Part 7

Lake Leman lies by Chillon's walls: A thousand feet in depth below Its massy waters meet and flow; Thus much the fathom-line was sent From Chillon's snow-white battlement, Which round about the wave inthralls; And double dungeon wall and wave Have made,--and like a living grave. Below the surface of the lake The dark vault lies wherein we lay, We heard it ripple night and day; Sounding o'er our heads it knocked; And I have felt the winter's spray Wash through the bars when winds were high And wanton in the happy sky; And then the very rock hath rocked, And I have felt it shake, unshocked, Because I could have smiled to see The death that would have set me free.

I said my nearer brother pined, I said his mighty heart declined, He loathed and put away his food; It was not that 't was coarse and rude, For we were used to hunter's fare, And for the like had little care; The milk drawn from the mountain goat Was changed for water from the moat. Our bread was such as captives' tears Have moistened many a thousand years, Since man first pent his fellow-men Like brutes within an iron den; But what were these to us or him? These wasted not his heart or limb; My brother's soul was of that mould Which in a palace had grown cold, Had his free breathing been denied The range of the steep mountain's side; But why delay the truth?--he died. I saw, and could not hold his head, Nor reach his dying hand--nor dead-- Though hard I strove, but strove in vain, To rend and gnash my bonds in twain. He died,--and they unlocked his chain, And scooped for him a shallow grave Even from the cold earth of our cave. I begged them, as a boon, to lay His corse in dust whereon the day Might shine,--it was a foolish thought, But then within my brain it wrought, That even in death his free-born breast In such a dungeon could not rest. I might have spared my idle prayer,-- They coldly laughed, and laid him there. The flat and turfless earth above The being we so much did love; His empty chain above it leant, Such murder's fitting monument!

But he, the favorite and the flower, Most cherished since his natal hour, His mother's image in fair face, The infant love of all his race, His martyred father's dearest thought, My latest care, for whom I sought To hoard my life, that his might be Less wretched now, and one day free; He, too, who yet had held untired A spirit natural or inspired,-- He, too, was struck, and day by day Was withered on the stalk away. O God! it is a fearful thing To see the human soul take wing In any shape, in any mood:-- I've seen it rushing forth in blood, I've seen it on the breaking ocean Strive with a swoln convulsive motion, I've seen the sick and ghastly bed Of Sin delirious with its dread: But these were horrors,--this was woe Unmixed with such,--but sure and slow: He faded, and so calm and meek, So softly worn, so sweetly weak, So tearless, yet so tender--kind, And grieved for those he left behind; With all the while a cheek whose bloom Was as a mockery of the tomb, Whose tints as gently sunk away As a departing rainbow's ray,-- An eye of most transparent light, That almost made the dungeon bright, And not a word of murmur,--not A groan o'er his untimely lot,-- A little talk of better days, A little hope my own to raise, For I was sunk in silence,--lost In this last loss, of all the most; And then the sighs he would suppress Of fainting nature's feebleness, More slowly drawn, grew less and less: I listened, but I could not hear,-- I called, for I was wild with fear; I knew 't was hopeless, but my dread Would not be thus admonishèd; I called, and thought I heard a sound,-- I burst my chain with one strong bound, And rushed to him:--I found him not, _I_ only stirred in this black spot, _I_ only lived,--_I_ only drew The accursed breath of dungeon-dew; The last--the sole--the dearest link Between me and the eternal brink, Which bound me to my failing race, Was broken in this fatal place. One on the earth, and one beneath-- My brothers--both had ceased to breathe. I took that hand which lay so still, Alas! my own was full as chill; I had not strength to stir or strive, But felt that I was still alive,-- A frantic feeling when we know That what we love shall ne'er be so. I know not why I could not die, I had no earthly hope--but faith, And that forbade a selfish death.

What next befell me then and there I know not well--I never knew. First came the loss of light and air, And then of darkness too; I had no thought, no feeling--none: Among the stones I stood a stone, And was, scarce conscious what I wist, As shrubless crags within the mist; For all was blank and bleak and gray; It was not night,--it was not day; It was not even the dungeon-light, So hateful to my heavy sight; But vacancy absorbing space, And fixedness, without a place: There were no stars--no earth--no time-- No check--no change--no good--no crime: But silence, and a stirless breath Which neither was of life nor death:-- A sea of stagnant idleness, Blind, boundless, mute, and motionless!

