CHAPTER XXII
“No one has my form but the I.” Schoppe, in JEAN PAUL’S Titan.
“Joy’s a subtil elf. I think man’s happiest when he forgets himself.” CYRIL TOURNEUR, The Revenger’s Tragedy.
On the third day of my journey, I was riding gently along a road,apparently little frequented, to judge from the grass that grew uponit. I was approaching a forest. Everywhere in Fairy Land forests are theplaces where one may most certainly expect adventures. As I drew near, ayouth, unarmed, gentle, and beautiful, who had just cut a branch from ayew growing on the skirts of the wood, evidently to make himself a bow,met me, and thus accosted me:
“Sir knight, be careful as thou ridest through this forest; for it issaid to be strangely enchanted, in a sort which even those who have beenwitnesses of its enchantment can hardly describe.”
I thanked him for his advice, which I promised to follow, and rode on.But the moment I entered the wood, it seemed to me that, if enchantmentthere was, it must be of a good kind; for the Shadow, which had beenmore than usually dark and distressing, since I had set out on thisjourney, suddenly disappeared. I felt a wonderful elevation of spirits,and began to reflect on my past life, and especially on my combatwith the giants, with such satisfaction, that I had actually to remindmyself, that I had only killed one of them; and that, but for thebrothers, I should never have had the idea of attacking them, not tomention the smallest power of standing to it. Still I rejoiced, andcounted myself amongst the glorious knights of old; having even theunspeakable presumption--my shame and self-condemnation at the memoryof it are such, that I write it as the only and sorest penance I canperform--to think of myself (will the world believe it?) as side by sidewith Sir Galahad! Scarcely had the thought been born in my mind, when,approaching me from the left, through the trees, I espied a resplendentknight, of mighty size, whose armour seemed to shine of itself, withoutthe sun. When he drew near, I was astonished to see that this armour waslike my own; nay, I could trace, line for line, the correspondence ofthe inlaid silver to the device on my own. His horse, too, was like minein colour, form, and motion; save that, like his rider, he was greaterand fiercer than his counterpart. The knight rode with beaver up. As hehalted right opposite to me in the narrow path, barring my way, I sawthe reflection of my countenance in the centre plate of shining steel onhis breastplate. Above it rose the same face--his face--only, as I havesaid, larger and fiercer. I was bewildered. I could not help feelingsome admiration of him, but it was mingled with a dim conviction that hewas evil, and that I ought to fight with him.
“Let me pass,” I said.
“When I will,” he replied.
Something within me said: “Spear in rest, and ride at him! else thou artfor ever a slave.”
I tried, but my arm trembled so much, that I could not couch my lance.To tell the truth, I, who had overcome the giant, shook like a cowardbefore this knight. He gave a scornful laugh, that echoed through thewood, turned his horse, and said, without looking round, “Follow me.”
I obeyed, abashed and stupefied. How long he led, and how long Ifollowed, I cannot tell. “I never knew misery before,” I said to myself.“Would that I had at least struck him, and had had my death-blow inreturn! Why, then, do I not call to him to wheel and defend himself?Alas! I know not why, but I cannot. One look from him would cow me likea beaten hound.” I followed, and was silent.
At length we came to a dreary square tower, in the middle of a denseforest. It looked as if scarce a tree had been cut down to make room forit. Across the very door, diagonally, grew the stem of a tree, so largethat there was just room to squeeze past it in order to enter. Onemiserable square hole in the roof was the only visible suggestion of awindow. Turret or battlement, or projecting masonry of any kind, it hadnone. Clear and smooth and massy, it rose from its base, and ended witha line straight and unbroken. The roof, carried to a centre from each ofthe four walls, rose slightly to the point where the rafters met. Roundthe base lay several little heaps of either bits of broken branches,withered and peeled, or half-whitened bones; I could not distinguishwhich. As I approached, the ground sounded hollow beneath my horse’shoofs. The knight took a great key from his pocket, and reaching pastthe stem of the tree, with some difficulty opened the door. “Dismount,” he commanded. I obeyed. He turned my horse’s head away from the tower,gave him a terrible blow with the flat side of his sword, and sent himmadly tearing through the forest.
“Now,” said he, “enter, and take your companion with you.”
I looked round: knight and horse had vanished, and behind me lay thehorrible shadow. I entered, for I could not help myself; and the shadowfollowed me. I had a terrible conviction that the knight and he wereone. The door closed behind me.
