Chapter 3
Sudden, while OLIVE gazed, she thought a flame Sprang from her feet, when looking, startled, down, She saw the glory of the rising sun Touching the pinnacle of sparkling ice On which she stood. Silent and rapt she gazed While thousand golden flames on thousand spires Were low and lower lit; and here and there Some broad plain glimmered into sudden white-- And frozen cataracts which, in daring leaps Midway between vast depths were holden tight, Gleamed out like streams of gold:--Thus, one by one, The wonders of that soulless land appeared, While grey and ghast, behind the sparkling towers Of gorgeous Thug, the ancient Night stooped down.
WOLE gnashed his teeth and turned again to smite The helpless girl who pleaded; but the light Which angered him had beautified her so, That his cold breath grew moist upon his beard. The sunlight melting in her eyes and flushing Her cheeks with rosy redness, crowned her hair With lustrous splendor, and about her form Fell like a robe of glory, warm and soft.
"Mortal!" he cried, while in the agony 'Twixt admiration and inherent hate, The sullen throbbing of his heart was seen Thrilling his moistened beard--"Pass from my sight! Thou makest old Thug's warrior drop his spear, And should that fair face beam on me eternal, Eternal I would swear the sun was good And OENE was no Queen. Yet I would rather, Crush thee beneath my feet, than be this traitor."
He would have thrust her rudely from his path. But she arose from off her bended knee, Turning her fair face from him, so her hair Hid its too touching beauty from his sight; Clasping her suppliant hands upon her bosom She spoke out wildly, as one weary waiting For long-expected good;--
"Oh, cruel WOLE! Where is my BERTHO in this mountain hidden?-- Shaping fantastic dreams of heartless OENE, With aching hands into a tangible beauty. How can'st thou keep two yearning souls apart? If _thou_ could'st feel what love is, mighty master Of loveless War, then thou would'st pity me!"
"Thou shalt behold thy lover, southern girl," Was WOLE's reply, and reaching round the rock Took up a horn shorn from some monster's head And blew in it a blast meant to be angry: Yet strangely pining from the curves it came, And went down wailing through the pallid sunlight, For it was born of the tumultuous sigh Stirred in his bosom by the lovely stranger.
Soon the sound smote against a pinnacle Which someway down the mountain had just caught The radiance of the morning, and now stood A ruby palace on a crystal base, With emrald towers and columns sapphire-hued: While at the summons, swift was lifted up A shining net-work from behind the columns, And out there flew two fair, unearthly sprites, With wings like birds of Paradise, and bodies Of shape uncertain; for so swiftly shifted Their rainbow hues amid enwreathing mists, That OLIVE likened them to those vagaries Born to the eyes that gaze upon the spray Of cataracts dashing in the sun. Their flying Made music like the flowing on of streams, They came and hovered in the air before her, While she regarded them with timid looks Of fear and pleasure, seeing not their features, But floating hair of gold, and beamy brightness As of white foreheads and blue, humid eyes. Next moment she was lifted from the earth, Encircled, as it were, by many rainbows, And rushing, bird-like, through the airy space: While a monotonous, soft and sleepy humming Rose all around and filled her drowsy ears. Brief time it was, 'till, with bewildered eyes, She saw her fairies vanish in a mist, Floating away in music, while she stood Alone, far down the mountain opposite The side that with such toil she just had climbed. She stood alone--and where? the roses shrank From her wan cheeks to view her new distress,-- Before her a dark chasm, and above her A crowd of close and overhanging rocks, All dripping, black, and hopelessly down-leant. A glimmering hope now broke upon her sense-- Seeing an arch, and, far beyond, the gleam Of lights that from some cavern stole away. Under the arch she passed and found herself Walking an ever-widening vista down, Fading from twilight to auroral glows And brightening into more than noon-day breadth And gorgeousness of light, until she paused Beneath the grand arch of that grand succession, Standing amazed, one slender hand upheld Shading her eyes, half blinded by that view Of Arctic-Nature and of Arctic-Art. In limitless magnificence the cave Before her spread, a world within a world.
