CHAPTER XIII
“I saw a ship sailing upon the sea Deeply laden as ship could be; But not so deep as in love I am For I care not whether I sink or swim.” Old Ballad.
“But Love is such a Mystery I cannot find it out: For when I think I’m best resolv’d, I then am in most doubt.” SIR JOHN SUCKLING.
One story I will try to reproduce. But, alas! it is like trying toreconstruct a forest out of broken branches and withered leaves. In thefairy book, everything was just as it should be, though whether in wordsor something else, I cannot tell. It glowed and flashed the thoughtsupon the soul, with such a power that the medium disappeared from theconsciousness, and it was occupied only with the things themselves.My representation of it must resemble a translation from a rich andpowerful language, capable of embodying the thoughts of a splendidlydeveloped people, into the meagre and half-articulate speech of a savagetribe. Of course, while I read it, I was Cosmo, and his historywas mine. Yet, all the time, I seemed to have a kind of doubleconsciousness, and the story a double meaning. Sometimes it seemedonly to represent a simple story of ordinary life, perhaps almost ofuniversal life; wherein two souls, loving each other and longing to comenearer, do, after all, but behold each other as in a glass darkly.
As through the hard rock go the branching silver veins; as into thesolid land run the creeks and gulfs from the unresting sea; as thelights and influences of the upper worlds sink silently throughthe earth’s atmosphere; so doth Faerie invade the world of men, andsometimes startle the common eye with an association as of cause andeffect, when between the two no connecting links can be traced.
Cosmo von Wehrstahl was a student at the University of Prague. Thoughof a noble family, he was poor, and prided himself upon the independencethat poverty gives; for what will not a man pride himself upon, when hecannot get rid of it? A favourite with his fellow students, he yet hadno companions; and none of them had ever crossed the threshold of hislodging in the top of one of the highest houses in the old town. Indeed,the secret of much of that complaisance which recommended him to hisfellows, was the thought of his unknown retreat, whither in the eveninghe could betake himself and indulge undisturbed in his own studies andreveries. These studies, besides those subjects necessary to his courseat the University, embraced some less commonly known and approved;for in a secret drawer lay the works of Albertus Magnus and CorneliusAgrippa, along with others less read and more abstruse. As yet, however,he had followed these researches only from curiosity, and had turnedthem to no practical purpose.
His lodging consisted of one large low-ceiled room, singularly bare offurniture; for besides a couple of wooden chairs, a couch which servedfor dreaming on both by day and night, and a great press of black oak,there was very little in the room that could be called furniture.
But curious instruments were heaped in the corners; and in one stooda skeleton, half-leaning against the wall, half-supported by a stringabout its neck. One of its hands, all of fingers, rested on the heavypommel of a great sword that stood beside it.
Various weapons were scattered about over the floor. The walls wereutterly bare of adornment; for the few strange things, such as a largedried bat with wings dispread, the skin of a porcupine, and a stuffedsea-mouse, could hardly be reckoned as such. But although his fancydelighted in vagaries like these, he indulged his imagination with fardifferent fare. His mind had never yet been filled with an absorbingpassion; but it lay like a still twilight open to any wind, whether thelow breath that wafts but odours, or the storm that bows the great treestill they strain and creak. He saw everything as through a rose-colouredglass. When he looked from his window on the street below, not a maidenpassed but she moved as in a story, and drew his thoughts after her tillshe disappeared in the vista. When he walked in the streets, he alwaysfelt as if reading a tale, into which he sought to weave every face ofinterest that went by; and every sweet voice swept his soul as with thewing of a passing angel. He was in fact a poet without words; the moreabsorbed and endangered, that the springing-waters were dammed backinto his soul, where, finding no utterance, they grew, and swelled, andundermined. He used to lie on his hard couch, and read a tale or a poem,till the book dropped from his hand; but he dreamed on, he knew notwhether awake or asleep, until the opposite roof grew upon his sense,and turned golden in the sunrise. Then he arose too; and the impulses ofvigorous youth kept him ever active, either in study or in sport, untilagain the close of the day left him free; and the world of night, whichhad lain drowned in the cataract of the day, rose up in his soul, withall its stars, and dim-seen phantom shapes. But this could hardly lastlong. Some one form must sooner or later step within the charmed circle,enter the house of life, and compel the bewildered magician to kneel andworship.
One afternoon, towards dusk, he was wandering dreamily in one of theprincipal streets, when a fellow student roused him by a slap on theshoulder, and asked him to accompany him into a little back alley tolook at some old armour which he had taken a fancy to possess. Cosmo wasconsidered an authority in every matter pertaining to arms, ancient ormodern. In the use of weapons, none of the students could come near him;and his practical acquaintance with some had principally contributedto establish his authority in reference to all. He accompanied himwillingly.