A light broke in upon my brain,-- It was the carol of a bird; It ceased, and then it came again,-- The sweetest song ear ever heard, And mine was thankful till my eyes Ran over with the glad surprise, And they that moment could not see I was the mate of misery; But then by dull degrees came back My senses to their wonted track, I saw the dungeon walls and floor Close slowly round me as before, I saw the glimmer of the sun Creeping as it before had done, But through the crevice where it came That bird was perched, as fond and tame, And tamer than upon the tree; A lovely bird, with azure wings, And song that said a thousand things, And seemed to say them all for me! I never saw its like before, I ne'er shall see its likeness more. It seemed, like me, to want a mate, But was not half so desolate, And it was come to love me when None lived to love me so again, And cheering from my dungeon's brink, Had brought me back to feel and think. I know not if it late were free, Or broke its cage to perch on mine, But knowing well captivity, Sweet bird! I could not wish for thine! Or if it were, in wingèd guise, A visitant from Paradise: For--Heaven forgive that thought! the while Which made me both to weep and smile-- I sometimes deemed that it might be My brother's soul come down to me; But then at last away it flew, And then 't was mortal,--well I knew, For he would never thus have flown, And left me twice so doubly lone,-- Lone--as the corse within its shroud, Lone--as a solitary cloud, A single cloud on a sunny day, While all the rest of heaven is clear, A frown upon the atmosphere That hath no business to appear When skies are blue and earth is gay.

A kind of change came in my fate, My keepers grew compassionate; I know not what had made them so, They were inured to sights of woe, But so it was:--my broken chain With links unfastened did remain, And it was liberty to stride Along my cell from side to side, And up and down, and then athwart, And tread it over every part; And round the pillars one by one, Returning where my walk begun, Avoiding only, as I trod, My brothers' graves without a sod; For if I thought with heedless tread My step profaned their lowly bed, My breath came gaspingly and thick, And my crushed heart fell blind and sick.

I made a footing in the wall, It was not therefrom to escape, For I had buried one and all Who loved me in a human shape: And the whole earth would henceforth be A wider prison unto me: No child,--no sire,--no kin had I, No partner in my misery; I thought of this and I was glad, For thought of them had made me mad; But I was curious to ascend To my barred windows, and to bend Once more, upon the mountains high, The quiet of a loving eye.

I saw them,--and they were the same, They were not changed like me in frame; I saw their thousand years of snow On high,--their wide long lake below, And the blue Rhone in fullest flow; I heard the torrents leap and gush O'er channelled rock and broken bush; I saw the white-walled distant town, And whiter sails go skimming down; And then there was a little isle, Which in my very face did smile, The only one in view; A small green isle, it seemed no more, Scarce broader than my dungeon floor, But in it there were three tall trees, And o'er it blew the mountain breeze, And by it there were waters flowing, And on it there were young flowers growing, Of gentle breath and hue. The fish swam by the castle wall, And they seemed joyous each and all; The eagle rode the rising blast,-- Methought he never flew so fast As then to me he seemed to fly, And then new tears came in my eye, And I felt troubled,--and would fain I had not left my recent chain; And when I did descend again, The darkness of my dim abode Fell on me as a heavy load; It was as in a new-dug grave Closing o'er one we sought to save, And yet my glance, too much oppressed, Had almost need of such a rest.

It might be months, or years, or days, I kept no count,--I took no note, I had no hope my eyes to raise, And clear them of their dreary mote; At last men came to set me free, I asked not why and recked not where, It was at length the same to me, Fettered or fetterless to be, I learned to love despair. And thus when they appeared at last, And all my bonds aside were cast, These heavy walls to me had grown A hermitage, and all my own! And half I felt as they were come To tear me from a second home; With spiders I had friendship made, And watched them in their sullen trade, Had seen the mice by moonlight play, And why should I feel less than they? We were all inmates of one place, And I, the monarch of each race, Had power to kill,--yet, strange to tell; In quiet we had learned to dwell,-- My very chains and I grew friends, So much a long communion tends To make us what we are:--even I Regained my freedom with a sigh.

