CHAPTER VII.
THE CASTLE.
The next day, as I passed the school-house on my way to call on the
curate, I heard such an uproar that I stopped involuntarily to listen. I
soon satisfied myself that it was only the usual water-spout occasioned on
the ocean of boyhood by the vacuum of the master. As soon as I entered the
curate's study, there stood the missing master, hat in hand. He had not
sat down, and would not, hearing all the time, no doubt, in his soul, the
far confusion of his forsaken realm. He had but that moment entered.
"You come just in the right time, Smith," said the curate.--We had already
dropped unnecessary prefixes.--"Here is Mr. Bloomfield come to ask us to
spend a final evening with him and Mrs. Bloomfield. And in the name of the
whole company, I have taken upon me to assure him that it will give us
pleasure. Am I not right?"
"Undoubtedly," I replied. "What evening have you fixed upon, Mr.
Bloomfield?"
"This day week," he answered. "Shall I tell you why I put it off so long?"
"If you please."
"I heard your brother, Mr. Armstrong, say that you were very fond of
parables. Now I have always had a leaning that way myself; and for years I
have had one in particular glimmering before my mental sight. The ambition
seized me, to write it out for one of our meetings, and so submit it to
your judgment; for, Mr. Armstrong, I am so delighted with your sermons and
opinions generally, that I long to let you know that I am not only
friendly, but capable of sympathizing with you. But it is only in the
rough yet, and I want to have plenty of time to act the dutiful bear to my
offspring, and lick it into thorough shape. So if you will come this day
week, Mrs. Bloomfield and I will be delighted to entertain you in our
humble fashion. But, bless me! the boys will be all in a heap of confusion
worse confounded before I get back to them. I have no business to be away
from them at this hour. Good morning, gentlemen."
And off ran the worthy Neptune, to quell, by the vision of his returning
head, the rebellious waves of boyish impulse.
"That man will be a great comfort to you, Armstrong," I said.
"I know he will. He is a far-seeing, and what is better, a far-feeling
man."
"There is true wealth in him, it seems to me, although it may be of narrow
reach in expression," said I.
"I think so, quite. He seems to me to be one of those who have never grown
robust because they have laboured in-doors instead of going out to work in
the open air. There is a shrinking delicacy about him when with those whom
he doesn't feel to be of his own kind, which makes him show to a
disadvantage. But you should see him amongst his boys to do him justice."
We were interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Armstrong, who came, after
their simple fashion, to tell her husband that dinner was ready. I took my
leave.
In the evening, Mrs. Bloomfield called to invite Adela and the colonel;
and the affair was settled for that day week.
"You're much better, my dear, are you not?" said the worthy woman to my
niece.
"Indeed I am, Mrs. Bloomfield. I could not have believed it possible that
I should be so much better in so short a time--and at this season of the
year too."
"Mr. Armstrong is a very clever young man, I think; though I can't say I
quite relished that extraordinary story of his."
"I suppose he is clever," replied Adela, something demurely as I thought.
"I must say I liked the story."
"Ah, well! Young people, you know, Mr. Smith--But, bless me! I'm sure I
beg your pardon. I had forgotten you weren't a married man. Of course
you're one of the young people too, Mr. Smith."
"I don't think there's much of youth to choose between you and me, Mrs.
Bloomfield," said I, "if I may venture to say so. But I fear I do belong
to the young people, if a liking for extravagant stories, so long as they
mean well, you know--is to be the test of the classification. I fear I
have a depraved taste, that way. I don't mean in this particular instance,
though, Adela."
"I hope not," answered Adela, with a blushing smile, which I, at least,
could read, having had not merely the key to it, but the open door and
window as well, ever since I had seen the two standing together at the top
of the stair.
That night the weather broke. A slow thaw set in; and before many days
were over, islands of green began to appear amid the "wan water" of the
snow--to use a phrase common in Scotch ballads, though with a different
application. The graves in the churchyard lifted up their green altars of
earth, as the first whereon to return thanks for the prophecy of spring;
which, surely, if it has force and truth anywhere, speaks loudest to us in
the churchyard. And on Sunday the sun broke out and shone on the green
hillocks, just as good old Mr. Venables was reading the words, "I will not
leave you comfortless--I will come to you."
And the ice vanished from the river, and the dark stream flowed, somewhat
sullen, but yet glad at heart, on through the low meadows bordered with
pollards, which, poor things, maltreated and mutilated, yet did the best
they could, and went on growing wildly in all insane shapes--pitifully
mingling formality and grotesqueness.
And the next day the hounds met at Castle Irksham. And that day Colonel
Cathcart would ride with them.
For the good man had gathered spirit just as the light grew upon his
daughter's face. And he was merry like a boy now that the first breath of
spring--for so it seemed, although no doubt plenty of wintriness remained
and would yet show itself--had loosened the hard hold of the frost, which
is the death of Nature. The frost is hard upon old people; and the spring
is so much the more genial and blessed in its sweet influences on them. Do
we grow old that, in our weakness and loss of physical self-assertion, we
may learn the benignities of the universe--only to be learned first
through the feeling of their want?--I do not envy the man who laughs the
east wind to scorn. He can never know the balmy power of its sister of the
west, which is the breath of the Lord, the symbol of the one _genial_
strength at the root of all life, resurrection, and growth--commonly
called the Spirit of God.--Who has not seen, as the infirmities of age
grow upon old men, the haughty, self-reliant spirit that had neglected, if
not despised the gentle ministrations of love, grow as it were a little
scared, and begin to look about for some kindness; begin to return the
warm pressure of the hand, and to submit to be waited upon by the anxiety
of love? Not in weakness alone comes the second childhood upon men, but
often in childlikeness; for in old age as in nature, to quote the song of
the curate,
Old Autumn's fingers
Paint in hues of Spring.