They entered a narrow alley, and thence a dirty little court, wherea low arched door admitted them into a heterogeneous assemblage ofeverything musty, and dusty, and old, that could well be imagined.His verdict on the armour was satisfactory, and his companion at onceconcluded the purchase. As they were leaving the place, Cosmo’s eye wasattracted by an old mirror of an elliptical shape, which leaned againstthe wall, covered with dust. Around it was some curious carving, whichhe could see but very indistinctly by the glimmering light whichthe owner of the shop carried in his hand. It was this carving thatattracted his attention; at least so it appeared to him. He left theplace, however, with his friend, taking no further notice of it. Theywalked together to the main street, where they parted and took oppositedirections.
No sooner was Cosmo left alone, than the thought of the curious oldmirror returned to him. A strong desire to see it more plainly arosewithin him, and he directed his steps once more towards the shop. Theowner opened the door when he knocked, as if he had expected him. Hewas a little, old, withered man, with a hooked nose, and burning eyesconstantly in a slow restless motion, and looking here and there as ifafter something that eluded them. Pretending to examine several otherarticles, Cosmo at last approached the mirror, and requested to have ittaken down.
“Take it down yourself, master; I cannot reach it,” said the old man.
Cosmo took it down carefully, when he saw that the carving was indeeddelicate and costly, being both of admirable design and execution;containing withal many devices which seemed to embody some meaningto which he had no clue. This, naturally, in one of his tastes andtemperament, increased the interest he felt in the old mirror; so much,indeed, that he now longed to possess it, in order to study its frame athis leisure. He pretended, however, to want it only for use; and sayinghe feared the plate could be of little service, as it was rather old, hebrushed away a little of the dust from its face, expecting to see a dullreflection within. His surprise was great when he found the reflectionbrilliant, revealing a glass not only uninjured by age, but wondrouslyclear and perfect (should the whole correspond to this part) even forone newly from the hands of the maker. He asked carelessly what theowner wanted for the thing. The old man replied by mentioning a sum ofmoney far beyond the reach of poor Cosmo, who proceeded to replace themirror where it had stood before.
“You think the price too high?” said the old man.
“I do not know that it is too much for you to ask,” replied Cosmo; “butit is far too much for me to give.”
The old man held up his light towards Cosmo’s face. “I like
your look,” said he.
Cosmo could not return the compliment. In fact, now he looked closelyat him for the first time, he felt a kind of repugnance to him, mingledwith a strange feeling of doubt whether a man or a woman stood beforehim.
“What is your name?” he continued.
“Cosmo von Wehrstahl.”
“Ah, ah! I thought as much. I see your father in you. I knew your fathervery well, young sir. I dare say in some odd corners of my house, youmight find some old things with his crest and cipher upon them still.Well, I like you: you shall have the mirror at the fourth part of what Iasked for it; but upon one condition.”
“What is that?” said Cosmo; for, although the price was still a greatdeal for him to give, he could just manage it; and the desire to possessthe mirror had increased to an altogether unaccountable degree, since ithad seemed beyond his reach.
“That if you should ever want to get rid of it again, you will let mehave the first offer.”
“Certainly,” replied Cosmo, with a smile; adding, “a moderate conditionindeed.”
“On your honour?” insisted the seller.
“On my honour,” said the buyer; and the bargain was concluded.
“I will carry it home for you,” said the old man, as Cosmo took it inhis hands.
“No, no; I will carry it myself,” said he; for he had a peculiar disliketo revealing his residence to any one, and more especially to thisperson, to whom he felt every moment a greater antipathy. “Just as youplease,” said the old creature, and muttered to himself as he held hislight at the door to show him out of the court: “Sold for the sixthtime! I wonder what will be the upshot of it this time. I should thinkmy lady had enough of it by now!”
Cosmo carried his prize carefully home. But all the way he had anuncomfortable feeling that he was watched and dogged. Repeatedly helooked about, but saw nothing to justify his suspicions. Indeed, thestreets were too crowded and too ill lighted to expose very readilya careful spy, if such there should be at his heels. He reached hislodging in safety, and leaned his purchase against the wall, ratherrelieved, strong as he was, to be rid of its weight; then, lighting hispipe, threw himself on the couch, and was soon lapt in the folds of oneof his haunting dreams.
He returned home earlier than usual the next day, and fixed the mirrorto the wall, over the hearth, at one end of his long room.