LORD BYRON.

BEFORE SEDAN.

"The dead hand clasped a letter." --SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT.

Here in this leafy place, Quiet he lies, Cold, with his sightless face Turned to the skies; 'T is but another dead;-- All you can say is said.

Carry his body hence,-- Kings must have slaves; Kings climb to eminence Over men's graves. So this man's eye is dim;-- Throw the earth over him.

What was the white you touched, There at his side? Paper his hand had clutched Tight ere he died; Message or wish, may be:-- Smooth out the folds and see.

Hardly the worst of us Here could have smiled!-- Only the tremulous Words of a child:-- Prattle, that had for stops Just a few ruddy drops.

Look. She is sad to miss, Morning and night, His--her dead father's--kiss, Tries to be bright, Good to mamma, and sweet. That is all. "_Marguerite._"

Ah, if beside the dead Slumbered the pain! Ah, if the hearts that bled Slept with the slain! If the grief died!--But no:-- Death will not have it so.

AUSTIN DOBSON.

IVÀN IVÀNOVITCH.

Early one winter morn, in such a village as this, Snow-whitened everywhere except the middle road Ice-roughed by track of sledge, there worked by his abode Ivàn Ivànovitch, the carpenter, employed On a huge shipmast trunk; his axe now trimmed and toyed With branch and twig, and now some chop athwart the bole

Changed bole to billets, bared at once the sap and soul. About him, watched the work his neighbors sheep-skin-clad; Each bearded mouth puffed steam, each gray eye twinkled glad To see the sturdy arm which, never stopping play, Proved strong man's blood still boils, freeze winter as he may. Sudden, a burst of bells. Out of the road, on edge Of the hamlet--horse's hoofs galloping. "How, a sledge? What 's here?" cried all as--in, up to the open space, Workyard and market-ground, folk's common meeting-place,-- Stumbled on, till he fell, in one last bound for life, A horse; and, at his heels, a sledge held--"Dmìtri's wife! Back without Dmìtri too! and children--where are they? Only a frozen corpse!"

They drew it forth: then--"Nay, Not dead, though like to die! Gone hence a month ago: Home again, this rough jaunt--alone through night and snow-- What can the cause be? Hark--Droug, old horse, how he groans: His day 's done! Chafe away, keep chafing, for she moans: She's coming to! Give here: see, motherkin, your friends! Cheer up, all safe at home! Warm inside makes amends For outside cold,--sup quick! Don't look as we were bears! What is it startles you? What strange adventure stares Up at us in your face? You know friends--which is which? I'm Vàssili, he's Sergeì, Ivàn Ivànovitch"--

At the word, the woman's eyes, slow-wandering till they neared The blue eyes o'er the bush of honey-colored beard, Took in full light and sense and--torn to rags, some dream Which hid the naked truth--O loud and long the scream She gave, as if all power of voice within her throat Poured itself wild away to waste in one dread note! Then followed gasps and sobs, and then the steady flow Of kindly tears: the brain was saved, a man might know. Down fell her face upon the good friend's propping knee; His broad hands smoothed her head, as fain to brush it free From fancies, swarms that stung like bees unhived. He soothed-- "Loukèria, Loùscha!"--still he, fondling, smoothed and smoothed. At last her lips formed speech.

"Ivàn, dear--you indeed? You, just the same dear you! While I ... Oh, intercede, Sweet Mother, with thy Son Almighty--let his might Bring yesterday once more, undo all done last night! But this time yesterday, Ivàn, I sat like you, A child on either knee, and, dearer than the two, A babe inside my arms, close to my heart--that 's lost In morsels o'er the snow! Father, Son, Holy Ghost, Cannot you bring again my blessèd yesterday?"

When no more tears would flow, she told her tale: this way.