Now I was indeed in pitiful plight. There was literally nothing in thetower but my shadow and me. The walls rose right up to the roof; inwhich, as I had seen from without, there was one little square opening.This I now knew to be the only window the tower possessed. I sat down onthe floor, in listless wretchedness. I think I must have fallen asleep,and have slept for hours; for I suddenly became aware of existence, inobserving that the moon was shining through the hole in the roof. As sherose higher and higher, her light crept down the wall over me, till atlast it shone right upon my head. Instantaneously the walls of the towerseemed to vanish away like a mist. I sat beneath a beech, on the edgeof a forest, and the open country lay, in the moonlight, for miles andmiles around me, spotted with glimmering houses and spires and towers. Ithought with myself, “Oh, joy! it was only a dream; the horrible narrowwaste is gone, and I wake beneath a beech-tree, perhaps one that lovesme, and I can go where I will.” I rose, as I thought, and walked about,and did what I would, but ever kept near the tree; for always, and, ofcourse, since my meeting with the woman of the beech-tree far more thanever, I loved that tree. So the night wore on. I waited for the sun torise, before I could venture to renew my journey. But as soon as thefirst faint light of the dawn appeared, instead of shining upon mefrom the eye of the morning, it stole like a fainting ghost through thelittle square hole above my head; and the walls came out as the lightgrew, and the glorious night was swallowed up of the hateful day. Thelong dreary day passed. My shadow lay black on the floor. I felt nohunger, no need of food. The night came. The moon shone. I watched herlight slowly descending the wall, as I might have watched, adown thesky, the long, swift approach of a helping angel. Her rays touched me,and I was free. Thus night after night passed away. I should have diedbut for this. Every night the conviction returned, that I was free.Every morning I sat wretchedly disconsolate. At length, when the courseof the moon no longer permitted her beams to touch me, the night wasdreary as the day.
When I slept, I was somewhat consoled by my dreams; but all the time Idreamed, I knew that I was only dreaming. But one night, at length, themoon, a mere shred of pallor, scattered a few thin ghostly rays upon me;and I think I fell asleep and dreamed. I sat in an autumn night beforethe vintage, on a hill overlooking my own castle. My heart sprang withjoy. Oh, to be a child again, innocent, fearless, without shame ordesire! I walked down to the castle. All were in consternation at myabsence. My sisters were weeping for my loss. They sprang up and clungto me, with incoherent cries, as I entered. My old friends came flockinground me. A gray light shone on the roof of the hall. It was thelight of the dawn shining through the square window of my tower.More earnestly than ever, I longed for freedom after this dream; moredrearily than ever, crept on the next wretched day. I measured by thesunbeams, caught through the little window in the trap of my tower, howit went by, waiting only for the dreams of the night.
About noon, I started as if something foreign to all my senses and allmy experience, had suddenly invaded me; yet it was only the voice ofa woman singing. My whole frame quivered with joy, surprise, and thesensation of the unforeseen. Like a living soul, like an incarnation ofNature, the song entered my prison-house. Each tone folded i
ts wings,and laid itself, like a caressing bird, upon my heart. It bathed me likea sea; inwrapt me like an odorous vapour; entered my soul like a longdraught of clear spring-water; shone upon me like essential sunlight;soothed me like a mother’s voice and hand. Yet, as the clearestforest-well tastes sometimes of the bitterness of decayed leaves, so tomy weary, prisoned heart, its cheerfulness had a sting of cold, and itstenderness unmanned me with the faintness of long-departed joys. I wepthalf-bitterly, half-luxuriously; but not long. I dashed away the tears,ashamed of a weakness which I thought I had abandoned. Ere I knew, I hadwalked to the door, and seated myself with my ears against it, in orderto catch every syllable of the revelation from the unseen outer world.And now I heard each word distinctly. The singer seemed to be standingor sitting near the tower, for the sounds indicated no change of place.The song was something like this:
The sun, like a golden knot on high, Gathers the glories of the sky, And binds them into a shining tent, Roofing the world with the firmament. And through the pavilion the rich winds blow, And through the pavilion the waters go. And the birds for joy, and the trees for prayer, Bowing their heads in the sunny air, And for thoughts, the gently talking springs, That come from the centre with secret things-- All make a music, gentle and strong, Bound by the heart into one sweet song. And amidst them all, the mother Earth Sits with the children of her birth; She tendeth them all, as a mother hen Her little ones round her, twelve or ten: Oft she sitteth, with hands on knee, Idle with love for her family. Go forth to her from the dark and the dust, And weep beside her, if weep thou must; If she may not hold thee to her breast, Like a weary infant, that cries for rest At least she will press thee to her knee, And tell a low, sweet tale to thee, Till the hue to thy cheeky and the light to thine eye, Strength to thy limbs, and courage high To thy fainting heart, return amain, And away to work thou goest again. From the narrow desert, O man of pride, Come into the house, so high and wide.