He then carefully wiped away the dust from its face, and, clear as thewater of a sunny spring, the mirror shone out from beneath the enviouscovering. But his interest was chiefly occupied with the curious carvingof the frame. This he cleaned as well as he could with a brush; and thenhe proceeded to a minute examination of its various parts, in the hopeof discovering some index to the intention of the carver. In this,however, he was unsuccessful; and, at length, pausing with someweariness and disappointment, he gazed vacantly for a few moments intothe depth of the reflected room. But ere long he said, half aloud: “Whata strange thing a mirror is! and what a wondrous affinity exists betweenit and a man’s imagination! For this room of mine, as I behold it inthe glass, is the same, and yet not the same. It is not the mererepresentation of the room I live in, but it looks just as if I werereading about it in a story I like. All its commonness has disappeared.The mirror has lifted it out of the region of fact into the realm ofart; and the very representing of it to me has clothed with interestthat which was otherwise hard and bare; just as one sees with delightupon the stage the representation of a character from which one wouldescape in life as from something unendurably wearisome. But is it notrather that art rescues nature from the weary and sated regards of oursenses, and the degrading injustice of our anxious everyday life, and,appealing to the imagination, which dwells apart, reveals Nature in somedegree as she really is, and as she represents herself to the eye of thechild, whose every-day life, fearless and unambitious, meets the trueimport of the wonder-teeming world around him, and rejoices thereinwithout questioning? That skeleton, now--I almost fear it, standingthere so still, with eyes only for the unseen, like a watch-towerlooking across all the waste of this busy world into the quiet regionsof rest beyond. And yet I know every bone and every joint in it as wellas my own fist. And that old battle-axe looks as if any moment it mightbe caught up by a mailed hand, and, borne forth by the mighty arm, gocrashing through casque, and skull, and brain, invading the Unknown withyet another bewildered ghost. I should like to live in THAT room if Icould only get into it.”
Scarcely had the half-moulded words floated from him, as he stood gazinginto the mirror, when, striking him as with a flash of amazement thatfixed him in his posture, noiseless and unannounced, glided suddenlythrough the door into the reflected room, with stately motion, yetreluctant and faltering step, the graceful form of a woman, clothed allin white. Her back only was visible as she walked slowly up to thecouch in the further end of the room, on which she laid herselfwearily, turning towards him a face of unutterable loveliness, in whichsuffering, and dislike, and a sense of compulsion, strangely mingledwith the beauty. He stood without the power of motion for some moments,with his eyes irrecoverably fixed upon her; and even after he wasconscious of the ability to move, he could not summon up courage toturn and look on her, face to face, in the veritable chamber in whichhe stood. At length, with a sudden effort, in which the exercise of thewill was so pure, that it seemed involuntary, he turned his face to thecouch. It was vacant. In bewilderment, mingled with terror, he turnedagain to the mirror: there, on the reflected couch, lay the exquisitelady-form. She lay with closed eyes, whence two large tears were justwelling from beneath the veiling lids; still as death, save for theconvulsive motion of her bosom.
Cosmo himself could not have described what he felt. His emotions wereof a kind that destroyed consciousness, and could never be clearlyrecalled. He could not help standing yet by the mirror, and keeping hiseyes fixed on the lady, though he was painfully aware of his rudeness,and feared every moment that she would open hers, and meet his fixedregard. But he was, ere long, a little relieved; for, after a while, hereyelids slowly rose, and her eyes remained uncovered, but unemployed fora time; and when, at length, they began to wander about the room, as iflanguidly seeking to make some acquaintance with her environment, theywere never directed towards him: it seemed nothing but what was in themirror could affect her vision; and, therefore, if she saw him at all,it could only be his back, which, of necessity, was turned towards herin the glass. The two figures in the mirror could not meet face to face,except he turned and looked at her, present in his room; and, as she wasnot there, he concluded that if he were to turn towards the part in hisroom corresponding to that in which she lay, his reflection would eitherbe invisible to her altogether, or at least it must appear to her togaze vacantly towards her, and no meeting of the eyes would producethe impression of spiritual proximity. By-and-by her eyes fell upon theskeleton, and he saw her shudder and close them. She did not open themagain, but signs of repugnance continued evident on her countenance.Cosmo would have removed the obnoxious thing at once, but he feared todiscompose her yet more by the assertion of his presence which the actwould involve. So he stood and watched her. The eyelids yet shroudedthe eyes, as a costly case the jewels within; the troubled expressiongradually faded from the countenance, leaving only a faint sorrowbehind; the features settled into an unchanging expression of rest; andby these signs, and the slow regular motion of her breathing, Cosmo knewthat she slept. He could now gaze on her without embarrassment. He sawthat her figure, dressed in the simplest robe of white, was worthy ofher face; and so harmonious, that either the delicately moulded foot, orany finger of the equally delicate hand, was an index to the whole. Asshe lay, her whole form manifested the relaxation of perfect repose. Hegazed till he was weary, and at last seated himself near the new-foundshrine, and mechanically took up a book, like one who watches by asick-bed. But his eyes gathered no thoughts from the page before him.His intellect had been stunned by the bold contradiction, to its face,of all its experience, and now lay passive, without a
ssertion, orspeculation, or even conscious astonishment; while his imagination sentone wild dream of blessedness after another coursing through his soul.How long he sat he knew not; but at length he roused himself, rose, and,trembling in every portion of his frame, looked again into the mirror.She was gone. The mirror reflected faithfully what his room presented,and nothing more. It stood there like a golden setting whence thecentral jewel has been stolen away--like a night-sky without the gloryof its stars. She had carried with her all the strangeness of thereflected room. It had sunk to the level of the one without.
