Chapter 7

"Kind hearts received me. All that wealth could bring-- Refinement, luxury and ease--was theirs; But I was proud and felt my poverty, And gladly mured myself among the books To master 'the lawless science of the law.' I plodded through the ponderous commentaries-- Some musty with the mildew of old age; And these I found the better for their years, Like olden wine in cobweb-covered flasks. The blush of sunrise found me at my books; The midnight cock-crow caught me reading still; And oft my worthy master censured me: 'A time for work,' he said, 'a time for play; Unbend the bow or else the bow will break.' But when I wearied--needing sleep and rest-- A single word seemed whispered in my ear-- '_Beggar_,' it stung me to redoubled toil. I trod the ofttimes mazy labyrinths Of legal logic--mined the mountain-mass Of precedents conflicting--found the rule, Then branched into the exceptions; split the hair Betwixt this case and that--ran parallels-- Traced from a 'leading case' through many tomes Back to the first decision on the 'point,' And often found a pyramid of law Built with bad logic on a broken base Of careless '_dicta;_'--saw how narrow minds Spun out the web of technicalities Till common sense and common equity Were strangled in its meshes. Here and there I came upon a broad, unfettered mind Like Murray's--cleaving through the spider-webs Of shallower brains, and bravely pushing out Upon the open sea of common sense. But such were rare. The olden precedents-- Oft stepping-stones of tyranny and wrong-- Marked easy paths to follow, and they ruled The course of reason as the iron rails Rule the swift wheels of the down-thundering train.

"I rose at dawn. First in this holy book I read my chapter. How the happy thought That my Pauline would read--the self-same morn The self-same chapter--gave the sacred text, Though I had heard my mother read it oft, New light and import never seen before. For I would ponder over every verse, Because I felt that she was reading it, And when I came upon dear promises Of Christ to man, I read them o'er and o'er, Till in a holy and mysterious way They seemed the whisperings of Pauline to me. Later I learned to lay up for myself 'Treasures in heaven where neither moth nor rust Corrupteth, and where thieves do not break through, Nor steal'--and where my treasures all are laid My heart is, and my spirit longs to go. O friend, if Jesus was but man of man-- And if indeed his wondrous miracles Were mythic tales of priestly followers To chain the brute till Reason came from heaven-- Yet was his mission unto man divine. Man's pity wounds, but Jesus' pity heals: He gave us balm beyond all earthly balm; He gave us strength beyond all human strength; He taught us love above the low desires; He taught us hope beyond all earthly hope; He taught us charity wherewith to build From out the broken walls of barbarism, The holy temple of the perfect man.

"On every Sabbath-eve I wrote Pauline. Page after page was burdened with my love, My glowing hopes of golden days to come, And frequent boast of rapid progress made. With hungry heart and eager I devoured Her letters; I re-read them twenty times. At morning when I laid the Gospel down I read her latest answer, and again At midnight by my lamp I read it over, And murmuring 'God bless her,' fell asleep To dream that I was with her under the pines.

"Thus fled four years--four years of patient toil Sweetened with love and hope, and I had made Swift progress in my studies. Master said Another year would bring me to the bar-- No fledgeling but full-feathered for the field. And then her letters ceased. I wrote and wrote Again, but still no answer. Day after day The tardy mail-coach lagged a mortal hour, While I sat listening for its welcome horn; And when it came I hastened from my books With hope and fear contending in my soul. Day after day--no answer--back again I turned my footsteps with a weary sigh. It wore upon me and I could not rest; It gnawed me to the marrow of my bones. The heavy tomes grew dull and wearisome, And sometimes hateful;--then I broke away As from a prison and rushed wildly out Among the elms along the river-bank-- Baring my burning temples to the breeze-- And drank the air of heaven like sparkling wine-- Conjuring excuses for her;--was she ill? Perhaps forbidden. Had another heart Come in between us?--No, that could not be; She was all constancy and promise-bound. A month, which seemed to me a laggard year, Thus wore away. At last a letter came. O with what springing step I hurried back-- Back to my private chamber and my desk! With what delight--what eager, trembling hand-- The well-known seal that held my hopes I broke! Thus ran the letter:

"'Paul, the time has come When we must both forgive while we forget. Mine was a girlish fancy. We outgrow Such childish follies in our later years. Now I have pondered well and made an end. I cannot wed myself to want, and curse My life life-long, because a girlish freak Of folly made a promise. So--farewell.'

