
who had so long proved its scourge ; and the commands of
the two great chieftains enjoined, that all which barbarian
splendour could effect should be done, to give magnificence
to the interment of Attila.

Ere nightfall the messengers reached the camp of Ellac;
and had they found him there, he might have returned in
time to discover the manner of his father's death ; but Ellac
had gone forth with a large train, to enjoy one of the favourite
sports of the Huns, a torchlight hunting in the neighbouring
forests ; and he returned not to his tents till the dawn of the
following day. Ere mid-day, however, he had reached the
pavilion where all that remained of Attila reposed ; but, by
that time, the body was enclosed in a triple coffin, of iron, of
silver, and of gold; and if he then entertained a suspicion,
which he probably did, the aspect of the united Gepidse and
Goths taught him to restrain any expression that might bring
on the straggle which all men saw must ultimately come, be-
fore he had rendered himself certain of the support of all the
tribes of Huns, and prepared all the resources of his nation.

That support was doubtful; those resources were by him
untried, Ellac stood beneath the crimson tent, under which
they had laid the body of Attila, and gazed upon the golden
coffin of his mighty father; but no voice hailed him successor
to his power!

CHAPTER XLYI.

A second, a third day had passed, and it was night; and,
kneeling humbly before a small black cross, with tears continu-
ally streaming from her eyes, was that fair girl whose unhappy
fate had led her from the sweet tranquillity of the domestic
home-—the home which love, and fancy, and hope had taught
her to prize as the brightest lot on earth—to scenes of strife,ATTILA.

855

and turbulence, and toil, to cares unceasing, and to acts which,
purchased by the agony of her own spirit and the blasting of
her own hopes, had changed the fate and wrought the deliver-
ance of a world.

It was night; and she wept and prayed alone. An hour
more, and she was to be borne, guarded in safety by a strong
band of warriors, from a camp where, with the light of the
ensuing morning, a ceremony was to be performed which
might well end in general bloodshed : and she wept and
prayed in silence ; wept the blighting of her dearest wishes :
wept her own fate, and the fate of him she loved; prayed
forgiveness for an act she had been taught to consider righte-
ous, and holy, and sanctified, but for which her own heart
smote her, even though by it she had won her own deliver-
ance. She prayed forgiveness for that act, heroic, mighty,
beneficial as it was; and, while the whole Christian world
raised up the thankful hands, and praised God for their
deliverance, she besought His pardon for the deed that had
achieved it.

Solemn and sad was the scene presented by that tent, as
there, still exquisite in beauty, she knelt before the cross; and
the solitary lamp, casting its full light upon her, showed those
graceful lines and lovely features too truly expressive of utter
despair. After a while, she strove to dry the fountain of
her tears, though those tears, bitter as they were, had been a
relief to her overloaded heart. She thought she heard a
sound, and rose from before the cross. It was but to be
caught in the arms of him she loved.

He pressed her to his bosom; and, for a moment, she lay
there, while joy ecstatic—-joy worth ^ears of suffering—
thrilled through her heart, and took away all power to speak,
to think, or to resolve.	^ , V

The next instant, however,^e ^ftart&I upl and struggled
from his arms, exclaiming wildly, " Touch me noj,! Touch
me not! Oh, Theodore, touch me not! I am ijnworthy that
thou shouldst touch me. "	4 v ^ > *

Theodore paused, and gazed upon her: and over Kis face
there gathered the cloud of uncertainty and apprehension.
A doubt, a suspicion, horrible, fiery, agonising, maddening,
rushed through his brain, and he exclaimed, uOh, God! is
it possible ? Have I then lost my Ildica—my pure, my holy,
my beloved?"

Written on his countenance, she saw the dreadful though
that crossed his mind; she heard it in the deep despair that
shook his voice. "No, no!" she cried, lifting her eyes
towards the sky; " no, no! As there is a God in heaven—
as there is redemption for all sins—I am thine, thine only,

z 2856

ATTTLA.

thine faithfully, thine in every thought, in heart, mind, body!
thine alone!"