But when the first pangs of his disappointment had passed, Cosmo beganto comfort himself with the hope that she might return, perhaps the nextevening, at the same hour. Resolving that if she did, she should notat least be scared by the hateful skeleton, he removed that and severalother articles of questionable appearance into a recess by the side ofthe hearth, whence they could not possibly cast any reflection into themirror; and having made his poor room as tidy as he could, sought thesolace of the open sky and of a night wind that had begun to blow, forhe could not rest where he was. When he returned, somewhat composed, hecould hardly prevail with himself to lie down on his bed; for he couldnot help feeling as if she had lain upon it; and for him to lie therenow would be something like sacrilege. However, weariness prevailed; andlaying himself on the couch, dressed as he was, he slept till day.
With a beating heart, beating till he could hardly breathe, he stoodin dumb hope before the mirror, on the following evening. Again thereflected room shone as through a purple vapour in the gatheringtwilight. Everything seemed waiting like himself for a coming splendourto glorify its poor earthliness with the presence of a heavenly joy. Andjust as the room vibrated with the strokes of the neighbouring churchbell, announcing the hour of six, in glided the pale beauty, and againlaid herself on the couch. Poor Cosmo nearly lost his senses withdelight. She was there once more! Her eyes sought the corner where theskeleton had stood, and a faint gleam of satisfaction crossed her face,apparently at seeing it empty. She looked suffering still, but there wasless of discomfort expressed in her countenance than there had been thenight before. She took more notice of the things about her, and seemedto gaze with some curiosity on the strange apparatus standing here andthere in her room. At length, however, drowsiness seemed to overtakeher, and again she fell asleep. Resolved not to lose sight of her thistime, Cosmo watched the sleeping form. Her slumber was so deep andabsorbing that a fascinating repose seemed to pass contagiously from herto him as he gazed upon her; and he started as if from a dream, whenthe lady moved, and, without opening her eyes, rose, and passed from theroom with the gait of a somnambulist.
Cosmo was now in a state of extravagant delight. Most men have a secrettreasure somewhere. The miser has his golden hoard; the virtuoso his petring; the student his rare book; the poet his favourite haunt; the loverhis secret drawer; but Cosmo had a mirror with a lovely lady in it. Andnow that he knew by the skeleton, that she was affected by the thingsaround her, he had a new object in life: he would turn the bare chamberin the mirror into a room such as no lady need disdain to call her own.This he could effect only by furnishing and adorning his. And Cosmo waspoor. Yet he possessed accomplishments that could be turned to account;although, hitherto, he had preferred living on his slender allowance, toincreasing his means by what his pride considered unworthy of his rank.He was the best swordsman in the University; and now he offered to givelessons in fencing and similar exercises, to such as chose to payhim well for the trouble. His proposal was heard with surprise by thestudents; but it was eagerly accepted by many; and soon his instructionswere not confined to the richer students, but were anxiously sought bymany of the young nobility of Prague and its neighbourhood. So that verysoon he had a good deal of money at his command. The first thing he didwas to remove his apparatus and oddities into a closet in the room.Then he placed his bed and a few other necessaries on each side of thehearth, and parted them from the rest of the room by two screens ofIndian fabric. Then he put an elegant couch for the lady to lie upon, inthe corner where his bed had formerly stood; and, by degrees, everyday adding some article of luxury, converted it, at length, into a richboudoir.
Every night, about the same time, the lady entered. The first time shesaw the new couch, she started with a half-smile; then her face grewvery sad, the tears came to her eyes, and she laid herself upon thecouch, and pressed her face into the silken cushions, as if to hide fromeverything. She took notice of each addition and each change as the workproceeded; and a look of acknowledgment, as if she knew that someone was ministering to her, and was grateful for it, mingled with theconstant look of suffering. At length, after she had lain down as usualone evening, her eyes fell upon some paintings with which Cosmo had justfinished adorning the walls. She rose, and to his great delight, walkedacross the room, and proceeded to examine them carefully, testifyingmuch pleasure in her looks as she did so. But again the sorrowful,tearful expression returned, and again she buried her face in thepillows of her couch. Gradually, however, her countenance had grown morecomposed; much of the suffering manifest on her first appearance hadvanished, and a kind of quiet, hopeful expression had taken its place;which, however, frequently gave way to an anxious, troubled look,mingled with something of sympathetic pity.