"My eyes were blind with passion as I read. I tore the letter into bits and stamped Upon them, ground my teeth and cursed the day I met her, to be jilted. All that night My thoughts ran riot. Round the room I strode A raving madman--savage as a Sioux; Then flung myself upon my couch in tears, And wept in silence, and then stormed again. '_Beggar!_'--it raised the serpent in my breast-- Mad pride--bat-blind. I seized her pictured face And ground it under my heel. With impious hand I caught the book--the precious gift she gave, And would have burned it, but that still small voice Spake in my heart and bade me spare the book.

"Then with this Gospel clutched in both my hands, I swore a solemn oath that I would rise, If God would spare me;--she should see me rise, And learn what she had lost.--Yes, I would mount Merely to be revenged. I would not cringe Down like a spaniel underneath the lash, But like a man would teach my proud Pauline And her hard father to repent the day They called me '_beggar_.' Thus I raved and stormed That mad night out;--forgot at dawn of morn This holy book, but fell to a huge tome And read two hundred pages in a day. I could not keep the thread of argument; I could not hold my mind upon the book; I could not break the silent under-tow That swept all else from out my throbbing brain But false Pauline. I read from morn till night, But having closed the book I could not tell Aught of its contents. Then I cursed myself, And muttered--'Fool--can you not shake it off-- This nightmare of your boyhood?--Brave, indeed-- Crushed like a spaniel by this false Pauline! Crushed am I?--By the gods, I'll make an end, And she shall never know it nettled me!' So passed the weary days. My cheeks grew thin; I needed rest, I said, and quit my books To range the fields and hills with fowling-piece And '_mal prepense_' toward the feathery flocks. The pigeons flew from tree-tops o'er my head; I heard the flap of wings--and they were gone; The pheasant whizzed from bushes at my feet Unseen until its sudden whir of wings Startled and broke my wandering reverie; And then I whistled and relapsed to dreams, Wandering I cared not whither--wheresoe'er My silent gun still bore its primal charge. So gameless, but with cheeks and forehead tinged By breeze and sunshine, I returned to books. But still a phantom haunted all my dreams-- Awake or sleeping, for awake I dreamed-- A spectre that I could not chase away-- The phantom-form of my own false Pauline.

"Six months wore off--six long and weary months; Then came a letter from a school-boy friend-- In answer to the queries I had made-- Filled with the gossip of my native town. Unto her father's friend--a bachelor, Her senior by full twenty years at least-- Dame Rumor said Pauline had pledged her hand. I knew him well--a sly and cunning man-- A honey-tongued, false-hearted flatterer. And he my rival--carrying off my prize? But what cared I? 'twas all the same to me-- Yea, better for the sweet revenge to come. So whispered pride, but in my secret heart I cared, and hoped whatever came to pass She might be happy all her days on earth, And find a happy haven at the end.

"My thoughtful master bade me quit my books A month at least, for I was wearing out. 'Unbend the bow,' he said. His watchful eye Saw toil and care at work upon my cheeks; He could not see the canker at my heart, But he had seen pale students wear away With overwork the vigor of their lives; And so he gave me means and bade me go To romp a month among my native hills. I went, but not as I had left my home-- A bashful boy, uncouth and coarsely clad, But clothed and mannered like a gentleman.

"My school-boy friend gave me a cordial greeting; That honest lawyer bade me welcome, too, And doted on my progress and the advice He gave me ere I left my native town. Since first the iron-horse had coursed the vale Five years had fled--five prosperous, magic years, And well nigh five since I had left my home. These prosperous years had wrought upon the place Their wonders till I hardly knew the town. The broad and stately blocks of brick that shamed The weather-beaten wooden shops I knew Seemed the creation of some magic hand. Adown the river bank the town had stretched, Sweeping away the quiet grove of pines Where I had loved to ramble when a boy And see the squirrels leap from tree to tree With reckless venture, hazarding a fall To dodge the ill-aimed arrows from my bow. The dear old school-house on the hill was gone: A costly church, tall-spired and built of stone Stood in its stead--a monument to man. Unholy greed had felled the stately pines, And all the slope was bare and desolate. Old faces had grown older; some were gone, And many unfamiliar ones had come. Boys in their teens had grown to bearded men, And girls to womanhood, and all was changed, Save the old cottage-home where I was born. The elms and butternuts in the meadow-field Still wore the features of familiar friends; The English ivy clambered to the roof, The English willow spread its branches still, And as I stood before the cottage-door My heart-pulse quickened, for methought I heard My mother's footsteps on the ashen floor.

