Part 2

Our wanderer felt no thrill of fear, the great beasts were so completely in keeping with their surroundings; their white skins harmonized perfectly with the immaculate snow. They came slowly towards him, quiet and majestic, slightly swinging their heavy bodies as they glided onwards. He could count about twenty.

Their huge soft feet marked also a little road on the even surface which would soon join the one Eric had made from the opposite direction. Now they were quite near; their warm breath made little clouds before them that surrounded their pointed heads like a mist.

Eric watched, fascinated, and made no movement to get out of their way.

The first reached him, and without taking the slightest notice passed on, making a small circle, but did not pause in his quiet march; and the others followed in the traces his feet had left behind him, ten, twenty, thirty. Eric counted them and always more and more came noiselessly over the snow.

But now there was another shape rising out of the distance, apparently as white as the watchful animals that led the way, the form of a tall woman whose garments fell around her in glittering folds.

Eric could not yet discern her features, she was too far off; but he saw how more than once she paused, bending down to gather from the snow something which she held within her hands, gazing upon it with curious intensity.

Nearer and nearer she glided, her bare feet hardly touching the ground. She seemed shaped out of floating mists.

All the splendour of the night, the dazzling brilliancy, the vast snow-field, the glory of the moon, the myriad stars, all paled before the beauty of the woman that now approached.

Everything about her was white, glistening and shining; so shining that the human eye could hardly bear the radiance. Her long white hair hung about her; a circle of glow-worms surrounded her forehead. Her head was bent, still gazing on that which she held in her hand. On either side marched one of the great bears like two guardians. Just as she neared the spot where Eric stood she once more bent to the snow, and with almost loving precaution raised something in her hand.

As she did so her eyes met Eric's--they were beautiful eyes--large, dark, blazing like two burning coals. The young man felt a great emotion when they rested upon him, yet he knew directly that they were not the eyes he was seeking; but greatly did he long to know who the beautiful woman was, and what she was gathering in the snow.

As if guessing his thoughts she spoke in a clear, soft voice, always keeping her eyes fixed on his, "Thou wouldst know who I am, O lonely wanderer? I am the queen of these vast regions of snow--my home is yonder, where none dare dwell--and on nights when the moon shines bright I come out of my castle of ice and wander over this desert of white, searching for the broken hearts that have been banished here. It is only when the moon shines bright that I can find them, for they are hidden so far and wide that in the dark nights I could not see them,--and in the day never can I wander about,--the night alone is made for me. See, I will show thee those I have found."

And opening her hand, Eric perceived three little pulsing hearts, beating, beating like frightened birds--and each little heart was broken, and drops of blood stained the white fingers of the snow-maiden.

She leant towards them and very gently touched them with her lips.

"I carry them home with me," continued the strange woman, "and I put them there where they are safe, and where they can await God's last call. I send my little dancing lights before me, and my ice bears walk with me everywhere. They come from great distances; the moment the moon shines bright they all assemble before my palace to let me know it is time for me to begin my search. They make my way, so that I should not go where the snow is too deep, or where the ice would wound my feet.

"Come! if thou art not afraid, and I shall show thee where I keep my precious treasure of broken hearts."

Stretching her hand out to the young man, she clasped his, and he found himself being drawn along across the great white plain, quicker, always quicker--till all was but a mist before his eyes; yet he felt that even if it were to death he was being hurried he could not but follow this wonderful vision of the night.

Faster and faster became their pace.

Eric hardly knew how he was moving; on both sides of them ran the white bears keeping step with their racing.

All of a sudden his beautiful guide stopped.

And pointing before her Eric looked ... and there, rising out of the mist, hanging in the air, was a gigantic castle, built out of ice, that glittered and sparkled above the clouds--a marvellous sight, the dream-like vision of another world.

The snow-maiden again seized her companion's hand, and now she was leading him up a thousand slippery steps, hewn out of ice, that seemed to wind through the clouds. Eric's breath came in gasps; but still on rushed the fair woman, as with winged feet, till they reached a large space before the palace portals.

They stood wide open, and from within streamed forth a blue light that gleamed far out over the smooth snow. "Come," said the snow-maiden, and she put her finger to her lips.

Still holding Eric by the hand, she led him through the wide-open doors into a vast hall, made of ice and snow. Great columns supported the domed roof, and the windows that were of transparent ice gave a strange blue light that filled the whole place.

The hall was quite empty; the floor was put together out of small pieces of ice forming wonderful patterns that shimmered in different shades of white. In the middle a small descending staircase interrupted the smooth surface--a sort of dark well, the first steps of which shone bluish and ghost-like. A great light came up from somewhere far down in the heart of the earth.