She entered in, like Eve in Paradise Searching for Adam; and yet, oft beguiled From the great love-thought, by the sights she saw. If she glanced upward to the sparkling dome, The lamps, swinging like suns as far above, Shone down upon her beautiful young face, Smiling to see them dwarfed within her eyes. The crystal floor doubled her bashful feet; She saw no walls; but the refulgent space Was here and there disturbed by artful groups. Once, by a fountain passing, dulcet murmurs, Wooed her aside to listen; and, again, Temples, which mimicked the frost's fairy work, Burning with gems, attracted her to gaze. Music, from hidden sources, beat the air With wings of melody that flew abroad Beyond th' enchanted sense, and darting back Swept with a sweet vibration near her face. Thrice o'er her brow she drew her languid hand, That, if it were a dream, she might dispel The gay enchantment; and thrice murmured o'er The spells learned of her nurse in infancy, Which would all witchcraft render innocent; But that great cavern of the northern world Was not by nurse's spells to be dissolved, Growing more wond'rous, as she wondered more.
Now, 'neath her feet, the floor less polished grew, And fountains dashed from the unsculptured rock; She saw half-finished grottoes, fewer lights, And heard a discord in the melody As if of hammers and the shouts of workmen; Meanwhile her heart loudly began to beat.
"BERTHO! I have come, BERTHO!" she cried out, As the next moment, 'mid a swarthy group Of dusky laborers, a familiar form Raised itself from a shaft of phorphyry, And turned itself to hear that throbbing heart.
A light too glad for smiles came o'er the face, The shadowy face, uplifted from its toil, And, "OLIVE!" echoed back her eager cry.
The fairest sight that cavern ever saw Was that young girl holding her glowing arms To clasp her love; her sweet mouth all a-tremble, Her dark eyes flashing joy and tender tears, Her bosom fluttering in its snowy folds With sudden pleasure;--but, what clasped she? A shadow! Pale and silent she shrank back; Her lover folded up his hopeless arms; His face a melancholy so profound put on That OLIVE to his side again drew near.
"Is this one mystery of this mystic world-- This world of phantoms?" sighed the stricken girl. "Oh! why did hope keep life within my breast, And passion thrill me with strange fortitude? Why did I save the kisses of my lips For him who nevermore can give them back? Why did I smile to think my arms were soft When thus this spirit fades within their clasp? BERTHO!--that scornful Queen did tell me this. And yet I did not comprehend her words. There is no warmth nor beauty in this land! Its people have no hearts--know not of love-- Their thoughts are colder than their beds of snow. Indeed, this is no world!--but some vain dream, Troubling my sleep, and I cannot awake. Love then, is a deceitful fantasy-- BERTHO is dead--is dead--and yet not dead! Life is not life"--
Her wild, distrustful words Here ended, as she saw the bitterness Which stormed across the spirit's anguished face:--
"Forbear, poor child! thy pitiful complaints! When through these long years of distasteful toil I thought of thee, unceasing, day and night, Calling on heaven to bend thy steps towards me, I thought not that this spirit, weary, worn, And from the covering of its body torn, Its feeling could retain and substance lose. Fool that I was! to sigh for human love! Why art thou here to madden me with looks,-- Those womanly, caressing looks which fill My soul with wild desires! Back, to thy home, In that gold-girdled circle of daylight, That island of elysian loveliness, Where thou and I did'st one time idly dream! There breathe the passionate breath of orange-flowers-- Walk in the sunlight till thy brows are flushed With its warm kisses--plunge thy snowy feet In the embracing waves and silver sand-- Shake down magnolia-blossoms on thy hair-- Answer the nightingales' delicious song With thy sweet cries--and, on bright eves, look up And charm the moon upon her lingering way With that soft fire of thine entrancing eyes! Thou wilt not for regret or tears find time. Some lover, clothed in human dignity And tangible robes of life, will haunt thy steps, Drawing up, with magnetic looks, the smiles Which lie deep down in thy now tearful orbs; And, wiling from their blissful hiding-place, The bashful dimples to thy blushing cheeks, And,--it may be--with human eloquence, Beguile thy hand to rest within his own, Sitting, as we have sat,--thy glossy hair Rippling in golden waves across his breast."