"The rumor I had heard was verified; The wedding-day was named and near at hand. I met my rival: gracious were his smiles: Glad as a boy that robs the robin's nest He grasped the hands of half the men he met. Pauline, I heard, but seldom ventured forth, Save when her doting father took her out On Sabbath morns to breathe the balmy air, And grace with her sweet face his cushioned pew. The smooth-faced suitor, old dame Gossip said, Made daily visits to her father's house, And played the boy at forty years or more, While she had held him off to draw him on.

"I would not fawn upon the hand that smote; I would not cringe beneath its cruel blow, Nor even let her know I cared for it. I kept aloof--as proud as Lucifer. But when the church-bells chimed on Sabbath morn To that proud monument of stone I went-- Her father's pride, since he had led the list Of wealthy patrons who had builded it-- To hear the sermon--for methought Pauline Would hear it too. Might I not see her face, And she not know I cared to look upon it? She came not, and the psalms and sermon fell Upon me like an autumn-mist of rain. I met her once by chance upon the street-- The day before the appointed wedding-day-- Her and her father--she upon his arm. 'Paul--O Paul!' she said and gave her hand. I took it with a cold and careless air-- Begged pardon--had forgotten;--'Ah--Pauline?-- Yes, I remembered;--five long years ago-- And I had made so many later friends, And she had lost so much of maiden bloom!' Then turning met her father face to face, Bowed with cold grace and haughtily passed on. 'This is revenge,' I muttered. Even then My heart ached as I thought of her pale face, Her pleading eyes, her trembling, clasping hand! And then and there I would have turned about To beg her pardon and an interview, But pride--that serpent ever in my heart-- Hissed '_beggar_,' and I cursed her with the lips That oft had poured my love into her ears. 'She marries gold to-morrow--let her wed! She will not wed a beggar, but I think She'll wed a life-long sorrow--let her wed! Aye--aye--I hope she'll live to curse the day Whereon she broke her sacred promises. And I forgive her?--yea, but not forget. I'll take good care that she shall not forget; I'll prick her memory with a bitter thorn Through all her future. Let her marry gold!' Thus ran my muttered words, but in my heart There ran a counter-current; ere I slept Its silent under-tow had mastered all-- 'Forgive and be forgiven.' I resolved That on the morning of her wedding-day Would I go kindly and forgive Pauline, And send her to the altar with my blessing. That night I read a chapter in this book-- The first for many months, and fell asleep Beseeching God to bless her. Then I dreamed That we were kneeling at my mother's bed-- Her death-bed, and the feeble, trembling hands Of her who loved us rested on our heads, And in a voice all tremulous with tears My mother said: 'Dear children, love each other; Bear and forbear, and come to me in heaven.'

"I wakened once--at midnight--a wild cry-- '_Paul, O Paul!_' rang through my dreams and broke My slumber. I arose, but all was still, And then I, slept again and dreamed till morn. In all my dreams her dear, sweet face appeared-- Now radiant as a star, and now all pale-- Now glad with smiles and now all wet with tears. Then came a dream that agonized my soul, While every limb was bound as if in chains. Methought I saw her in the silent night Leaning o'er misty waters dark and deep: A moan--a plash of waters--and, O Christ!-- Her agonized face upturned--imploring hands Stretched out toward me, and a wailing cry-- '_Paul, O Paul!_' Then face and hands went down, And o'er her closed the deep and dismal flood Forever--but it could not drown the cry: '_Paul, O Paul!_' was ringing in my ears; '_Paul, O Paul!_' was throbbing in my heart; And moaning, sobbing in my shuddering soul Trembled the wail of anguish--'_Paul, O Paul!_'

"Then o'er the waters stole the silver dawn, And lo a fairy boat with silken sail! And in the boat an angel at the helm, And at her feet the form of her I loved. The white mists parted as the boat sped on In silence, lessening far and far away. And then the sunrise glimmered on the sail A moment, and the angel turned her face: My mother!--and I gave a joyful cry, And stretched my hands, but lo the hovering mists Closed in around them and the vision passed.

