CHAPTER III.
IDRIS stirred and awoke; alas! she awoke to misery. She saw the signs ofdisease on my countenance, and wondered how she could permit the long nightto pass without her having sought, not cure, that was impossible, butalleviation to my sufferings. She called Adrian; my couch was quicklysurrounded by friends and assistants, and such medicines as were judgedfitting were administered. It was the peculiar and dreadful distinction ofour visitation, that none who had been attacked by the pestilence hadrecovered. The first symptom of the disease was the death-warrant, which inno single instance had been followed by pardon or reprieve. No gleam ofhope therefore cheered my friends.
While fever producing torpor, heavy pains, sitting like lead on my limbs,and making my breast heave, were upon me; I continued insensible to everything but pain, and at last even to that. I awoke on the fourth morning asfrom a dreamless sleep. An irritating sense of thirst, and, when I stroveto speak or move, an entire dereliction of power, was all I felt.
For three days and nights Idris had not moved from my side. Sheadministered to all my wants, and never slept nor rested. She did not hope;and therefore she neither endeavoured to read the physician's countenance,nor to watch for symptoms of recovery. All her thought was to attend on meto the last, and then to lie down and die beside me. On the third nightanimation was suspended; to the eye and touch of all I was dead. Withearnest prayer, almost with force, Adrian tried to draw Idris from me. Heexhausted every adjuration, her child's welfare and his own. She shook herhead, and wiped a stealing tear from her sunk cheek, but would not yield;she entreated to be allowed to watch me that one night only, with suchaffliction and meek earnestness, that she gained her point, and sat silentand motionless, except when, stung by intolerable remembrance, she kissedmy closed eyes and pallid lips, and pressed my stiffening hands to herbeating heart.
At dead of night, when, though it was mid winter, the cock crowed at threeo'clock, as herald of the morning change, while hanging over me, andmourning in silent, bitter thought for the loss of all of love towards herthat had been enshrined in my heart; her dishevelled hair hung over herface, and the long tresses fell on the bed; she saw one ringlet in motion,and the scattered hair slightly stirred, as by a breath. It is not so, shethought, for he will never breathe more. Several times the same thingoccurred, and she only marked it by the same reflection; till the wholeringlet waved back, and she thought she saw my breast heave. Her firstemotion was deadly fear, cold dew stood on her brow; my eyes half opened;and, re-assured, she would have exclaimed, "He lives!" but the words werechoked by a spasm, and she fell with a groan on the floor.
Adrian was in the chamber. After long watching, he had unwillingly falleninto a sleep. He started up, and beheld his sister senseless on the earth,weltering in a stream of blood that gushed from her mouth. Encreasing signsof life in me in some degree explained her state; the surprise, the burstof joy, the revulsion of every sentiment, had been too much for her frame,worn by long months of care, late shattered by every species of woe andtoil. She was now in far greater danger than I, the wheels and springs ofmy life, once again set in motion, acquired elasticity from their shortsuspension. For a long time, no one believed that I should indeed continueto live; during the reign of the plague upon earth, not one person,attacked by the grim disease, had recovered. My restoration was looked onas a deception; every moment it was expected that the evil symptoms wouldrecur with redoubled violence, until confirmed convalescence, absence ofall fever or pain, and encreasing strength, brought slow conviction that Ihad recovered from the plague.
The restoration of Idris was more problematical. When I had been attackedby illness, her cheeks were sunk, her form emaciated; but now, the vessel,which had broken from the effects of extreme agitation, did not entirelyheal, but was as a channel that drop by drop drew from her the ruddy streamthat vivified her heart. Her hollow eyes and worn countenance had a ghastlyappearance; her cheek-bones, her open fair brow, the projection of themouth, stood fearfully prominent; you might tell each bone in the thinanatomy of her frame. Her hand hung powerless; each joint lay bare, so thatthe light penetrated through and through. It was strange that life couldexist in what was wasted and worn into a very type of death.
To take her from these heart-breaking scenes, to lead her to forget theworld's desolation in the variety of objects presented by travelling, andto nurse her failing strength in the mild climate towards which we hadresolved to journey, was my last hope for her preservation. Thepreparations for our departure, which had been suspended during my illness,were renewed. I did not revive to doubtful convalescence; health spent hertreasures upon me; as the tree in spring may feel from its wrinkled limbsthe fresh green break forth, and the living sap rise and circulate, so didthe renewed vigour of my frame, the cheerful current of my blood, thenew-born elasticity of my limbs, influence my mind to cheerful enduranceand pleasurable thoughts. My body, late the heavy weight that bound me tothe tomb, was exuberant with health; mere common exercises wereinsufficient for my reviving strength; methought I could emulate the speedof the race-horse, discern through the air objects at a blinding distance,hear the operations of nature in her mute abodes; my senses had become sorefined and susceptible after my recovery from mortal disease.