The necessities of the old man prefigure and forerun the dawn of the
immortal childhood. For is not our necessity towards God our highest
blessedness--the fair cloud that hangs over the summit of existence? Thank
God, he has made his children so noble and high that they cannot do
without Him! I believe we are sent into this world just to find this out.
But to leave my reflections and return to my story--such as it is. The
colonel mounted me on an old horse of his, "whom," to quote from Sir
Philip Sidney's _Arcadia_, "though he was near twenty years old, he
preferred for a piece of sure service, before a great number of younger."
Now the piece of sure service, in the present instance, was to take care
of old John Smith, who was only a middling horseman, though his friend,
the colonel, would say that he rode pretty well for a lad. The old horse,
in fact, knew not only what he could do, but what I could do, for our
powers were about equal. He looked well about for the gaps and the
narrow places. From weakness in his forelegs, he had become a capital
buck-jumper, as I think Cathcart called him, always alighting over a hedge
on his hind legs, instead of his fore ones, which was as much easier for
John Smith as for Hop o' my Thumb--that was the name of the old horse, he
being sixteen hands, at least. But I beg my reader's pardon for troubling
him with all this about my horse, for, assuredly, neither he nor I will
perform any deed of prowess in his presence. But I have the weakness of
garrulity in regard to a predilection from the indulgence of which
circumstances have debarred me.
At nine o'clock my friend and I started upon hacks for the meet. Now, I am
not going to describe the "harrow and weal away!" with which the soul of
poor Reynard is hunted out of the world--if, indeed, such a clever wretch
can have a soul. I daresay--I hope, at least, that the argument of the
fox-hunter is analogically just, who, being expostulated with on the
cruelty of fox-hunting, replied--"Well, you know, the hounds like it; and
the horses like it; and there's no doubt the men like it--and who knows
whether the fox doesn't like it too?" But I would not have introduced the
subject except for the sake of what my reader will find in the course of a
page or two, and which assuredly is not fox-hunting.
We soon found. But just before, a sudden heavy noise, coming apparently
from a considerable distance, made one or two of the company say, with
passing curiosity: "What is that?" It was instantly forgotten, however, as
soon as the fox broke cover. He pointed towards Purley-bridge. We had
followed for some distance, circumstances permitting Hop o' my Thumb to
keep in the wake of his master, when the colonel, drawing rein, allowed
me--I ought to say _us_, for the old horse had quite as much voice in the
matter as I had--to come up with him.
"The cunning old dog!" said he. "He has run straight for the deepest
cutting in the railway. They'll all be pounded presently! They don't know
this part so well as I do. I know every field and gate in it. I used to go
larking over it all when I was only a cub myself. Confound it! I'm not up
to much to-day. I suppose I'm getting old, you know; or I'd strike off
here at right angles to the left, and make for the bridge at Crumple's
Corner. I should lose the hounds though, I fear. I wonder what his
lordship will do."
All the time my old friend was talking, we were following the rest of the
field, whom, sure enough, as soon as we got into the next inclosure, we
saw drawing up one after another on the top of the railway cutting, which
ran like the river of death between them and the fox-hunter's paradise.
But at the moment we entered this field, whom should we see approaching us
at right angles, from the direction of Purleybridge, but Harry Armstrong,
mounted on _the_ mare! I rode towards him.
"Trapped, you see," said I. "Are you after the fox--or some nobler game?"
"I was going my rounds," answered Harry, "when I caught sight of the
hounds. I have no very pressing case to day, so I turned a few yards out
of the road to see a bit of the sport. Confound these railways!"
At the moment--and all this passed, as the story-teller is so often
compelled to remind his reader, in far less time than it takes to tell--
over the hedge on the opposite side from where Harry had entered the
field, blundered a country fellow, on a great, heavy, but spirited horse,
and ploughed his way up the soft furrow to where we stood.
"Doctor!" he cried, half-breathless with haste and exertion--"Doctor!"
"Well?" answered Henry, alert.
"There's a awful accident at Grubblebon Quarry, sir. Powder blowed up.
Legs and arms! Good God! sir, make haste."
"Well," said Harry, whose compressed lips alone gave sign of his being
ready for action, "ride to the town, and tell my housekeeper to give you
bandages and wadding and oil, and splints, and whatever she knows to be
needful. Are there many hurt?"
"Half a dozen alive, sir."
"Then you'd better let the other doctors know as well. And just tell my
man to saddle Jilter and take him to by brother, the curate. He had better
come out at once. Ride now."
"I _will_, sir," said the man, and was over the hedge in another minute.
But not before Harry was over the railway. For he rode gently towards it,
as if nothing particular was to be done, and chose as the best spot one
close to where several of the gentlemen stood, disputing for a moment as
to which was the best way to get across. Now on the top of the cutting
there was a rail, and between the rail and the edge of the cutting a space
of about four feet. Harry trotted his mare gently up to the rail, and went
over. Nor was the mutual confidence of mare and master misplaced from
either side. She lighted and stood stock still within a foot of the slope,
so powerful was she to stop herself. An uproar of cries arose among the
men. I heard the old soldier's voice above them all.
"Damn you, Armstrong, you fool!" he cried; "you'll break your neck, and
serve you right too!"
I don't know a stronger proof that the classical hell has little hold on
the faith of the Saxons, than that good-hearted and true men will not
unfrequently damn their friends when they are most anxious to save them.