"The morning sun stole through the window-blinds And fell upon my face and wakened me, And I lay musing--thinking of Pauline. Yes, she should know the depths of all my heart-- The love I bore her all those lonely years; The hope that held me steadfast to my toil, And feel the higher and the holier love Her precious gift had wakened in my soul. Yea, I would bless her for that precious gift-- I had not known its treasures but for her, And O for that would I forgive her all, And bless the hand that smote me to the soul. That would be comfort to me all my days, And if there came a bitter time to her, 'Twould pain her less to know that I forgave.

"A hasty rapping at my chamber-door; In came my school-boy friend whose guest I was, And said: 'Come, Paul, the town is all ablaze! A sad--a strange--a marvelous suicide! Pauline, who was to be a bride to-day, Was missed at dawn and after sunrise found-- Traced by her robe and bonnet on the bridge, Whence she had thrown herself and made an end--'

"And he went on, but I could hear no more; It fell upon me like a flash from heaven. As one with sudden terror dumb, I turned And in my pillow buried up my face. Tears came at last, and then my friend passed out In silence. O the agony of that hour! O doubts and fears and half-read mysteries That tore my heart and tortured all my soul!

"I arose. About the town the wildest tales And rumors ran; dame Gossip was agog. Some said she had been ill and lost her mind, Some whispered hints, and others shook their heads But none could fathom the marvelous mystery. Bearing a bitter anguish in my heart, Half-crazed with dread and doubt and boding fears, Hour after hour alone, disconsolate, Among the scenes where we had wandered oft I wandered, sat where once the stately pines Domed the fair temple where we learned to love. O spot of sacred memories--how changed! Yet chiefly wanting one dear, blushing face That, in those happy days, made every place Wherever we might wander--hill or dale-- Garden of love and peace and happiness. So heavy-hearted I returned. My friend Had brought for me a letter with his mail. I knew the hand upon the envelope-- With throbbing heart I hastened to my room; With trembling hands I broke the seal and read. One sheet inclosed another--one was writ At midnight by my loved and lost Pauline. Inclosed within, a letter false and forged, Signed with my name--such perfect counterfeit, At sight I would have sworn it was my own. And thus her letter ran:

"'Beloved Paul, May God forgive you as my heart forgives. Even as a vine that winds about an oak, Rot-struck and hollow-hearted, for support, Clasping the sapless branches as it climbs With tender tendrils and undoubting faith, I leaned upon your troth; nay, all my hopes-- My love, my life, my very hope of heaven-- I staked upon your solemn promises. I learned to love you better than my God; My God hath sent me bitter punishment. O broken pledges! what have I to live And suffer for? Half mad in my distress, Yielding at last to father's oft request, I pledged my hand to one whose very love Would be a curse upon me all my days. To-morrow is the promised wedding day; To morrow!--but to-morrow shall not come! Come gladlier, death, and make an end of all! How many weary days and patiently I waited for a letter, and at last It came--a message crueler than death. O take it back!--and if you have a heart Yet warm to pity her you swore to love, Read it--and think of those dear promises-- O sacred as the Savior's promises-- You whispered in my ear that solemn night Beneath the pines, and kissed away my tears. And know that I forgive, belovèd Paul: Meet me in heaven. God will not frown upon The sin that saves me from a greater sin, And sends my soul to Him. Farewell--Farewell.'"

Here he broke down. Unto his pallid lips I held a flask of wine. He sipped the wine And closed his eyes in silence for a time, Resuming thus:

"You see the wicked plot. We both were victims of a crafty scheme To break our hearts asunder. Forgery Had done its work and pride had aided it. The spurious letter was a cruel one-- Casting her off with utter heartlessness, And boasting of a later, dearer love, And begging her to burn the _billets-doux_ A moon-struck boy had sent her ere he found That pretty girls were plenty in the world.