Hope, among my other blessings, was not denied to me; and I did fondlytrust that my unwearied attentions would restore my adored girl. I wastherefore eager to forward our preparations. According to the plan firstlaid down, we were to have quitted London on the twenty-fifth of November;and, in pursuance of this scheme, two-thirds of our people--thepeople--all that remained of England, had gone forward, and had already been someweeks in Paris. First my illness, and subsequently that of Idris, haddetained Adrian with his division, which consisted of three hundredpersons, so that we now departed on the first of January, 2098. It was mywish to keep Idris as distant as possible from the hurry and clamour of thecrowd, and to hide from her those appearances that would remind her mostforcibly of our real situation. We separated ourselves to a great degreefrom Adrian, who was obliged to give his whole time to public business. TheCountess of Windsor travelled with her son. Clara, Evelyn, and a female whoacted as our attendant, were the only persons with whom we had contact. Weoccupied a commodious carriage, our servant officiated as coachman. A partyof about twenty persons preceded us at a small distance. They had it incharge to prepare our halting places and our nightly abode. They had beenselected for this service out of a great number that offered, on account ofthe superior sagacity of the man who had been appointed their leader.
Immediately on our departure, I was delighted to find a change in Idris,which I fondly hoped prognosticated the happiest results. All thecheerfulness and gentle gaiety natural to her revived. She was weak, andthis alteration was rather displayed in looks and voice than in acts; butit was permanent and real. My recovery from the plague and confirmed healthinstilled into her a firm belief that I was now secure from this dreadenemy. She told me that she was sure she should recover. That she had apresentiment, that the tide of calamity which deluged our unhappy race hadnow turned. That the remnant would be preserved, and among them the dearobjects of her tender affection; and that in some selected spot we shouldwear out our lives together in pleasant society. "Do not let my state offeebleness deceive you," she said; "I feel that I am better; there is aquick life within me, and a spirit of anticipation that assures me, that Ishall continue long to make a part of this world. I shall throw off thisdegrading weakness of body, which infects even my mind with debility, and Ishall enter again on the performance of my duties. I was sorry to leaveWindsor: but now I am weaned from this local attachment; I am content toremove to a mild climate, which will complete my recovery. Trust me,dearest, I shall neither leave you, nor my brother, nor these dearchildren; my firm determination to remain with you to the last, and tocontinue to contribute to your happiness and welfare, would keep me alive,even if grim death were nearer at hand than he really is."
I was only half re-assured by thes
e expressions; I could not believe thatthe over-quick flow of her blood was a sign of health, or that her burningcheeks denoted convalescence. But I had no fears of an immediatecatastrophe; nay, I persuaded myself that she would ultimately recover. Andthus cheerfulness reigned in our little society. Idris conversed withanimation on a thousand topics. Her chief desire was to lead our thoughtsfrom melancholy reflections; so she drew charming pictures of a tranquilsolitude, of a beauteous retreat, of the simple manners of our littletribe, and of the patriarchal brotherhood of love, which would survive theruins of the populous nations which had lately existed. We shut out fromour thoughts the present, and withdrew our eyes from the dreary landscapewe traversed. Winter reigned in all its gloom. The leafless trees laywithout motion against the dun sky; the forms of frost, mimicking thefoliage of summer, strewed the ground; the paths were overgrown; theunploughed cornfields were patched with grass and weeds; the sheepcongregated at the threshold of the cottage, the horned ox thrust his headfrom the window. The wind was bleak, and frequent sleet or snow-storms,added to the melancholy appearance wintry nature assumed.
We arrived at Rochester, and an accident caused us to be detained there aday. During that time, a circumstance occurred that changed our plans, andwhich, alas! in its result changed the eternal course of events, turning mefrom the pleasant new sprung hope I enjoyed, to an obscure and gloomydesert. But I must give some little explanation before I proceed with thefinal cause of our temporary alteration of plan, and refer again to thosetimes when man walked the earth fearless, before Plague had become Queen ofthe World.
There resided a family in the neighbourhood of Windsor, of very humblepretensions, but which had been an object of interest to us on account ofone of the persons of whom it was composed. The family of the Claytons hadknown better days; but, after a series of reverses, the father died abankrupt, and the mother heartbroken, and a confirmed invalid, retired withher five children to a little cottage between Eton and Salt Hill. Theeldest of these children, who was thirteen years old, seemed at once fromthe influence of adversity, to acquire the sagacity and principle belongingto a more mature age. Her mother grew worse and worse in health, but Lucyattended on her, and was as a tender parent to her younger brothers andsisters, and in the meantime shewed herself so good-humoured, social, andbenevolent, that she was beloved as well as honoured, in her littleneighbourhood.