"<Then come to my arms!" cried Theodore; " come to my
arms, and be my own for ever, brightest, dearest, most beau-
tiful, and most beloved!"

44 Oh, no, no, Theodore!" she answered sadly; 44 oh, no,
no! never can I be thine except in spirit and in love. This
hand has lain in the hand of the barbarian. This hand has
been dyed in the blood of his heart. This hand never, never
can be given to thee in wedlock, pure, and noble, and virtuous
as thou art."

44 Nay, nay, Ildica," he said, twining his arms round her,
and pressing her closer to his bosom—" nay, nay; but hear
me. Sit down here by your own Theodore, your brother,
your lover, your promised husband."

She sobbed violently, and her tears deluged his bosom.
"Listen to me, my Ildica," he continued, seating himself
with her on the side of the couch, and still pressing her to
his heart. "Is my happiness nothing to Ildica, that now,
when fate at length unites us, her hand should sever the
dear bond for ever?" Her only answers were sobs. 44Hear
me" he said—-"hear me, Ildica. Thou hast done an act for
which all nations bless thee. Nor wert thou to blame for
any part therein. Thou hadst no other way to save thyself
from a fate far more terrible. Thou thoughtest that I was
dead! Flight was impossible, resistance vain!"

44 Listen to me, Theodore," she said, raising her head, and
looking on his face more calmly, but still sadly and gloomily
—14 listen to me, and thou shalt see that I know, and have
calculated, and pressed forth the honey from each excuse, for
the act that I have committed. I will tell thee all—I can
tell thee all—for my reason and my memory are now clear,
and I can look back upon the past, as upon a picture, wherein
I can see my own image acting a part involuntarily in mighty
and awful deeds. Listen to me, then, beloved; and while I lie
here and repose, for the last time in life, upon that dear rest-
ing place whereon I had hoped to cradle all my after years,
I will tell thee all, all the dark thoughts, and sad memories
of the past. Thou hast heard how my mother died, and how
a violent and a raging sickness deprived me for long of sense.
Never after that, Theodore—never, after I awoke and found
myself alone in all the world, thee absent, my mother gone,
Ammian, Eudochia, far away—never do I think that my mind
regained its tone. It was as a bow which the strong arm of
misfortune had stretched too far, and though it sprang back
in a degree, it never became straight and powerful as before.
Then came all the horrid visions of the barbarian's love; butAtffffiL

357

tthder all those trials I struggled, as my Theodore might
have seen and approved. Amidst them all, there is not one
memory lies heavy at my heart. I bore up with fortitude : I
resisted with courage: 1 pleaded, as I fancied, with success.
But then at length, as hope, bright hope was rising up, and
telling me that a week, a day, an hour might bring thee to
me, suddenly, and without preparation, they told me that
tliou wert dead. They left me to believe that thou hadst
been murdered by command of him who sought my love. Oh,
God! I can scarcely think of it even now." She continued
clasping her hand upon her forehead.