The snow-maiden, still tightly clasping Eric's hand, now began to descend the narrow stairs, and the deeper they went the stronger became the light, till they reached a low vaulted chamber of great size and quite round, in the middle of which burnt a blinding circle of light. At first Eric was too bewildered to grasp the meaning of that ring of flame; then he recognized the little tongues of fire that had mocked him out yonder in the wilderness. The snow-maiden had sunk on her knees, and beckoning Eric to come nearer, she raised one of the little fluttering blazes that remained balanced on her hand like a luminous butterfly.

Eric stared, his head close to his beautiful companion's, and saw a small hole made in the snow, where lay a tiny red heart which was split right across.

"This," whispered the snow-maiden, "is the heart of a poor little child, whose mother abandoned it, and who died of grief. I found it several years ago.

"Every day I come here to all my hearts, so that they shall not feel lonely; and these little flames are their guardians. Each little will-o'-the-wisp protects one of the hearts and keeps it warm, so that it shall not perish.

"And see! This one is my favourite, but it is very difficult to keep alive because it spent its life too rapidly, too passionately. It is the heart of a poet and a lover; a lover whose passion was so violent that he died quite suddenly, one flower-scented night, when his hope had been torn from him, and his heart broke right in two. Behold I had to bind it together with the silver threads of my hair--and often, very often, must I lay my warm lips against it because it cannot bear its longing."

The white woman held the bound pieces in both hands, and gazed upon them with yearning tenderness, whilst two of the little blue lights hovered near, throwing a beautiful radiance over her face.

"Beside this one I always keep two little flames, because it needs more care than all the others; a poet's heart is so frail a thing; and how much more so a poet that was a lover!"

With the utmost gentleness she laid the heart down and bent towards another.

"This is the heart of a mother who lost all her blessed treasures; see how cruelly wounded it is; but it is the strongest of all, because the strength of a mother's heart is unequalled by any other--and God has a special place awaiting it when the great Day comes."

From heart to heart the snow-maiden moved, with bent head and gentle hands.

The circle of glow-worms round her brow flickered and sparkled like a magic flower.

"This heart," said the snow-maiden, raising a very dark object in her hand, "is black, because it is that of a great sinner; and sometimes the glow that guards it becomes quite small and dim, almost goes out; because the heart suffers greatly of its own wickedness; it was saved because it broke.

"I found it very far off, in a place amongst rocks; and when I tried to raise it, it began to roll away from me, always farther, so that I had to run, to run after it with an anxious feeling that I would not be able to save it. It left traces of blood wherever it passed, so at last I discovered it in a dark hole beside a skull that grimaced at me with a hollow grin: when finally I held it in my warm hand I knew that it was at rest, and I carried it home very slowly.

"Whilst I retraced my steps along the weary way I had come, I sang to it, soft simple songs that children love. As I sang I felt the warm blood trickle through my fingers, and upon the snow I saw that all the drops of blood had run together into the form of a small red cross, which marked upon the whiteness a sign of forgiveness.

"I looked at my hand and noticed that the drops of blood had turned into tears which left no more stain where they fell, but had washed from my fingers all traces of soil. This heart also needs me, but in another way; I always sing to it those simple songs, for it must forget all else except the days when it was at its mother's knee." Stretching her hands across the circle of light the tall vision in the dazzling robe seemed to bless the many waiting throbbing hearts.

"I call this place my garden of expectation! And one day a great joy will arise from it; ... songs of praise sung by myriads of heavenly voices; ... and this light is but feeble compared to the light which will shine that day."

Eric was still on his knees; he looked up at that glorious form beside him, and as entranced he watched, her long white hair turned into a soft misty veil that flowed down upon the ice like the mantle of a saint, and the circle of glow-worms had become a halo round the face, that was the face of one of God's own angels.

V

And though blind and deaf for a hundred years I would see her more fair than any poet has sung.

FIONA MACLEOD.

Eric had now left the snow-maiden far behind, had left her there amongst the broken hearts she tended with such gentle hand and deep understanding.

He had gazed his last upon her as she stood in the circle of light all shining and bright; and then, knowing that he must go, he had torn himself away, feeling that otherwise he would not have the strength to continue his road, and part from a being so full of radiance and wonderful beauty.

And now he was wandering in a great forest of fir-trees, his feet skimming quickly over the crackling snow. It was still night around him, but all the trees were lit with millions of candles. Each tree was an enormous Christmas tree. The whole wood was one blaze of light ... this he knew was the snow-maiden's garden!

It was an astonishing sight; but he fled along; he dared not stay.

As he ran he heard the sound of many wings following him. He lifted his head; in and out through the great branches of the candle-lit pines he saw huge white birds appear and disappear, but so rapidly that he could never distinguish what kind they were.

Now he came out of the forest, and saw a vast frozen sea before him. As he stepped from the shelter of the trees the whole air was filled with white wings. He looked up and saw endless flocks of wild swans; and circling far above them were eagles as white as they, which flew always higher, higher, farther, farther, settling at last upon the blocks of ice that formed forbidding barriers between sea and land.