"Maybe, a month ago,--was it not?--news came here, They wanted, deeper down, good workmen fit to rear A church and roof it in. 'We'll go,' my husband said: 'None understands like me to melt and mould their lead.' So, friends here helped us off--Ivàn, dear, you the first! How gay we jingled forth, all five--(my heart will burst)-- While Dmìtri shook the reins, urged Droug upon his track!

"Well, soon the month ran out, we just were coming back, When yesterday--behold, the village was on fire! Fire ran from house to house. What help, as, nigh and nigher, The flames came furious? 'Haste,' cried Dmìtri, 'men must do The little good man may: to sledge and in with you, You and our three! We check the fire by laying flat Each building in its path,--I needs must stay for that,-- But you ... no time for talk! Wrap round you every rug, Cover the couple close,--you'll have the babe to hug. No care to guide old Droug, he knows his way, by guess, Once start him on the road: but chirrup, none the less! The snow lies glib as glass and hard as steel, and soon You'll have rise, fine and full, a marvel of a moon. Hold straight up, all the same, this lighted twist of pitch! Once home and with our friend Ivàn Ivànovitch, All 's safe: I have my pay in pouch, all 's right with me, So I but find as safe you and our precious three! Off, Droug!'--because the flames had reached us, and the men Shouted, 'But lend a hand, Dmìtri--as good as ten!' "So, in we bundled--I and those God gave me once; Old Droug, that 's stiff at first, seemed youthful for the nonce: He understood the case, galloping straight ahead. Out came the moon: my twist soon dwindled, feebly red In that unnatural day--yes, daylight bred between Moonlight and snow-light, lamped those grotto-depths which screen Such devils from God's eye. Ah, pines, how straight you grow, Nor bend one pitying branch, true breed of brutal snow! Some undergrowth had served to keep the devils blind While we escaped outside their border!

"Was that--wind? Anyhow, Droug starts, stops, back go his ears, he snuffs, Snorts,--never such a snort! then plunges, knows the sough 's Only the wind: yet, no--our breath goes up too straight! Still the low sound,--less low, loud, louder, at a rate There 's no mistaking more! Shall I lean out--look--learn The truth whatever it be? Pad, pad! At last, I turn--

"'T is the regular pad of the wolves in pursuit of the life in the sledge! An army they are: close-packed they press like the thrust of a wedge: They increase as they hunt: for I see, through the pine-trunks ranged each side, Slip forth new fiend and fiend, make wider and still more wide The four-footed steady advance. The foremost--none may pass: They are the elders and lead the line, eye and eye --green-glowing brass! But a long way distant still. Droug, save us! He does his best: Yet they gain on us, gain, till they reach,--one reaches ... How utter the rest? O that Satan-faced first of the band! How he lolls out the length of his tongue, How he laughs and lets gleam his white teeth! He is on me, his paws pry among The wraps and the rugs! O my pair, my twin-pigeons, lie still and seem dead! Stepàn, he shall never have you for a meal,-- here's your mother instead! No, he will not be counselled--must cry, poor Stiòpka, so foolish! though first Of my boy-brood, he was not the best: nay, neighbors called him the worst: He was puny, an undersized slip,--a darling to me, all the same! But little there was to be praised in the boy, and a plenty to blame. I loved him with heart and soul, yes--but, deal him a blow for a fault, He would sulk for whole days. 'Foolish boy! lie still or the villain will vault, Will snatch you from over my head!' No use! he cries, he screams,--who can hold Fast a boy in frenzy of fear! It follows--as I foretold! The Satan-face snatched and snapped: I tugged, I tore, and then His brother too needs must shriek! If one must go, 't is men The Tsar needs, so we hear, not ailing boys! Perhaps My hands relaxed their grasp, got tangled in the wraps: God, he was gone! I looked: there tumbled the cursed crew, Each fighting for a share: too busy to pursue! That's so far gain at least: Droug, gallop another verst Or two, or three--God sends we beat them, arrive the first! A mother who boasts two boys was ever accounted rich: Some have not a boy: some have, but lose him,--God knows which Is worse: how pitiful to see your weakling pine And pale and pass away! Strong brats, this pair of mine!