But after a moment she went on, with a deep sigh,—
"Well, there fell upon me a cloud; I walked amidst those
around me, as one walking in a mist. I saw little, I knew
little, of all that surrounded me. Brief snatches of what
was said I understood. People came and disappeared like
figures in a thick fog, and voices sounded in mine ear as of
distant persons, that one sees not, heard talking in a dark
night. But amongst those voices was one," and her voice
rose, " which taught me a lesson of high daring, which
showed me holy authority for a deed of blood which called
upon me night and day to deliver the earth from her
scourge, the nations from their destroyer, the people of God
from their oppressor and their enemy. Night and day that
voice told me that I was the appointed, the chosen of the
Lord, to do His will upon His adversary. It told me, that for
this I had been made hopeless, and rendered desolate : for
this I had been cast into the hands of the barbarians: for
this had the infidel king been made to cast the eyes of passion
upon me. Oh, Theodore! that voice but strengthened ideas
which I had already conceived; it but nerved my heart to
deeds that I had already contemplated. I had promised my
mother that, in the time of trial, I would act as one of my
ancestors would have acted: I had promised my own heart,
that I would die sooner than suffer the love of any but thy-
self. There was, as thou hast said, no escape; there was no
resistance. I was called to the sacrifice of the bridal, by a
command not an invitation; and I went in the strength of
madness and despair to slay the slayer of my father, my hus-
band, and my people ; to cut short deeds of blood, by one as
dark and terrible ; and to prevent the accomplishment of that
fearful vow, which he had made, to lay the Eastern world in
ashes, and to leave not a blade of grass or a living soul
between the Danube and the Hellespont. Three fearful lots
were laid before me, to choose which I would. They were—
to abhor myself for ever, as the slave of Attila' 3 foul passions
—to slav myself to escape him—or to slay him, and, thougk858

ATTILA.

my certain death should follow, thus free the Christian
world, and deliver the nations from the sword of the de-
stroyer. I chose, oh, Theodore, the bolder and the mightier
deed : I chose that which I believed was justified in self-
defence, which was beneficial to the human race, which I had
been told was pleasing unto God. I chose it with an un-
shrinking heart, a keen eye, and a steady hand. But remem-
ber, oh remember, that I vowed no vow; that I promised no
promise unto him; that I stood passive, while they mut-
tered, and they sacrificed, and never, never gave the hand he
took. Kemember, that at that very altar, where he sealed
his own fate, when solemnly adjured to tell the truth, he
swore to me that thou wert dead, and lost to me for ever. I
had no choice, I had no hope, I had no safety! But when he
fell, and lay before me, the dark blood spouting from his
stricken side, and the quivering heel smiting the ground in
the agonies of death, the justification passed away; the ter-
rible thing that I had done absorbed all thought, and feeling,
and sensation. Then immediately you rushed in.—No, it
could not be immediately, though it seemed so unto me ; but
what passed I know not, till your voice called me for a
moment to recollection ; and joy, and horror, and despair
cast me senseless again."

Theodore pressed her tenderly to his bosom. " And does
not this show," he said—" does not all this show, that thou
shouldst be dearer than eyer to my heart ? Does not this
show, that thou, whpse every feeling through life has been
given to me, should through my future days be the object of
all my love, and care, and tenderness ? Yes, yes, my Ildica;
my bosom shall be thy resting place, my arms thy shield, my
heart thy sanctuary, my ear the willing listener to every
sorrow and to every care, my voice the soother of thy griefs,
the consolation for all that is painful in memory. Theodore
will devote his life unto thee; his every thought, his every
hope, his every wish-"

M Forbear, forbear, Theodore," she cried; " for Ildica's
life must be given up to God. From this day forth, no hour
shall fly—but those in which He sends His blessed sleep to
allay tne fiery memories of the past—without some prayer
for pardon; without some petition for light in this world of
darkness, without some act of penitence, of adoration, of
thanksgiving: What I have told thee, Theodore, should
make thee know, that in this I can never change; that I
have thought deeply over all that is past; and with restored
reason, and a clear intellect, there is but one place for me on
earth,—the calm and tranquil cell in some solitary sisterhood,
where I may devote, as far as love for thee will let me, all

859

my thoughts to God. Oh, Theodore, be contented! In
those thoughts thou wilt share enough* Thou, thou alone
art my ol>ject upon earth, round which still cling the garlands
of sweet flowers that fond hope and young aff ection twined in
the days gone by. Oh, Theodore! those flowers are all im-
mortals; the dew of memory shall preserve them still, as
bright as when first we wreathed them in the golden past.
Their sweet odour shall still endure to perfume the very latest
hours of life; and let us hope—ay, let us hope, that, with a
garland in our hand, a garland of those same immortal
flowers of love, we may meet, ere long in heaven! Oh,
Theodore! that life may have been terrible, painful, dis-
astrous, but never can be useless, that makes us look forward
with hope and joy to a better being and a nobler state." She
gazed upwards for a moment, then cast herself upon his
bosom and wept.