"Think you my soul was roiled with anger?--No;-- God's hand was on my head. A keen remorse Gnawed at my heart. O false and fatal pride That blinded me, else I had seen the plot Ere all was lost--else I had saved a life To me most precious of all lives on earth-- Yea, dearer then than any soul in heaven! False pride--the ruin of unnumbered souls-- Thou art the serpent ever tempting me; God, chastening me, has bruised thy serpent head. O faithful heart in silence suffering-- True unto death to one she could but count A perjured villain, cheated as she was! Captain, I prayed--'twas all that I could do. God heard my prayer, and with a solemn heart, Bearing the letters in my hand, I went To ask a favor of the man who crushed And cursed my life--to look upon her face-- Only to look on her dear face once more.

"I rung the bell--a servant bade me in. I waited long. At last the father came-- All pale and suffering. I could see remorse Was gnawing at his heart; as I arose He trembled like a culprit on the drop. 'O, sir,' he said, 'whatever be your quest, I pray you leave me with my dead to-day; I cannot look on any living face Till her dead face is gone forevermore.'

"'And who hath done this cruel thing?' I said. 'Explain,' he faltered. 'Pray _you_, sir, explain!' I said, and thrust the letters in his hand. And as he sat in silence reading hers, I saw the pangs of conscience on his face; I saw him tremble like a stricken soul; And then a tear-drop fell upon his hand; And there we sat in silence. Then he groaned And fell upon his knees and hid his face, And stretched his hand toward me wailing out-- 'I cannot bear this burden on my soul; O Paul!--O God!--forgive me or I die.'

"His anguish touched my heart. I took his hand, And kneeling by him prayed a solemn prayer-- 'Father, forgive him, for he knew not what He did who broke the bond that bound us twain. O may her spirit whisper in his ear Forever--God is love and all is well.

"The iron man--all bowed and broken down-- Sobbed like a child. He laid his trembling hand With many a fervent blessing on my head, And, with the crust all crumbled from his heart, Arose and led me to her silent couch; And I looked in upon my darling dead. Mine--O mine in heaven forevermore! God's angel sweetly smiling in her sleep; How beautiful--how radiant of heaven! The ring I gave begirt her finger still; Her golden hair was wreathed with immortelles; The lips half-parted seemed to move in psalm Or holy blessing. As I kissed her brow, It seemed as if her dead cheeks flushed again As in those happy days beneath the pines; And as my warm tears fell upon her face, Methought I heard that dear familiar voice So full of love and faith and calmest peace, So near and yet so far and far away, So mortal, yet so spiritual--like an air Of softest music on the slumbering bay Wafted on midnight wings to silent shores, When myriad stars are twinkling in the sea:

"'_Paul, O Paul, forgive and be forgiven; Earth is all trial;--there is peace in heaven_.'

"Aye, Captain, in that sad and solemn hour I laid my hand upon the arm of Christ, And he hath led me all the weary way To this last battle. I shall win through Him; And ere you hear the _reveille_ again Paul and Pauline, amid the psalms of heaven, Embraced will kneel and at the feet of God Receive His benediction. Let me sleep. You know the rest;--I'm weary and must sleep. An angel's bugle-blast will waken me, But not to pain, for there is peace in heaven."

He slept, but not the silent sleep of death. I felt his fitful pulse and caught anon The softly-whispered words "_Pauline_," and "_Peace_." Anon he clutched with eager, nervous hand, And in hoarse whisper shouted--"_Steady, men_!" Then sunk again. Thus passed an hour or more And he woke, half-raised himself and said With feeble voice and eyes strange luster-lit:

"Captain, my boat is swiftly sailing out Into the misty and eternal sea From out whose waste no mortal craft returns. The fog is closing round me and the mist Is damp and cold upon my hands and face. Why should I fear?--the loved have gone before: I seem to hear the plash of coming oars; The mists are lifting and the boat is near. 'Tis well. To die as I am dying now-- A soldier's death amid the gladsome shouts Of victory for which my puny hands Did their full share, albeit it was small, Was all my late ambition. Bring the Flag, And hold it over my head. Let me die thus Under the stars I've followed. Dear old Flag--"

But here his words became inaudible, As in the mazes of the Mammoth Cave, Fainter and fainter on the listening ear, The low, retreating voices die away. His eyes were closed; a gentle smile of peace Sat on his face. I held his nerveless hand, And bent my ear to catch his latest breath; And as the spirit fled the pulseless clay, I heard--or thought I heard--his wonder-words-- "_Pauline,--how beautiful!_"

As I arose The gray dawn paled the shadows in the east.

THE SEA-GULL.[1]