Meantime, how fared Cosmo? As might be expected in one of histemperament, his interest had blossomed into love, and his love--shallI call it RIPENED, or--WITHERED into passion. But, alas! he loved ashadow. He could not come near her, could not speak to her, could nothear a sound from those sweet lips, to which his longing eyes wouldcling like bees to their honey-founts. Ever and anon he sang to himself:
“I shall die for love of the maiden;”
and ever he looked again, and died not, though his heart seemed ready tobreak with intensity of life and longing. And the more he did for her,the more he loved her; and he hoped that, although she never appearedto see him, yet she was pleased to think that one unknown would give hislife to her. He tried to comfort himself over his separation from her,by thinking that perhaps some day she would see him and make signs tohim, and that would satisfy him; “for,” thought he, “is not this allthat a loving soul can do to enter into communion with another? Nay,how many who love never come nearer than to behold each other as in amirror; seem to know and yet never know the inward life; never enterthe other soul; and part at last, with but the vaguest notion of theuniverse on the borders of which they have been hovering for years? IfI could but speak to her, and knew that she heard me, I should besatisfied.” Once he contemplated painting a picture on the wall, whichshould, of necessity, convey to the lady a thought of himself; but,though he had some skill with the pencil, he found his hand tremble somuch when he began the attempt, that he was forced to give it up. . . .. .
“Who lives, he dies; who dies, he is alive.”
One evening, as he stood gazing on his treasure, he thought hesaw a faint expression of self-consciousness on her countenance, as ifshe surmised that passionate eyes were fixed upon her. This grew; tillat last the red blood rose over her neck, and cheek, and brow. Cosmo’slonging to approach her became almost delirious. This night she wasdressed in an evening costume, resplendent with diamonds. This could addnothing to her beauty, but it presented it in a new aspect; enabled herloveliness to make a new manifestation of itself in a new embodiment.For essential beauty is infinite; and, as the soul of Nature needs anendless succession of varied forms to embody her loveliness, countlessfaces of beauty springing forth, not any two the same, at any one ofher heart-throbs; so the individual form needs an infinite change of itsenvironments, to enable it to uncover all the phases of its loveliness.Diamonds glittered from amidst her hair, half hidden in its luxuriance,like stars through dark rain-clouds; and the bracelets on her white armsflashed all the colours of a rainbow of lightnings, as she lifted hersnowy hands to cover her burning face. But her beauty shone down all itsadornment. “If I might have but one of her feet to kiss,” tho
ught Cosmo,“I should be content.” Alas! he deceived himself, for passion is nevercontent. Nor did he know that there are TWO ways out of her enchantedhouse. But, suddenly, as if the pang had been driven into his heartfrom without, revealing itself first in pain, and afterwards in definiteform, the thought darted into his mind, “She has a lover somewhere.Remembered words of his bring the colour on her face now. I am nowhereto her. She lives in another world all day, and all night, after sheleaves me. Why does she come and make me love her, till I, a strong man,am too faint to look upon her more?” He looked again, and her face waspale as a lily. A sorrowful compassion seemed to rebuke the glitter ofthe restless jewels, and the slow tears rose in her eyes. She left herroom sooner this evening than was her wont. Cosmo remained alone, with afeeling as if his bosom had been suddenly left empty and hollow, and theweight of the whole world was crushing in its walls. The next evening,for the first time since she began to come, she came not.
And now Cosmo was in wretched plight. Since the thought of a rivalhad occurred to him, he could not rest for a moment. More than ever helonged to see the lady face to face. He persuaded himself that if he butknew the worst he would be satisfied; for then he could abandon Prague,and find that relief in constant motion, which is the hope of all activeminds when invaded by distress. Meantime he waited with unspeakableanxiety for the next night, hoping she would return: but she did notappear. And now he fell really ill. Rallied by his fellow students onhis wretched looks, he ceased to attend the lectures. His engagementswere neglected. He cared for nothing. The sky, with the great sun in it,was to him a heartless, burning desert. The men and women in the streetswere mere puppets, without motives in themselves, or interest to him. Hesaw them all as on the ever-changing field of a camera obscura. She--shealone and altogether--was his universe, his well of life, his incarnategood. For six evenings she came not. Let his absorbing passion, andthe slow fever that was consuming his brain, be his excuse for theresolution which he had taken and begun to execute, before that time hadexpired.