He held her to his heart in silence, for there was a sacred -
ness in her sorrow, an elevation in her purpose, which he
dared not combat at that moment, though the hope of chang-
ing it was not extinct. Gladly, however, did he hear her,
after a long pause given to the bursting forth of that deep
emotion—gladly did he hear her revert to a less painful, a
less agitating theme. " Eudochia," she said—u Eudochia
and Ammian ; tell me, Theodore, are they well and happy?"
?" I left them so, beloved," he replied, u and trust they are
so still; but that is long agp, for I have been delayed by every
disaster that can befall the traveller on his way. Tempest and
shipwreck, storm and enemies, the darkness of sixteen days
upon the wide sea, a host of insidious foes lining the shore,
obstacles, which the might of man could not overcome, tortured,
impeded, delayed me; and I am here with scarce ten of all
my followers left alive, and with my own life a miracle even
$nto myself. When I left my sister and thy brother, however,
they were well and happy; she full of smiles and hopes; and
he, though graver—calmer I should say, than he was, yet
looking thoughtful happiness, whenever he gazed on his
own dear bride. They are both happy—most happy; and we
may be so too. Yes, yes, my Ildica, brighter thoughts will
come ; I will see thee this night depart towards our own laud
with joy and thankfulness; and will follow thee with a more
rapid pace ere two days be over. We have none but each
other left, my Ildica, to cling to in the world; and our prayers,
our thanksgiving, our adoration, will rise as gratefully to the
heavenly throne, from two united hearts, thankful for mutual
love and mutual happiness, as from two separate beings, torn
asunder, when they loved the most, and ending in solitary
misery a life that has already known some sorrows."mo

ATTILA.

She shook her head; and murmured, " It cannot be !'*
But Theodore would not believe aught but the voice" of
hope ; and he pressed her closer to his heart. " Hark!" he
said, after a moment; " there is the litter and the train of
horsemen that accompany thee ! Adaric has fully provided for
our safety till we reach the borders of our own lan 4."

There was the sound of a step in the outer tent; and the
curtain, which divided it, was raised. So often had misfortune
stricken her, so continually had the wave of evil tidings been
poured upon her ear, that, even at that slight sound, Ildica
started, crept closer to the breast of her lover, and gazed
forward with a frightened glance upon the moving curtain.
The form that appeared, however, was not one to inspire fear;
it was that of Neva, now pale as Ildica herself, but scarcely
less lovely. She was covered with a mantle of furs, and a
hood of fine sable was drawn partly over her head.

On seeing Theodore with Ildica, she paused and hesitated;
and either the lamp, flickering with the wind of the moving
curtain, cast for a moment a red light upon her countenance,
or else the blood mounted up into her cheek, and then rushing
back again, left it as pale as before.

"Ildica, dear Ildica," she said, again advancing, "all is

ica's fortitude returned. It was only in anticipation she
was timid. " And must I part with thee, too, dear Neva?"
she said; "with thee, to whom all my consolation during the
last sad month is owing ? Must I part with thee, too—and for
ever?"

" No, Ildica, no," answered Neva. " I go with thee, wher-
ever thou goest. Whatever be thy fate, dear sister of my
heart, sister in misfortune and disappointed hopes, with thee
will I go, if it be to the uttermost parts of the earth. Thy lot I
will share, thy sorrows I will soothe, till I see thee at length
rewarded with happiness; and then, as a distant gazer upon a
beautiful scene, I will look on from afar, and thank God for
the brightness of the evening."

Ildica cast her arms around her, and melted into tears; and
then, suddenly raising her head, she gazed upon the lovely
countenance of Bleda's daughter, and turned, as if with the
inspiration of sudden hope, towards Theodore. " Oh, Theo-
dore, Theodore!" she exclaimed; " thou mayest be happy yet."