Hardly knowing what I did, I opened the door. Why had I not done sobefore? I do not know.
At first I could see no one; but when I had forced myself past the treewhich grew across the entrance, I saw, seated on the ground, and leaningagainst the tree, with her back to my prison, a beautiful woman. Hercountenance seemed known to me, and yet unknown. She looked at me andsmiled, when I made my appearance.
“Ah! were you the prisoner there? I am very glad I have wiled you out.”
“Do you know me then?” “Do you not know me? But you hurt me, and that,I suppose, makes it easy for a man to forget. You broke my globe. YetI thank you. Perhaps I owe you many thanks for breaking it. I took thepieces, all black, and wet with crying over them, to the Fairy Queen.There was no music and no light in them now. But she took them from me,and laid them aside; and made me go to sleep in a great hall of white,with black pillars, and many red curtains. When I woke in the morning,I went to her, hoping to have my globe again, whole and sound; but shesent me away without it, and I have not seen it since. Nor do I care forit now. I have something so much better. I do not need the globe to playto me; for I can sing. I could not sing at all before. Now I go abouteverywhere through Fairy Land, singing till my heart is like to break,just like my globe, for very joy at my own songs. And wherever I go, mysongs do good, and deliver people. And now I have delivered you, and Iam so happy.”
She ceased, and the tears came into her eyes.
All this time, I had been gazing at her; and now fully recognised theface of the child, glorified in the countenance of the woman.
I was ashamed and humbled before her; but a great weight was liftedfrom my thoughts. I knelt before her, and thanked her, and begged her toforgive me.
“Rise, rise,” she said; “I have nothing to forgive; I thank you. But nowI must be gone, for I do not know how many may be waiting for me, hereand there, through the dark forests; and they cannot come out till Icome.”
She rose, and with a smile and a farewell, turned and left me. I darednot ask her to stay; in fact, I could hardly speak to her. Betweenher and me, there was a great gulf. She was uplifted, by sorrow andwell-doing, into a region I could hardly hope ever to enter. I watchedher departure, as one watches a sunset. She went like a radiance throughthe dark wood, which was henceforth bright to me, from simply knowingthat such a creature was in it.
She was bearing the sun to the unsunned spots. The light and the musicof her broken globe were now in her heart and her brain. As she went,she sang; and I caught these few words of her song; and the tones seemedto linger and wind about the trees after she had disappeared:
Thou goest thine, and I go mine-- Many ways we wend; Many days, and many ways, Ending in one end.
Many a wrong, and its curing song; Many a road, and many an inn; Room to roam, but only one home For all the world to win. And so she vanished. With a sad heart, soothed by humility, andthe knowledge of her peace and gladness, I bethought me what now Ishould do. First, I must leave the tower far behind me, lest, in someevil moment, I might be once more caged within its horrible walls. Butit was ill walking in my heavy armour; and besides I had now no rightto the golden spurs and the resplendent mail, fitly dulled with longneglect. I might do for a squire; but I honoured knighthood too highly,to call myself any longer one of the noble brotherhood. I stripped offall my armour, piled it under the tree, just where the lady had beenseated, and took my unknown way, eastward through the woods. Of all myweapons, I carried only a short axe in my hand.
Then first I knew the delight of being lowly; of saying to myself, “Iam what I am, nothing more.” “I have failed,” I said, “I have lostmyself--would it had been my shadow.” I looked round: the shadow wasnowhere to be seen. Ere long, I learned that it was not myself, butonly my shadow, that I had lost. I learned that it is better, athousand-fold, for a proud man to fall and be humbled, than to hold uphis head in his pride and fancied innocence. I learned that he that willbe a hero, will barely be a man; that he that will be nothing but a doerof his work, is sure of his manhood. In nothing was my ideal lowered, ordimmed, or grown less precious; I only saw it too plainly, to set myselffor a moment beside it. Indeed, my ideal soon became my life; whereas,formerly, my life had consisted in a vain attempt to behold, if not myideal in myself, at least myself in my ideal. Now, however, I took, atfirst, what perhaps was a mistaken pleasure, in despising and degradingmyself. Another self seemed to arise, like a white spirit from a deadman, from the dumb and trampled self of the past. Doubtless, this selfmust again die and be buried, and again, from its tomb, spring a wingedchild; but of this my history as yet bears not the record.
Self will come to life even in the slaying of self; but there is eversomething deeper and stronger than it, which will emerge at last fromthe unknown abysses of the soul: will it be as a solemn gloom, burningwith eyes? or a clear morning after the rain? or a smiling child, thatfinds itself nowhere, and everywhere?