Reasoning with himself, that it must be by some enchantment connectedwith the mirror, that the form of the lady was to be seen in it, hedetermined to attempt to turn to account what he had hitherto studiedprincipally from curiosity. “For,” said he to himself, “if a spell canforce her presence in that glass (and she came unwillingly at first),may not a stronger spell, such as I know, especially with the aid ofher half-presence in the mirror, if ever she appears again, compelher living form to come to me here? If I do her wrong, let love bemy excuse. I want only to know my doom from her own lips.” He neverdoubted, all the time, that she was a real earthly woman; or, rather,that there was a woman, who, somehow or other, threw this reflection ofher form into the magic mirror.
He opened his secret drawer, took out his books of magic, lighted hislamp, and read and made notes from midnight till three in the morning,for three successive nights. Then he replaced his books; and the nextnight went out in quest of the materials necessary for the conjuration.These were not easy to find; for, in love-charms and all incantations ofthis nature, ingredients are employed scarcely fit to be mentioned,and for the thought even of which, in connexion with her, he could onlyexcuse himself on the score of his bitter need. At length he succeededin procuring all he required; and on the seventh evening from that onwhich she had last appeared, he found himself prepared for the exerciseof unlawful and tyrannical power.
He cleared the centre of the room; stooped and drew a circle of red onthe floor, around the spot where he stood; wrote in the four quartersmystical signs, and numbers which were all powers of seven or nine;examined the whole ring carefully, to see that no smallest break hadoccurred in the circumference; and then rose from his bending posture.As he rose, the church clock struck seven; and, just as she had appearedthe first time, reluctant, slow, and stately, glided in the lady. Cosmotrembled; and when, turning, she revealed a countenance worn and wan, aswith sickness or inward trouble, he grew faint, and felt as if he darednot proceed. But as he gazed on the face and form, which now possessedhis whole soul, to the exclusion of all other joys and griefs, thelonging to speak to her, to know that she heard him, to hear from herone word in return, became so unendurable, that he suddenly and hastilyresumed his preparations. Stepping carefully from the circle, he puta small brazier into its centre. He then set fire to its contents ofcharcoal, and while it burned up, opened his window and seated himself,waiting, beside it.
It was a sultry evening. The air was full of thunder. A sense ofluxurious depression filled the brain. The sky seemed to have grownheavy, and to compress the air beneath it. A kind of purplish tingepervaded the atmosphere, and through the open window came the scents ofthe distant fields, which all the vapours of the city could not quench.Soon the charcoal glowed. Cosmo sprinkled upon it the incense and othersubstances which he had compounded, and, stepping within the circle,turned his face from the brazier and towards the mirror. Then, fixinghis eyes upon the face of the lady, he began with a trembling voice torepeat a powerful incantation. He had not gone far, before the lady grewpale; and then, like a returning wave, the blood washed all its bankswith its crimson tide, and she hid her face in her hands. Then he passedto a conjuration stronger yet.
The lady rose and walked uneasily to and fro in her room. Another spell;and she seemed seeking with her eyes for some object on which theywished to rest. At length it seemed as if she suddenly espied him;for her eyes fixed themselves full and wide upon his, and she drewgradually, and somewhat unwillingly, close to her side of the mirror,just as if his eyes had fascinated her. Cosmo had never seen her so nearbefore. Now at least, eyes met eyes; but he could not quite understandthe expression of hers. They were full of tender entreaty, but there wassomething more that he could not interpret. Though his heart seemed tolabour in his throat, he would allow no delight or agitation to turn himfrom his task. Looking still in her face, he passed on to the mightiestcharm he knew. Suddenly the lady turned and walked out of the doorof her reflected chamber. A moment after she entered his room withveritable presence; and, forgetting all his precautions, he sprang fromthe charmed circle, and knelt before her. There she stood, the livinglady of his passionate visions, alone beside him, in a thunderytwilight, and the glow of a magic fire.
“Why,” said the lady, with a trembling voice, “didst thou bring a poormaiden through the rainy streets alone?”
“Because I am dying for love of thee; but I only brought thee from themirror there.”
“Ah, the mirror!” and she looked up at it, and shuddered. “Alas! I ambut a slave, while that mirror exists. But do not think it was the powerof thy spells that drew me; it was thy longing desire to see me, thatbeat at the door of my heart, till I was forced to yield.”
“Canst thou love me then?” said Cosmo, in a voice calm as death, butalmost inarticulate with emotion.
“I do not know,” she replied sadly; “that I cannot tell, so long as I ambewildered with enchantments. It were indeed a joy too great, to lay myhead on thy bosom and weep to death; for I think thou lovest me, thoughI do not know;--but----”
Cosmo rose from his knees.
“I love thee as--nay, I know not what--for since I have loved thee,there is nothing else.”
He seized her hand: she withdrew it.
“No, better not; I am in thy power, and therefore I may not.”
She burst into tears, and kneeling before him in her turn, said--
“Cosmo, if thou lovest me, set me free, even from thyself; break themirror.”
“And shall I see thyself instead?”