"O misery! for while I settle to what near seems Content, I am 'ware again of the tramp, and again there gleams-- Point and point--the line, eyes, levelled green brassy fire! So soon is resumed your chase? Will nothing appease, naught tire The furies? And yet I think--I am certain the race is slack, And the numbers are nothing like. Not a quarter of the pack! Feasters and those full-fed are staying behind ... Ah, why? We 'll sorrow for that too soon! Now,--gallop, reach home and die, Nor ever again leave house, to trust our life in the trap For life--we call a sledge! Teriòscha, in my lap! Yes, I 'll lie down upon you, tight-tie you with the strings Here--of my heart! No fear, this time, your mother flings ... Flings? I flung? Never! But think!--a woman, after all, Contending with a wolf! Save you I must and shall, Terentiì!

"How now? What, you still head the race, Your eyes and tongue and teeth crave fresh food, Satan-face? Flash again? There and there! Plain I struck green fire out! All a poor fist can do to damage eyes proves vain! My fist--why not crunch that? He is wanton for ... O God, Why give this wolf his taste? Common wolves scrape and prod The earth till out they scratch some corpse--mere putrid flesh! Why must this glutton leave the faded, choose the fresh? Terentiì--God, feel!--his neck keeps fast thy bag Of holy things, saints' bones, this Satan-face will drag Forth, and devour along with him, our Pope declared The relics were to save from danger!

"Spurned, not spared! 'T was through my arms, crossed arms, he--nuzzling now with snout, Now ripping, tooth and claw--plucked, pulled Terentiì out, A prize indeed! I saw--how could I else but see?-- My precious one--I bit to hold back--pulled from me! Up came the others, fell to dancing--did the imps!-- Skipped as they scampered round. There 's one is gray, and limps: Who knows but old bad Màrpha--she always owed me spite And envied me my births--skulks out of doors at night And turns into a wolf, and joins the sisterhood, And laps the youthful life, then slinks from out the wood, Squats down at the door by dawn, spins there demure as erst --No strength, old crone--not she!--to crawl forth half a verst!

"Well, I escaped with one: 'twixt one and none there lies The space 'twixt heaven and hell. And see, a rose-light dyes The endmost snow: 't is dawn, 't is day, 't is safe at home! We have outwitted you! Ay, monsters, snarl and foam, Fight each the other fiend, disputing for a share,-- Forgetful in your greed, our finest off we bear, Tough Droug and I,--my babe, my boy that shall be man, My man that shall be more, do all a hunter can To trace and follow and find and catch and crucify Wolves, wolfkins, all your crew! A thousand deaths shall die The whimperingest cub that ever squeezed the teat! 'Take that!' we 'll stab you with,--'the tenderness we met When, wretches, you danced round,--not this, thank God--not this! Hellhounds, we balk you!'

"But--Ah, God above!--Bliss, bliss,-- Not the band, no! And yet--yes, for Droug knows him! One-- This only of them all has said 'She saves a son!' His fellows disbelieve such luck: but he believes, He lets them pick the bones, laugh at him in their sleeves: He's off and after us,--one speck, one spot, one ball Grows bigger, bound on bound,--one wolf as good as all! Oh, but I know the trick! Have at the snaky tongue! That 's the right way with wolves! Go, tell your mates I wrung The panting morsel out, left you to howl your worst! Now for it--now! Ah me, I know him--thrice-accurst Satan-face,--him to the end my foe!

"All fight's in vain: This time the green brass points pierce to my very brain. I fall--fall as I ought--quite on the babe I guard: I overspread with flesh the whole of him. Too hard To die this way, torn piecemeal? Move hence? Not I--one inch! Gnaw through me, through and through: flat thus I lie nor flinch! O God, the feel of the fang furrowing my shoulder!--see! It grinds--it grates the bone. O Kìrill under me, Could I do more? Besides he knew the wolf's way to win: I clung, closed round like wax: yet in he wedged and in, Past my neck, past my breasts, my heart, until ... how feels The onion-bulb your knife parts, pushing through its peels, Till out you scoop its clove wherein lie stalk and leaf And bloom and seed unborn?