Lucy was besides extremely pretty; so when she grew to be sixteen, it wasto be supposed, notwithstanding her poverty, that she should have admirers.One of these was the son of a country-curate; he was a generous,frank-hearted youth, with an ardent love of knowledge, and no meanacquirements. Though Lucy was untaught, her mother's conversation andmanners gave her a taste for refinements superior to her present situation.She loved the youth even without knowing it, except that in any difficultyshe naturally turned to him for aid, and awoke with a lighter heart everySunday, because she knew that she would be met and accompanied by him inher evening walk with her sisters. She had another admirer, one of thehead-waiters at the inn at Salt Hill. He also was not without pretensionsto urbane superiority, such as he learnt from gentlemen's servants andwaiting-maids, who initiating him in all the slang of high life belowstairs, rendered his arrogant temper ten times more intrusive. Lucy did notdisclaim him--she was incapable of that feeling; but she was sorry whenshe saw him approach, and quietly resisted all his endeavours to establishan intimacy. The fellow soon discovered that his rival was preferred tohim; and this changed what was at first a chance admiration into a passion,whose main springs were envy, and a base desire to deprive his competitorof the advantage he enjoyed over himself.
Poor Lucy's sad story was but a common one. Her lover's father died; and hewas left destitute. He accepted the offer of a gentleman to go to Indiawith him, feeling secure that he should soon acquire an independence, andreturn to claim the hand of his beloved. He became involved in the warcarried on there, was taken prisoner, and years elapsed before tidings ofhis existence were received in his native land. In the meantime disastrouspoverty came on Lucy. Her little cottage, which stood looking from itstrellice, covered with woodbine and jessamine, was burnt down; and thewhole of their little property was included in the destruction. Whitherbetake them? By what exertion of industry could Lucy procure them anotherabode? Her mother nearly bed-rid, could not survive any extreme offamine-struck poverty. At this time her other admirer stept forward, andrenewed his offer of marriage. He had saved money, and was going to set upa little inn at Datchet. There was nothing alluring to Lucy in this offer,except the home it secured to her mother; and she felt more sure of this,since she was struck by the apparent generosity which occasioned thepresent offer. She accepted it; thus sacrificing herself for the comfortand welfare of her parent.
It was some years after her marriage that we became acquainted with her.The accident of a storm caused us to take refuge in the inn, where wewitnessed the brutal and quarrelsome behaviour of her husband, and herpatient endurance. Her lot was not a fortunate one. Her first lover hadreturned with the hope of making her his own, and met her by accident, forthe first time, as the mistress of his country inn, and the wife ofanother. He withdrew despairingly to foreign parts; nothing went well withhim; at last he enlisted, and came back again wounded and sick, and yetLucy was debarred from nursing him. Her husband's brutal disposition wasaggravated by his yielding to the many temptations held out by hissituation, and the consequent disarrangement of his affairs. Fortunatelyshe had no children; but her heart was bound up in her brothers andsisters, and these his avarice and ill temper soon drove from the house;they were dispersed about the country, earning their livelihood with toiland care. He even shewed an inclination to get rid of her mother--butLucy was firm here--she had sacrificed herself for her; she lived for her--she would not part with her--if the mother went, she would also go begbread for her, die with her, but never desert her. The presence of Lucy wastoo necessary in keeping up the order of the house, and in preventing thewhole establishment from going to wreck, for him to permit her to leavehim. He yielded the point; but in all accesses of anger, or in his drunkenfits, he recurred to the old topic, and stung poor Lucy's heart byopprobrious epithets bestowed on her parent.
A passion however, if it be wholly pure, entire, and reciprocal, bringswith it its own solace. Lucy was truly, and from the depth of heart,devoted to her mother; the sole end she proposed to herself in life, wasthe comfort and preservation of this parent. Though she grieved for theresult, yet she did not repent of her marriage, even when her loverreturned to bestow competence on her. Three years had intervened, and how,in their pennyless state, could her mother have existed during this time?This excellent woman was worthy of her child's devotion. A perfectconfidence and friendship existed between them; besides, she was by nomeans illiterate; and Lucy, whose mind had been in some degree cultivatedby her former lover, now found in her the only person who could understandand appreciate her. Thus, though suffering, she was by no means desolate,and when, during fine summer days, she led her mother into the flowery andshady lanes near their abode, a gleam of unmixed joy enlightened hercountenance; she saw that her parent was happy, and she knew that thishappiness was of her sole creating.