But before the words were half out of the colonel's mouth, Harry was
half-way down the cutting. He had gone straight at it like a cat, and it
was of course the only way. I had galloped to the edge after him, and now
saw him, or rather her, descending by a succession of rebounds--not
bounds--a succession, in fact, of short falls upon the fore-legs, while
Harry's head was nearly touching her rump. Arrived at the bottom, she gave
two bounds across the rails, and the same moment was straining right up
the opposite bank in a fierce agony of effort, Harry hanging upon her
neck. Now the mighty play of her magnificent hind quarters came into
operation. I could see, plainly enough across the gulf, the alternate
knotting and loosening of the thick muscles as, step by step, she tore her
way up the grassy slope. It was a terrible trial of muscle and wind, and
very few horses could have stood it. As she neared the top, her pace grew
slower and slower, and the exertion more and more severe. If she had given
in, she would have rolled to the bottom, but nothing was less in her
thoughts. Her master never spurred or urged her, except it may have been
by whispering in her ear, to which his mouth was near enough: he knew she
needed no excitement to that effort. At length the final heave of her
rump, as it came up to a level with her withers, told the breathless
spectators that the attempt was a success, when a loud "Hurrah for the
doctor and his mare!" burst from their lips. The doctor, however, only
waved his hand in acknowledgment, for he had all to do yet. Fortunately
there was space enough between the edge and the fence on that side to
allow of his giving his mare a quarter of a circle of a gallop before
bringing her up to the rail, else in her fatigue she might have failed to
top it. Over she went and away, with her tail streaming out behind her, as
if she had done nothing worth thinking about, once it was done. One more
cheer for the doctor--but no one dared to follow him. They scattered in
different directions to find a less perilous crossing. I stuck by my
leader.
"By Jove! Cathcart," said Lord Irksham, as they parted, "that doctor of
yours is a hero. He ought to have been bred a soldier."
"He's better employed, my lord," bawled the old colonel; for they were now
a good many yards asunder, making for different points in the hedge. From
this answer, I hoped well for the doctor. At all events, the colonel
admired his manliness more than ever, and that was a great thing. For me,
I could hardly keep down the expression of an excitement which I did not
wish to show. It was a great relief to me when the _hurrah!_ arose, and I
could let myself off in that way. I told you, kind reader, I was only an
old boy. But, as the Arabs always give God thanks when they see a
beautiful woman, and quite right too! so, in my heart, I praised God who
had made a mare with such muscles, and a man with such a heart. And I said
to myself, "A fine muscle is a fine thing; but the finest muscle of all,
keeping the others going too, is the heart itself. That is the true
Christian muscle. And the real muscular Christianity is that which pours
in a life-giving torrent from the devotion of the heart, receiving only
that it may give."
But I fancy I hear my reader saying,
"Mr. Smith, you've forgotten the fox. What a sportsman you make!"
Well, I had forgotten the fox. But then we didn't kill him or find another
that day. So you won't care for the rest of the run.
I was tired enough by the time we got back to Purleybridge. I went early
to bed.
The next morning, the colonel, the moment we met at the breakfast table,
said to me,
"You did not hear, Smith, what that young rascal of a doctor said to Lord
Irksham last night?"
"No, what was it?"
"It seems they met again towards evening, and his lordship said to him:
'You hare-brained young devil!'--you know his lordship's rough way,"
interposed the colonel, forgetting how roundly he had sworn at Harry
himself, "'by the time you're my age, you'll be more careful of the few
brains you'll have left.' To which expostulated Master Harry replied: 'If
your lordship had been my age, and would have done it yourself to kill a
fox: when I am your lordship's age, I hope I shall have the grace left to
do as much to save a man.' Whereupon his lordship rejoined, holding out
his hand, 'By Jove! sir, you are an honour to your profession. Come and
dine with me on Monday.' And what do you think the idiot did?--Backed out
of it, and wouldn't go, because he thought his lordship condescending, and
he didn't want his patronage. But his lordship's not a bit like that, you
know."
"Then if he isn't, he'll like Harry all the better for declining, and will
probably send him a proper invitation."
And sure enough, I was right; and Harry did dine at Castle Irksham on
Monday.
Adela's eyes showed clearly enough that her ears were devouring every word
we had said; and the glow on her face could not be mistaken by me at
least, though to another it might well appear only the sign of such an
enthusiasm as one would like every girl to feel in the presence of noble
conduct of any kind. She had heard the whole story last night you may be
sure; and I do not doubt that the unrestrained admiration shown by her
father for the doctor's conduct, was a light in her heart which sleep
itself could not extinguish, and which went shining on in her dreams.
Admiration of the beloved is dear to a woman. You see I like to show that
although I _am_ an old bachelor, I know something about _them_.
I met Harry that morning; that is, I contrived to meet him.
"Well, how are you to-day, Harry?" I said.
"All right, thank you."
"Were there many hurt at the quarry?"
"Oh! it wasn't so very bad, I'm happy to say."
"You did splendidly yesterday."
"Oh, nonsense! It was my mare. It wasn't me. I had nothing to do with it."
"Well! well! you have my full permission to say so, and to think so, too."
"Well! well! say no more about it."
So it was long before the subject was again alluded to by me. But it will
be long, too, before it is forgotten in that county.
And so the evening came when we were to meet--for the last time as the
Story-telling club--at the schoolmaster's house. It was now past the time
I had set myself for returning to London, and although my plans were never
of a very unalterable complexion, seeing I had the faculty of being able
to write wherever I was, and never admitted chairs and tables, and certain
rows of bookshelves, to form part of my mental organism, without which the
rest of the mechanism would be thrown out of gear, I had yet reasons for
wishing to be in London; and I intended to take my departure on the day
but one after the final meeting.--I may just remark, that before this time
one or two families had returned to Purleybridge, and others were free
from their Christmas engagements, who would have been much pleased to join
our club; but, considering its ephemeral nature, and seeing it had been
formed only for what we hoped was a passing necessity, we felt that the
introduction of new blood, although essential for the long life of
anything constituted for long life, would only hasten the decay of its
butterfly constitution. So we had kept our meetings entirely to ourselves.