All these feathered creatures were the companions of the beautiful woman he had left.

He turned, and there, rising above the illuminated forest, far above the clouds, seemingly suspended in the air, was the castle of ice, revealed a last time to his enraptured sight.

He threw out his arms full of longing, as if he too had left his heart within those translucent walls ... then the heavy snow-laden clouds descended and wiped out the dream like a vision of the night.

VI

Joy rises in me like a summer's morn.

COLERIDGE.

It was evening; the sea was calm--so calm that it looked like an enormous mirror into which the sky was reflecting its manifold hues, resembling a crowned woman trying on before her glass various gorgeous robes of glowing colours. Eric Gundian sat at the helm of the boat, his hands folded, gazing before him at the burning horizon; above him the huge rusty sail spread like the giant wing of a bird. The boat moved slowly, and yet it cut steadily through the water, whilst the deep green waves ran along each side like racers--Gundian was waiting ... he knew not for what, but a great peace was over his soul, and his eyes had a steadfast look of happiness.

The sky was unfurling before him its most precious colours, all the tones of red and gold and orange, reminding him of the palette he had put away.

Now his hands were idle, no doubt, but the artist was still keenly alive, and this beauty and peace seemed part of the very depth of his nature.

Far down within him he knew that his great talent slept, awaiting the day when his hands would be untied to finish his great work.

His hope and trust were simple, and his smile was sweeter than ever.

The red of the sky began now to stain the quiet endless sea--it sank beneath the surface till the whole moving mass was an ocean of flame and light; the little waves that ran along on both sides were like sea-maidens trailing their shining tresses over the water.

Gundian rose and stood at the very extremity of the boat, his slim figure outlined by a circle of light. Then he raised his clear young voice, and sang an old song of his country, a song so strange and sweet, that the sailors behind him took up the chorus and the deep manly voices joined in, forming a long echo to the triumphant notes of their young companion.

He turned round to them, his golden locks thrown back, his beautiful eyes full of dreams and the strength of all his hopes; they had the feeling that with his youth and beauty he was the very incarnation of life and love. Now his voice was softer; the song became a great sigh of longing, like a long-drawn effort towards the boundless, unreachable promises of life.

The old men sank on their knees and the young ones covered their eyes with their hands; each saw before his mind the dreams of his manhood, the loves he had left, the hopes he had buried, the future he longed for or feared.

The glorious colours had paled, only a faint reflection remained; the wind began to fill the sail, the boat seemed to bound forward on its course.

Eric's upright figure had lost its circle of light; his dark form at the helm of the boat was seen now above, now beneath the horizon.

The waves grew in size, and were no longer like slim racers keeping pace with the friendly vessel, but more like great angry beasts longing to consume the frail craft that so confidently rode upon their restless heaving backs.

The sail suddenly filled and expanded ready to burst; and the seamen tightened the cords, being tossed from side to side as they moved about.

Gundian's face was wet with the spray; his bright young eyes peered before him into the growing darkness.

A lantern had been lit and shone far above him like the Star of Bethlehem, flashing on his uncovered head, casting in turn lights and shadows over the fairness of his face. The boat bounded and creaked and groaned; the wind began to howl, frightened gulls flew around the sail with cries of distress, their white wings passing in and out of the gleam of the lantern.

The waves grew greater and greater, beating the sides of the vessel, throwing huge masses of water over the low rail. Eric had to keep a firm grip on the ropes so as not to be hurled into the restless, surging, wailing deep--to him this growing storm was a mighty joy; he revelled in the wind with its many tormented voices; he loved the salt water that dashed in his face, drenched his clothes, and tore at the chain he wore round his neck.

He loved the heaving and sinking of the vessel under him; he loved the weird shrieks of the birds, the flashing of their white wings when they came within the halo,--loved the shimmer of the lantern on the enormous, rolling, always advancing waves.

He trusted the seaman that sailed the ship--trusted the strong boards on which he stood,--above all he trusted with a child's simplicity the great God above.

All through the night the storm howled, and raged, and sobbed; and the brave little craft fought her way through the foaming masses, till the morning slowly overcame the darkness, bringing with the new day a hush that held a promise of peace and rest. Thus did day follow on day, night on night.

Gundian either basked in the sun, or hardened his hands working with the sailors, or sang them sweet songs that melted their hearts, fired their blood, awoke their longings, brought tears to their eyes, or a laugh to their lips. But at times he would also play his little flute; then, all else vanished from his mind, and always, always did the flute hold the same questioning notes that were like the cry of his soul for the unknown vision he was pursuing, that dreams alone allowed him to grasp.