Meanwhile her husband's affairs grew more and more involved; ruin was nearat hand, and she was about to lose the fruit of all her labours, whenpestilence came to change the aspect of the world. Her husband reapedbenefit from the universal misery; but, as the disaster encreased, thespirit of lawlessness seized him; he deserted his home to revel in theluxuries promised him in London, and found there a grave. Her former loverhad been one of the first victims of the disease. But Lucy continued tolive for and in her mother. Her courage only failed when she dreaded perilfor her parent, or feared that death might prevent her from performingthose duties to which she was unalterably devoted.
When we had quitted Windsor for London, as the previous step to our finalemigration, we visited Lucy, and arranged with her the plan of her own andher mother's removal.
Lucy was sorry at the necessity which forced her toquit her native lanes and village, and to drag an infirm parent from hercomforts at home, to the homeless waste of depopulate earth; but she wastoo well disciplined by adversity, and of too sweet a temper, to indulge inrepinings at what was inevitable.
Subsequent circumstances, my illness and that of Idris, drove her from ourremembrance; and we called her to mind at last, only to conclude that shemade one of the few who came from Windsor to join the emigrants, and thatshe was already in Paris. When we arrived at Rochester therefore, we weresurprised to receive, by a man just come from Slough, a letter from thisexemplary sufferer. His account was, that, journeying from his home, andpassing through Datchet, he was surprised to see smoke issue from thechimney of the inn, and supposing that he should find comrades for hisjourney assembled there, he knocked and was admitted. There was no one inthe house but Lucy, and her mother; the latter had been deprived of the useof her limbs by an attack of rheumatism, and so, one by one, all theremaining inhabitants of the country set forward, leaving them alone. Lucyintreated the man to stay with her; in a week or two her mother would bebetter, and they would then set out; but they must perish, if they wereleft thus helpless and forlorn. The man said, that his wife and childrenwere already among the emigrants, and it was therefore, according to hisnotion, impossible for him to remain. Lucy, as a last resource, gave him aletter for Idris, to be delivered to her wherever he should meet us. Thiscommission at least he fulfilled, and Idris received with emotion thefollowing letter:--
"HONOURED LADY,
"I am sure that you will remember and pity me, and I dare hope that youwill assist me; what other hope have I? Pardon my manner of writing, I amso bewildered. A month ago my dear mother was deprived of the use of herlimbs. She is already better, and in another month would I am sure be ableto travel, in the way you were so kind as to say you would arrange for us.But now everybody is gone--everybody--as they went away, each said,that perhaps my mother would be better, before we were quite deserted. Butthree days ago I went to Samuel Woods, who, on account of his new-bornchild, remained to the last; and there being a large family of them, Ithought I could persuade them to wait a little longer for us; but I foundthe house deserted. I have not seen a soul since, till this good man came.--What will become of us? My mother does not know our state; she is soill, that I have hidden it from her.
"Will you not send some one to us? I am sure we must perish miserably as weare. If I were to try to move my mother now, she would die on the road; andif, when she gets better, I were able, I cannot guess how, to find out theroads, and get on so many many miles to the sea, you would all be inFrance, and the great ocean would be between us, which is so terrible evento sailors. What would it be to me, a woman, who never saw it? We should beimprisoned by it in this country, all, all alone, with no help; better diewhere we are. I can hardly write--I cannot stop my tears--it is not formyself; I could put my trust in God; and let the worst come, I think Icould bear it, if I were alone. But my mother, my sick, my dear, dearmother, who never, since I was born, spoke a harsh word to me,who has been patient in many sufferings; pity her, dear Lady,she must die a miserable death if you do not pity her. People speakcarelessly of her, because she is old and infirm, as if we must not all, ifwe are spared, become so; and then, when the young are old themselves, theywill think that they ought to be taken care of. It is very silly of me towrite in this way to you; but, when I hear her trying not to groan, and seeher look smiling on me to comfort me, when I know she is in pain; and whenI think that she does not know the worst, but she soon must; and then shewill not complain; but I shall sit guessing at all that she is dwellingupon, of famine and misery--I feel as if my heart must break, and I donot know what I say or do; my mother--mother for whom I have borne much,God preserve you from this fate! Preserve her, Lady, and He will bless you;and I, poor miserable creature as I am, will thank you and pray for youwhile I live.
"Your unhappy and dutiful servant,
"Dec. 30th, 2097. LUCY MARTIN."