He seemed to gather her meaning in a moment. " Hush!"
he e«claimed in a tone almost rendered stern by the very
vehemence of his feelings. "Hush, hush, Ildica!—By the
sacred purity of thine own heart—hush!"

He cast his arms around her, and pressed her to his bosom;
and then, knowing how valuable every moment of that nightattila.

361

fiiight be, he gently drew her onward towards the litter, which
sfr«0d without, surrounded by a large body of the barbarian
horsemen. Adaric was there, but he gazed on Theodore and
Ildica in silence; and the young Roman, raising her in his
arms, placed her himself in the double litter. He assisted Neva
to follow and seat herself by Ildica's side. "Farewell, Neva!"
he said; u gentle, excellent girl, farewell! Theodore will ever
love you as a brother. Ildica, my bride, my promised, my
beloved, farewell! Ere two days be over, I will follow thee on
thy way."

She suffered him to embrace her again as she lay on the
litter, and she returned the embrace. But, as her cheek lay
on his shoulders, she murmured, 4 4 Farewell, beloved of my
youth! beloved shalt thou still be, even unto death; but hope
no vain hopes, Theodore; Ildica is vowed unto prayer, and
unto repentance. Farewell for ever I"

The litter moved on; the dull sound of the horses' feet was
hea^d upon the grass; the last horsemen filed away over the
hillthe sounds of the departing force grew fainter and more
faint; the noises of the several camps around rose louder on the
ear; and Ardaric laid his hand upon Theodore's arm, saying,
" They are gone! Let us to counsel, my friend."

CHAPTER XLVII.

It was a fair autumn day, and the mighty clouds which swept
from time to time over the deep blue sky served not to lessen,
but rather to increase the brightness of the face of nature. In
the centre of the plain, whicn lay between two wide sloping
hills, was erected a tent of crimson silk, the awnings of which,
festooned on high, exposed to view, raised on a low platform,
a coffin of burnished gold.*

The space around, for the distance of two bow-shots on every
side, was kept clear; but beyond the limits of that open ground,
in one wide-spreading ring, extended the dusky line of bar-
barian warriors, whose hands had carried desolation into the
heart of so many sunshiny and prosperous lands. Deep was
the phalanx of those dark warriors, as, each mounted on his
battle-steed, they sat in grim array around the body of their
king. The whole plain was occupied by their multitude; and
while the soldiers and chiefs themselves thus formed in regular
order a living amphitheatre below, the women, the children,
and the slaves swept up the hills around, and gazed upon the
awful spectacle.

After the first confusion incident to giving form and array to

* Let it be understood that such particulars are not imaginary
Attila was buried with the rites hero described.862

ATTILA.

such a vast body of men had subsided, the sad and solemn
occasion of their meeting, the important and terrible events
that were likely to ensue, kept even the rude barbarians
bushed around; and though the dull stamping of the horses,
unconscious of the cause of halt, raised a murmuring sound,
the human voice was not heard, throughout that mighty host,
or at most a low whisper rustled through the ranks.

At length two groups separated themselves from either side,
and, advancing for a short space into the arena, dismounted
from their horses, and approached the tent on foot. On the
one side appeared Ellac, the son of the dead king, and three
of his brethren, of whom Ernac, the youngest, was one ; white
Onegisus and Orestes, a- favourite officer of Attila's, accom-
panied them towards the tent. On the other hand appeared
Ardaric and Yalamir, Theodore and Edicon, with two inferior
chiefs of tributary nations.

All were unarmed, as had been before agreed; and, with
branches of oak in their hands, they one by one entered the
tent, and laid the leafy offering on the bier of Attila. His
children and the two Hunnish chieftains stood on the one side
of the coffin, and the two kings with their companions on the
other; and, after gazing for a time on the gold that covered
the ashes of the mighty king, they raised their eyes to each
other, and it was e-viaerit that but little love existed between
those who were there face to face.