We all arrived about the same time, and found our host and hostess full of
quiet cordiality, to which their homeliness lent an additional charm. The
relation of host and guest is weakened by every addition to a company, and
in a large assembly all but disappears. Indeed, the tendency of the
present age is to blot from the story of every-day life all reminders of
the ordinary human relations, as commonplace and insignificant, and to
mingle all society in one concourse of atoms, in which the only
distinctions shall be those of _rank_; whereas the sole power to keep
social intercourse from growing stale is the recognition of the immortal
and true in all the simple human relations. Then we look upon all men with
reverence, and find ourselves safe and at home in the midst of divine
intents, which may be violated and striven with, but can never be escaped,
because the will of God is the very life and well-being of his creatures.
Mrs. Bloomfield looked very nice in her black silk dress, and collar and
cuffs of old lace, as she presided at the tea-table, and made us all feel
that it was a pleasure to her to serve us.
After repeated apologies, and confessions of failure, our host then read
the following _parable_, as he called it, though I daresay it would be
more correct to call it an _allegory_. But as that word has so many
wearisome associations, I, too, intend, whether right or wrong, to call it
a parable. So, then, it shall be:
"THE CASTLE: A PARABLE.
"On the top of a high cliff, forming part of the base of a great mountain,
stood a lofty castle. When or how it was built, no man knew; nor could any
one pretend to understand its architecture. Every one who looked upon it
felt that it was lordly and noble; and where one part seemed not to agree
with another, the wise and modest dared not to call them incongruous, but
presumed that the whole might be constructed on some higher principle of
architecture than they yet understood. What helped them to this conclusion
was, that no one had ever seen the whole of the edifice; that, even of the
portion best known, some part or other was always wrapped in thick folds
of mist from the mountain; and that, when the sun shone upon this mist,
the parts of the building that appeared through the vaporous veil were
strangely glorified in their indistinctness, so that they seemed to belong
to some aerial abode in the land of the sunset; and the beholders could
hardly tell whether they had ever seen them before, or whether they were
now for the first time partially revealed.
"Nor, although it was inhabited, could certain information be procured as
to its internal construction. Those who dwelt in it often discovered rooms
they had never entered before--yea, once or twice,--whole suites of
apartments, of which only dim legends had been handed down from former
times. Some of them expected to find, one day, secret places, filled with
treasures of wondrous jewels; amongst which they hoped to light upon
Solomon's ring, which had for ages disappeared from the earth, but which
had controlled the spirits, and the possession of which made a man simply
what a man should be, the king of the world. Now and then, a narrow,
winding stair, hitherto untrodden, would bring them forth on a new turret,
whence new prospects of the circumjacent country were spread out before
them. How many more of these there might be, or how much loftier, no one
could tell. Nor could the foundations of the castle in the rock on which
it was built be determined with the smallest approach to precision. Those
of the family who had given themselves to exploring in that direction,
found such a labyrinth of vaults and passages, and endless successions of
down-going stairs, out of one underground space into a yet lower, that
they came to the conclusion that at least the whole mountain was
perforated and honeycombed in this fashion. They had a dim consciousness,
too, of the presence, in those awful regions, of beings whom they could
not comprehend. Once they came upon the brink of a great black gulf, in
which the eye could see nothing but darkness: they recoiled with horror;
for the conviction flashed upon them that that gulf went down into the
very central spaces of the earth, of which they had hitherto been
wandering only in the upper crust; nay, that the seething blackness before
them had relations mysterious, and beyond human comprehension, with the
far-off voids of space, into which the stars dare not enter.
"At the foot of the cliff whereon the castle stood, lay a deep lake,
inaccessible save by a few avenues, being surrounded on all sides with
precipices which made the water look very black, although it was pure as
the night-sky. From a door in the castle, which was not to be otherwise
entered, a broad flight of steps, cut in the rock, went down to the lake,
and disappeared below its surface. Some thought the steps went to the very
bottom of the water.
"Now in this castle there dwelt a large family of brothers and sisters.
They had never seen their father or mother. The younger had been educated
by the elder, and these by an unseen care and ministration, about the
sources of which they had, somehow or other, troubled themselves very
little--for what people are accustomed to, they regard as coming from
nobody; as if help and progress and joy and love were the natural crops of
Chaos or old Night. But Tradition said that one day--it was utterly
uncertain _when_--their father would come, and leave them no more; for he
was still alive, though where he lived nobody knew. In the meantime all
the rest had to obey their eldest brother, and listen to his counsels.
"But almost all the family was very fond of liberty, as they called it;
and liked to run up and down, hither and thither, roving about, with
neither law nor order, just as they pleased. So they could not endure
their brother's tyranny, as they called it. At one time they said that he
was only one of themselves, and therefore they would not obey him; at
another, that he was not like them, and could not understand them, and
_therefore_ they would not obey him. Yet, sometimes, when he came and
looked them full in the face, they were terrified, and dared not disobey,
for he was stately and stern and strong. Not one of them loved him
heartily, except the eldest sister, who was very beautiful and silent, and
whose eyes shone as if light lay somewhere deep behind them. Even she,
although she loved him, thought him very hard sometimes; for when he had
once said a thing plainly, he could not be persuaded to think it over
again. So even she forgot him sometimes, and went her own ways, and
enjoyed herself without him. Most of them regarded him as a sort of
watchman, whose business it was to keep them in order; and so they were
indignant and disliked him. Yet they all had a secret feeling that they
ought to be subject to him; and after any particular act of disregard,
none of them could think, with any peace, of the old story about the
return of their father to his house. But indeed they never thought much
about it, or about their father at all; for how could those who cared so
little for their brother, whom they saw every day, care for their father
whom they had never seen?--One chief cause of complaint against him was
that he interfered with their favourite studies and pursuits; whereas he
only sought to make them give up trifling with earnest things, and seek
for truth, and not for amusement, from the many wonders around them. He
did not want them to turn to other studies, or to eschew pleasures; but,
in those studies, to seek the highest things most, and other things in
proportion to their true worth and nobleness. This could not fail to be
distasteful to those who did not care for what was higher than they. And
so matters went on for a time. They thought they could do better without
their brother; and their brother knew they could not do at all without
him, and tried to fulfil the charge committed into his hands.