This letter deeply affected Idris, and she instantly proposed, that weshould return to Datchet, to assist Lucy and her mother. I said that Iwould without delay set out for that place, but entreated her to join herbrother, and there await my return with the children. But Idris was in highspirits, and full of hope. She declared that she could not consent even toa temporary separation from me, but that there was no need of this, themotion of the carriage did her good, and the distance was too trifling tobe considered. We could dispatch messengers to Adrian, to inform him of ourdeviation from the original plan. She spoke with vivacity, and drew apicture after her own dear heart, of the pleasure we should bestow uponLucy, and declared, if I went, she must accompany me, and that she shouldvery much dislike to entrust the charge of rescuing them to others, whomight fulfil it with coldness or inhumanity. Lucy's life had been one actof devotion and virtue; let her now reap the small reward of finding herexcellence appreciated, and her necessity assisted, by those whom sherespected and honoured.
These, and many other arguments, were urged with gentle pertinacity, andthe ardour of a wish to do all the good in her power, by her whose simpleexpression of a desire and slightest request had ever been a law with me.I, of course, consented, the moment that I saw that she had set her heartupon this step. We sent half our attendant troop on to Adrian; and with theother half our carriage took a retrograde course back to Windsor.
I wonder now how I could be so blind and senseless, as thus to risk thesafety of Idris; for, if I had eyes, surely I could see the sure, thoughdeceitful, advance of death in her burning cheek and encreasing weakness.But she said she was better; and I believed her. Extinction could not benear a being, whose vivacity and intelligence hourly encreased, and whoseframe was endowed with an intense, and I fondly thought, a strong andpermanent spirit of life. Who, after a great disaster, has not looked backwith wonder at his inconceivable obtuseness of understanding, that couldnot perceive the many minute threads with which fate weaves theinextricable net of our destinies, until he is inmeshed completely in it?
The cross roads which we now entered upon, were even in a worse state thanthe long neglected high-ways; and the inconvenience seemed to menace theperishing frame of Idris with destruction. Passing through Dartford, wearrived at Hampton on the second day. Even in this short interval mybeloved companion grew sensibly worse in health, though her spirits werestill light, and she cheered my growing anxiety with gay sallies; sometimesthe thought pierced my brain--Is she dying?--as I saw her fairfleshless hand rest on mine, or observed the feebleness with which sheperformed the accustomed acts of life. I drove away the idea, as if it hadbeen suggested by insanity; but it occurred again and again, only to bedispelled by the continued liveliness of her manner.
About mid-day, after quitting Hampton, our carriage broke down: the shockcaused Idris to faint, but on her reviving no other ill consequence ensued;our party of attendants had as usual gone on before us, and our coachmanwent in search of another vehicle, our former one being rendered by thisaccident unfit for service. The only place near us was a poor village, inwhich he found a kind of caravan, able to hold four people, but it wasclumsy and ill hung; besides this he found a very excellent cabriolet: ourplan was soon arranged; I would drive Idris in the latter; while thechildren were conveyed by the servant in the former. But these arrangementscost time; we had agreed to proceed that night to Windsor, and thither ourpurveyors had gone: we should find considerable difficulty in gettingaccommodation, before we reached this place; after all, the distance wasonly ten miles; my horse was a good one; I would go forward at a good pacewith Idris, leaving the children to follow at a rate more consonant to theuses of their cumberous machine.
Evening closed in quickly, far more quickly than I was prepared to expect.At the going down of the sun it began to snow heavily. I attempted in vainto defend my beloved companion from the storm; the wind drove the snow inour faces; and it lay so high on the ground, that we made but small way;while the nig
ht was so dark, that but for the white covering on the groundwe should not have been able to see a yard before us. We had left ouraccompanying caravan far behind us; and now I perceived that the storm hadmade me unconsciously deviate from my intended route. I had gone some milesout of my way. My knowledge of the country enabled me to regain the rightroad; but, instead of going, as at first agreed upon, by a cross roadthrough Stanwell to Datchet, I was obliged to take the way of Egham andBishopgate. It was certain therefore that I should not be rejoined by theother vehicle, that I should not meet a single fellow-creature till wearrived at Windsor.