"Can he be mad as well as dead?" the girl Murmured aside! and then her sorrowing brow She lifted proudly, while a sudden fire Sprang to her lips and eyes--her trembling voice Steadied itself on her unfaltering love.-- "Forgive me, BERTHO, that my woman's heart, Finding thee thus, should, for an instant, only, Shrink back from thee in awe and deep regret. My love, which has endured so much, grows strong In its endurance; and it only asks That I may never from thy side be driven. Talk not of islands in a sunny sea, Or fragrant blooms, or singing nightingales! I love them not. My father's marble floors Were colder than the icy plains I've passed, When thy dear footsteps fled them. Be content. Love like our own needs not the warmth of sighs Or soft caresses to keep pure the fire Upon the sacred shrine; 'twill burn as bright, Though never by the breath of kisses fanned; 'Tis not a fading blossom--nor a bird That only sings amid the orange-flowers. What have I still?--thy spirit, which is THOU. What have I lost?--thy body, which I loved But as the garment which adorned thy soul. Thou art my BERTHO still! I, thy fond OLIVE, Who comes to share thy banishment with thee. Be of good cheer. Only one century Can OENE thrall thee. In the meanwhile, I Shall die, and be a spirit, as thou art. Until that time I will abide with thee; We will on one another patient wait, Till, hand in hand we leave these dismal shores And celebrate our marriage-day in heaven."
PART THIRD.
Tumultuous music filled the spacious cave. OENE was coming with her virgin train, Impatient to behold what further charms, Her prisoned laborers at their tasks had wrought. Blowing on quaintly curved and curious shells Which made a sea-like music--mingled up Of sweet, unsyllabled sounds, and long-drawn sighs, Heavy with memories of coral reefs, Murmuring shores, caverns, and surging deeps-- There flew, midway between the roof and floor, A band of sprites which lived in air or sea; With eyes like twinkling stars, and winged feet, And sparkling fins down either shoulder-blade, And cheeks puffed out and flushing with their toil. Announced by these, the courtly train approached The spot where BERTHO and his OLIVE stood, Close by an emrald rock, within whose breast A living spring slept like a smiling child. Around the brim BERTHO had sculptured moss And rare similitudes of southern flowers; Shaped violets from sapphires, and from stalks, Hung ruby roses, bright, but without soul, As perfumeless as was that frigid land. OENE, resplendent as a wintry moon, Bent her proud eyes upon the waiting pair:-- "So! thou hast found thy lover, southern maid? Are, then, these sunbeams which flow from thy head, Pinions as well as tresses bearing thee Across the perilous chasm which guards our cave?"
"Yes! I have found my lover, noble OENE; And I am happy working by his side. See! this sweet spring which we have brimmed with flowers-- A mirror for thy beautiful face, O Queen! In adding my slight labor to his own, In hopes that thou would'st never banish me, But leave me by his side to aid his work, I've found a consolation very sweet, And have been happy."
"But _I_ have not been!" Spoke BERTHO with a moody passionateness, "And never can be till I am restored To the full use of all my natural powers. Happy! when hearing this young creature's laugh-- Seeing the dimples, begging for a kiss, Peep from her cheeks, and hide themselves again-- Feeling her soft breath warming o'er my brow-- Yet be this bodiless ghost of what I was! O, Queen! wilt thou not give me back that shape-- Which thou dids't cruelly bereave me of-- That I, again, may feel my bounding heart Throbbing against the bosom of my bride? Then thou shalt find what grateful souls can do. For I will court invention, study art, To decorate this favorite cave anew; And she I love will serve thee patiently Unnumbered years, till we our freedom earn."
The sternness of his tone had melted down To liquid sweetness, and his fiery eyes Grown humid, as he fixed them on the Queen In soft entreaty.