"At length, one day, for the thought seemed to strike them simultaneously,
they conferred together about giving a great entertainment in their
grandest rooms to any of their neighbours who chose to come, or indeed to
any inhabitants of the earth or air who would visit them. They were too
proud to reflect that some company might defile even the dwellers in what
was undoubtedly the finest palace on the face of the earth. But what made
the thing worse, was, that the old tradition said that these rooms were to
be kept entirely for the use of the owner of the castle. And, indeed,
whenever they entered them, such was the effect of their loftiness and
grandeur upon their minds, that they always thought of the old story, and
could not help believing it. Nor would the brother permit them to forget
it now; but, appearing suddenly amongst them, when they had no expectation
of being interrupted by him, he rebuked them, both for the indiscriminate
nature of their invitation, and for the intention of introducing any one,
not to speak of some who would doubtless make their appearance on the
evening in question, into the rooms kept sacred for the use of the unknown
father. But by this time their talk with each other had so excited their
expectations of enjoyment, which had previously been strong enough, that
anger sprung up within them at the thought of being deprived of their
hopes, and they looked each other in the eyes; and the look said: 'We are
many and he is one--let us get rid of him, for he is always finding fault,
and thwarting us in the most innocent pleasures;--as if we would wish to
do anything wrong!' So without a word spoken, they rushed upon him; and
although he was stronger than any of them, and struggled hard at first,
yet they overcame him at last. Indeed some of them thought he yielded to
their violence long before they had the mastery of him; and this very
submission terrified the more tender-hearted amongst them. However, they
bound him; carried him down many stairs, and, having remembered an iron
staple in the wall of a certain vault, with a thick rusty chain attached
to it, they bore him thither, and made the chain fast around him. There
they left him, shutting the great gnarring brazen door of the vault, as
they departed for the upper regions of the castle.
"Now all was in a tumult of preparation. Every one was talking of the
coming festivity; but no one spoke of the deed they had done. A sudden
paleness overspread the face, now of one, and now of another; but it
passed away, and no one took any notice of it; they only plied the task of
the moment the more energetically. Messengers were sent far and near, not
to individuals or families, but publishing in all places of concourse a
general invitation to any who chose to come on a certain day, and partake
for certain succeeding days of the hospitality of the dwellers in the
castle. Many were the preparations immediately begun for complying with
the invitation. But the noblest of their neighbours refused to appear; not
from pride, but because of the unsuitableness and carelessness of such a
mode. With some of them it was an old condition in the tenure of their
estates, that they should go to no one's dwelling except visited in
person, and expressly solicited. Others, knowing what sort of persons
would be there, and that, from a certain physical antipathy, they could
scarcely breathe in their company, made up their minds at once not to go.
Yet multitudes, many of them beautiful and innocent as well as gay,
resolved to appear.
"Meanwhile the great rooms of the castle were got in readiness--that is,
they proceeded to deface them with decorations; for there was a solemnity
and stateliness about them in their ordinary condition, which was at once
felt to be unsuitable for the light-hearted company so soon to move about
in them with the self-same carelessness with which men walk abroad within
the great heavens and hills and clouds. One day, while the workmen were
busy, the eldest sister, of whom I have already spoken, happened to enter,
she knew not why. Suddenly the great idea of the mighty halls dawned upon
her, and filled her soul. The so-called decorations vanished from her
view, and she felt as if she stood in her father's presence. She was at
one elevated and humbled. As suddenly the idea faded and fled, and she
beheld but the gaudy festoons and draperies and paintings which disfigured
the grandeur. She wept and sped away. Now it was too late to interfere,
and things must take their course. She would have been but a Cassandra-
prophetess to those who saw but the pleasure before them. She had not been
present when her brother was imprisoned; and indeed for some days had been
so wrapt in her own business, that she had taken but little heed of
anything that was going on. But they all expected her to show herself when
the company was gathered; and they had applied to her for advice at
various times during their operations.
"At length the expected hour arrived, and the company began to assemble.
It was a warm summer evening. The dark lake reflected the rose-coloured
clouds in the west, and through the flush rowed many gaily painted boats,
with various coloured flags, towards the massy rock on which the castle
stood. The trees and flowers seemed already asleep, and breathing forth
their sweet dream-breath. Laughter and low voices rose from the breast of
the lake to the ears of the youths and maidens looking forth expectant
from the lofty windows. They went down to the broad platform at the top of
the stairs in front of the door to receive their visitors. By degrees the
festivities of the evening commenced. The same smiles flew forth both at
eyes and lips, darting like beams through the gathering crowd. Music, from
unseen sources, now rolled in billows, now crept in ripples through the
sea of air that filled the lofty rooms. And in the dancing halls, when
hand took hand, and form and motion were moulded and swayed by the
indwelling music, it governed not these alone, but, as the ruling spirit
of the place, every new burst of music for a new dance swept before it a
new and accordant odour, and dyed the flames that glowed in the lofty
lamps with a new and accordant stain. The floors bent beneath the feet of
the time-keeping dancers. But twice in the evening some of the inmates
started, and the pallor occasionally common to the household overspread
their faces, for they felt underneath them a counter-motion to the dance,
as if the floor rose slightly to answer their feet. And all the time their
brother lay below in the dungeon, like John the Baptist in the castle of
Herod, when the lords and captains sat around, and the daughter of
Herodias danced before them. Outside, all around the castle, brooded the
dark night unheeded; for the clouds had come up from all sides, and were
crowding together overhead. In the unfrequent pauses of the music, they
might have heard, now and then, the gusty rush of a lonely wind, coming
and going no one could know whence or whither, born and dying unexpected
and unregarded.