The back of our carriage was drawn up, and I hung a pelisse before it, thusto curtain the beloved sufferer from the pelting sleet. She leaned on myshoulder, growing every moment more languid and feeble; at first shereplied to my words of cheer with affectionate thanks; but by degrees shesunk into silence; her head lay heavily upon me; I only knew that she livedby her irregular breathing and frequent sighs. For a moment I resolved tostop, and, opposing the back of the cabriolet to the force of the tempest,to expect morning as well as I might. But the wind was bleak and piercing,while the occasional shudderings of my poor Idris, and the intense cold Ifelt myself, demonstrated that this would be a dangerous experiment. Atlength methought she slept--fatal sleep, induced by frost: at this momentI saw the heavy outline of a cottage traced on the dark horizon close tous: "Dearest love," I said, "support yourself but one moment, and we shallhave shelter; let us stop here, that I may open the door of this blesseddwelling."
As I spoke, my heart was transported, and my senses swam with excessivedelight and thankfulness; I placed the head of Idris against the carriage,and, leaping out, scrambled through the snow to the cottage, whose door wasopen. I had apparatus about me for procuring light, and that shewed me acomfortable room, with a pile of wood in one corner, and no appearance ofdisorder, except that, the door having been left partly open, the snow,drifting in, had blocked up the threshold. I returned to the carriage, andthe sudden change from light to darkness at first blinded me. When Irecovered my sight--eternal God of this lawless world! O supreme Death! Iwill not disturb thy silent reign, or mar my tale with fruitlessexclamations of horror--I saw Idris, who had fallen from the seat to thebottom of the carriage; her head, its long hair pendent, with one arm, hungover the side.--Struck by a spasm of horror, I lifted her up; her heartwas pulseless, her faded lips unfanned by the slightest breath.
I carried her into the cottage; I placed her on the bed. Lighting a fire, Ichafed her stiffening limbs; for two long hours I sought to restoredeparted life; and, when hope was as dead as my beloved, I closed withtrembling hands her glazed eyes. I did not doubt what I should now do. Inthe confusion attendant on my illness, the task of interring our darlingAlfred had devolved on his grandmother, the Ex-Queen, and she, true to herruling passion, had caused him to be carried to Windsor, and buried in thefamily vault, in St. George's Chapel. I must proceed to Windsor, to calmthe anxiety of Clara, who would wait anxiously for us--yet I would fainspare her the heart-breaking spectacle of Idris, brought in by me lifelessfrom the journey. So first I would place my beloved beside her child in thevault, and then seek the poor children who would be expecting me.
I lighted the lamps of my carriage; I wrapt her in furs, and placed heralong the seat; then taking the reins, made the horses go forward. Weproceeded through the snow, which lay in masses impeding the way, while thedescending flakes, driving against me with redoubled fury, blinded me. Thepain occasioned by the angry elements, and the cold iron of the shafts offrost which buffetted me, and entered my aching flesh, were a relief to me;blunting my mental suffering. The horses staggered on, and the reins hungloosely in my hands. I often thought I would lay my head close to thesweet, cold face of my lost angel, and thus resign myself to conqueringtorpor. Yet I must not leave her a prey to the fowls of the air; but, inpursuance of my determination place her in the tomb of her forefathers,where a merciful God might permit me to rest also.
The road we passed through Egham was familiar to me; but the wind and snowcaused the horses to drag their load slowly and heavily. Suddenly the windveered from south-west to west, and then again to north-west. As Sampsonwith tug and strain stirred from their bases the columns that supported thePhilistine temple, so did the gale shake the dense vapours propped on thehorizon, while the massy dome of clouds fell to the south, disclosingthrough the scattered web the clear empyrean, and the little stars, whichwere set at an immeasurable distance in the crystalline fields, showeredtheir small rays on the glittering snow. Even the horses were cheered, andmoved on with renovated strength. We entered the forest at Bishopgate, andat the end of the Long Walk I saw the Castle, "the proud Keep of Windsor,rising in the majesty of proportion, girt with the double belt of itskindred and coeval towers." I looked with reverence on a structure, ancientalmost as the rock on which it stood, abode of kings, theme of admirationfor the wise. With greater reverence and, tearful affection I beheld it asthe asylum of the long lease of love I had enjoyed there with theperishable, unmatchable treasure of dust, which now lay cold beside me. Nowindeed, I could have yielded to all the softness of my nature, and wept;and, womanlike, have uttered bitter plaints; while the familiar trees, theherds of living deer, the sward oft prest by her fairy-feet, one by onewith sad association presented themselves. The white gate at the end of theLong Walk was wide open, and I rode up the empty town through the firstgate of the feudal tower; and now St. George's Chapel, with its blackenedfretted sides, was right before me. I halted at its door, which was open; Ientered, and placed my lighted lamp on the altar; then I returned, and withtender caution I bore Idris up the aisle into the chancel, and laid hersoftly down on the carpet which covered the step leading to the communiontable. The banners of the knights of the garter, and their half drawnswords, were hung in vain emblazonry above the stalls. The banner of herfamily hung there, still surmounted by its regal crown. Farewell to theglory and heraldry of England!--I turned from such vanity with a slightfeeling of wonder, at how mankind could have ever been interested in suchthings. I bent over the lifeless corpse of my beloved; and, while lookingon her uncovered face, the features already contracted by the rigidity ofdeath, I felt as if all the visible universe had grown as soulless, inane,and comfortless as the clay-cold image beneath me. I felt for a moment theintolerable sense of struggle with, and detestation for, the laws whichgovern the world; till the calm still visible on the face of my dead loverecalled me to a more soothing tone of mind, and I proceeded to fulfil thelast office that could now be paid her. For her I could not lament, so muchI envied her enjoyment of "the sad immunities of the grave."