There came an uneasy pause; and then Ardaric, breaking
silence, said, "Are we not here, oh Ellac! to celebrate the
funeral of that mighty king, who, for so many years, has led
us on to battle,and to victory? If so, let us plight our hands
unto eaeh qther, that, lor two days^allsubjectsof debate which
may arise, either between me and thee, or between the nation
of the Huns and the confederate nations which for so long have
borne them company in war, shall be laid aside, and that we
shall live together for those two days as friends and brethren
united in common love and reverence for the mighty dead."

Ellac gazed at him with a fierceness that he could scarce
subdue ; and, after a violent struggle with himself, replied,
u So shall it be, oh Ardaric! when thou hast satisfied me o£
one thing. Ere I clasp the hand of any man in amity, even
if "that amity be to last but for two days, I will know whether
the hand offered to me be pure from my father's blood. Of
late thou hast been heard to murmur at the will of the king
-r-to condemn his actions—to say that he was changed—to
declare the executions that his will ordained, unjust: ay, and,
meddling even in his domestic life, to oppose, till his own

wrath was excited, his taking to his bed a pitiful Dalmatian
g&^.n ^AlTIlX

zm

Theodore'sJiani grasped for the hilt of his sword; but
fortunately the weapon was away.

u 0$ the day of my father's death," continued Ellac, 41 comes
back yonder Roman, the affianced husband of this slight
womanly toy, wherewith Attila chose to solace his hours of
idleness. Thou and some few others are together in the ante-
chamber of the king, when the viper he has nourished in Ms
bosom returns. The king is found drowned in his blood. All
this is strange, oh Ardaric!"

" Ellac," replied Ardaric sternly and solemnly, " darest thou
to accuse me of the murder of thy father, or of sharing in
any way in his death ? Ardaric was the friend of Attila, but
the enemy of those faults which, alas! were growing but too
thick upon him. But I tell thee, Ellac, that, perchance, the
thought of slaying Attila might be more familiar to the heart
of his own son than to the breast of Ardaric!—Silence! and
hear me," he continued, in a voice of thunder, seeing that
Ellac was about to interrupt him—" Silence! and hear me to
an end : then answer 1 I know thine inmost thoughts, oh
Ellac! But here I swear," and he laid his broad hand upon
the coffin, 41 by the immortal gods, and by the blood of Attila!
that neither I nor mine, nor one here present with me, is
guilty of the death of the mighty king—contrived, or aided,
or executed his murder. Now, oh Ellac, if thou art still un-
satisfied, let this triple coffin be opened, and thou and I will
separately place our hands upon the heart of Attila, calling on
him to show who most conspired, longed for, thought of,
planned the death of that great king. Then shall we see at
whose touch his blood will soonest now!"

Ellac turned away his head—"It is enough," he said:
"thine oath will satisfy me!"

A bitter and indignant smile curled the lip of Valamir at
his reply. '' Since thou art satisfied, Ellac," he said, " pledge
us thine hand, that here, meeting in peace, at the funeral of
thy father, we his friends, the companions of his toils, the
sharers in his successes, may in peace also offer to his ashes
the honours due to the mightiest monarch, the greatest con-
queror, the most heroic warrior that earth has ever seen, or
shall see! Pledge us thy hand, that for this day and the next,
peace, and amity, and good faith shall reign between the Huns
and the nations we command, and let every question which
may cause dispute or division be postponed till those days
have passed."

Ellac hesitated:—" Yonder is the grave," he said at length,
pointing to a deep pit and a high mound of earth, which had
been cast up to form it. 4 4 Yonder is the grave* Thou knowest,
Ardaric, that the blood of slaves and captives must be shed,564

AtTitA.

as a sacrifice, on the spot where rest the bones of Attila.
Thou wouldst not send the spirit of the mighty king upon its
long journey through the realms of night "with no attendant
shades around it. I claim a sacrifice; and as the first who
follows the great monarch to the pastures of the dead, I claim
the bride that he had wedded on his night of death; I claim
her he had made his own in the sight of heaven and earth, to
follow him whithersoever the gods shall appoint him to go!"