From her lofty brow, So pale and passive, had the shadow rolled, As slightly and unconsciously she bent To his quick utterance. A sudden ray Stole from the twilight of her deepening eyes, And a warm redness into either cheek, Troubling its cold repose, shot quickly up. A moment of suspense, and then she spoke:
"'Tis true that I thy body might restore, Since but suspension of its human powers, And not its loss or injury, I control. But what assurance have I that this boon May not prove dangerous? Mortals have what we, With all our vast machinery and weird powers Moving the earth, the sea and air, have not-- And that is--SOUL. A soul and body, too, Might circumvent us--work us desperate harm;-- At least 'tis wise to fear the things unknown, And to be chary how we give them scope. As long as thy body's powers restrain, Thy spirit to my will in bondage is; Thou hast no wherewithal to make ado-- No weapon at thy service--art a slave,-- And shall I give to thee a master's place? Yet, thou hast wakened in me a new thought. What is this love of which you mortals tell?-- Which puts such tender sweetness in your tones Such brightness in your looks, and makes you turn Upon each other such delighted eyes? Your words have stirred strange pleasure in my heart: I, too, would know what love is. I command That thou shalt teach me, BERTHO. Let the girl Return, uninjured, to her southern bowers; Whilst thou remain to teach me this new lore. Perchance, in finding Love, I'll gain a soul, And learn of immortality; and all The vague, sad intuitions that now mock me, Make real, and I become what I have dreamed. Make these things come to pass, and thou shalt have, Thy body and thy freedom, and a place, The highest of my chieftains. Follow me!"
These ominous words of the enamored Queen, Spoken as though she knew not what it was That one should think of disobedience, Poor OLIVE heard, with looks of agony Fixed on the speaker's face--that Northern face, Wild in its power and in its beauty weird. The starry halo of that tintless crown, The midnight blackness of her plentiful hair, Set off the splendor of the countenance On which the maiden bent her pale regard. A jealous terror urged her on to say--
"Love is not taught, Queen OENE; 'tis a gift Mysterious as life, and more divine; The congregated glories of this cave, With all its jewelled lamps and sparkling roof Could never purchase one of its small joys. Love, in exchange, takes nothing but itself, Power cannot claim it--fear cannot command-- It is a tribute Queens cannot exact. The humblest peasant, singing in her hut, Is often richer than the proudest princess: It is the gift God left the human race To keep them from despair, when sin and shame, Pain, poverty, and death, and madness came Among the people. When a youthful pair, Look in each other's eyes and say--"We love"-- The common earth grows to a heavenly world. Singing of birds, shining of summer suns, Blooming of flowers and brightness of the moon, Have a new charm to their elated sense; They hear the music of the Universe, Walking, with light feet, to the harmony; Careless of care and disbelieving pain, Grateful for life--and all, because _they love_. Thus have _we_ said those irrecallable words-- Solemnly smiling in each other's eyes-- BERTHO and I--and never to unsay! Therefore, sweet Queen, command him not, I pray, To an impossible thing, which needs compel Rebellion to the will which he respects. I am a princess, yet will not refuse, The humblest service which thy pride requires, If I from BERTHO am not forced to part."
Imperious OENE turned her scornful eyes Quickly to BERTHO's, as in inquiry; While he, gathering resolve from OLIVE's face Of love and anguish, answered the mute look:
"I cannot teach thee love, since it is learned Only when one heart from another takes The sweet contagion; but, my bride and I May humbly teach thee other human lore. Thou say'st thou hast no soul. This cannot be, Since reason and all mental gifts are thine; Within the lovely calyx sleeps the germ,-- A flower as yet unblossomed. Warmth and light From the great spiritual Sun alone it wants To bud and bloom into the fullest life. Shall we expound this marvellous mystery?-- Tell thee of Endless Life which still unfolds Till it doth circle every star in heaven?-- And light within thy spotless bosom's shrine The silvery flame of Christ's unwavering love-- A love which we, indeed, would gladly teach, The parent of all other, whose pure fire Doth hallow and exalt our earthly hopes. We'll learn those peerless lips to syllable, GOD!-- A word that thrills the Universe with awe! Thou shalt no more a lovely heathen be, But a sweet Woman, and a child of Heaven."