The vault had been lately opened to place our Alfred therein. The ceremonycustomary in these latter days had been cursorily performed, and thepavement of the chapel, which was its entrance, having been removed, hadnot been replaced. I descended the steps, and walked through the longpassage to the large vault which contained the kindred dust of my Idris. Idistinguished the small coffin of my babe. With hasty, trembling hands Iconstructed a bier beside it, spreading it with the furs and Indian shawls,which had wrapt Idris in her journey thither. I lighted the glimmeringlamp, which flickered in this damp abode of the dead; then I bore my lostone to her last bed, decently composing her limbs, and covering them with amantle, veiling all except her face, which remained lovely and placid. Sheappeared to rest like one over-wearied, her beauteous eyes steeped in sweetslumber. Yet, so it was not--she was dead! How intensely I then longed tolie down beside her, to gaze till death should gather me to the samerepose.
But death does not come at the bidding of the miserable. I had latelyrecovered from mortal illness, and my blood had never flowed with such aneven current, nor had my limbs ever been so instinct with quick life, asnow. I felt that my death must be voluntary. Yet what more natural thanfamine, as I watched in this chamber of mortality, placed in a world of thedead, beside the lost hope of my life? Meanwhile as I looked on her, thefeatures, which bore a sisterly resemblance to Adrian, bro
ught my thoughtsback again to the living, to this dear friend, to Clara, and to Evelyn, whowere probably now in Windsor, waiting anxiously for our arrival.
Methought I heard a noise, a step in the far chapel, which was re-echoed byits vaulted roof, and borne to me through the hollow passages. Had Claraseen my carriage pass up the town, and did she seek me here? I must saveher at least from the horrible scene the vault presented. I sprung up thesteps, and then saw a female figure, bent with age, and clad in longmourning robes, advance through the dusky chapel, supported by a slendercane, yet tottering even with this support. She heard me, and looked up;the lamp I held illuminated my figure, and the moon-beams, strugglingthrough the painted glass, fell upon her face, wrinkled and gaunt, yet witha piercing eye and commanding brow--I recognized the Countess of Windsor.With a hollow voice she asked, "Where is the princess?"
I pointed to the torn up pavement: she walked to the spot, and looked downinto the palpable darkness; for the vault was too distant for the rays ofthe small lamp I had left there to be discernible.
"Your light," she said. I gave it her; and she regarded the now visible,but precipitous steps, as if calculating her capacity to descend.Instinctively I made a silent offer of my assistance. She motioned me awaywith a look of scorn, saying in an harsh voice, as she pointed downwards,"There at least I may have her undisturbed."
She walked deliberately down, while I, overcome, miserable beyond words, ortears, or groans, threw myself on the pavement near--the stiffening formof Idris was before me, the death-struck countenance hushed in eternalrepose beneath. That was to me the end of all! The day before, I hadfigured to my self various adventures, and communion with my friends inafter time--now I had leapt the interval, and reached the utmost edge andbourne of life. Thus wrapt in gloom, enclosed, walled up, vaulted over bythe omnipotent present, I was startled by the sound of feet on the steps ofthe tomb, and I remembered her whom I had utterly forgotten, my angryvisitant; her tall form slowly rose upwards from the vault, a livingstatue, instinct with hate, and human, passionate strife: she seemed to meas having reached the pavement of the aisle; she stood motionless, seekingwith her eyes alone, some desired object--till, perceiving me close toher, she placed her wrinkled hand on my arm, exclaiming with tremulousaccents, "Lionel Verney, my son!" This name, applied at such a moment by myangel's mother, instilled into me more respect than I had ever before feltfor this disdainful lady. I bowed my head, and kissed her shrivelled hand,and, remarking that she trembled violently, supported her to the end of thechancel, where she sat on the steps that led to the regal stall. Shesuffered herself to be led, and still holding my hand, she leaned her headback against the stall, while the moon beams, tinged with various coloursby the painted glass, fell on her glistening eyes; aware of her weakness,again calling to mind her long cherished dignity, she dashed the tearsaway; yet they fell fast, as she said, for excuse, "She is so beautiful andplacid, even in death. No harsh feeling ever clouded her serene brow; howdid I treat her? wounding her gentle heart with savage coldness; I had nocompassion on her in past years, does she forgive me now? Little, littledoes it boot to talk of repentance and forgiveness to the dead, had Iduring her life once consulted her gentle wishes, and curbed my ruggednature to do her pleasure, I should not feel thus."