" Out on thee, fiend!" cried Theodore; " out on thee, un-
just and barbarous man! Lover of blood, faithless, false, and
insolent; no bride of Attila's was she; no sacrifice shall she
be to the demon of thy mighty father—to the manes of him,
who, had he been as pitiful and as contemptible as his son,
would never-"

"Hush, hush!" cried Ardaric, laying his hand upon his
arm—"hush, hush, Theodore! Provoke not quarrel now!
Ellac, what thou demandest is impossible. Were she even
here in the camp, my honour, and the glorious name of Attila
himself, would demand, that she, whose hand had lain in his,
should be held sacred, so long as Ardaric had a sword to wield
in her defence. But she is far hence. Long, long miles
separate us from her; and ere thou or thine could reach her,
she would be safe in her own land. If thou wilt swear peace,
why well! but seek not to delay us longer with vain and idle
pretexts!"

"Pretexts!" exclaimed Ellac furiously; "proud leader,
who art thou, to talk to me of pretexts ? Who is king here
on the Pannonian soil, that thou shouldst beard me thus ? "

" Beard thee!" cried Ardaric with a scornful laugh. "Who
is king here ? why, beardless boy, Ardaric is king as well as
thou art! Thy father's friend, but not his servant; hi3 ally,
not his subject, serving him well and truly from love and ad-
miration ; but owing him nothing, no, not an ounce of gold!
Speakest thou to me as if thou wert Attila? Poor worm!
know thyself better; and if thou wouldst know who is king,
three days hence, I will give thee an answer—ay, such an
answer as the world shall never forget—written with steel, in
characters of blood. But let us now have peace! If thou wilt
now swear to deal faithfully with us, say so at once. If not,
lo we mount our horses, and we draw our swords. But upon
thee and thine, be the shame and the disgrace of dishonouring
thy father's ashes. We offer thee peace, to perform the rites
due to the ashes of the mighty king—take it or refuse it, now,
and at a word."

Onegisus caught the arm of Ellac, as he was about to reply,
and Whispered with him eagerly for several minutes. Ellac
looked down sullenly on the ground for a moment, and thenATTILA.

m

raising lii3 eyes, replied, " Peace! let it be peace for those
two days! I swear to keep it inviolate by the ashes of my
father, and by the eternal gods. But after that, oh Ardaric,
will come the trial between thee and me. The hosts that'have
conquered under Attila shall not be divided under his son.
Let our strength be tried, and if thou canst break the chain
that I will put about thy neck, thou shalt drag Ellac after thee.
Three days hence, at the third hour after sunrise, I will wait
for thee in the plains beside the river Netad, where late I
pitched my tents on the day of my father's death. There
shalt thou find me, and if thou comest not to me, I will seek
thee, and I will bow thy proud head to the dust. As for yon
paltry Roman, if he come with thee, he shall find the late
that he deserves. Perhaps he may not die—his blood is too
like water to be worth the spilling. Shorn, mutilated, crop-
ped, and his flesh marked with the burning steel, he shall stand
amongst the slaves of Ellac, and wash the vessels from his
master's table."

"Ellac," answered Theodore,, calmly, " Ellac, I will come!
and if the God of battles abandon me not now, I will give
unto thee a better fate than that which thou wouldst grant to
me. On the third day hence look thou well unto the dawning
sun, for if I live, thou never shalt see it rise again. For these
two days, however, let us all swear peace !"

"We swear! we swear!" they cried, and laid their hands

upon the bier of Attila.