A slow, soft light, into the wondering eyes Intently fixed upon the speaker, came-- A deeper glow than from their slumberous blue Had ever startled; as she slightly bent, With earnest air, her crowned, resplendent head.
"Speak on!" she bade, "my thirsty heart is held To catch your words, as lillies catch the dew-- So eager that it fain would overbrim With the fresh gathering. It has waited long; And now, it shall be filled to bright excess. Speak on! I am impatient. But, first say That I shall then be worthier of love,-- When I have mastered all these subtle things That thou wilt love me better than this girl. I'll have thee for my teacher--thee alone; She shall return to her gay, foreign home, Laded with many a costly gift from me; I'll bid my warriors wait upon her steps,-- My North-Lights shall illuminate her way, No frost shall nip the redness of her cheeks, And no rude wind shall bluster round her feet."
"The frost of fear already nips her cheeks At thought of living separate from me; At the mere word she droops, a blighted flower. Nay, gracious Queen? accept of both our hearts, And our united service," BERTHO plead.
Down on her knees sank OLIVE, bending low Her suppliant head, murmuring "Accept our hearts;"-- But the same beauty which had conquered WOLE Angered the jealous Queen; she could not brook The glistening of those unbound locks of gold; A pain, before unknown, stung her proud heart; While the fierce consciousness of absolute power Urged her to tyrannous deeds. She waved her hand, And while her maidens shrank as if in dread, The finny sprites blew the shrill note of war, At which an hundred warriors gathered round. OLIVE they seized and shut her in a cell-- The very temple she had so admired-- Where, heedless of her piteous shrieks and tears They left her to her grief; while BERTHO went, Securely guarded by their threatening spears, Following his conqueror's receding steps.
Poor OLIVE, the forlornest captive bird That ever beat its heart out in a cage, Fluttered the pinions of her restless will In vain against her dungeon. What cared she That this same dungeon had an emrald floor And lattice-work of gold, or that the spring Which closed the door, was on a jewel hinged? The lustre of the cave flowed through her cell, And she could strain her weary eyes to catch Glimpses of splendor, which but mocked her state.
The tiresome days rolled round, never relieved By the refreshing shadows of the night; Until the lamps so often counted o'er, Seemed burning in her brain; and she had fears That madness lurked within her feverish veins. The ghouls who chanced to pass her, never spake; At last, with joy, the stranger of the mount She saw approaching:
"Ah! Sir JOHN," she cried-- Her pale face, peering through the lattice-work-- "Thou find'st me in a miserable plight-- A closer prisoner by far than thou."
"Why, thou bright bird, has OENE caged thee here-- Prisoned an oriole in her Arctic bowers? 'Tis well we meet. As I was solacing My banishment, by wandering here and there, Greeting old Thug by the day's sickly smile, I chanced within this cavern, where surprise And pleasure lured me on from scene to scene. What tyrant holds thee in this glittering cell?"
"From OENE's anger I am suffering,-- Yes, dear sir JOHN, from more than angry hate-- From that implacable passion, worst of all, And cruelest of purpose, jealousy. I'd trust the tenderness of hungry wolves, The beauty of the cobra, or the talk Of waters to the rocks--but not the will Of woman, when to jealous thoughts aroused. She binds me here and bears my love away, To tempt him with a thousand sweetest wiles-- With beauty, wealth, ambition, vanity, And all that easiest moves a man's proud heart. How shall I know if BERTHO--_even he_-- Has truth or virtue beyond this rich price? Or, she may torture him,--by pain compel Consent to her soft wish and queenly will. Alas, Sir JOHN, I am very miserable!"
"Shall I not play the messenger, and urge Thy cause before her, if, by inquiry, I find the Queen still visiting old Thug?"
"Oh, if thou would'st and yet--what should I gain? Nothing, nothing!--still, I should hear from _him_-- Should know the worst. I'll pray for thy success, And thank thee from my heart, if thou wilt go!"