“That I cannot tell, I will not deceive thee; we may never meet again.”
A fierce struggle arose in Cosmo’s bosom. Now she was in his power. Shedid not dislike him at least; and he could see her when he would. Tobreak the mirror would be to destroy his very life to banish out of hisuniverse the only glory it possessed. The whole world would be but aprison, if he annihilated the one window that looked into the paradiseof love. Not yet pure in love, h
e hesitated.
With a wail of sorrow the lady rose to her feet. “Ah! he loves me not;he loves me not even as I love him; and alas! I care more for his lovethan even for the freedom I ask.”
“I will not wait to be willing,” cried Cosmo; and sprang to the cornerwhere the great sword stood.
Meantime it had grown very dark; only the embers cast a red glow throughthe room. He seized the sword by the steel scabbard, and stood beforethe mirror; but as he heaved a great blow at it with the heavy pommel,the blade slipped half-way out of the scabbard, and the pommel struckthe wall above the mirror. At that moment, a terrible clap of thunderseemed to burst in the very room beside them; and ere Cosmo could repeatthe blow, he fell senseless on the hearth. When he came to himself, hefound that the lady and the mirror had both disappeared. He was seizedwith a brain fever, which kept him to his couch for weeks.
When he recovered his reason, he began to think what could have becomeof the mirror. For the lady, he hoped she had found her way back asshe came; but as the mirror involved her fate with its own, he was moreimmediately anxious about that. He could not think she had carried itaway. It was much too heavy, even if it had not been too firmly fixed inthe wall, for her to remove it. Then again, he remembered the thunder;which made him believe that it was not the lightning, but some otherblow that had struck him down. He concluded that, either by supernaturalagency, he having exposed himself to the vengeance of the demons inleaving the circle of safety, or in some other mode, the mirror hadprobably found its way back to its former owner; and, horrible to thinkof, might have been by this time once more disposed of, delivering upthe lady into the power of another man; who, if he used his power noworse than he himself had done, might yet give Cosmo abundant cause tocurse the selfish indecision which prevented him from shattering themirror at once. Indeed, to think that she whom he loved, and who hadprayed to him for freedom, should be still at the mercy, in some degree,of the possessor of the mirror, and was at least exposed to his constantobservation, was in itself enough to madden a chary lover.
Anxiety to be well retarded his recovery; but at length he was able tocreep abroad. He first made his way to the old broker’s, pretending tobe in search of something else. A laughing sneer on the creature’s faceconvinced him that he knew all about it; but he could not see it amongsthis furniture, or get any information out of him as to what had becomeof it. He expressed the utmost surprise at hearing it had been stolen, asurprise which Cosmo saw at once to be counterfeited; while, at the sametime, he fancied that the old wretch was not at all anxious to have itmistaken for genuine. Full of distress, which he concealed as well as hecould, he made many searches, but with no avail. Of course he couldask no questions; but he kept his ears awake for any remotest hint thatmight set him in a direction of search. He never went out without ashort heavy hammer of steel about him, that he might shatter the mirrorthe moment he was made happy by the sight of his lost treasure, if everthat blessed moment should arrive. Whether he should see the lady again,was now a thought altogether secondary, and postponed to the achievementof her freedom. He wandered here and there, like an anxious ghost, paleand haggard; gnawed ever at the heart, by the thought of what she mightbe suffering--all from his fault.
One night, he mingled with a crowd that filled the rooms of one ofthe most distinguished mansions in the city; for he accepted everyinvitation, that he might lose no chance, however poor, of obtainingsome information that might expedite his discovery. Here he wanderedabout, listening to every stray word that he could catch, in the hope ofa revelation. As he approached some ladies who were talking quietly in acorner, one said to another:
“Have you heard of the strange illness of the Princess von Hohenweiss?”
“Yes; she has been ill for more than a year now. It is very sad for sofine a creature to have such a terrible malady. She was better forsome weeks lately, but within the last few days the same attacks havereturned, apparently accompanied with more suffering than ever. It isaltogether an inexplicable story.”
“Is there a story connected with her illness?”
“I have only heard imperfect reports of it; but it is said that she gaveoffence some eighteen months ago to an old woman who had held anoffice of trust in the family, and who, after some incoherent threats,disappeared. This peculiar affection followed soon after. But thestrangest part of the story is its association with the loss of anantique mirror, which stood in her dressing-room, and of which sheconstantly made use.”
Here the speaker’s voice sank to a whisper; and Cosmo, although his verysoul sat listening in his ears, could hear no more. He trembled too muchto dare to address the ladies, even if it had been advisable to exposehimself to their curiosity. The name of the Princess was well known tohim, but he had never seen her; except indeed it was she, which now hehardly doubted, who had knelt before him on that dreadful night. Fearfulof attracting attention, for, from the weak state of his health, hecould not recover an appearance of calmness, he made his way to the openair, and reached his lodgings; glad in this, that he at least knew whereshe lived, although he never dreamed of approaching her openly, evenif he should be happy enough to free her from her hateful bondage. Hehoped, too, that as he had unexpectedly learned so much, the other andfar more important part might be revealed to him ere long.