The rough men in the boat looked upon him as a bright being of another sphere. They imagined he brought luck to their voyage, that his presence calmed the storm and had power over the elements, that his wonderful voice and magic flute enchanted the striving, ever-changing winds and waves. They loved him, and were in fear of the day when he would bid them good-bye and withdraw his sunny presence from their lives.

They felt that he was but a bird of passage, that it lay not within their power to keep him for ever amongst them, and each day that they looked on his guileless face and on the light that kindled in his eye, was a gift from on high, a day of blessing and plenty.

Eric could not explain why he remained, neither did he know why all of a sudden, one day of calm and gladness, he felt he must take up again the call of the road that lay before him.

It was on a distant and lonely shore; the boat lay drawn up on the shell-covered beach.

The golden-haired youth looked up into the sky and saw a small bird flying into the limitless distance.

Then Eric knew that he must follow the direction in which the bird had disappeared.

They could not stop him, he had to go. He took his thick stick in his hand, put his flute in his pocket, hung his cloak over his shoulder; then, turning round many a time to wave his cap to the rough companions of yesterday, he walked away into the growing heat of the day.

VII

Yet there was round thee such a dawn of light ne'er seen before.

WOLFE.

The shore was endless and straight, Eric felt no fatigue; his face was browned by the wind, the waves, and the sun. His eyes had taken some of the blue of sea and sky. His clothes were soiled, and looked less new than the day he had left King Wanda's palace.

But the chain around his neck glistened in the heat of the noon.

Eric walked and walked, advancing but slowly, because his feet sank into the deep sand as he went.

As usual his heart was full of joy, and it mattered little to him where he went, although no changing beauty of the coast, no small cloud in the sky, no light in the sea passed by unnoticed.

To him each separate beauty was like a picture his soul had conceived.

Now high rocks began to change the aspect of the flat lonely coast, and soon all the young man's activity was needed to climb the obstacles that blocked his way.

From that moment his advance became slower and more painful, he had to draw breath; more than once he had thrown himself down upon the soft sand, his golden locks hidden amongst the wet pebbles, his heart thumping against his side. But he loved it all, rocks and sea and burning sun; and each difficulty that arose on the road made him feel but all the happier. A joyful heart is one of God's most precious gifts.

It was late afternoon; and, having climbed over some slippery rocks, Eric reached a quiet little bay, narrow, and rounded by precipitous cliffs on all sides.

There the sea was very silent, very green and transparent, and the flat little waves hardly made a sound as each in turn left a white line of foam along the powdery sand.

Eric lay on his back, his cap drawn over his eyes, his cloak rolled up under his head, a pleasant drowsiness filling his being after the efforts he had made.

Suddenly he sat up with a start, wide awake now, all his senses alert. He had heard something which sounded like the deep tones of a bell, coming from afar off, but distinctly, like a dismal and yet persistent voice, calling ... calling.

He looked around him full of excitement, keenly interested, and ready for any new adventure.

He rose to his feet and stood, his hand to his ear, listening.

For a moment there was silence, and then again distinctly the sound of a deep-toned bell--and this time he distinguished that the sound came from the rocks that bounded the farther side of the little bay.

Eric felt he must follow that sound; it drew him towards it; he could not resist those deep tones calling, calling.... A voice full of warning or invitation?...

He could not make out which, neither did he worry his mind about it,--was he not a bird of the air free and joyful, always a song on his lips, loving the sun that shone down upon him, the air that caressed his cheeks, and the good firm earth on which he stood?

The notes of the bell were now louder, now softer; but their tone could not be resisted, and the beautiful youth felt he must follow; so he began moving towards the spot whence the sound seemed to be coming.

Soon he stood before a high cliff over which long creeping plants were growing, hanging flexible branches covered over and over with some coral-coloured berry, more like long chains of bright beads than a living plant.

This was the only rock on which anything grew, and the shoots took root apparently out of the dark hard stone high above his head. He lifted some of the long trailing branches in both his hands, and as he did so the sound of the bell was distinctly heard, as if quite near.

Eric knelt down and noticed with surprise that there was a large opening in the rock, beneath the coral-coloured plant, like the entry to a cave; he stooped, carefully avoiding the hanging growth, and advanced gropingly to find himself in a dark tunnel.

The sound of the bell was more and more distinct, the calling more insistent. With crouching gait Eric moved along, feeling his way with his hands; it was quite dark, and the passage was narrow, with damp rough sides, against which he often bruised his fingers.

Now a curious greenish light began to relieve the complete obscurity in which he had been for some minutes, and little by little Eric distinguished in the far distance what was probably the end of the mysterious entry.

The green light became always stronger; and now our wanderer found himself inside the most marvellous place he had ever seen.

It was a grotto, the walls and domed roof of which had the hue of transparent emeralds; and all around was green--the rocks, the sand, the deep pool of water at his feet, all radiated rays of liquid green light.