"But when the festivities were at their height, when the external and
passing confidence which is produced between superficial natures by a
common pleasure was at the full, a sudden crash of thunder quelled the
music, as the thunder quells the noise of the uplifted sea. The windows
were driven in, and torrents of rain, carried in the folds of a rushing
wind, poured into the halls. The lights were swept away; and the great
rooms, now dark within, were darkened yet more by the dazzling shoots of
flame from the vault of blackness overhead. Those that ventured to look
out of the windows saw, in the blue brilliancy of the quick-following jets
of lightning, the lake at the foot of the rock, ordinarily so still and so
dark, lighted up, not on the surface only, but down to half its depth; so
that, as it tossed in the wind, like a tortured sea of writhing flames, or
incandescent half-molten serpents of brass, they could not tell whether a
strong phosphorescence did not issue from the transparent body of the
waters, as if earth and sky lightened together, one consenting source of
flaming utterance.
"Sad was the condition of the late plastic mass of living form that had
flowed into shape at the will and law of the music. Broken into
individuals, the common transfusing spirit withdrawn, they stood drenched,
cold, and benumbed, with clinging garments; light, order, harmony, purpose
departed, and chaos restored; the issuings of life turned back on their
sources, chilly and dead. And in every heart reigned the falsest of
despairing convictions, that this was the only reality, and that was but a
dream. The eldest sister stood with clasped hands and down-bent head,
shivering and speechless, as if waiting for something to follow. Nor did
she wait long. A terrible flash and thunder-peal made the castle rock; and
in the pausing silence that followed, her quick sense heard the rattling
of a chain far off, deep down; and soon the sound of heavy footsteps,
accompanied with the clanking of iron, reached her ear. She felt that her
brother was at hand. Even in the darkness, and amidst the bellowing of
another deep-bosomed cloud-monster, she knew that he had entered the room.
A moment after, a continuous pulsation of angry blue light began, which,
lasting for some moments, revealed him standing amidst them, gaunt,
haggard, and motionless; his hair and beard untrimmed, his face ghastly,
his eyes large and hollow. The light seemed to gather around him as a
centre. Indeed some believed that it throbbed and radiated from his
person, and not from the stormy heavens above them. The lightning had rent
the wall of his prison, and released the iron staple of his chain, which
he had wound about him like a girdle. In his hand he carried an iron
fetter-bar, which he had found on the floor of the vault. More terrified
at his aspect than at all the violence of the storm, the visitors, with
many a shriek and cry, rushed out into the tempestuous night. By degrees,
the storm died away. Its last flash revealed the forms of the brothers and
sisters lying prostrate, with their faces on the floor, and that fearful
shape standing motionless amidst them still.
"Morning dawned, and there they lay, and there he stood. But at a word
from him, they arose and went about their various duties, though
listlessly enough. The eldest sister was the last to rise; and when she
did, it was only by a terrible effort that she was able to reach her room,
where she fell again on the floor. There she remained lying for days. The
brother caused the doors of the great suite of rooms to be closed, leaving
them just as they were, with all the childish adornment scattered about,
and the rain still falling in through the shattered windows. 'Thus let
them lie,' said he, 'till the rain and frost have cleansed them of paint
and drapery: no storm can hurt the pillars and arches of these halls.'
"The hours of this day went heavily. The storm was gone, but the rain was
left; the passion had departed, but the tears remained behind. Dull and
dark the low misty clouds brooded over the castle and the lake, and shut
out all the neighbourhood. Even if they had climbed to the loftiest known
turret, they would have found it swathed in a garment of clinging vapour,
affording no refreshment to the eye, and no hope to the heart. There was
one lofty tower that rose sheer a hundred feet above the rest, and from
which the fog could have been seen lying in a grey mass beneath; but that
tower they had not yet discovered, nor another close beside it, the top of
which was never seen, nor could be, for the highest clouds of heaven
clustered continually around it. The rain fell continuously, though not
heavily, without; and within, too, there were clouds from which dropped
the tears which are the rain of the spirit. All the good of life seemed
for the time departed, and their souls lived but as leafless trees that
had forgotten the joy of the summer, and whom no wind prophetic of spring
had yet visited. They moved about mechanically, and had not strength
enough left to wish to die.
"The next day the clouds were higher, and a little wind blew through such
loopholes in the turrets as the false improvements of the inmates had not
yet filled with glass, shutting out, as the storm, so the serene visitings
of the heavens. Throughout the day, the brother took various opportunities
of addressing a gentle command, now to one and now to another of his
family. It was obeyed in silence. The wind blew fresher through the
loopholes and the shattered windows of the great rooms, and found its way,
by unknown passages, to faces and eyes hot with weeping. It cooled and
blessed them.--When the sun arose the next day, it was in a clear sky.
"By degrees, everything fell into the regularity of subordination. With
the subordination came increase of freedom. The steps of the more youthful
of the family were heard on the stairs and in the corridors more light and
quick than ever before. Their brother had lost the terrors of aspect
produced by his confinement, and his commands were issued more gently, and
oftener with a smile, than in all their previous history. By degrees his
presence was universally felt through the house. It was no surprise to any
one at his studies, to see him by his side when he lifted up his eyes,
though he had not before known that he was in the room. And although some
dread still remained, it was rapidly vanishing before the advances of a
firm friendship. Without immediately ordering their labours, he always
influenced them, and often altered their direction and objects. The change
soon evident in the household was remarkable. A simpler, nobler expression
was visible on all the countenances. The voices of the men were deeper,
and yet seemed by their very depth more feminine than before; while the
voices of the women were softer and sweeter, and at the same time more
full and decided. Now the eyes had often an expression as if their sight
was absorbed in the gaze of the inward eyes; and when the eyes of two met,
there passed between those eyes the utterance of a conviction that both
meant the same thing. But the change was, of course, to be seen more
clearly, though not more evidently, in individuals.