* - * * * * * * * *

The dark squadrons began to move, a thousand horsemen at
a time; and with a slow and solemn pace they approached the
tent where lay the body of the mighty king, wheeling round
it once, with still decreasing speed, as if reluctant to pass for
the last time before him who had so often led them on to
victory. Ever as they went, with downcast looks, they sung
to a wild and melancholy air the song of the departed great.

When each squadron had performed its round, it took its
place once more in the vast circle, and another succeeded and
performed the same sad rite, till, at length, when the sun's
course had waned to less than an hour of light, the whole had
completed the task. Then ten of the greatest chieftains
lifted the golden coffin, and, placing it on their crossed
spears, bore it towards the grave.

As they advanced, the circle of the Huns, rendered skilful
in such an evolution by their practice in hunting, grew
smaller and smaller, pressing into a narrower ring; and
forth from amongst them were driven a crowd of pale and
ghastly wretches, who knew the fatal hour of their immo-
lation nigh, and yet, with vain and fruitless hopes, looked866

ATTLLA.

round for impossible escape. That iron ring was at length
narrowed to less than a bow-shot in diameter; and some
hundred or more of the chief warriors pushing their horses
forward drove the trembling slaves on to the brink of the
pit.

The golden coffin was slowly lowered down into the grave.
Those who were behind pressed onward to behold. The
swords of the nearest warriors leaped from their sheaths;
waved above the heads of the victims, and a loud and fearful
shriek rang up to the offended sky. Jewels, and gold, and
precious stones, were showered in from all hands amongst the
blood and writhing bodies that half filled up that horrible
tomb. Then piled they in the cold grey soil, till it rose in a
mount high above the rest of the land. They covered it with

the turf they had removed.—Night fell, and all was done.
* * * * *

An old man stood upon a hill and gazed, and though
arrows fell at his feet, still he looked forth upon a wide-spread
grassy plain, where two mighty hosts had been contending,
from the third hour after the dawn of day till the fourth hour
following noon. They had met, myriads upon myriads; but
now, thin and scanty was the field, and few and weary were
the combatants; but still that old man gazed, and still his
voice murmured forth, "Lord God Almighty, thou dealest
righteously! The slayers of all men are slain by their own
swords!"

At length, where flowed a rivulet on to the neighbouring
river, those two dark armies seemed separated for a space, and
rolled, like two thunder-clouds ready to meet, at a little dis-
tance from either bank: then^ Hke lightning from those
clouds, sprang forth two gallant men, borne on towards eaeh
other by their fiery chargers, as swiftly and unwearied as if
throughout that day there had neither been fatigue nor strife.
The one was habited as a Roman, and his steed, plunging in
the stream, bore him to the other bank ere his adversary
could reach it. They met; their swords waved in the air;
the eyes of the beholders were dazzled; but, in a moment
after, the barbarian was seen bending to his saddle-bow. A
second deep stroke descended on his neck, and falling head-
long, he rolled a corpse, upon the plain !

The Gepidse poured across the stream: the Huns fled in
disarray; slaughter and destruction hung upon their rear, and

the mighty fabric of Attila's empire was at an end for ever.

* * * * * *

Nearly thirty years after, when the empire of the West
was at an end, and the empire of the East revived for a time,
with a show of false prosperity, a powerful man, clothed inth$ATTILA.

867

splendid arms of a praetorian praefect, wandered up one of the
low hills which border the Illyrian shore. He was led by a
woman, on whose fiair countenance remained the traces of
splendid beauty; and whose deep blue eyes Still retained an
expression of deep devoted tenderness, though that tender-
ness Was now given to the highest object of human feelings*
She was clothed in the habit ot a recluse, such as was then
common, and the way they took was towards the cemetery of a
solitary nunnery. The guards of the prsefect remained bo-
low; but he himself was admitted by a special favour; and,
passing through the little wicket gate into the calm and silent
spot where reposed the ashes ot the holy and the pure,
they came, after a few steps, to a grave covered with
fresh turf.

u She lies there!" said Neva—and Theodore cast himself
down upon the grave of Ildica, and wept.

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