Idris and her mother were unlike in person. The dark hair, deep-set blackeyes, and prominent features of the Ex-Queen were in entire contrast to thegolden tresses, the full blue orbs, and the soft lines and contour of herdaughter's countenance. Yet, in latter days, illness had taken from my poorgirl the full outline of her face, and reduced it to the inflexible shapeof the bone beneath. In the form of her brow, in her oval chin, there wasto be found a resemblance to her mother; nay in some moods, their gestureswere not unlike; nor, having lived so long together, was this wonderful.
There is a magic power in resemblance. When one we love dies, we hope tosee them in another state, and half expect that the agency of mind willinform its new garb in imitation of its decayed earthly vesture. But theseare ideas of the mind only. We know that the instrument is shivered, thesensible image lies in miserable fragments, dissolved to dusty nothingness;a look, a gesture, or a fashioning of the limbs similar to the dead in aliving person, touches a thrilling chord, whose sacred harmony is felt inthe heart's dearest recess. Strangely moved, prostrate before this spectralimage, and enslaved by the force of blood manifested in likeness of lookand movement, I remained trembling in the presence of the harsh, proud, andtill now unloved mother of Idris.
Poor, mistaken woman! in her tenderest mood before, she had cherished theidea, that a word, a look of reconciliation from her, would be receivedwith joy, and repay long years of severity. Now that the time was gone forthe exercise of such power, she fell at once upon the thorny truth ofthings, and felt that neither smile nor caress could penetrate to theunconscious state, or influence the happiness of her who lay in the vaultbeneath. This conviction, together with the remembrance of soft replies tobitter speeches, of gentle looks repaying angry glances; the perception ofthe falsehood, paltryness and futility of her cherished dreams of birth andpower; the overpowering knowledge, that love and life were the trueemperors of our mortal state; all, as a tide, rose, and filled her soulwith stormy and bewildering confusion. It fell to my lot, to come as theinfluential power, to allay the fierce tossing of these tumultuous waves. Ispoke to her; I led her to reflect how happy Idris had really been, and howher virtues and numerous excellencies had found scope and estimation in herpast career. I praised her, the idol of my heart's dear worship, theadmired type of feminine perfection. With ardent and overflowing eloquence,I relieved my heart from its burthen, and awoke to the sense of a newpleasure in life, as I poured forth the funeral eulogy. Then I referred toAdrian, her loved brother, and to her surviving child. I declared, which Ihad before almost forgotten, what my duties were with regard to thesevalued portions of herself, and bade the melancholy repentant motherreflect, how she could best expiate unkindness towards the dead, byredoubled love of the survivors. Consoling her, my own sorrows wereassuaged; my sincerity won her entire conviction.
She turned to me. The hard, inflexible, persecuting woman, turned with amild expression of face, and said, "If our beloved angel sees us now, itwill delight her to find that I do you even tardy justice. You were worthyof her; and from my heart I am glad that you won her away from me. Pardon,my son, the many wrongs I have done you; forget my bitter words and unkindtreatment--take me, and govern me as you will."
I seized this docile moment to propose our departure from the church."First," she said, "let us replace the pavement above the vault."
We drew near to it; "Shall we look on her again?" I asked.
"I cannot," she replied, "and, I pray you, neither do you. We need nottorture ourselves by gazing on the soulless body, while her living spiritis buried quick in our hearts, and her surpassing loveliness is so deeplycarved there, that sleeping or waking she must ever be present to us."
For a few moments, we bent in solemn silence over the open vault. Iconsecrated my future life, to the embalming of her dear memory; I vowed toserve her brother and her child till death. The convulsive sob of mycompanion made me break off my internal orisons. I next dragged the stonesover the entrance of the tomb, and closed the gulph that contained the lifeof my life. Then, supporting my decrepid fellow-mourner, we slowly left thechapel. I felt, as I stepped into the open air, as if I had quitted anhappy nest of repose, for a dreary wilderness, a tortuous path, a bitter,joyless, hopeless pilgrimage.