"One of the brothers, for instance, was very fond of astronomy. He had his
observatory on a lofty tower, which stood pretty clear of the others,
towards the north and east. But hitherto, his astronomy, as he had called
it, had been more of the character of astrology. Often, too, he might have
been seen directing a heaven-searching telescope to catch the rapid
transit of a fiery shooting-star, belonging altogether to the earthly
atmosphere, and not to the serene heavens. He had to learn that the signs
of the air are not the signs of the skies. Nay, once, his brother
surprised him in the act of examining through his longest tube a patch of
burning heath upon a distant hill. But now he was diligent from morning
till night in the study of the laws of the truth that has to do with
stars; and when the curtain of the sunlight was about to rise from before
the heavenly worlds which it had hidden all day long, he might be seen
preparing his instruments with that solemn countenance with which it
becometh one to look into the mysterious harmonies of Nature. Now he
learned what law and order and truth are, what consent and harmony mean;
how the individual may find his own end in a higher end, where law and
freedom mean the same thing, and the purest certainty exists without the
slightest constraint. Thus he stood on the earth, and looked to the
heavens.
"Another, who had been much given to searching out the hollow places and
recesses in the foundations of the castle, and who was often to be found
with compass and ruler working away at a chart of the same which he had
been in process of constructing, now came to the conclusion, that only by
ascending the upper regions of his abode could he become capable of
understanding what lay beneath; and that, in all probability, one clear
prospect, from the top of the highest attainable turret, over the castle
as it lay below, would reveal more of the idea of its internal
construction, than a year spent in wandering through its subterranean
vaults. But the fact was, that the desire to ascend wakening within him
had made him forget what was beneath; and having laid aside his chart for
a time at least, he was now to be met in every quarter of the upper parts,
searching and striving upward, now in one direction, now in another; and
seeking, as he went, the best outlooks into the clear air of outer
realities.
"And they began to discover that they were all meditating different
aspects of the same thing; and they brought together their various
discoveries, and recognized the likeness between them; and the one thing
often explained the other, and combining with it helped to a third. They
grew in consequence more and more friendly and loving; so that every now
and then one turned to another and said, as in surprise, 'Why, you are my
brother!'--'Why, you are my sister!' And yet they had always known it.
"The change reached to all. One, who lived on the air of sweet sounds, and
who was almost always to be found seated by her harp or some other
instrument, had, till the late storm, been generally merry and playful,
though sometimes sad. But for a long time after that, she was often found
weeping, and playing little simple airs which she had heard in childhood--
backward longings, followed by fresh tears. Before long, however, a new
element manifested itself in her music. It became yet more wild, and
sometimes retained all its sadness, but it was mingled with anticipation
and hope. The past and the future merged in one; and while memory yet
brought the rain-cloud, expectation threw the rainbow across its bosom--
and all was uttered in her music, which rose and swelled, now to defiance,
now to victory; then died in a torrent of weeping.
"As to the eldest sister, it was many days before she recovered from the
shock. At length, one day, her brother came to her, took her by the hand,
led her to an open window, and told her to seat herself by it, and look
out. She did so; but at first saw nothing more than an unsympathizing
blaze of sunlight. But as she looked, the horizon widened out, and the
dome of the sky ascended, till the grandeur seized upon her soul, and she
fell on her knees and wept. Now the heavens seemed to bend lovingly over
her, and to stretch out wide cloud-arms to embrace her; the earth lay like
the bosom of an infinite love beneath her, and the wind kissed her cheek
with an odour of roses. She sprang to her feet, and turned, in an agony of
hope, expecting to behold the face of the father, but there stood only her
brother, looking calmly though lovingly on her emotion. She turned again
to the window. On the hilltops rested the sky: Heaven and Earth were one;
and the prophecy awoke in her soul, that from betwixt them would the steps
of the father approach.
"Hitherto she had seen but Beauty; now she beheld Truth. Often had she
looked on such clouds as these, and loved the strange ethereal curves into
which the winds moulded them; and had smiled as her little pet sister told
her what curious animals she saw in them, and tried to point them out to
her. Now they were as troops of angels, jubilant over her new birth, for
they sang, in her soul, of beauty, and truth, and love. She looked down,
and her little sister knelt beside her.
"She was a curious child, with black, glittering eyes, and dark hair; at
the mercy of every wandering wind; a frolicsome, daring girl, who laughed
more than she smiled. She was generally in attendance on her sister, and
was always finding and bringing her strange things. She never pulled a
primrose, but she knew the haunts of all the orchis tribe, and brought
from them bees and butterflies innumerable, as offerings to her sister.
Curious moths and glow-worms were her greatest delight; and she loved the
stars, because they were like the glow-worms. But the change had affected
her too; for her sister saw that her eyes had lost their glittering look,
and had become more liquid and transparent. And from that time she often
observed that her gaiety was more gentle, her smile more frequent, her
laugh less bell-like; and although she was as wild as ever, there was more
elegance in her motions, and more music in her voice. And she clung to her
sister with far greater fondness than before.
"The land reposed in the embrace of the warm summer days. The clouds of
heaven nestled around the towers of the castle; and the hearts of its
inmates became conscious of a warm atmosphere--of a presence of love. They
began to feel like the children of a household, when the mother is at
home. Their faces and forms grew daily more and more beautiful, till they
wondered as they gazed on each other. As they walked in the gardens of the
castle, or in the country around, they were often visited, especially the
eldest sister, by sounds that no one heard but themselves, issuing from
woods and waters; and by forms of love that lightened out of flowers, and
grass, and great rocks. Now and then the young children would come in with
a slow, stately step, and, with great eyes that looked as if they would
devour all the creation, say that they had met the father amongst the
trees, and that he had kissed them; 'And,' added one of them once, 'I grew
so big!' But when the others went out to look, they could see no one. And
some said it must have been the brother, who grew more and more beautiful,
and loving, and reverend, and who had lost all traces of hardness, so that
they wondered they could ever have thought him stern and harsh. But the
eldest sister held her peace, and looked up, and her eyes filled with
tears. 'Who can tell,' thought she, 'but the little children know more
about it than we?'