*****
“Have you seen Steinwald lately?”
“No, I have not seen him for some time. He is almost a match for me atthe rapier, and I suppose he thinks he needs no more lessons.”
“I wonder what has become of him. I want to see him very much. Let mesee; the last time I saw him he was coming out of that old broker’sden, to which, if you remember, you accompanied me once, to look at somearmour. That is fully three weeks ago.”
This hint was enough for Cosmo. Von Steinwald was a man of influence inthe court, well known for his reckless habits and fierce passions. Thevery possibility that the mirror should be in his possession was hellitself to Cosmo. But violent or hasty measures of any sort were mostunlikely to succeed. All that he wanted was an opportunity of breakingthe fatal glass; and to obtain this he must bide his time. He revolvedmany plans in his mind, but without being able to fix upon any.
At length, one evening, as he was passing the house of Von Steinwald, hesaw the windows more than usually brilliant. He watched for a while,and seeing that company began to arrive, hastened home, and dressedas richly as he could, in the hope of mingling with the guestsunquestioned: in effecting which, there could be no difficulty for a manof his carriage.
*****
In a lofty, silent chamber, in another part of the city, lay a form morelike marble than a living woman. The loveliness of death seemed frozenupon her face, for her lips were rigid, and her eyelids closed. Her longwhite hands were crossed over her breast, and no breathing disturbedtheir repose. Beside the dead, men speak in whispers, as if the deepestrest of all could be broken by the sound of a living voice. Just so,though the soul was evidently beyond the reach of all intimations fromthe senses, the two ladies, who sat beside her, spoke in the gentlesttones of subdued sorrow. “She has lain so for an hour.”
“This cannot last long, I fear.”
“How much thinner she has grown within the last few weeks! If she wouldonly speak, and explain what she suffers, it would be better for her.I think she has visions in her trances, but nothing can induce her torefer to them when she is awake.”
“Does she ever speak in these trances?”
“I have never heard her; but they say she walks sometimes, and once putthe whole household in a terrible fright by disappearing for a wholehour, and returning drenched with rain, and almost dead with exhaustionand fright. But even then she would give no account of what hadhappened.”
A scarce audible murmur from the yet motionless lips of the ladyhere startled her attendants. After several ineffectual attempts atarticulation, the word “COSMO!” burst from her. Then she lay still asbefore; but only for a moment. With a wild cry, she sprang from thecouch e
rect on the floor, flung her arms above her head, with claspedand straining hands, and, her wide eyes flashing with light, calledaloud, with a voice exultant as that of a spirit bursting from asepulchre, “I am free! I am free! I thank thee!” Then she flung herselfon the couch, and sobbed; then rose, and paced wildly up and down theroom, with gestures of mingled delight and anxiety. Then turning to hermotionless attendants--“Quick, Lisa, my cloak and hood!” Then lower--“Imust go to him. Make haste, Lisa! You may come with me, if you will.”
In another moment they were in the street, hurrying along towards oneof the bridges over the Moldau. The moon was near the zenith, and thestreets were almost empty. The Princess soon outstripped her attendant,and was half-way over the bridge, before the other reached it.
“Are you free, lady? The mirror is broken: are you free?”
The words were spoken close beside her, as she hurried on. She turned;and there, leaning on the parapet in a recess of the bridge, stoodCosmo, in a splendid dress, but with a white and quivering face.
“Cosmo!--I am free--and thy servant for ever. I was coming to you now.”
“And I to you, for Death made me bold; but I could get no further. HaveI atoned at all? Do I love you a little--truly?”
“Ah, I know now that you love me, my Cosmo; but what do you say aboutdeath?”
He did not reply. His hand was pressed against his side. She looked moreclosely: the blood was welling from between the fingers. She flung herarms around him with a faint bitter wail.
When Lisa came up, she found her mistress kneeling above a wan deadface, which smiled on in the spectral moonbeams.
And now I will say no more about these wondrous volumes; thoughI could tell many a tale out of them, and could, perhaps, vaguelyrepresent some entrancing thoughts of a deeper kind which I found withinthem. From many a sultry noon till twilight, did I sit in that grandhall, buried and risen again in these old books. And I trust I havecarried away in my soul some of the exhalations of their undying leaves.In after hours of deserved or needful sorrow, portions of what I readthere have often come to me again, with an unexpected comforting;which was not fruitless, even though the comfort might seem in itselfgroundless and vain.