"Often, at sunrise, might be heard their hymn of praise to their unseen
father, whom they felt to be near, though they saw him not. Some words
thereof once reached my ear through the folds of the music in which they
floated, as in an upward snowstorm of sweet sounds. And these are some of
the words I heard--but there was much I seemed to hear which I could not
understand, and some things which I understood but cannot utter again.
"'We thank thee that we have a father, and not a maker; that thou hast
begotten us, and not moulded us as images of clay; that we have come forth
of thy heart, and have not been fashioned by thy hands. It _must_ be so.
Only the heart of a father is able to create. We rejoice in it, and bless
thee that we know it. We thank thee for thyself. Be what thou art--our
root and life, our beginning and end, our all in all. Come home to us.
Thou livest; therefore we live. In thy light we see. Thou art--that is all
our song.'
"Thus they worship, and love, and wait. Their hope and expectation grow
ever stronger and brighter, that one day, ere long, the Father will show
Himself amongst them, and thenceforth dwell in His own house for evermore.
What was once but an old legend has become the one desire of their hearts.
"And the loftiest hope is the surest of being fulfilled."
* * * * *
"Thank you, heartily," said the curate. "I will choose another time to
tell you how much I have enjoyed your parable, which is altogether to my
mind, and far beyond anything I could do."
Mr. Bloomfield returned no answer, but his countenance showed that he was
far from hearing this praise unmoved. The faces of the rest showed that
they too had listened with pleasure; and Adela's face shone as if she had
received more than delight--hope, namely, and onward impulse. The colonel
alone--I forgot to say that Mrs. Cathcart had a headache, and did not
come--seemed to have been left behind.
"I am a stupid old fellow, I believe," said he; "but to tell the truth, I
did not know what to make of it. It seemed all the time to be telling me
in one breath something I knew and something I didn't and couldn't know. I
wish I could express what I mean, but it puzzled me too much for that;
although every now and then it sounded very beautiful indeed."
"I will try and tell you what it said to me, sometime, papa," said Adela.
"Thank you, my child; I should much like to understand it. I believe I
have done my duty by my king and country, but a man has to learn a good
deal after all that is over and done with; and I suppose it is never too
late to begin, Mr. Armstrong?"
"On the contrary, I not merely believe that no future time can be so good
as the present, but I am inclined to assert that no past time could have
been so good as the present. This seems to be a paradox, but I think I
could explain it very easily. I find, however, that the ladies are looking
as if they wanted to go home, and I am quite ready, Mrs. Armstrong. But
while the ladies put their bonnets on, just let Smith see your schoolroom,
Mr. Bloomfield. As an inhabitant of Purleybridge, I already begin to be
proud of it."
The ladies did go to put on their bonnets. I followed Mr. Bloomfield and
the colonel into the schoolroom, and the curate followed me. But after we
had looked about us and remarked on the things about for five minutes,
finding I had left my handkerchief in the drawing-room, I went back to
fetch it. The door was open, and I saw Adela--no bonnet on her head yet--
standing face to face with Harry. They were alone. I hesitated for a
moment what I should do, and while I hesitated, I could not help seeing
the arm of the doctor curved and half-outstretched, as if it would gladly
have folded about her, and his face droop and droop, till it could not
have been more than half a foot from hers. Now, as far as my seeing this
was concerned, there was no harm done. But behind me came the curate and
the schoolmaster, and they had eyes in their heads, at least equal to
mine. Well, no great harm yet. And just far enough down the stair to see
into the drawing-room, appeared their wives, who could not fail to see the
unconscious pair, at least as well as we men below. Still there was no
great harm done, for Mrs. Cathcart was at home, as I have said. But,
_horresco referens!_ excuse the recondite quotation--at the same moment
the form of the colonel appeared, looking over the heads of all before him
right in at the drawing-room door, and full at the young sinners, who had
heard no sound along the matted passage.
"Here's a go!" said I to myself--not aloud, observe, for it was slang.
For just think of a man like Harry caught thus in a perfect trap of
converging looks.
As if from a sudden feeling of hostile presence, he glanced round--and
stood erect. The poor fellow's face at once flushed as red as shame could
make it, but he neither lost his self-possession, nor sought to escape
under cover of a useless pretence. He turned to the colonel.
"Colonel Cathcart," he said, "I will choose a more suitable time to make
my apology. I wish you good night."
He bowed to us all, not choosing to risk a refusal of his hand by the
colonel, and went quickly out of the house.
The colonel stood for some moments, which felt to me like minutes, as if
he had just mounted guard at the drawing-room door. His face was perfectly
expressionless. We men felt very much like stale oysters, and would rather
have skipped that same portion of our inevitable existence. What the
ladies felt, I do not pretend, being an old bachelor, to divine.
Adela, pale as death, fled up the stair. The only thing left for the rest
of us was, to act as much as possible as if nothing were the matter, and
get out of the way before the poor girl came down again. As soon as I got
home, I went to my own room, and thus avoided the _tete-à-tete_ with my
host which generally closed our evenings.
The colonel went up to his daughter's room, and remained there for nearly
an hour. Adela was not at the breakfast-table the next morning. Her father
looked very gloomy, and Mrs. Cathcart grimly satisfied, with _I told you
so_ written on her face as plainly as I have now written it on the paper.
How she came to know anything about it, I can only conjecture.
